Harold Is Cool

Hugo: putting the meta in metaphor

2012-03-01T22:31:00.000+10:30

Much like Samwise Gamgee, I have missed the boat. However, instead of the Frodo-populated boat of world-weariness and angst bound for the hidden world of the Elves, the boat I'm left waving off into the distance is the one for Academy Award opinion and rants.

However, unlike Samwise, I'm not going to settle in to life as Mayor of Hobbiton (mostly because I like shoes and would get claustrophobic living in a hill). Instead, I'm going to rant and rave with the same level of passion I put into singing Simon and Garfunkel songs in my car.

What I really want to talk about is 'Hugo'. Whenyou have Christopher Lee, Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen and the girl who saidthe C-word in 'Kick-Ass' together in afilm directed by Martin Scorsese, it’s hard to know what to expect. 'Hugo'was always going to draw in the audiences, even those mistakenly expectinga Saruman vs. Gandhi showdown. It was also always going to rake in ALL of theplaudits.

Based on 'The Invention of Hugo Cabret'by Brian Selznick, the story follows Hugo (Asa Butterfield) the orphaned son ofa clockmaker (Jude Law) who lives in the walls of a Paris train station. Hisfather dies, leaving him with an alcoholic uncle and a broken automaton; aclockwork man who when repaired should have the ability to write.

Scorsese’s first film in 9 years to not include Leonardo Di Caprio was nominated for more awards than I could fit on my monitor to print screen. Thewhole thing is very box in a box in a box to explain. It’s a 3D movie about theearly days of film, and is based on a book based loosely on a true story.

I'm undecided about this film, which came as a surprise as I was expectingto unequivocally be won over. The weird thing is, you watch the trailer, go“that looks good”, and then head off to see it. I came out of the cinema going "yeah, I liked that". Then, the next day, I gave it some thought and realised the wily manipulation I had just paid almost twenty dollars to see in 3D.

'Hugo' has wide appeal. It has cute young children, which can make you overlook some stilted acting. It tugs on your heartstrings with the wide, blue, computer-enhanced eyes of the protagonist, and throws about themes like "family!" "war!" "loss!" "redemption!" like it is going out of business. All of this, it seems is a disguise, to hide the fact that this movie is the celluloid incarnation Oscars. It is a film-maker celebrating a film-maker saying that film-makers do not want to be forgotten.

The 'Lord of the Rings' tilt of this post is no coincidence, despite my strong past history of shoehorning Hobbits and mithril into seemingly unrelated topics. Before year 8, the Oscars were a glorious time. I enjoyed predicting who would be nominated, who would win (with mixed success) and who would make an embarrassing speech in dubious attire. I would then proceed to bore my friends senseless with these endless predictions, and then proceed to demonstrate my lack of athleticism on the monkey bars.

Naturally, when the 74th Academy Awards rolled around, I assumed 'The Fellowship of the Ring' would sweep the floor with all that Russel Crowe and Moulin Rouge nonsense. However, it was not to be, and, despite my careful avoidance of 'spoilers' all day, the inescapable school bus radio pronounced that 'A Beautiful Mind' had taken out Best Picture and Best Director. My reaction was somewhere between 'Apocalypse Now' and 'A Streetcar Named Desire' and since then, I have not watched the Academy Awards again.

It's not just that 'Lord of the Rings' didn't win. I think it just highlighted to me all the bureaucracy and red tape that is what really drives who wins in which year. 'Return of the King' won two years later, a decision I suspect that was made well in advance of the Academy even catching a glimpse of the film. The Oscar went to the trilogy - not the film. It seems to be more 'whose turn is it to win' rather than 'who did the best work this year'. I know that this isn't an attitude reserved for film awards, but the realisation of this in my early teens just ruined things for me.

It's interesting that this year the two top contenders were both films about films. However, I'm glad that 'The Artist' won. It's an original film, with an unusual concept, and a cast of mostly unknown, French actors. Good things.

Despite this however, I'm a bit worried. Sure, generally you can easily pick which films are built purely to rake in the Oscars. However, 'Hugo' with it's thinly veiled desires and resultant success, might be cause for concern.

Or, maybe it's a good thing. If the disguise and tricks are getting easier and easier, maybe in five years I can churn out my own masterpiece: set in 1930s England, a single woman struggles to find respect, happiness and love in a town which thinks she is a harlot and a witch. With her only friend, a dog, she starts a business from scratch; making floral print bowls for orphans to make their gruel look tastier. In a heart-wrenching scene her dog sacrifices her life when an evil, war-crazed villain shows up with a machine gun. However, in a wacky enemy-turns-to-lover twist, she restores his addled mind through the use of art and interpretive dance. His heart softens, his nose grows back and a flash forward shows them holding hands while skipping through a meadow, named after her late pooch.

I shall call it 'NOMINATION FOR BEST PICTURE' and the awards shall be mine, and they shall be my 'AWARDS FOR BEST PICTURE.'

Uggh,

My Ekman Deficiency

2012-02-06T22:04:00.000+10:30

Inever know what face it is appropriate to pull in pretty much any givensituation. Christmas and birthdays becomes exponentially more stressful thanthey should be, because presents happen. This shouldn’t even be a thing.Presents are nice - unless you’re given used soap on a rope or syphilis Isuppose. However, if I get handed a gift, my mind automatically clicks into an over-reflectivedoom cycle and my facial expression freezes.

Probably the true villain here is the desire to be polite. My mind rushes toproject a scenario where the gift is something that you don’t like. However,this isn’t something you want anyone other than you to know, so you need toexpress joy! ecstasy! appreciation! no matter what. Despite not having evengotten remotely close to any sticky tape or wrapper removal, the mind thenwhirrs ahead as to what face you should be pulling in order to hide anypotential disappointment (or even perceived disappointment, just to wrap you upinto further knots). In my case this generally means that I look like I’m inpain no matter what it is I’ve been given because I’m so anxious to not seemrude.

Unfortunately, I then notice that I’ve gone too far the other way, and so make the mistake of trying to cover my awkward with dialogue. Dialoguewhich also goes too far the other way and tends to be something along the linesof “oh cool, that’s...yeah” which serves to rectify nothing other than theconversation which ends in uncomfortable silence until one or both of you leavethe room. You don’t want to sound disinterested, but in focussing so hard onhow to say something, you pause too long and, as a result, sound disinterested.This also seems to happen sometimes when I'm just talking to people. No-one wins in the social interaction paradox of awkward.

I didn’t really know whether facial expressions are the product of biology orsociety, but if Paul Ekman, the psychologist on whom the show Lie to Me was based, is to be believed “facialexpressions of emotion are not culturally determined, but universalacross human cultures and thus biological in origin.”

He’s built a multi-decade career on this, and I’ve only been thinking about itfor the last 20 minutes, so I think I will give him the benefit of the doubt. Probably.His studies suggest that the areas we all share facial expression reflexes forare anger, disgust, fear, shame, joy, sadness, and surprise.

Maybe I have wrong wiring, or a side link psychobabble diversion circuit,because it seems when situations should prompt a joy or surprise reflex, the signalgets fired off and shunted into the fear realm, prompting the wrong face. Or afrozen face. Or a blushing face. Which will later probably either progress intoan anger or sadness face. Or, as sometimes happens, an Edward Scissorhandsface. Oh well.

I don’t really know what the reason is. Maybe my brain just has an army ofmini-Gandalfs fighting the Balrog of neural emotive reflexes whilst someoneaccidentally over-bleaches their robes.

Either way, if I’ve ever seemed disinterested or strangely blunt in response to‘normal social interraction’ or ‘receipt of a gift’, chances are high that if youcame back after five minutes you would find me smacking my forehead. Orwatching Angel.

Anyway, it’s not you.It’s my Ekman deficiency.

The Etiquette of Staring

2012-01-22T10:16:00.000+10:30

Ifa person is around me for any longer than ten minutes they will most likely getstared at. Usually this is unintentional. I zone out, taking wild rides ontrains of thought which usually stop by the ‘most recent TV show I watched’, ‘thatcloud looks like a ______’ and ‘Harry Potter plot inconsistency’ stationsbefore I snap out of it and realise that the blank space I was staring at isnow occupied by a Someone. The same Someone who is now staring back at me,assessing what sort of danger they might be in. I can’t help it if my ‘Vague Face’looks like other people’s ‘Murder Face’.

Staring seems to make people uncomfortable. Which puts an interesting spin onstaring contest enthusiasts.

I’m not brilliant at eye contact, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’sbecause it gives people the opportunity to extract my soul like some kind of occularDementor, though I think it’s more likely due to the confusing etiquettesurrounding when it is appropriate to look someone in the eye.

Not having a good balance in eye contact screws you up in multiple areas:

Honesty: too much, and you seem likeyou’re trying too hard and are thus covering up a lie. Too little, and you areshifty, and clearly have something to hide.

Relationships: look too long, andthey will know you’re interested. Don’t look at all and it seems like you’reavoiding them. Either because you are interested, or because you are notinterested. Helpful.

Study: looking up during an examDEFINITELY MEANS PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE CHEATING. So you don’t look up at allwhich makes picking up dropped pens or responding to unexpected noisesdifficult and confusing. This feeds in to honesty, so not looking also meansPEOPLE THINK YOU ARE TRYING TO HIDE THE FACT YOU ARE CHEATING. Because examsdidn’t already make me neurotic enough.

Conversations: looking too muchmeans you are either super interested or zoning out. People will always assumeit is the one it isn’t which leads to more of the same. Not looking at all orminimal looking means you aren't interested and people get all kinds of affronted. Or don't notice and keep going, again leading to more of the same. Generally leads to doom spirals.

Getting caught in a stare usually goes one of four ways.

In the first, you know they can see your line of vision and you both gettrapped in the stare net. Neither wants to look away, and you both try andscope out the other. Eventually you look away at the same time and act like thewhole thing never happened. An awkward laugh may be implemented at this point. Usuallyone for strangers.

The second is the misdirection stare. They catch you, so you look over theirshoulder and try to convince them you were looking at some fascinating thingthere. Murphy’s Law dictates that the only thing behind them will be eithersomething really bland like a plastic chair, or something that it is sociallyworse for you to be staring at. Like a ‘breasts of the day’ calendar.

Third is the compromise for eye strain stare. Here you make eye contact, thenpretend to look away whilst monitoring the situation from the corner of youreye. They know you are still looking, but in order to know this, they have tobe looking too. Neither of you wants to admit to being Starer 0, so you bothpretend that no one is looking at anyone.

Finally there is the machine gun stare. You get caught staring. You look away.Look up again to see if they are still looking. They are. They look down. Thenback up. You see this and look down again. Continues for uncomfortably long andmakes you think of the Old Spice ad. Then you picture the other person in atowel and everything gets horrifying as you question what sort of person youare. Usually one of you has to leave in order to end the madness.

I’mnot sure what the solution to any of these is really. You could always yell “THISIS SPARTA” and sprint away, but whilst pop-culturetastic, I don’t know if thatwould alleviate the awkwardness much.

Oh well. Here's looking at you kid.

Tramsformation

2012-01-08T18:20:00.000+10:30

I don’t do well on public transport. I do especially badlyon the single tram that Adelaide possesses. I’m not sure if it is thecombination of a severe lack of control of anything ever coupled with extremeclose proximity with many people, but even just thinking about setting foot onthat demon caterpillar of terribly planned awfulness fills me with foreboding.

It hasn’t always been this way. About ten years ago the tramwas maroon, squishy and arrived when it said it would. The seats weren’tarranged by a deranged person deprived of Lego as a child, instead they weremost likely imagined by someone with some semblance of skill and imagination,as when the tram changed direction at the end of a trip, the conductor wouldmerely walk down the aisle flipping the backs to the other side, and voila! Allseats were now facing the other way.

The track was also shorter, ending before the city, thus avoiding the massinflux of people who were too lazy to walk the 800 metres from Chinatown intothe main CBD (sometimes this was me, but back in the day there was a bus forthat).

Now, track length, passenger number and inefficiency has increased resulting ina useless, expensive piece of WHY?! which has not only messed with traffic inthe city, but breaks down more regularly than me watching ‘Titanic’, and evenfactoring in two trams as a buffer, still involves an individual embarking on agame of punctuality Russian roulette.

The seating also encourages strange social interaction. At the very front andback of the tram are the most highly prized seats. Tucked against a wall, youcan hide yourself in a corner and hold the handy yellow bar which seems toserve no particular purpose other than to steady yourself in a vain attempt toavoid violently smacking your head against the front of the tram when thedriver inevitably makes sudden stops to avoid hitting death-wish holdingpedestrians. Behind this are the “blocks of four” which usually result ineither four strangers awkwardly playing footsies, or two people tryingvaliantly to not stare at the overly affectionate couple sitting opposite.Sometimes the result is small-talk, or, as I once witnessed, deals to exchangecigarettes for shower time. Behind this are the guilt seats. Here you can lookback at all the people standing, and enter into the unanswerable struggle ofwhether or not you should give up your spot. That woman isn’t pregnant, and sheisn’t decisively elderly. However she’s on the threshold, so you stand to offeryour seat. She gets offended, declines, and whilst you are still standing, asurly teenager plops into your place. Winning times.

Individual awesome experiences I’ve had include a womansitting next to me filing her nails directly onto my bag, and being cornered bya woman I became eventually convinced was planning to kill and eat me. Possiblynot in that order.

She didn’t.

I just don’t understand how something that is trapped on a single line, withits very own traffic lights and boom gates is capable of being so consistentlyinfuriating, or how the injection of money and time has resulted in the deterioration of a service. Adelaide Metro: I mind this gap.

This is why I don't write poetry any more.

2011-12-22T23:03:00.002+10:30

Wikipedia defines love as "an emotion of strong affection and personal attachment." I recently re-discovered my 1999 diary and apparently this is what 9 year old me felt for 'Dawson's Creek'. In amongst the vaguely threatening privacy message at the beginning, a self-made address book which only goes up to 'T', specific information about what I did on "13 Janurary 1999" (9:30 wake up, 6:50 P.M. See Babe Pig in the city.) and strict homework/tv watching timetable, opposite a page of "Self Trivia" I found this:

Reading that made me feel a bit like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLgI-qbrWVo

Norman will never abate

2011-12-19T00:09:00.001+10:30

In year 10 I decided to study drama. The scenario in my mind involved being given opportunities to write, direct and potentially demonstrate my one redeeming acting talent of doing a mean bloodcurdling scream. Instead, reality had me watching Hitchcock movies, making posters about the Stanislavsky method of acting, and playing a fairy called “Tizz” in the worst play ever to be inflicted upon supportive parents.

From this experience I gained self awareness (about being extraordinarily shit at making posters), widened literary exposure (having for some reason the ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow’ speech from Macbeth being part of my lines in the fairy play), interpersonal insight (about what a loon Hitchcock was*) and, most significantly, an apparently lifelong paranoia about showers (thank you 'Psycho').

I have mentioned this fear on more than one occasion. Looking back at the film itself, I don’t really understand where the horror comes from. It’s all a bit lame, the blood looks too thick, and all you actually see is a knife stabbing at an improbable speed and angle whilst a woman screams and is touched inappropriately by shower curtains. I also vaguely remember close ups of the killer’s crazed, wide eyes, but I’m not sure if this is just something my imagination has added over the years, and I’m not going to check. Whilst accuracy is ace, despite my rambling rationalisations, I cannot bring myself to look it up and re-watch on YouTube.

My germaphobia induced suspicion of both shower curtains and shared bathroom floors is not sufficient to explain my undiminished psychological response to this film. I guess something could be said about the almost unique vulnerability we have in the shower. If you couple being clothes-less and phone-less with years of Marple-induced conditioning that everyone everywhere is waiting to murder you all the time, you end up with one eye constantly on the door, and palpitations for the twenty seconds that all you can see is your hair as you hurriedly rinse conditioner.

This vague fear does not show any signs of abating at any time soon. I can’t remember the last time I showered without at least fleetingly thinking of 'Psycho'. I just don’t understand; why is this film so special? I can (sometimes) look in a mirror without imagining Bloody Mary emerging from it, I don’t (always) check my back seat for murderers, I can (usually) tell people that I’m phoning home without putting on my ET voice, and I can shout “YOU SHALL NOT PASS” even at times that I’m not fighting a Balrog.

Oh well. There are worse things than regularly thinking about homebody taxidermist murderers.

*exhibit A: deliberately trapping your daughter on a ferris wheel on set and then packing up the crew and leaving.

Methods to cope with an anxious wait

2011-12-05T23:05:00.001+10:30

It would seem that a not indecent percentage of my year level is currently camped out on Facebook whilst simultaneously refreshing their emails with an increasing level of urgency. The annual hive-mentality-of-fear-of-being-the-lowest common-denominator is a time of year I dread. Somewhat contrary to what I’m currently doing, I am generally loathe to admit that I’m very very afraid of what results might be. Of course I joke that I have spent all day keeping one eye on my 214 unread emails, terrified that it will hit 215, and dying, every so slightly on the inside when I get an email from Amazon telling me that the time is ripe to buy the Beiberography ‘just in time for Christmas’, but seriously, every beep of my phone is another ten minutes shaved off the end of my life.

I don’t know if this is just me, but either way, I thought that I would compile a list of ways to cope with an anxious wait of any kind.

Take an unnecessary shower. Give yourself elaborate ‘fashionable’ shampoo hairstyles and swear, ever so slightly, when you tenderly shampoo your eye.
Listen to three songs on loop all day. Preferably two manic or energetic, and one slightly more subdued. Turn up extra loud whilst on step 1, despite the fact that through the doors, noise and fear of Norman Bates and Bloody Mary you won’t be able to hear the difference between Gotye and Journey.
Exercise. Seriously. When I’m stressed, I can be so distracted by disquieting thoughts that for a few golden moments I will forget that I’m extremely unfit. Until I realise that I’m choking to death on phlegm.
Text people in the same situation, trying to maintain a casual balance between expressing fear and trying not to demonstrate the twisted thread of anxious terribleness you have become.
Extremely overreact to unrelated things.
Adopt irrational compulsive behaviours such as avoiding certain words and not allowing yourself to think of the worst possible outcome.
Take a nap. On the floor.
Develop polar eating habits. Skip lunch, then power through a packet of 'Hello Panda' in the space of three minutes.
Watch TV. Today I chose "Upstairs, Downstairs" which contained more period drama than an all girl high school swimming lesson.
Switch from the previous three songs to one superangsty song and play it on loop. Example: in the time it has taken me to write this I am currently on my 7^th iteration of “Set Fire to the Rain”.

Anyways, that probably didn’t help. Maybe this will: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBcMKwbMEcQ

Chariots of Dire

2011-11-15T20:54:00.001+10:30

"I'm going out for a run. Be back in about three minutes."

People who know me, know me as a fitness machine. Of course by this I mean, much like a treadmill, I remain in one spot whilst others exercise. And occasionally beep.

This aside however, I have recently (and by recently, I mean sporadically over the last few years) tried to build up some semblance of exercise tolerance, as a) I don't want to be a dirty filthy hypocrite, and b) I don't want to drop dead at 30.

There are numerous ways I've gone about this. My personal favourite is to declare small bits of extra exertion as "exercise". Forgot what I stood up and went into another room for? Two points for the extra unnecessary double trip. Friend didn't hear me call out to them (loudly, across a small but full-ish room)? One exercise point for the mini jog to catch up to them, and nine for the calories burnt off with the embarrassment of witnessed rejection.*

The second approach I've taken is a lot less attractive (on multiple levels). It involves actual exercise, and doesn't happen very often for a multitude of reasons. At the heart of the problem is that I'm really, truly, terribly unfit. However, I have a grain of pride, which means I do not want other people to know this.** This combination of factors has pushed me into a corner where the place I go to run is a small room with one treadmill, one bike, one elliptical and is apparently where all mirrors go to die. There is a mirror in front, behind, and to the side, so that whenever I run, I'm always running in a marathon of n00bs - some of whom are going the wrong way, and all of whom look sheepish."

This semi 70s porno fishbowl of embarrassment is also located directly adjacent to a pool. This has benefits in that my paranoia gets a workout when I become convinced that the swimmers (usually couples or disquietingly oily-looking men) are watching and judging me, whilst in actual fact they are probably just hoping that I will leave so they can play jenga or roll in butter.

It is hard enough to make myself exercise. For one, I don't know what to wear. I can't wear "proper sports clothes" lest people think I'm actually fit, thus potentially giving them a laughter/shock induced aneurysm when they witness my flailing limbs and general suffering. This results in me turning up looking like I'm slightly too late to an 80s aerobics class...for men. There's also the apparent conflict in technology of the treadmill in the room of awkward. On the one hand, apparently some people are so fit and strong they can't help but punch through the flimsy button which increases the speed, thus giving all subsequent users a one in three chance of a slight electric shock whenever they dare touch it. Then, there is the unnecessarily rocket-like complexity of the controls. You want to just see how long you've been running, and have the option to change the speed? All of a sudden the incline is increasing and the screen screams at you to "touch the pulse bar."

I will not be touching the pulse bar. Not just because it makes my inner 12 year old want to shout "that's what she said", but because (probably the same fit and strong) someone decided that it would be a good idea to fling their sweat everywhere. Hot.

*:(

**evidenced well by my writing about it on the internet.

My Early Work

2011-11-13T19:21:00.001+10:30

Apparently for the most part the official critera for diagnosing mental diseases cannot be used in children, as you would get too many false positives. For this, I am grateful.

As someone who spent an embarrassing percentage of my under 10 years doing well adjusted things such as "making wardrobe forts to read in"", "learning how to catch coins I fling off my elbow"* and "hoarding butter in case of earthquakes", I can see how this may not have ended well for me.

Apparently I also found it necessary to record most things I was doing or thinking, which is why I have a large stash of notebooks, diaries and miscellaneous other pieces of writing (as well as a disquietingly large number of drawings of ducks and 'Pressed Scottish Cheese', whatever that is).

Anyway, one such thing I found was a story I wrote about Sailor Moon.

That seems to be the end. Potential publishers: please form an orderly line.

*Over thirty 20c pieces in one go. Just for the record.

Head Over Heels for Coordination

2011-10-24T21:54:00.006+10:30

I have a special circuit in my brain. Initiated by the song "Staying Alive", I have to immediately quash the urge to strut down the street and violently force myself to stop imagining that I am carrying paint. Or a woman's man.

This negative feedback loop is important for two reasons.

Firstly, I don't want to look like a douche. Since my normal walk prompts comments such as "do you go through a lot of shoes?", adding a strut, swagger, saunter or any other "s" started adjectives would probably not do me any favours.

The second reason, and arguably more important reason is one of personal safety. I have a propensity to fall on, up, into or down things when I'm walking normally. Change anything, be it my shoes, an unfamiliar set of stairs or my general sense of oneness, I fall. Or stumble. Or hit my foot against something, and then embark upon a journey creatively devised pseudo-swearing.

This sounds even more ridiculous when coming from within the suitcase I've just fallen into.

NOTE: I just realised my graph is wrong.

Do You Sink it's a Good Place to Live?

2010-07-06T22:32:00.013+09:30

Holiday [hol-ie-dae]: a word with french-latin roots, originally arising from the Saxon "Hollus Dei" festival, centred around a bi-annual celebration of "Hollou" (things which are empty bar space and air) where a selection of 10 villagers of varied ages would repeatedly fill large wooden boxes with pointy green leaves and berries, and then empty them whilst shouting "harlow!" (interestingly, thought to be the original source of our modern common initial greeting of one another).

So what does one do whilst on a break from the regular routine dictated by little coloured boxes? Other than making up highly plausible definitions of course.

Well, if you're me, you choose a cupboard at random and make exciting clean-up discoveries. Today my cabinet of choice was the bathroom. Usually housing items such as "toothpaste", "medications" or "hair curlers", it was only natural for me to discover the following...

Exciting holiday clean-up discovery #1: Bucket of Rocks
Because what is a bathroom without a an assortment of rocks?

Exciting holiday clean-up discovery #2: Five different, variously shaped, containers of talcum powder
Prettttty sure some of these have been around since I was 2.

Exciting holiday clean-up discovery #3: Menagerie of plaster, shell and crocheted animals + Iwannabe Barbie (but in reality I'm a toilet roll holder)
Zoos are not just for family outings. They're for bath-time too.

Tomorrow? I'm thinking of tackling the fridge.

What's the strangest place in the world?

2010-03-29T20:27:00.003+10:30

The houses are all the same; white brick with blue trimmings. Graffiti covers the walls, despite each property being surrounded by a razor wire fence. There is not a car to be seen, and each home is only big enough for one. Instead of the orderly winding roads of suburbia, a giant circle of houses surrounds the village green. In the centre rises a large stage, and a crowd of vaguely familiar people jostle to get to one of the many microphones positioned around. One girl finds a gap in the throng and pushes herself forward. She clears her throat. Hush rings out, as the town PA system screeches on.

“Andrea Levy – is nver dirnking aginn”.

Welcome to Facebook: where it isn’t stalking – it’s ‘networking’.

The township of Facebook has paradoxical views on security and privacy. The council has decreed that no one may visit unless they own property surrounding the green, and one may not visit others unless they get their Mines of Moria on. However, once one speaks “friend” and enters...

...It’s on like a stereo in a late model Douchemobile.

In the outside world, if you haven’t seen someone in a while, you rejoice. Or call them to catch up. Whatever. Here however, without them being any the wiser, you can stroll through their gate, enter their house, rifle through their photo albums, listen to their answering machine messages, flip through their CD collection, and peruse their address book.

You could even scribble on one of their walls. But you probably won’t.

Fun as this healthy and social activity may be, chilling alone in someone else’s house can get old pretty quickly. Long term residents know that the real action is out on the village green.

Heading outside, you pass the council workers, busy working on the next seemingly-obligatory-yet-redundant major revamp of the town. Small clusters of people eye them suspiciously, whilst talking about “the good old days”. One man declares that it is “inconceivable that the council can so blatantly ignore the public wishes in this way”. There is a hearty orchestra of responses consisting mostly of “hear hear” and “where’s our dislike button?” Towards the back, a young man determinedly tries to convince the crowd that the “the hottest kid in school will fall madly in love with you” if only they will pass on the story of a young girl who was eaten alive by an army of mutant cabbages. Failure to do so will, of course, result in a similar fate.

Needless to say he is surrounded by a gaggle of 15 year old girls, all shouting about leafy vegetables.

Further along, two girls are chatting together about what they did on the weekend. Another girl sidles up to them. They stop. There is silence.

“I LIKE THIS” the third girl blurts out, before running away. She almost knocks over two men as she flees, but they’re too busy laughing about how witty it is that they have declared their marriage to one another over the PA system to all their friends.

See, it’s funny because they’re not really married. Ha.

Off in the distance, a man is being handcuffed and placed into a squad car. Facebook keeps the grammar police busy.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your side. “Can’t stop to chat”, shouts a sandy haired acquaintance over his shoulder as he runs off towards his house. His door slams, and you are left alone.

You have been poked.

What’s on my mind? Mostly: W.T.F.

No Shia for Sez

2008-10-08T21:35:00.003+10:30

Message to all: it is now ok to roll down your sleeves. You will no longer be receiving slightly socially inappropriate requests to have you pulse taken.*

However, with an OSCE practice shaped void now in my life, I found myself filling my day with not as much sleep as previously expected, two visits to David Jones, an unhealthy level of enthusiasm for buying new bus tickets, a killing streak and 50 minutes worth of textbook perusal, leading to a now ridiculously sore left arm.

That, or I'm having an MI as thoughtfully pointed out by my parents.

Anyways, I have not much to say, and even less ability to say it, mostly because my left hand does 50% of the typing. Strangely, it is attached to my left arm which is seemingly on strike. This leaves righty to pick up the slack, and I can't afford the overtime. Plus he's getting cranky.

Why my right arm is apparently male now, I have no idea. Maybe today's lack of sleep is starting to kick in...

...a door.

Edit: I saw Sez today and it/ she was/ is rad.

*for the next six months.

David Tennant Bathers

2008-10-06T18:11:00.005+10:30

Google image search is not without its charms. For both study and "other", it rarely fails to deliver. Glossitis? There. Caput medusae? Check. David Tennant in swimmers...I've yet to look, but willing to guess "present".

*10 highly Tardisised and Casanova filled minutes later...*

However with OSCEs looming in the very near horizon, one does get a good glimpse of how far detached from reality study can make you when you find yourself image searching "clubbing", leading to the 'led being thouroughly baffed. Ah well, you get what you get.

Clinical skills is a dangerous world. If you're not pounding out a jaunty percussion noted tune through your long suffering non-dominant hand's middle finger, or poking your parents and friends in the neck "just in case you have tracheal deviation" you emerge from your textbooks only to realize you haven't actually been outdoors in the last three days, and being away from people has made you start to chuckle at terms such as "biceps jerk."

..you know...jerk. They're annoying and make you spasm. Ha. Well...it's funny if you've had your anterior humour sensory pathway removed.

Oh well, at least the compulsive tea drinking has toned down over the holidays.

Anyways, on this shambled note (which i hope is resonant and not in the least bit dull), I'll wish everyone the best of luck for tomorrow and this term.

Oh yes, and for those wondering about the exciting and dynamic picture...Google image search the subject line of this post. I dare you.

The Unscrupulous Magnet Thief

2008-09-29T22:38:00.005+09:30

...will be discussed later.

So, my room has been invaded. Ditto my brain it would seem, by an American girl bopping away her teens by beginning sentences with "so".

However, the main point is that I entered my newly de-trashified room earlier today only to discover that trusty mcholey had been replaced with whitey o'trampoline.

R.I.P. old pillow. I think it was the two giant holes in your sides that doomed you. Now it takes a special kind of feathered down softeness to make one tolerate a chasm capable of phagocytosing a hand in a crucial piece of bedding. That, or a special kind of laziness and intertia hybrid. Either way: I am wary of the foreign invader.

Guess it comes with the territory of a house-wide "spring clean".

The discoveries have been varied. From my exciting collection of wrapping paper and Dolly Magazines dating back to the Bec and Beau days, to a laser pointer that projects the words "Fifa World Cup, France!" onto the wall, the excitement is unceasing.

So thrilling that i've stuffed the unsortable into a box and saved it for summer holidays.

Rad.

I can't think of an end, so I'll just put three dots.

...

and a colon.

:

"Human Exclusive?" - not anymore.

2008-03-21T18:20:00.002+10:30

Success at last! This weekend’s events just serve to prove, that with a bit of perseverance, and a lot of willpower, the good side of human nature can shine through.

Round of applause everybody, show the champions we respect what they’re doing.

Now. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you are A Bad Person. For shame, not thinking about the injustice our society (might have) inflicted on the voiceless ones.

I am, of course, speaking of Machines. This may be, your television, your computer, that alarm clock you loathe...even the local ATM. What do they all have in common? EXPLOITATION, that’s what.

Society these days expects too much. You want to be able to log on to the internet whenever you like? Selfish. Turn on a light switch and expect it to work? Narcissist. Want bank transfers to go through on the designated date? Whattawanker.

This is the easter weekend public holiday. Where does it say “human exclusive”? I ask you. Do we not care that your USB mouse might have an egg hunt waiting for it at home? Stop and think, your halogen lamp might want to leave to revel in the warmth of family. Maybe your car doesn’t want to take you with it for a romantic rendezvous. Alarm clocks of the world: maybe it’s their turn for a sleep in...

The cruelty of human nature seems to know no bounds, horribly exemplified by this abominable treatment towards our electronic and mechanical friends.

Now lets take a step back and look at the champion of our cause. The Bank.

These are the people who know what’s right. Electronic transfers? No way. Our computers are off on a three day trip to KI. Access funds? Not while our router’s out to dinner.

These champions of human kindness are the heroes of our time. They understand: machines need public holidays too.

For shame everyone...for SHAME.

Benjamin Barker. Was.

2008-02-03T18:37:00.000+10:30

Whistle while you work. This wonderfully alliterative yet quasi-random phrase shambled into my thoughts for some unbeknownst reason a few minutes ago, and, with not much else to distract, I went with it. Picturing oneself taking the aforementioned advice gave me a mind full of images of bemused customers giving me baffled looks before making requests for popcorn and other confectionified items. Overall I’m thinking that I won’t try this out in real life.

Unless of course I decide to go diamond mining.

That being said, it seems like a good thought to round up the week, which began with a film that ended with the word “was” (Sweeney Todd) and is ending on –brace yourselves- embarkment on a new Korean soap opera!

Also, in between these two monumental milestones has been a strange resurgence of Greenday. In particular “American Idiot.” It’s seemingly everywhere this week.

Anyways, I seem to have missed several significant events in my uncomfortably long absence from blogging, so I shall sum up in a difficult-to-read-shambles-of-a-paragraph:

Christmas!- came downstairs to find a happy Christmas spider residing on the wall. I assume he was happy because it was Christmas. I assume it was a he because I’m sexist and assume all spiders are males unless they’re biting the head off another. New Years! - there were many fireworks and few clothes in the Glenelg area. Sydney! - there’ll possibly be a SaRAD!-esque post coming up soon. Sweeney Todd! - (yes, it is a significant event) twas singing awesomeness, with a side of flinchtasticism.

...and there it all is.

I shall post again in less than a week, or else may all the super-pokers on facebook fling sheep or *shudder* “party with” me. Anything but that. Fear!

Traffic Lights have Christmas Cheer!

2007-11-28T00:54:00.000+10:30

It would have been a tough day if you were a dust particle or a miscellaneous piece of tiny omgwhatthehellisthat on my floor, because if you were, you suffered from being severely devoured by my friend Purple Vacuum Cleaner. It clings to dust and yet adheres to...well, unfortunately, itself, which is muchly frustrating. Oh well.

It does also have another failing, which is that it doesn’t make for any quality segue opportunities into my taking the driving theory test.

Some low grade options included:

- “It sucked, but not as much as that one give way question”
- “Now I’m on the path to a set of wheels that doesn’t have a tubular attachment which collects everything it comes into contact with.”

...and my personal favourite:

- “It’s purple, but getting one question wrong made me blue.” <- that one’s also a LIE so uber craposity points go it it...well, a half lie.

So I’ll just plunge in. The actual adventures of Elizabeth’s Journey to Driving actually began last week, which involved a tram trip, West Wing DVDs, a Wikipedia t-shirt, and turning up seven minutes too late to Service SA.

They continue still.

Yesterday I went in, and was confronted by an unexpected kaleidoscope of feelings. Baffled frustration at the vast array of forms on offer. High level perplexedness at which service button I should press, and minor self damnation at getting one give way question wrong.

On the plus side, I did make a temporary fellow failer friend. This took me (though briefly) to alliterative heaven.

Ultimately there was passage. Second time’s a charm. However, phase 1 of the journey doesn’t end there. My severe lack of “proof of accommodation” ensures a third future voyage into the land of icanteventhinkofanamebecauseeverythingisratherthevague.

I can’t help but think it’s worth it however, if not purely to escape the “memories are made of this” experiences I keep getting on the tram, one such example, my being wedged between a wall and a woman with every possible nail filing utensil ever in her handbag, who proceeded to bring each one out one at a time and make the most appalling “squeak-scrratcha-SCRAWK!” noises, all to bring no visible change to her nails...

...bliss.

Serratous Anterior

2007-10-28T21:44:00.000+10:30

Title Explainage: now I have no excuse whatsoever to forget that muscle...

It's time to crack out the procrastinational pride again; this hemi-year's theme song is "Love Is Blue" by Paul Mariat, and much appreciation goes to the person who tells me what television ad it was on (extra points if you can sing it...), as the niggling lack of knowledge is slowly eroding and chipping away at my sanity.

...the sanity that, this weekend, is characterized by triumphant exclamations of "EXTENSOR POLLICIS LONGUS!!! Yes!!!" and the such that have been wafting from my room, alongside creating the soon-to-be-hit comic strip: Action Potential: adventures with the Cardiac Cycle!

However, exciting revelations not aside, I have realised that there are varying degrees and intensities of procrastination. Mathematically put:

Exam Procrastination > Household Chores Procrastination > Putting off Socially Awkward Situations

I even managed to prove it through experimentation (albeit, I didn't realise that I was actually testing anything until I thought back over the way my day unfolded) ((I enjoyed the rhymedness of "way my day" faaaaar too much...nerd alert.)) (((ditto assonance in "nerd alert" :S))).

To begin with, we had flash cards (I'm not going to mention that I somehow managed to watch the entire "Pride and Prejudice" over breakfast...) ((<- DAMN! Whoops)), then subsequent to completion, we had pen buying and job hunting (SOCIALLY AWKWARD!!! I don't want to peruse stores in the future that will potentially reject me...) Home -> tea -> upstairs for study, where I suddenly found myself doing the hand washing of new clothes. We wouldn't want the colours to run into the rest of the laundry now would we? Good thing I did, as once I finished, I found that the soaking water had turned red...

...a profusely baffling fact, as the shirt I was washing, was infact grey and gold. Nice to know that my new clothes have likely been used in a drive-by shooting or some other mafia-related activity.

Nonetheless, I have done my bit for procrastination and will now sign off, with the final exciting fact...this is my 100th post ever :o

BULLETIN

2007-10-23T22:20:00.001+09:30

Hmm just a brief note to say that the month of June just got a whole lot more riveting, because on the 14th of the aforementioned month, is INTERNATIONAL WEBLOGGER'S DAY!

Look it up on Wikipedia - because link is being the terrible...

BRACE YOURSELVES!

Advice is for Mugs

2007-10-07T20:11:00.000+09:30

...to give

He looked me straight in the eye, sarcastically nonchalant yet somewhat searching. No words needed to be spoken for the meaning to be understood...

Worst lack of postage ever.

Of course, that’s just the opinion of James Dean on my “Rebel Without a Cause” mug, but when I came to scroll down this page, I could actually see every post I’ve made this year. Poor form.

Be that as it may, it is possibly poorer form yet to be having conversations with a piece of tea-containing crockery, but, there are exams looming, so for the time being I’m going to bask in the associated highly insanifying blamability factor that comes with them.

It’s been a strange day, and there is one word to explain why.

Musicals.

Now it’s one thing to try and project a musical-esque situation into real life – in reality, how would you react to a street full of randoms not only only pre-empting your dance moves, but somehow knowing the oh-so-appropriate lyrics that are cropping up in your brain?

Imagine how much stranger it would be to find yourself seemingly amidst someone else’s musical. Worse still, that someone else seems to have heartily nicked off, leaving you to grapple with the harmonised twangings that make up their life.

At least that’s how it somewhat felt today, due, in large part I’m sure, to the copious listenage of me to the Buffy Musical Soundtrack...which I should probably listen to “Once More With Feeling” then let it slip back into the archives for a while....

Makes for a pretty odd time as you putter around your home searching for the one solitary toilet roll that has been doing the rounds of the house this weekend (we desperately need to go supermarketing...) whilst in the background there are people singing about the anguish of being torn out of heaven. And the joys of mustard removal of course.

Anyways, procrastination be gone! I’ve already vacuumed my room once!

Demefiantisation

2007-08-20T23:43:00.000+09:30

Having written what follows, I subsequently, I found out the real reason for the evacuation, which was rather sobering. Interesting that the conductor didn’t know what had happened, and that it was left to another passenger to tell both him and I that someone had attempted to get onto the tracks. However, I decided to post what I wrote, because it shows what went through my mind as things progressed.

The effect is instantaneous. One swift move for the notebook, to write a highly necessary rant, and: KERPLIPH! The Tram appears.

Well, moment be damned! (Trammed?) The spiel marches on!

...and that was the introduction I so neatly penned in my lecture book as I sat after a half hour wait, confident in the thought that soon Victoria Square would be Victoria Dot, and that within 34 minutes I would be back to the Palindromic Sand Den.

So why is it that now I find myself becoming slowly infuriated by the seemingly incessant chiming of some distant church bells, marking the apparently significant time of 7:22p.m.? The conductor and some man with a torch circle the vehicle thoughtfully, whilst the now de-passengerated bystanders grumble and wonder what the evacuate-worthy “Incident” could possibly be.

My paranoia bells are saying “bomb”...clearly my self preservation instincts (OH NOES! It’s the chimes again, happily informing us that it is now 7:27p.m.) leave a lot to be desired...I am only standing one metre further away than everyone else, and 57% of that is because I don’t want people to see what I’m writing.

7:28p.m. we are allowed to re-board (and for those of you who are following the soundtrack to this piece, yes, the chimes are still pealing) and now the disgruntled atmosphere is being replaced by the usual awkward apathy.

...do I ask what happened?

Of course, the usually suppressible area of my imagination is tossing in its two cents that, actually yes, the tram did explode, and now we are commuting to the afterlife a’la “Heart and Souls”...I guess too many Robert Downey Junior movies at a young age can do that to you...

However, briefcased individuals keep “vacating this vehicle”, so that theory is fortunately deported back to its celluloid roots (why must I always think of celery whenever the word “celluloid” crosses my path?)

I am still no closer to finding out what happened, as the conductor has withdrawn himself to the far reaching corners of the tram.

My speculations are as follows:

1) The woman who monotonises “the next stop is...” etc. escaped from the special compartment in which she is imprisoned, and ran amuck, hysterically shouting destinations at random, before finally being “contained”.

2) The tram is actually a transformer, and we were evacuated to be flashy-thinged into forgetting...

3) There was something wrong with the cement on the new part of the track at Victoria Guang Chang...plauisible...I guess...

...and that is where I stopped writing on the tram, due to the extreme “getting to the end of the line” nature of things.

Highlighers: Revisited

2007-07-29T21:33:00.000+09:30

Though this may actually be quite sad, today I fulfilled one of my lifelong ambitions. Yes, at last, I am the proud owner of a Purple Highlighter. Now, though this may not seem like very much, today marks the end of a frustrating, and somewhat soul-destroying quest.

The purchasing of highlighters, though simple in theory, actually could leave the strongest minded person in tearful disarray. Now, maybe, if your house is completely and utterly devoid of aforementioned make-word-stand-outterers, then maybe, just maybe, your task will be easy. However, this occurrence is exceedingly rare.

The problem is, that it seems that different colours have different running out rates. Now, you could put this down to preference of usage of a particular colour, but now don’t lets get bogged down by logic. Besides, haven’t you noticed how it is that the more uncommon orange, pinks and (yes) purples seem to run out far quicker that the ever-immortal Yellow, and his less “im” sidekick Blue? (Green has been omitted because it’s a fence sitter)

Ok, so you initially purchase a package complete with the unkillable Yellow, the slightly more mortal Blue, and the evolutionary duds, the survival of which would have Darwin in tears, Pink, Orange and Purple. Shock! Surprise! Alas! The POB crew have essentially dried up, and the only time you could possibly want to use them would be if you so desired to have two thin lines with a gaping chasm of white between them drawn over your work.

So, off to the shops you go. Now, there are two perfectly functioning sticks of colour at home, so it would be a waste to buy another whole set for the time being, yes? So it goes to follow, that you merely need to buy replacements.

...however, they only seem to come in sets of two, and virtually inevitably one of these will be a Yellow, Blue or Green.

CONSPIRACY!!!

However, one must have highlighters, and so an extra is purchased. Sigh.

This cycle continues, and suddenly you find yourself amidst a huge pile of yellow highlighters, with a smattering of feeble looking, dried up other colours. Utterly stuck, as there is no need to replace what you “already have”...

Hmm...all in all, that was a very long winded way of saying that I seem to have managed to pull-off the seemingly un-dooable this year, and used up all my highlighters, thus giving way to the rare opportunity to acquire the much in demand: Purple Highligher :p

Death for Laundry - hanging is the only option..

2007-06-26T17:44:00.000+09:30

My dislike of laundry doedness has risen to an all time new level. Under normal circumstances, it is merely excruciatingly dull.

To better explain the issue, it is best to give an overall outline of the “normal” laundrerical process, or at least the one that exists in my household. There are three main stages; first, is the actual putting of the clothes into the machine, along with associated powders, cleansers, and softeners which will insist on being packaged in gently coloured containers, inevitably featuring a picture of a duck and/or a baby.

Following this, is the actual hanging up of the garments on some kind of fiendish device, that will find a way to clamp your fingers with its evil metal components. Then, colour coordination of pegs, and avoiding having to utilise the horrible, splintery wooden pegs ensues...this is the dullest stage of all. If you keep at it for long enough, you begin to find entertainment in “bettering” the clothes horse-eseque thing by fixing half snapped lines, or by thwarting its fiendish attempts at embracing gravity by wedging it between a table and a wall. Ha! Get out of that one!

*cough* anyways...any more time than that spent hanging the laundry, you then get into dangerous “everything must be exactly symmetrical” territory...and there’s pretty much no coming back from there.

The third, and final stage takes place some hours later. This is actually the least irritating stage, as it involves the folding up of the newly dried clothes, and thus presents you with options... Wow, you can let loose...should you fold along the axis of symmetry of shirts? Make that polo top look just like the ones in shops? Pants, folded in half, or otherwise?!? The choice is all yours. Thrilling.

However, there is one way to make the whole process s;ahgoi;wre ‘yto8a’ieg.

Sorry, just felt like pressing a lot of keys. I’ll try that again.

However, there is one way to make the whole process about eleven-fold more irksome, and that, is to make stage two occur in a tiny room. Sure, the gravity thing becomes not an issue anymore, but in an attempt to “pick up the slack”, the metal contraption picks up all new skills in the area of finger hurt and catchedness. Not only that, but once all the clothes have finally been adequately executed (sigh, if only they had ratted out all the other witches...), you then need to perform extreme gymnastics simply to make it out the door.

Good luck with study!

Procrastinational Pride

2007-06-20T15:57:00.000+09:30

Twenty minutes of studying later, and I have it down. I think. Mickey, Peter, Davy and Mike...right, that’s all the Monkees named. Lesson learnt.

Halfway through exams, and procrastination has really well and truly been cracked out. So far out in fact, that, if procrastination were a car, it would have gone careening out the driveway, smacked into a neighbour’s house, and so, would if fact actually be cracked in as a result of its extreme cracked out-edness. Whereupon at this stage, the police would come and crack down upon this reckless cracked in procrastination driver, extracting them from their analogy-fuelled car...which after all this careening, you would expect to be rather cracked up.

...there’s certainly no cracking under pressure here.

Work actually has been done today. Past exams read, learning objectives gone through, etc, etc. If only this could be done without sizeable “breaks” in between.

Upon having completed a review of some multiple choice questions, my room was retired to, “just to sort a few things out.” (Why that’s in quotation marks I have no idea, as I certainly didn’t say it. Or even think it. Maybe in a parallel universe.) Before not too long, clothes were hung up, shelves were being dusted, discoveries were made (it’s normal to find a Teenage Mutant Ninja turtle mug containing buttons in your room right?), all the while, with Roy Orbison blaring at maximum volume in the background.

...speaking of which, I think I really might need to shelve things with our Mr Orbison, as there is a very real possibility of my parents ending me if they have to hear “It’s Over” or “Working for the Man” one more time this week.

However, bad move switching to "Unchained Melody", as it’s slowly giving me the urge to watch “Ghost”. Just as well that the VCR is optimising its malfunction function at the moment.

...and moving away from the 60s now.

Things have been rather the weird this week. Maybe because for the first time in about ever there haven’t been any mathematics contained within the great exam pool for me to drown in. So anyways, in a vain attempt to fill the void:

Peter + Mike + Mickey + Davy = Monkees

Hogwarts Logo (almost) = Schematic Diagram of the Human Heart

5 + 5 + 5 = 550 (well, if you add a straight line) ((not through the = sign))

...and just for the hell of it, here’s a mech:

Exams -> Procrastination -> Random Television and Music -> computer usage -> Creation of unnecessary mechanism for purely bloggatary purposes

Dehiatification!

2007-05-19T16:26:00.000+09:30

Today I learnt something. It is actually quite difficult to sing along to the Angel theme song. Possibly because:
a) I can't sing, and
b) It's 100% instrumental
...nonetheless, it was mildly disheartening.

Hiatus sucks.

However, the textbooks are out once more, and thus along with them come all the familiar procrastational behaviour. Chapter's to read? Time to consult the “relevant” tv show.

It worked last year anyway. When studying for Year 12 end of year exams it was necessary to consult Buffy Season 4...where Ms Summers goes to College, as it was Motivational! (It was also necessary once that was done to give ones parents a detailed run down of Buffy villains through the seasons...im sure they were thrilled)

So of course that policy passes from high school to University. Well, if you’re learning about the human body, it’s only natural to consult the infallible source that is: “Angel – the episode about the guy-who-is-a-doctor-able-to-detach-his-limbs-and-use-them-to-stalk-people-in-various-creative-ways.”

Highly handy.

...and footy...and eyebally. (but they just aren’t alliterative.)

Anyways, after this shameful lull in posting, I thought that I'd break character and put up a picture from Med Ball...just one of the things that's distracted me from the all important world of blogging...:p

They Wear Clever Disguises

2007-03-21T18:34:00.000+10:30

It’s enough to fool most people for at least the majority of the time. However, at 7:34a.m on a weekday morning, even the array of business suits, school uniforms and deceptively granny-ish cardigans are not enough to conceal the inner athlete at the core of every commuter on The Glenelg tram.

To take a step back, it is safe now I think to say that I am a commuter. I commute. Partaking in the commutary process is something that I am now involved in. As the weeks pass by, unspoken rules emerge. Never must you make eye contact with anyone. People who do, are either shifty or angrily eying the shifty people with suspicion. Never hold your wallet in your hand if you have a Multi-trip ticket – if you are a teenager, this will lead to automatic assumptions that you haven’t paid when you don’t respond to the “tickets please” catch-cry.

However, none of this matters so much, as the real test begins the second you set foot in Victoria Square.

You can almost hear the inspirational opening chords from “Chariots of Fire” as preparations begin for: The Commuter Race.

Races are run all over the world every day, for various reasons. What makes this one stand out though, is the fact that consciously “its not a race” but subconsciously, everyone is somehow aware of the truth.

Smiles through gritted teeth are aimed left and right, the woman in the two thousand dollar suit tightens her sneaker laces, the shudder of tram doors closing is heard…

It’s on.

There’s no time to take jaywalking laws into consideration, everyone else is on the move and terrible consequences await those left behind. Powering past the fountain, anything goes…people will go so far as walking on the grass (!!!) to get ahead. The group halves at this point; those who are willing to risk life and limb cross the road, despite the little green man, having been overtaken by fiery red anger, losing all reason, beginning to flash.

The sad, sorry, safety group is left in their wake, staring at the shell of what was once a happy green man who used to let anything go.

Here’s where the reckless group divides again, with one group off to continue the battle down one street, and the other charging up King William. One by one they are stripped away, cut off by inconsiderate lines of school children, or left contemplating life and weeping at a traffic light, all the while, the others are raging ahead.

Finally there are two. Shoulder to shoulder, it is impossible to get ahead without letting on that you know about the race. Dilemma. Looking at your competition, it’s impossible to detect emotions…very clearly a seasoned professional. Suddenly, out of nowhere….

“Sue! SUE!!!” your heads whip around – just for a moment, you see fear strike your opponent, as her friend rushes up to her. “SUE! How are you?” With a sigh, she stops, leaving you to move ahead to victory. “Hey, what’s wrong?” the voice so distant its barely audible.

“Oh, nothing…I’m just…tired.”

Chasing Cars

2007-02-14T22:10:00.000+10:30

What better way is there to start a person on the path of education than to place them in a “Garden of Children” and tell them that Fritz is actually Elephant’s Ears.

In over a week from now, University will be a happening thing, so naturally you should regress and remember your initiation into “schoolishness.” Kindergarten is fun, learny, and yet is really quite out of this world.

Social dynamics are interesting. For one thing as a general rule, Kindergarten “boyfriends” are a bad idea. Hypothetically speaking of course, they try to peer pressure you into eating sand (“it’s really nice!”) and then one day they exclaim “you get it every day! It’s my turn to try it on” about your favourite dress in the dress-ups room. Plus, of course at that age they have “boy-germs.”

Then there are shoe alliances to be made. Regular shoe swapping is essential for survival in everyday kindy life. I mean, the grass may be greener on the other side, but who cares about grass if you’re standing on it with your feet in shoes that aren’t adorned with multi-coloured sequins?

You also have your foray into physical education, with looong treks to the collection of swings, tunnels, and bizarre metal twirly things to which there are no point in a park, which seem to last for a reasonable percentage of forever (we drove past the kindergarten the other day…leading to the discovery that it is actually situated next door to the playground…hmm…fitness.)

Anyways, to wrap it up, young children have a penchant for acclimatising themselves with new things by putting them in their mouths. So, as logic follows….crack out the finger paints.

Quagmire

2007-02-06T21:26:00.000+10:30

“The anesthetist will come and ask you a few questions, to ascertain certain facts. Kind of like a hangman working on your noose actually.”

Despite these cheery words of parental encouragement upon arriving at the hospital, the removal of all four wisdom teeth was not as daunting as expected. I guess the horror stories are false…or at the least, exaggerated.

Then again, the prospect of surgery pales in comparison to the thought of spending many hours in: The Waiting Room.

Paperwork completed, and parents gone, it was time to once again call upon the stored knowledge of proper Waiting Room etiquette.

First of all, ascertain that you are, in fact in a Waiting room. If it doesn’t have a line of chairs (usually against a wall), a TV tuned to a channel that no-one has the slightest interest in watching or stacks of magazines, some with recipes subtly removed, then further probing into the etiquette file will not be required.

If it is a waiting room, and you have the luck of being the only one occupying it, then Congratulations! You have your pick of seats. However, if there are others, you had better have your mathematical-problem-solving hat on, because there’s an unspoken rule that you have to sit at least and equal distance away from every person in the room. We can’t have strangers sitting next to each other now can we? Tough luck if the only seat fulfilling this criteria is situated next to the bin, is home to ABC gum, and (in a galaxy far, far) away from the Reader’s Digests.

Next comes reading material. It’s a fine balance. You could be called away at any time, and so you need to select something that isn’t going to bore you to tears, while at the same time, it cannot be interesting enough to cause you distress at the prospect of being separated from it, mere moments before you can get to the end of that article about Jack Nicholson and his experiences filming “The Departed.”

Always be careful not to look at other people in the room. If you happen to notice that they are holding a magazine that looks oh-so-much-more-interesting than the one you happen to be perusing, the jealousy really can drive you over the edge, and before you know it, you snap out of daze to find that you’ve been watching Hi-5 for the last half hour…

Finally, when it does come to Exit Time, move at a normal speed. DO NOT speed away with the air of an escapee – this breach of etiquette could cause a chain reaction and an ultimate break-down Waiting Room Behaviour, the results of which could be disastrous! People sitting next to each other, magazine snatching…basically chaos could ensue…

Ah well, I’m getting off the main point, which is that I got ice cream, and it was good.

Puzzles Can Be Morbid

2007-01-14T21:22:00.000+10:30

I came accross this puzzle today (in a puzzle book surprisingly) and thought that it was fun:

Four suspects - Jack Vicious, Sid Shifty, Alf Muggins and Jim Pouncer - are being interviewed at the scene of a murder. Each of the suspects is asked a question. Their answers are as follows:

Jack Vicious: "Sid Shifty committed the murder."
Sid Shifty: "Jim Pouncer committed the murder."
Alf Muggins: "I didn't commit the murder."
Jim Pouncer: "Sid Shifty is lying."

Only one of the four answers is the truth. Who committed the murder?

Guitar Twang Dre-ea-ea-ea-eam, Dream Dream Dre-eam...

2007-01-06T12:35:00.000+10:30

“Riding in Cars with Boys” made itself into a part of the week the other night, and so now as always in the aftermath, I have The Everly Brother’s “All I have to do is Dream” sailing around my head in all its 60s, innocent, lilting goodness.

On one hand, it is giving “Crying in the Rain” a bit of a rest, but on the other, it reinforces the fact that there seems to be a special segment of my brain permanently set aside for Everly Brother’s songs for whatever reason.

Anyways, in the movie was a quote that went something along the lines “life is made up of four or five significant days that shape the rest of your life” (that’s not verbatim but meh). However I disagree.

Going back about a week or whatnot, the channel 10 broadcasting executives, or whoever it is who makes these decisions decide to screen something else in the place of “Riding in Cars with Boys”. “The Shawshank Redemption”, a Michael Palin documentary….the “My Little Pony” movie. Whatever.

This results in:
a) An exodus away from screens Australia-wide?
b) Migration to another channel?
c) “My Little Pony” quotes for the next week and a half?

Whatever the options, if we view the past week alongside this alternate past week, they’ll be different. On the first level, people who had originally watched the movie would have spent their evening doing something else – watching another movie (creative), updating their stamp album…writing Christmas thank you letters. This would ultimately impact upon the rest of the week, whether that be conversations about a movie that otherwise wouldn’t have been screened, additional time to do other things, as schedule’s would have been reshuffled…and “All I have to do is Dream” (well probably) wouldn’t be stuck in my head.

Maybe it could even affect what you dream about, which in turn affects the mood you wake up in (though it’s difficult to put your finger on what kind of mindset dreaming about school croquet camp puts you in…).

Then on the second level, each of these small changes bring about further small changes, which in turn create even more small changes…causing the dominoes in your affect to fall in an entirely different direction than they otherwise would have.

…go too deeply into this and one could end up getting psychotic about how what they choose to put on their toast will end up affecting what career they follow.

But now they're axing the OC. Think how that'll wreak havoc upon the future of mankind. No really.

Anyways…Happy New Year!!!

Our Tannenbaum Fell Over

2006-12-23T14:05:00.000+10:30

Christmas. ‘Tis a time to be jolly, hang holly, but most importantly…celebrate folly, what with all the random behaviour that suddenly becomes the height of normality in amongst all the frantic, frazzled, frenzy that is: Preperation.

To begin with, everywhere starts to crawl with Santa’s; tall ones, short ones, believable ones, ones with beards apparently sprouting from beneath their chins, or above their noses…even reclining, grumpy ones, watching the cricket in the basement of Harris Scarfe…is it not a bit confusing for small, small children?

Also, a mystifying (and somewhat mildly terrifying) phenomenon begins to occur more and more frequently…

Wild Shoes begin to appear at random along otherwise normally wholesome, shoe-free streets. (I’m not making this up – in the last three days, two, single shoes have appeared along Colley Terrace. One, a wedge, and the other a boot…a male and a female…Shock! Scandal!) By nature, The Shoe is a sociable and yet monogamous creature – it’s with its sole mate from creation, and generally they remain paired for life. So what is it about December that makes some shoes break away from the conditioning of generations, leave their partners behind, and their owners hopping mad (in the most literal sense) and act upon a most unseemly desire to hang out in the gutter…all alone?!?

…or are they?

It’s a Christmas tragedy.

However, alas, the festive season strangeness does not end here. People too, experience a shift in behaviour, and decide that language is a thing for all other times of the year, and begin to communicate through grunts – or silence.

Setting: Shoe store
Scene: Man is craning in a desperate, yet attempted subtle manner at the shoe rack that I’m standing directly in front of.
Me: [knocks over shoe while putting one back] “Whoops”
Man: “Ngh.” [craning continues]
*long, drawn out, crane-filled pause*
Me: [finally]“Do you want to swap places?”
Man: …
*pause* [continues to crane]

I think this language breakdown in the lead up to Christmas is due to the “Law of Conservation of Communication,” which hypothesises there can be only so much communication and sound transfer happening at any one time in the world. December rolls around, and with it comes carollers, cajoling us all with their confusing tales of “These Three Kings” (who for years I thought were from a place called ‘Orientarr’) and extremely alliterative Hark-Happy Heralds. The point being, what with all this extra vocabulary being bandied about, it reduces the amount of words the rest of us are able to use (because, like energy, obviously there is a set amount of speaking and noise-making in the world, which can neither be created nor destroyed)
Hmm…it’s a strange time. But, nonetheless:

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! (for Monday)

Tyrannosaurus Rex

2006-12-08T19:16:00.000+10:30

What does one do with oneself once the hurdle-esque hurdle of exams is leaped and bounded over?

Well, for total hardcores like me, the first thing is to very aggressively and teenager-ly stack your schoolbooks in neat piles in the guest bedroom!

From there just came delinquent activity after delinquent activity (cast of extras bursts into a rousing chorus from “Gee Officer Krupke”) Schoolies was a flurry of junk food, jump street, random spinning around in circles and…singing High School Musical?

There's also really good grasstastic fun to be had :p ("Well they are blades")

But anyways, with school being over (well almost), what better way to nostalgic up your life than with a bit of quality room cleanage? Within minutes I had re-located my Favourite Fantastic Fun-Time Yo-Yo, where fun ensued. Opening my cupboard and peering right up the back, something tall, shiny and clompy was found to be lurking…with fear in my heart, and horrifyingly clear realisation in my mind, the worst was confirmed. Platform Shoes. Several inches high. And I used to wear them out!!!

…they still fit too.

Happy minutes were spent in serious contemplation about whether or not to put up an old Spice Girls poster, before realising that it might be too strange for words…so for now we’re sticking with X-Men 2.

Best of all though, was rediscovering my 6 inch stack of speech cards…where I found a Year 9 speech on the topic “The invention we most need.”

After rambling for about a minute about Holographic DVD players, Voice operated pens and teleportation devices, and how they’d all eventually break down (most spectacularly the teleportation device – ”…well, it could malfunction and you’d end up with a bunch of atoms floating into the abyss.”) it somehow made its way to how much living forever would suck, and so the invention we’d need most it something to keep us the same forever (go train of logic) …but that would suck because: “If you can’t die, you don’t need food. If you can’t get sick, you don’t need doctors. If there’s nothing left to find out, you don’t need scientists, and if you live forever, you can do everything you ever wanted to. But then what are you going to do when your life’s played out and you’re still living it?”

Well there’s one way to end on a positive note :p

Due to recent events however, my view has changed a bit – the invention we need most is something that stops toilet paper running out…because nothing says ‘tension’ like a family all accusing each other of using up all the Sorbent.

Anyways, starting to ramble a bit (though this is better than starting to Rambo a bit, otherwise I’d be Sylvester Stallone, which would be very not very normal), so I’ll end with the following moving words (yay double meaning):

Soaring! Flying! Running! Climbing!

What's On Your Radio?

2006-11-15T13:55:00.000+10:30

Elton John began it. Sort of. Waaay back in the 80s when some of us weren’t even toddling about, due to our severe lack of existence, he’d already noticed and drawn attention to the fact that “Sad Songs Say So Much” (in an extremely alliteratively magnificent way too). The Living End seems to have taken note of it too.

With the advent of ipods and all those other personal music devices that Microsoft Word doesn’t passively aggressively put as “misspelled” with an angry red squiggle line under it, we can now be around music of our choosing virtually twenty-four hour a day if we so wish. This shift away from shared to private music listenage, though somewhat subtle, has happened extraordinarily rapidly.

In 2000, Glenelg-Seymour bus travel meant 107.1 SAFM blaring from a black cassette/radio player which had its very own seat. Within weeks, newbies would be well equipt to handle high pressure radiodical situations; swinging towards the hills, the station would cease working, giving the nearest person mere seconds to switch to the other SAFM frequency before the passengers started suffering music-and-inane-breakfast-show withdrawal symptoms.

Time passed, and with it came a new bus, with new, inbuilt radio (with a penchant for Nova) and, ever so sneakily: Discmans. Albeit, for choice you did need to bring the bulk of your CD collection, but the difference was now you didn’t need to share, or depend on what everyone else was listening to.

Now we have MP3 players and other headphonated devices. Now I am by no means saying that this is a bad thing; merely that it is heralding a shift that inevitably will, or indeed is already affecting our society, again, not necessarily in a bad way.

Simply, now if we need to escape from people, places, or even our own thoughts, its easy to retreat into a world where you hear nothing but the voice of someone, who chances are, you’ve never met speaking words that seem so relevant to what you’re feeling, whether that be happy, sad or confused.

I realise this isn’t a new thing. Maybe back in his day, when feeling a bit down, 18th Century Teenage boy indulged himself in a bit of ‘Marriage of Figaro’ to cheer up. There’s so much variety of music around, that no matter what’s going on, there will always be one that’s lyrics speak to you as if talking about your own life, day or problems. This is what the Elton John thing was about – sad songs say so much. As do happy songs, and random “Numa Numa” type songs (albeit in Romanian for that particular case).

Music is important, and not merely for entertainment. They have it in movies almost constantly to heighten what you’re seeing on screen, as it is extremely emotive. Even before the silver screen, music played a lead role in plays, stage-shows, circuses – almost every form of entertainment imaginable.

Now however, we are almost elbow deep in it. You hear something you like, not only can you immediately “acquire” it (and about twenty other songs by the same artist) you can listen to it straight away on your computer, copy it onto your music player and take it with you wherever you go; something not possible when all we had was CDs and Cassettes – unless of course you fancied toting a disc wallet around. It’s gotten too easy.

I’m not entirely clear on what my point is exactly. It’s not like “oooh! Watch out for that Billy Idol – he’s a bad influence talking into your ear all the time about “White Weddings” or that Eskimo Joe’s going to convince us all that the only cool girls are those with “Black Fingernails, Red Wine”…or something like that. Nor that Robbie Williams is telling us all to release “the hooligan half of me who steals from Woolworths.” (yes, that is one of his lyrics…)

The girl on the bus who’s at a loss at what to do because her ipod’s run out of battery, or the hooded boy charging through Rundle Mall not hearing the people around him…maybe I’m just slightly unsettled by the possibility that our generation could be the first to completely rely on self-therapy and become increasingly detached, because now we can be alone in a group, if we so choose. Already, what percentage of conversations we all have involve actual voices and talking, and isn’t all text and emoticons?

But, like I said, it’s just a possibility; things could go entirely the other way. Whatever the case, it’s not something that’s going to (or needs to) change anytime soon.

I mean, this whole thing was written while I was logged into msn, with music playing resoundingly loudly in the foreground :-p

Charmed Life

2006-11-12T16:54:00.000+10:30

I always wondered what happened to the rest of the world when Piper from ‘Charmed’ froze a big city block full of people. Were the boundaries of freezedness, something like 100 square metres of frozen goodness, beyond which lay people hovering around the edges wondering why their friend had ceased moving mid-coffee sip? Or did the whole world freeze, thus making all the non-frozen people age, while the space-time continuum was ripped to shreds, as no time passes while the world is frozen, and yet The Charmed Ones could go about their daily business in what in actuality is no-time?

Bringing this back on topic, what I’m trying to say is that these few fun filled weeks of examinationy goodness feels a bit like that, where Year 12s as a group are The Charmed Ones, and everyone else is either frozen or evil.

Civilians, and civilian activities grind to a halt as we are stuck in lock-down, scrying for knowledge. Thunder thunders and lightning lightens; the downpour of rain pours downwards. Or, sometimes diagonally. Just general ominous-ness ensues. Escape is possible through slumber…that is if you want to escape into dark, frightening dreams. About camping. And driving Jeeps. And wearing Wellington boots due to the high muddability factor. Of camping.

From here the ominysity of it all disintegrates. Sleep is banish-ed (said in a Shakespearean way) to tomorrow, as the haunting words “Yo tell me what you want, what you really really want, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want” resonate around the room. Downstairs is stumbled upon, outside is looked at, whereupon the discovery is made…Rock and Roll festival. Complete with skirt swishedness galore (I may have written about this last year, or at least the suspicious aftermath, where there was a frighteningly organised looking convergence of orange bins left in the wake of those who roll rocks in the musical sense.)

Anyways, the analogy continues, as, like in Charmed, we only leave the house to fight evil. Or do exams. Whichever.

Which is what I’m going to be doing tomorrow, so I must dash.

/.

There. All good.

Fascinating…for years what I thought was “A boh shu kuh! Mmmmhhhmmm” turned out to be “Come on sugar, Mmmmhhhmmm”…or "I'm all shook up, Mmmmhhhmmm"...I really have no idea. yay Elvis.

Red Green Blue Violet

2006-11-06T20:54:00.000+10:30

Today many Year 12s took the metaphorical plunge into Exam Week. Not me though. I had to be literal.

With phone in hand, messagerial intentions at heart, and eyes apparently left somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere, the last two stairs were wrongly written off as negligible and I found myself, somewhat over-exuberantly saying good morning to the carpet.

Now armed with two grazed knees (one carpet-burned and the other brick-burned), a fruit smoothie, a bottle of water, a mug of tea, and 2.5 cm (or 0.025 in correct units) worth of Physics textbook, the day was supposedly getting back on track, and steering away from loopiness like a electron away from the positive plate (hey, I said nothing about staying away from minor nerdiness).

After a swiss cheese hour, the holes being calls from Myer, the arrival of registered mail, and more tea gettage, my mind was happily losing its grasp on normality, so that when I put my hands behind my head and felt two random bumps at the base of my skull that hurt when pressed, the logical conclusion was a valiant escape attempt by my brain.

…anyways, I’m losing focus because the BEST scene in Beauty and the Beast’s coming up (No one fights like Gaston – have always been fascinated by him eating 3 dozen eggles complete with shells! ) so I’ll conclude, in a coherent, and very predictable way:

Gaston looks like the Scorpion King.

PG - "Phrasing Genius"

2006-11-03T21:06:00.000+10:30

Shield your eyes! Block your ears! Wrap yourself in cotton wool! If you haven’t got a parent or suitable adult near you, find one now!

This is the kind of commotion a PG rating should inspire, but, alas, it seems that we are all becoming somewhat apathetic towards this would-be intimidating warning. Now, it’s not all the “Mild Coarse Language” that should be of concern (though ‘damn’ and 'blimey’ should be avoided at all costs.) No, indeed it isn’t even the ‘Medium Level Violence’ (The G rated Tom and Jerry anyone?). Nor is it the -dare I say it- ‘Sexual References’ (which, is kind of a sexual reference in itself, AND is printed on the front of the box)…no, we need to be protected from the real enemy…films containing ‘Supernatural Themes,’ ‘Sensuality,’ and ‘Teen Dating’. (not a joke – “The Sleepover" [which I certainly didn’t watch] was seriously rated PG because it contained Teen Dating and Sensuality…far worse than when the protagonist hid in the shower perving on a guy getting unchanged then stealing his boxer shorts…)

How DARE they fill our minds with such filth? It is time that we cracked down on films promoting such extraordinarily terrible ideals. Here’s the really disturbing part though; some films in this category are even rated G!!!

Some offenders are as follows:

Cinderella: This young, teenage girl, with the help of a Supernatural being (claiming to be her ‘Fairy Godmother’) deliberately disobeys the wishes of her parental figure and struts into a royal Ball, where Teen Dating ensues…not only this, she enjoys singing, and talking to mice, thinking that they talk back to her (indicating possible drug use).

The Little Mermaid: She’s a teenage mermaid. She dates a PRINCE. She gads about with talking sea creatures. Her worst enemy is half octopus, half purple. She is passionate about the out-of-sea world. Supernatural, Teen Dating and Sensuality. Despicable.

Winnie the Pooh: They’re all a bunch of playroom toys come to life. Supernatural. They do however get a tick in their box from refraining from teenage dating and sensuality, so children might possibly be allowed to watch this one…provided they sit in a big, empty room afterwards to counteract any boosts in imagination and/or mental stimulation.

Hmm, anyways, I don’t have time to start on Pocahontas or Noddy. Yes, I get that ratings are important…maybe they just need to phrase things better.

The Real LOTR FOTR...according to Year 8s.

2006-10-29T20:06:00.000+10:30

Aragorn: “OMG Elrond has such a boring voice!”
Gandalf: “That elf sitting behind me’s giving me funny looks…I hope he’s not getting ‘ideas’…”
Legolas: “…and then maybe I could get a perm and then a manicure…what! I’d look awful with a perm! Maybe I could dye it black…nah, I’d look like a Goth. Hey wait. I could be a Goth! Black clothes…no. Wouldn’t work on me…maybe I could suggest it to Gandalf. He really needs some fashion tips. Never Fear! Legolas is here!”
Boromir: “Stupid ring, stupid hobbits, stupid elf, stupid wizard, stupid wannabe king, stupid dwarf with stupid beard, stupid me, stupid Gondor…wait a second…Good Me! Good Gondor! Yeah! We Rule! What was I talking about?”
Sam: “I don’t like the way that Elrond is looking at Frodo. If he tries anything I’ll kill him.”
Frodo: “What have I done. WHAT HAVE I DONE! I should really drink less coffee. He He He, HA Ha Ha! Hee Hee Hee.”
Merry: “Frodo! What are you doing! Shut up, Elrond will hear you. Stop it. Hee Hee! I love coffee.”
Pippin: “ Am I the only sane one here who’s sane?!? Who’s providing all this coffee anyway?”
Gimli: BEARD! I think that I should shampoo my BEARD. My BEARD is so good. I love my BEARD! Maybe if I join this fellowship, others can admire my BEARD! Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Come on my BEARD! Let’s go!
Pippin whispers to Merry: I can read minds. I think we should stay away from Gimli. He’s crazy.

...Well that was a fine example of Year 8 humour, complete with original punctuation, and classic, well thought out lines such as “Am I the only sane one here who’s sane?!?”

Anyways, I think a group of us wrote it for Chantal’s goodbye book back in the midst of Lord of the Rings mania…and Orlando Bloom fever (note the length of Legolas’s entry :p) Ah well, just as well we all turned out so normal…

and cool.

Severe Lack of Montage

2006-10-22T17:04:00.000+09:30

My revision timetable has been drawn up, and in accordance with an inherent need to narrate my life, complete with voice over and background music, I am now listening to “Under Pressure” (The original David Bowie and Queen version as The Computer has decided it will not cooperate with The Used and My Chemical Romance’s efforts…ah well). It’s just like living in a movie. Speaking of which, I could really do with one of those exam montages…where they have shots of the protagonist sitting at his/her desk, staring avidly down at their books, heartily scribbling away in a notebook, as the camera moves along and fades, and POW! They’re wearing different clothes because *shock* it’s a different day! It would certainly speed things up.

Anyways, on another kind of related note, tomorrow we embark upon what is our last week of actual schooling goodness, before plunging into SWOT Vac and then…that time after SWOT Vac. However, what better way to distract oneself than by having a good, old fashioned attack of massive pedantic-ness, which, on close inspection probably makes no logical sense, and is in fact, not relevant to anything ever.

Nonetheless…how would you define being in a particular year level? Does Year 12 begin on the first of January, and end on the 31st of December? Or, is it linked with the school terms, beginning when term one does? This being the case, when you are on holidays are you still in Year 12, as you are not physically at school, being in the generally accepted “Year 12 environment”? Probably, as you’re still doing work in that time. But then, we have to define work. Is it when you’re learning new stuff? Because then if so, does Year 12 end Friday next week, thus making “Year 12 Exams” actually “Random-In-Limbo-People Exams” as we will only be going over old stuff from that point onwards? Hmm…I’m rambled out.

Unable to think of an appropriate segue, I’ll just say it: randomly one night in the holidays there was a whole lot of shouting, revving and general loudness coming from outside. Upon peering out the windows, it was revealed that, having spent some quality yelling time at the building diagonally opposite from us, a man on a motorbike had taken it upon himself to pull along to the one side of the roundabout, put on his breaks, and simultaneously accelerate, the result of which being a massive cloud of whathadtobetoxic cloudness…what the?

So…to totally further confuse proceedings, my background music is now “Mr Blue Sky” by ELO…you just have to love songs that start with a brief weather report (that’s with the exception of “It’s Raining Men”, which leaves…just “Mr Blue Sky”)

Good luck everyone!

Shopping

2006-10-08T22:11:00.000+09:30

Individuality hinges upon expressing yourself through means different to those of everyone else. However, it is impossible to do so entirely exclusively, as we all have to have some things in common with others, therefore, maybe individuality is merely a person’s unique combination of the people, things and influences in their surrounding environment.

...which is what makes shopping centres so fascinating. Stocked with identical item after identical item, so many people go to them, and then come away with random assortments of stuff. Yesterday was one such experience, in the almost futile quest for summer clothes (which I'll totally get to wear so much before exams...) Each shop has it's own image, or "fashion sense", which can have mixed results for different people. One store in particular seemed to have gone crazy with the "bubble" look. Bubble dresses do work sometimes, but it takes a very particular kind of body type to pull off the bubble top - otherwise it makes thin people look thicker, and everyone else look elaphantine (a word I discovered while trying to bulk out my Year 4 "Personal Spelling List"...)

Tops are getting longer and longer, so that they would be indistinguishable from dresses, but for the fact that that...nope, drawing a blank. That's not all for tops now though, becuase it seems that alongside the stripe invasion (which is actually kindof cool) comes STAR ATTACK! Not suggesting that it's bad or detrimental in anyway (yes, detrimental. As in it melts your skin or something if you choose to wear stars...) just interesting. Personally, I'm holding out for the day that everyone's wearing Dr Who tops...

The shopping experience itself is wildly varied for different people, or even for yourself depending on your age. Usually over life, shopping goes from: Interesting, frustrating, fun, boooooring, fun, terrifying, ESSENTIAL, boring, fun, shmeh...or something like that. Have to admit though, it's good that now I'm a bit older, to be able to walk past or *whispered* into the bra section of a shop and fight the residual 11-year-old-inner-self's overwhelming urge to flee.

Anyways, the random drawing at the top was a procrastination device where I was trying to sum up (in a somewhat weird way) what all the study this year feels like to me...sortof.

"The Night Watch" should be in a glass cabinet

Boiled Toast

2006-10-05T12:46:00.000+09:30

Today I am absent minded. What is it about holidays and the sudden freedom from sporadic lack of bells and random mysterious common room smells that has the ability to turn one’s brain into mush?

I’ve said before (though in a rather vague and waffly way) that life is stranger than anything they could possibly get away with in a film. It’s odd to think that we’d have the need to suspend disbelief at all ever. Considering the stuff that we encounter in our day to day lives that sometimes are just so out there, fairies, 4-foot high “One Ring” wielders and scientifically-named-dogs-travelling-through-time-and-space-in-a-specially-adapted-Delorian seem fairly mild. (No exaggeration whatsoever… )

So what does this mean exactly? That the world actually is as it’s portrayed in the Matrix, that we’re all plugged into vats with computer programs beaming “real life” directly into our minds? Maybe there’s a tear in the fabric of reality that’s letting the absurd slowly trickle through? Or maybe it means that the combination of Year 12 and Holidays has brought out the extremely rare and unusual condition: Reverse Sleep Deprivation.

That’s right. After month after month of having less than the minimum amount of sleep required to keep an adequate grip on reality and sanity, the holidays have come about, and all of a sudden: 11 Hours! A Night! The problem (ooh, they’re playing “Rock the Casbah” on the radio now…you all really needed to know that) now is, we’d already adapted…maybe even evolved to be able to cope, and now it’s “being thrown for a loop” time.

Now it looks like I’ve broken into two, separate and yet equally confusing threads (wow, that sounded a bit Law and Order-y): “Life is weird” and “Help! I’m un-sleep deprived!” but they are linked somewhat. The symptoms of RSD (strangely similar to regular SD actually) include absent-mindedness, such as (in a totally general sense of course) going to the fridge to get eggs to boil, and coming away with a loaf of bread instead, random blurting…that’s my excuse anyway…and the tendency to accept strange occurrences as normality…such as the filming of Bollywood movies in the middle of Rundle Mall – which is what links the threads! (Though somewhat weakly and dubiously I’ll admit)

Anyways, again I’m getting (just wrote “gitting”…what an interesting concept. “To become increasingly more git-like”) convoluted (and also just had a brief typing interlude to answer the door buzzer, whereupon I dropped the receiver with loud, reverberating clunking noises and had to go downstairs in my HOT Phantom of the Opera t-shirt to collect a package for Mum) so I’ll stop and get back the homework...

Alphabetical Excerpt

2006-10-03T16:43:00.000+09:30

It’s the holidays. That’s right, we have now officially embarked upon 14 fun-filled days of “holi” in which we can work, “work”, eat noodles for brunch and watch Casper.

After a dubious trip into the city where the following was overheard “quick! The cops are coming! Let’s split up!” whereupon the group continued walking together, normal except for their panicked voices (?!?)…I have nothing to follow that up with.

Anyways, this is just a brief post to say: a) Watch Casper – it is actually so good b) YAY!!! c) The song in the Jericho ad is called “Light Surrounding You” …maybe should have just read the thing at the bottom of the screen…and finally: Happy Birthday Richard!

X-Men vs. Harry Potter

2006-09-26T22:17:00.000+09:30

It’s the ultimate week in the penultimate term of the ultimate year. Ultimate. Therefore, logically it is a time to ponder the meaning of all things, of matter, and of how all things are linked…especially Harry Potter and X-Men.

WARNING! Don’t read on if you have yet to read the Harry Potter books, and don’t want any surprises, i.e. the castle exploding and everyone turning into pineapples, to be spoilt.

First of all they are both set in exclusive schools for a minority group of people (of the non-muggle persuasion) who live there in secrecy and seclusion. The teachers of both schools belong to a special crime-fighting group; The X-Men and The Order of the Phoenix. Both schools are overseen by an Omnipotent-esque being – Xavier and Dumbledore. In the third X-Men Xavier dies, and Dumbledore supposedly dies in the sixth Harry Potter. 2 times 3 is six. Where does the 2 come from? Well, Dumbledore has a beard and Xavier doesn’t and so obviously that accounts for the doubledness (this is my logic in some maths tests…it seems to work)

By the way, in this comparison, Cyclops does not equal Sirius, even though they both have ambiguous deaths…mostly because Cyclops is massively annoying.

Also, I haven’t managed to slot Buckbeak in here anywhere yet…he can’t equal Beast.

Anyways, final comparison: Dumbledore’s pet is a Phoenix. Xavier’s favourite student is Jean Grey, who, when she becomes evil adopts the name….wait for it….Phoenix! *cough*

Now…randomly early sleep!

On Trial(s and Tri/(ju)bulation[s])

2006-09-18T15:52:00.000+09:30

Dust streamed between the keys, desperate to escape from the harsh sunlight now invading their long peaceful and dark haven. Years of refuge and safety, free from the unpredictable whims of long dead musicians, hands, one moment gently gliding across the surface, barely even touching, the next; harsh, angry – pounding away at the command of a little “f”. Piano? Forte? They could never make up their minds. But it was a life long left behind, keys left in peace, in silence. Exploited no more…until now.

Right, that counts as ‘practicing’ for Thursdays English narrative – and thus this most definitely (Oh no! Had to correct that because I spelt it wrong again!) is not procrastination. I am however going to have tea in a minute, which most certainly is. I also managed to watch ‘Saved’ on Saturday too…ah well. Not a big deal, it only leads to a few personality disorders.

That’s what happens in trial exam week I guess. The above italicised ramble was somewhat inspired by yesterday’s attempted try for relaxation. Yes, piano-for-the-first-time-in-about-five-months was an extremely good plan to boost self esteem and study motivation. Piece after piece would end the same way: starting alright, the mind would think “I still got this!” followed by “Well that was terrible grammar and sentence structure,” which preceded “It’s not like you said it out loud or anything”, which came before “Yeah, but that’s not the point” then “I need to go to the book store…is it time for me to start reading autobiographies of politicians rather than the latest Charlie Bone book?”…by which stage the first half of the song, having gotten progressively worse over the past minute, would taper off to a point, whereupon a new song would be selected and the ordeal would begin once more.

Maybe going for a walk would be a better option.

If walking was implemented as a warrior on the front lines of STRESS WARS! (Time out for scrolling, long winded text about stressful political situations in galaxy’s far, far away) you’d probably need to have a shower, or at least a good scrub first, due to the strange phenomena where ink from highlighters, ballpoints an biros come together as one and teleport out of their respective tubes, and conveniently relocate themselves all over your hands and arms!!! This is particularly handy (no pun intended) when making notes, because then you can then proceed to make helpful colourful smudges all over the place.

Anyways, I have to get back to the rapturous joy that is: Physicstudy! (it’s time that it became one word)

Pointing in the wrong direction >>>

Pretty In Pink

2006-09-13T18:43:00.000+09:30

Wow, the past 24 hours were possibly almost better than when your playlist is on random, and yet the next chronological song comes on anyway!!! (Note: that’s a good thing…it somehow appeals to the inherent rebellious “defying authority and laws of randonymity” gene…or some nerd mutation of it)

To begin with, The Hypothetical Little Man (THLM) who spent the period of time from Monday night to late Tuesday afternoon sitting in my mind and prodding my eye from behind incessantly seems to have moved on to bigger and better things (I shudder to think what exactly) THLM only seems to make his presence known when I’m databaseing, and now that the assignment has been handed up, *que inspirational bagpipe music* fingers crossed that he’s gone for good.

After a personal best (yes, it adds up; I counted :p) and a mildly disturbing episode of Home and Away (why Drew, why???) I managed to get adequate sleep! (almost as difficult to achieve as spotting stripy penguin monsters) ((That reminds me: ‘Doctor! Doctor! I keep seeing purple monsters with orange spots!’ ‘Have you seen a Psychiatrist?’ ‘No…just purple monsters with orange spots.’)

On waking up, it turned out to be Wednesday; TV GUIDE DAY!!! Yay-not-having-to-watch-every-episode-of-Neighbours-to-know-what’s-happening! However, I didn’t have a chance to read it in between diving from bed to uniform to bag to kitchen to lift-shaft to bus…but there was no last minute necessary homework do-edness, so constructive time was passed looking out the window and listening to miscellaneous music.

Turns out it was a 50% day – 3 less lessons lessens the stress. Quality ‘sitting on couch’ plans were cleverly thwarted by the video guy, who was holding interviews in the common room, which was entertaining, and resulted in the rest of the day being chock a block full (weird phrase – chocolate blocks are no more full than other things…in fact possibly less so, with all the air cracks between the individual pieces that still take up a significant amount of packaging space) of ‘oh, it’s like that time when…’ which is always fun, and usually ends up with everyone collapsing in laughter about things such as ‘evil heartburn-inducing fruitboxes’. (Sorry!)

Having been ‘de-linked’ from the year 9s, (and I was going to show them how to fold flappy birds and everything…) fun times of wacky extreme SATAC-ing ensued, before a riveting bus trip [neutral-non-chocolate-related] full of sleeping, unfocussed gazing and explaining the ever-fascinating concept of ‘n’, the variable that isn’t x.

…and to top it off: Fish and Chips for dinner!

It turns out the Elton John cut out a whole verse of ‘Daniel’…that’s why it doesn’t make sense!

Stationary Pinboards Gather Much Moss

2006-09-07T22:23:00.000+09:30

Today being Thursday, and year 12 being a year of “looking to the future” (I don’t think I’m actually quoting anyone there), logic follows that today I should talk about yesterday…what a seriously exciting sentence.

Wednesday began in a mildly disturbing way – by eagerly leaping out of bed in the normal manner (…) only to find myself confronted Ron Moss gazing all Bold-and-Annoyingly (yes, what a mature phrase) out at me from my very own pinboard…it’s an invasion, I tell you. Removing the picture serves no purpose, because on returning from school, he had seemingly cloned himself, and I had double the sulky sultry Moss-men peering down from the wall … when will the madness end?!?

In between watching my pinboard becoming slowly covered in Moss, came attending that “Wackily Wonderful School-Like School” place where we all go. However, on this particular Wednesday, Attending the WWSLS place meant not attending…at least for two of the six lessons…

Dressed in an awesome mishmash of hybrid PE and ‘Normal’ clothes, it was time to yet again embark upon “that time of the fortnight,” in which an entire 100 minutes is spent contemplating the true meaning of life, pondering about the passive aggressive nature of motorists, and enjoying the fascinating and exciting view…of my hands. Thrilling. (for an extra fun detail, my left hand had the word “Letter” written on it…made for suspenseful reading).

Yay bike riding.

However, on the plus side, I am now three for three in the toppling-off-my-bike count. The weird thing is how it only seems to be when I’m in a big group of my peers that my severe unco-ness decides to rear it’s extremely, non-embarassed head…pulling over to the curb should be so easy…so why was it twenty centimetres further away than expected?

Ah well, at least it was raining :)

Flags!

2006-08-27T16:25:00.001+09:30

If my maths exercise book had any more flags in it, it would probably be eligible for the “Super Patriot of the Year” award. However, that aside, I’d just like to ask, is “for a full on day of full on fun” a phrase from an old ad for magic mountain, Puzzle Park or Greenhills? It’s something that’s been driving me insane for the last five minutes.

Anyways, after establishing very clearly that we should all move to California (California!) for Just Another Day in Paradise where Everybody Hurts, so Save Me! because I’m a Terrible Person, and should Stop! right now, and be Forever Young, before becoming a Prisoner of Society, but I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing, so When the Sun Goes Down I’ll find A Horse With No Name and travel under the Moonlight Shadow and search for The Holy Grail. Nah, that’ll never happen…because I’m no Superman :P

…hmm, got a bit carried away there. To rephrase that ramble: I’ve been listening to music. It really does help with the homework. Anyways, it’s been an interesting weekend. (and by weekend I mean the period of time beginning the second you leave the school grounds)

Starting by witnessing Hugh Jackman sing, dance, prance, and have his butt grabbed by random women, you would think that Saturday would be a bit of an anticlimax, but alas, no! Awaking bright an early at the chipper, morning person’s time of 11:43a.m, I thought it was going to be a quiet, slow paced day of homework and SATACing…that was before stumbling downstairs and finding myself amidst a raging, intense battle or epic proportions: Pluto; Planet or Dwarf – who has the right to decide?

15 minutes of “Read this Article!” “It’s purely from a human perspective!” “What about Pluto?” “Who’s to say it’s a rock?” “Who’s to say it isn’t?” “Pluto’s a dog!” later, we agreed to disagree (wow, I really don’t like the cliché-edness of that phrase) and the tension subsided, and then the homework and SATACing began.

The rest of Saturday was a riot of…[10 paragraphs omitted here. In summary: homework, msn, phone, eating, phone, Mighty Ducks! msn, sleep…] Also: thank you commas! Because otherwise I’d have been msning a phone which I later ate while watching Mighty Ducks….riiiight.

Sunday however, is the most exciting day of all. Not just because I watched Dr Who, ate pancakes, and did homework…I got new conditioner! Yay! Crisis averted! Door is closing! Woohoo!

…anyways, this is starting to turn into a fully fledged ramble of incoherent babble, so I’m going to stop now….no….now.

Wear the Fox Hat!

Miscellaneous

2006-08-21T18:58:00.000+09:30

It’s been a tough week, but for the fact that it’s only Monday, and nothing really tough has happened. Yes, the day has come. I have reached a blogging drought, and have nothing really to talk about…but that doesn’t stop me in my day-to-day life (as opposed to my week-by-week, year-by-year, nanosecond-by-nanosecond lives…) so why should here be any different? Which is why I’m going to forego the normal, long-winded-yet-highly-thrilling anecdote fest, and just go for a totally miscellaneous- yet-highly-thrilling anecdote fest of whatever comes to mind.

AGGGH! To Wednesday, a day of two tests menacingly circling around a double lesson of bike riding. It’s not so much the riding that poses a threat, so much as the sharp turning while going downhill, resulting in an unexpected-meeting-without-a-prior-appointment between me, the bike, and the unnecessarily solid ground…

Also, are Meredith and Derek ever going to get back together? (just typed Meredith and Addison…great.) Wow, if suspense could kill…except it can’t, because that would be personifying a (how do you describe suspense? Is it a feeling? Apprehension is a feeling…isn’t it? Well, suspense is a feeling now…could have said feeling a couple more times in that little ramble) feeling, which of course is impossible…for now.

Speaking of concerns, omg SATAC!!! It could be more confusing, but for that to happen, it would need to be in a different language. That, or the guide would need to be written on rye bread. Mmm…ensuing confusion to engulf the current confusion…

On a different note, I don’t think my conditioner’s going to last until we next go to the supermarket! Oh no! Not superficial in the least! But, as a wise person once told me that another wise person told her, “Shampoo opens the door, and conditioner closes it.”

Another question; is anyone else slightly out of kilter because of how the sixth Harry Potter book is thinner than the fifth, and thus breaks the getting ever thicker pattern that’s lasted five volumes? It’s fun to be pedantic :)

Anyways, off to dinner now.

“Add a drop of lavender to milk. Leave town with an orange, and pretend you’re laughing at it.” – ‘Little Book of Calm’ + punch in the face

Scott Joplin + Tram Walk = ...Super Mario?

2006-08-19T00:26:00.000+09:30

Having just brushed my teeth within the Protection of Tooth Enamel Safety Restrictions timeline, I’d like to take a moment to make an observation about which I’m absolutely certain many others before me have pondered in depth.

Making the long, arduous journey either from my house to the tram, or from the tram to my house is always fun filled and riveting. Whether it be non-ticket-having “drunkenly-stoned shouty guy”, or random people who sit next to you even when every other seat is empty, then insist upon using your phone, there’s always something interesting going on that you have to struggle to hear while simultaneously maintaining the façade of indifference and nonchalance.

However, tonight the usually phenomenal excitement that is: “The Tram Journey” was dwarfed, by the new and improved: “Walk From Tram to Building.”

Now, you wouldn’t think that too much could happen in less than 5 minutes, but from the second the tram was vacated, the fun began. With n-pod in one ear the epic 150 metre, Lord of the Rings-esque journey began, by me nearly taking out “running man with takeaway”. It was once again a case of the “move-out-of-the-way-only-to-find-they-have-done-likewise” phenomenon, which I wrote about last year. After what felt like about five years of trying to get out of his way, we finally broke free and progressed onto where each of us was actually trying to go.

Moving onto the Colley Reserve path, “having issues with parking meter” man and either “joking or hurling abuse while in cars” people were passed. Suddenly, the hardcore plinkings of Scott Joplin came on, and everything changed.

…well not really. I just wanted to sound dramatic. Nonetheless, it did inspire the random feeling of being in a game of Super Mario. Seriously try it sometime. With the background music there, it would not have come as a huge shock to see frightening evil spotted mushrooms heading in my general direction, with the only way to save myself being to jump either on them, causing them to go “fleep!!!” and dissolve into nothingness, or jump over them and continue moving on in safety.

Skirting around trees, hedges and assorted bottles and litter, without being attacked by mushrooms or mutant bug things, the remainder of the journey was relatively uneventful. Nearing home, “walking normally and not doing anything interesting or unusual to comment on” man and the familiar pillar of smart cars came into sight, and there the fascinating wonderfulness of being Mario ended…

…still wondering why Ghost of the Robot want(ed) to be David Letterman.

Spice Up Your Life

2006-08-12T21:57:00.000+09:30

We’ve been through ‘The Year Play School Became Un-cool’, Teletubbies – The must have accessory for any self respecting nine year old (wow I really hated that phase), the six months of “omg Leonardo DiCaprio is sooo dreamy, the oh-so-mature-and-witty ‘Pen 15’ and the endless joys of carpets and static electricity. It’s a good thing that the Spice Girls were around, because otherwise we would never have realised that what we really really really wanted was a “zing-a-zing AH!” Been there, done that, bought the bracelet/showbag/VHS tape of ‘Spiceworld – The Movie’. (actually I didn’t get the movie…is it sad that I wish I did?)

The discoveries continued with finding out how totally awesome and fashionable it is to wear matching floral print trousers and tops to a disco (after which many fun hours could be whittled away by shouting in each others ears because “it really isn’t that loud.”) And what better way is there to spend fifty minutes worth of lunchtime than trading stickers/bits of coloured paper/millipedes?

…and I’m sure that by now we ALL know who “Bugsy” is. Or what “I was born on a pirate ship” sounds like when spoken out loud. Ditto spelling out “I Cup.”

But at least by the end of it, we all came out better, well-adjusted people…or so we thought.

Year 11. We were at the top of our game. Serious conversations. Exams. Homework do-edness. Listening to mature, non twelve-year-old-target-audience music. Not falling asleep on the school bus…

So what is it about Year 12 that has a superior dorkifying effect on those going through it?

The year’s trickling away, and with it went the anti-dorkyness barriers that had taken years of quashing and repression to build up. Barely noticeable at first, I didn’t even really start to notice until this week. Maybe I should have twigged when I turned up on day one with Narnia and Spiderman maths exercise books…

After a few weeks of coming home on Friday to watch “H2O – Just add water” a program about teenage mermaids, and responding to arguments with “so’s your face.” (which I might add is totally legitimate…watch Scrubs. JD proves it) it was not until I found myself doing my English application while listening to “Wannabee” that the true extent of what shall now be known as “Twelvenoiditis” finally hit…

Wow I hope it’s not just me.

Superman

2006-08-06T19:32:00.000+09:30

My computer keeps making freaky whoosh noises, which make me think its either going to implode, or take off back to its home planet.

That aside, I was actually trying to talk about something…which I have now forgotten. Well done concentration span and memory capacity, another tick in the “You Are Fantastic!” column.

Hmm…so, it’s been an awesome weekend. Well, everything except the homework. (wow, that sounded oh-so-very OC what with the starting things with “so”…how irrelevant) which in fact, I should probably be doing…ah well.

Actually, what I wanted to write about was the fascinating, extremely interesting concept that is: the afternoon nap. ( Warning: anecdote ahead) In prep, it was actually a lesson where the whole class would go to their cubby holes, and get out a specially brought from home blanket and pillow, find a place on the floor, carefully spread out, and then nap time would ensue, as exciting fun music would play in the background. It’s here that I’m going to confess that not once in the years that we did this did I actually go to sleep. It wasn’t from lack of trying. In fact, I was extremely jealous of those who could sleep, to the extent that I’d pretend, just to feel like part of the group (ooh, three year old peer pressure) ((also, I accidentally typed “froup”)) (((which could almost lead me to say: “Floop is a MADMAN! Help Us! Save Us!!!” but not quite…))) ((((This many brackets should probably be illegal)))) In the end to quell the monotony of forty minutes of not-sleep, poor old slush (my pig shaped pillow :p) ended up being defluffenated. Alternatively: I’d pass the time by pulling out some of cotton stuffing. Now he’s only half the pig he used to be.

Anyways, skipping forward a few years, the naps ceased, and work (wrote “wok”…it seems to be catching) increased…go rhyming! All of a sudden, you find yourself waking up on the bus, having been rudely awoken by an inconsiderate window making its presence known to the side of your head.

Maybe we’ve all got this round the wrong way. Should it, in fact be, the year 12s with the teddy bear blankets and soothing Old McDonald music?

Probably not. But still, it’d be good.

“I feel sullied and unusual” - Johnny Depp, Pirates of The Caribbean, Dead Man’s Chest

Life's Fun When You're Having Fun

2006-07-26T21:08:00.000+09:30

“… and then they made me their chief.” It worked for Johnny Depp, so, unable to think of an adequate opening, why shouldn’t I launch into a paragraph mid-sentence? Well, grammer maybe…actually, no! Hey, because it’s a quote I can start midway through a sentence all I want :D Wow, life’s fun when you’re having fun.

So anyways, today was the UMAT, and so brace yourselves – here comes a rambling blow-by-blow account:

I could begin by asking you to cast your minds back, back to last night, but that would be wrong for two reasons:
1) I’m not beginning, because this paragraph is preceeded by two others, and,
2) It would be casting your minds back to your memories, which I could not possibly describe. Why? Two reasons:
a. Though I may have been there for some of it….

Right, that could go on forever, I’m starting again…well, by starting, I mean starting that paragraph again…but wait, that’s wrong, because if I was starting that paragraph again, I would have deleted it, and actually literally started it again. So by starting, I actually mean…

Ok. NEW paragraph. Last night was a flurry of flurriedness, as last minute practice-exam-doing was being done, my phone was kept under extremely careful surveillance as we tried to answer the all important, Shakespeare-esque question: “To Uniform or not to Uniform?” That [was] the question :P (Or, my personal favourite Spike Milligan poem: “Said Hamlet to Ophelia, I’ll draw a sketch of thee. What kind of pencil shall I use? 2B or not 2B?”)

“The OC” was half watched, before scurrying (just try scurrying…it’s difficult) off to bed. After turning 45, 90, 60, -45, 45+90 degrees, and still managing to not be comfortable, sleep was finally achieved, and sustained, until the polyphonic-ised “Ride of the Valkyries” infiltrated my brain (but hey, it’s better than my alarm clock being what my phone calls “Groove” but which could better be described as “plonkety dirge”) After about fifteen minutes of pure faffing about, bread was transmogrified into toast, smeared with jam, then eatensoquickthatIendedupfinishingitinthecar.

We Smallvilled (that’s traveling while listening to the “Smallville” soundtrack) our way to the showgrounds, where I was one of the first few to arrive. Highlights of the wait included the doors being locked, so fellow UMATees were literally left out in the cold, until about ten minutes later, when we were sent to join them. It’s amazing how many people out of about a thousand you actually know or recognize.

After a surprisingly non-scary bottleneck, we were issued with a seat number, and ushered into the BIGGEST ROOM EVER!!! (That’s right, no other room in the history of MAN has EVER been the same size) Having filled in all the correct ovals, and marveled at the magnificent orangeness, It Began. Then stopped. “Can I please have your attention. Question 8: 1998 Forest Fires. I repeat. 1998 Forest Fires.” It was confusing. Other than that, it all went like clockwork (though I mean that in its intended context, its still a silly phrase. How many clocks are fast or slow and showing the wrong time?)

But anyway, overall its’ been a good day, not least because: DR WHO WAS ON THE FRONT COVER OF THE 7 DAYS LIFTOUT!!!

Gibber English

2006-07-21T15:59:00.000+09:30

What does one do with themselves without the structure of school to lead you by the hand through the day? You could pass the time constructively, doing homework, or UMAT practice. (certainly not by watching the entire season 3 of Scrubs in less than three days…) You could tidy your room, or… improve your Gibber-English vocabulary!
Take for example:

sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
i is good at the english
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
i learn him from a book
That's texbook enigmatic says:
he is a naughty language. Not liking the spik.
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
my dog likes to purple! does yours paper?
That's texbook enigmatic says:
the turtles! the turtles! The lady has the cloth!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the shoe to hit the clock!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
my brothers scarf, it goes beneath the head!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
my brothers hand sock to wear the book!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
No, no, the vase it polished the soot!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
but the soot is my family photo!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
it goes in the mantlepiece, next to the pine!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the papercut lies in the water!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
which is yellowed by the monkey basket!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the monkey basket!! get the table!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
the father has seen the nest!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the birds see the card!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
The card which is the card of my uncle's aunt!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
she is the telephone!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
the grandfather is behind the shell!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the clock is towards the cellar!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
she wants the eel of Christmas!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
not the eel! he is my chopstick!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
it lives beneath the bowl!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
but the cd! the cd!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
it calls my brother in the night!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the bracelet is on the scissors!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
the monkey laughs and the paper it white!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the man in the clock! he wear seven ribbon!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
his shoes the steamer tie!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
*stReamer
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the streamer sees the battery!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
it lights the sky with the fish
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the horse eats the fish's nose's eyes
That's texbook enigmatic says:
while purple, he is the cat
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
but my dog purples!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
he itches without the ear!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the ticket the ear's seven!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
he closes the trapdoor! Pickles!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
pickles!! get the charging bull!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
he reads the word heavily!
sez ;; capital letters are overrated says:
the teeths run the pen!
That's texbook enigmatic says:
if only he carary oftener!

Embrace Gibber-English! The language of The Future!!!

Yes, definitely going with sleep deprived :P

The All-New-and-Improved Neighbours!

2006-07-06T18:41:00.000+09:30

Once you find yourself treading in the dangerous “Once-Upon-A-Tree-Lived-Some-Pineapples-Who-Didn’t-Like-People territory, you know that you’ve been playing bus travelling games for too long.

…I’m sorry. The previous statement had nothing to do with anything. Personally I blame “Erasure.”

It’s the “Penultimate Day” of Term Two, which means one thing, and one thing only…ASSIGNMENTS! So, taking that into careful consideration, I’m going to catch the fastest tangent-bus away, and concentrate on television.

In a week of heartfelt whinging at t.v’s expense, I feel thoroughly left out, and so would like to put forward the following suggested improvement:

Neighbours. Where is the reality? Boyd is doing a medical degree, and yet is never at university, and instead has spent the last two weeks “gadding about.” It’s time that Neighbours took a leaf out of the 24 book, and started filming in real time. This is most definitely what the Australian public wants, and so I have taken the liberty of preparing the following excerpt from:

“The All-New-and-Improved Neighbours!!!”

[Fades in from Black, to The Opening Credits. Simon and Garfunkle’s “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” plays on loop in the background, while the screen displays various black and white pictures of flowerpots. After ten minutes, this fades out to black. Tense music is playing in the background while the screen remains dark, when it fades to reveal…]

Boyd sitting at a desk, angle-poise lamp trained on a GIANT textbook, while he quietly makes notes in green pen. The camera angle does not change, and there is no sound, except for the incessant dripping of a tap, which gets increasingly louder. After 5 minutes of this…

Boyd: I feel I can stand this dripping no longer!

He walks out of shot. There is three minutes of pure, textbook filled screen, while in the background the sound of an epic battle between man and tap can be heard. Finally the dripping stops, and Boyd re-enters the frame, now wearing a different shirt. This is not explained.

Boyd: Ah! Now. Back to the study!

The scene continues much in this way, including memorable moments such as: “Boyd highlights a paragraph about the lumbar system,” “Car playing Doof Doof music drives past the window,” “Max brings Boyd a glass of Water,” and finally, the episode's cliffhanger: “Oh where has my mechanical pencil gone?”

What do you think? Give the public what they want!

Hmm…or maybe I’m sleep deprived.

Technological Rebellion

2006-07-03T18:22:00.000+09:30

I don’t understand my computer’s newfound disdain for me. Not only is it an assassin of conversation, it is an avid supported of the Windows Blue Screen of Death, the dreaded hue appearing at regular intervals, proclaiming the occurrence of some random “Fatal Error” known only by an illuminating name such as: “F110942HK00”.

It’s not as though it is mistreated, or acting out in a pre-teen (it’s only six years old) rebellion. Does it have it’s own space? Yes! Does it get regular attention? Yes! Does it get weekly, time consuming anti-virus scans? Yes!

So what is causing this rift, nay void that’s ever increasing in size? Acting out, it won’t go to sleep when I tell it to, and as a result, takes ages to get going the next day.

…it must be in cahoots with “The Bag.”

Gallivanting

2006-06-24T18:46:00.000+09:30

If you try to type while listening to “California”, you’ll soon discover that the only sentence your mind is able to process is “If you try to type while listening to ‘California’, you’ll soon discover that the only sentence your mind is able to process is ‘If you try to type while listening to “California”…etc.

Really long story short: It’s Difficult. So what does that mean? Headphones and studying = not such a great idea.

Yes, it’s time for Installment Number Three of the week that is: Exam. Sleep deprived and mildly grumpy, we enter week nine of this term, ready for another rip-roaring five days of Rexvor Namralos (gibberish for “I can’t think of an adjective”).

The days leading up are fully filled with frantic frenzies of study, intense neurological abuse and lack of sleep. By the time you emerge, your BIOS (Basic Input Output System) will be completely equipped with (what should be) accrued knowledge in all matters spectrum, hopefully having not gone off on a tangent during study time.

[Omit 73 pages of confused, subject-related rambling here]

So before wading back into my schoolbag, I just want to note some unlikely similarities between petrol and sleep in year 12:

· The year progresses, and they both become less affordable.
· They are both a form of fuel.
· You can run on empty for a few days, but it will really mess with your mechanics.
· You can only have a specific amount of either. To much or two little is bad

“I don’t gallivant! I’ve never gallivanted. I don’t know how to vant! I don’t even have a galli!” – Page 280, Terry Pratchett’s “THUD!”

CHASE!

2006-06-16T12:07:00.000+09:30

I am typing in this space,
Words that rhyme…
"Ace," "lace," "face"?
Would this poem be better,
Had I used "race"?
I could talk of cars,
Could’ve been a better base,
But I did not,
So in any case,
I’ll confuse them all,
By calling it: “CHASE!”

I'm in a random mood...

Numbers

2006-06-06T20:06:00.000+09:30

"So, I guess today's, like, the apocalypse." It's Tuesday, and also 6/6/06, so it seems fitting to start with an "OC-esque" opening line. [ This would then be followed by about 10 seconds worth of awkward eye contact, then multiple shots of surfers and sunshine, possibly with some version of "had a bad day", or something of that persuasion playing in the background, before cutting to the opening credits ]

But back to the point of the numerical significance of today. It being the "Devil's Day" and all, it seems surprisingly devoid of horses, let alone dark hooded skeletal figures (which is oddly very Lord of the Rings...) bathed in fire appearing in a line accross the sky...not that I'm complaining. I tried to find out what's supposed to actually be happening today, and sources vastly differ, from the Apocalypse, revelation of the antichrist (one source believes theres one in every generation which makes today completely obselete, thus making their own article void, because why are they writing about a day which, according to them, makes no difference?) to the beginning of 7 years of tribulation. Some say that the devil's number isn't 666 at all, and that it is merely a misinterpretation of a reference to the "Evil Emperor Nero" and that in other publications it appears as 616. Others have worked out "bible coding" which allows them to convert the names of famous leaders in history, including past presidents and popes, into 666.

In any case, I don't really understand it. So instead I'll go off on an extremely different direction and ask a question that's been on my mind for a while:

So, do you think the person with the mobile number: 0445683968 knows that it spells "04 I love you"?

"Fud wi Colb's"

2006-06-03T14:56:00.000+09:30

It’s a lot of “fud” when “soft and gentle” tissues become equivalent to “Super Strength Sandpaper,” butter menthols are consumed by the square metre, your stomach muscles are strengthened by random bouts of coughing (which, oddly enough, seem to always happen the second after you’ve said “I’m Fine.”) and you wake up saying “There was a bird in my room…I opened the window and it wouldn’t leave until the Pedal Prix Parents were at the front door!” (…as you do?!?)

Colds: an exercise in modern pointlessness. They wouldn’t be nearly as irritating as they are if they served some kind of useful function in society. Maybe if they strengthened your immune system? But no, there are HUNDREDS of cold varieties, so the only thing you become immune to is the particular cold that has sunk its tissued claws into you this time.

They begin innocently enough. A slight twinge at the back of your throat, small enough to give you the impression that a sip of water will soon sort that out. However, slowly it begins to grow, until you find yourself grimacing as you talk. Soon you find yourself quite unable to say “rhodedendrums” without different parts of your face moving to create fascinating images of “embarrassing-grimace-pain.”

Next comes the nose problems. Having come home and consumed about a swimming pool’s worth of liquid, you find that you need to blow your nose. Here’s where things start to get strange. You blow your nose once; and you start to feel worse!!! It’s as though the more you blow, the more clogged your nose, until you find yourself seriously contemplating the “She’s The Man” solution… (just for the record, I didn’t. )

By that time you’ re feeling and looking utterly decrepit (or at least like Rudolph the red nosed koala) and you’ve coughed so much, you’re actually bored of the sound, like a really crappy song you’ve heard over and over again. (mostly because its all one pitch, except for occasional double layers of bass…)

But in the end, what can you do to make yourself feel better? (and this time the answer’s not “Soap Rant!”. Let me explain with an example:

From a Monty Python Sketch:
[A Man holding a bird cage walks into a pet shop, where another man is ducking behind the counter looking for something:]
Man with Cage: “Excuse me! Miss? Miss!”
[man continues looking behind counter]
Man with Cage: “Miss? MISS!”
[owner pops up]
Owner: “What do you mean ‘Miss’?”
[Man with cage looks at him for a moment]
Man with Cage: [pause] “Oh I’m sorry, I have a cold.”

Say and do random things! Then BLAME THE COLD!!! (maybe that doesn’t make sense…oh well, I have a cold :P )

I hope you all watched Chaser’s!

Soap Rant

2006-05-21T18:23:00.000+09:30

When brain-ache’s come knocking at your forehead, and you wake up to find that your throat has been mysteriously sandpapered in the night, how does one cheer themselves up?

( Note: Not with generous servings of Specialist Maths questions)

No, the way to cheer yourselves up is with a good, old fashioned Soap Rant! What’s that? Well, for everyone who hasn’t experienced one, I’ll transcribe one as follows:

Cast your mind back to when the formal had just finished, with tornado-proof hair, and ouchy-feet, something to look forward to was a loooong shower. Now, pretty much anyone who’s seen Psycho is already a bit on edge when embarking upon a mission of cleansing, so any sudden shocks can tip you over the edge of your nerve limit.

Anyways, this was my mind-frame on that Sunday – this was my mind-frame when I discovered that the tranquility scented soap, wasn’t as tranquil as it proclaimed to be!

Standing calmly, trying not to shampoo your eye – reach out for the glint of purple at the corner of your vision only to discover….

FREAKY SOAP FACE!!!

...ok, a bit random I know, but I'm SLEEPY!

Squash Asparagus

2006-05-10T20:37:00.000+09:30

What’s the definition of a “good time”? This could be a deep and meaningful, philosophical question - it could be rhetorical. Or, it could be straightforward.

This question that has plagued us (well, maybe not so much…hands up whoever’s had loooong sleepless nights of pondering “The True Meaning of Fun”?) *cough* finally has an answer!

…and truly, who though it would involve red frogs with protruding hearts/legs, ritual group animal-print balloon sacrifice, kiwi stamped napkins (serviettes?), flower shaped butter, “being attacked by sharks,” eating cake with improvised tongs, the pitter patter of painful feet, flaunting it “what your mamma gave you”, doing U-turns on dark roads while “bussing it”, flower-fueled head-banging, staring down the barrel of a camera, discovering the monarch of all things pancake, the lies, deception and subterfuge of the Non-Wedge, and an accidental subscription to a year’s worth of rain?

The 2006 Black Watch Formal is GO!

I was surprised to discover this actually, as a person who ardently despises being in photos, can’t dance, and who could actually win an Oscar for comedy merely by tottering around in high heels, my expectations were not Apollo high...(The Einstein Factor teaches me new things)

That’ll teach me for having a negative attitude…It all comes down to relaxation in the end (but not tranquility…more on that another day) Careful though…if you’re too off guard, you’ll find yourself revealing the finer facts of your past… Take this from having learnt the hard way: you might think that everyone stockpiled butter packets in case of earthquakes when they were young…but you’d be wrong :P All in all, what I'm trying to say is: WOOT!

So unable to think of a way to adequately finish this off, lets get into some serious mathematics:

Calmness = Good Photos (bar some, where the dubious face may need to be implemented - _ -
Cake + Fork + Spoon = Much Confusion
Table + Lollies = Endless Fun
Table – Lollies = Ended Fun
Hair + Hedge/Wall/Hanging Light = Zany Highjinks and Tangles :)
Asparagus = Leftovers
5 x 3 = 15

Hope everyone had an AWESOME Saturday!!!

Unexpected Scrutiny

2006-05-01T22:35:00.000+09:30

It was one day, when I was sitting in the car, that the realisation finally hit me. For my whole life, until that point, the thought had never really crossed my mind, or if it had, it had been of so little significance, that I had cast it aside before really going into the depths of it. The fact is, you are not, as previously thought, in your own, relatively private world, shaded behind the surrounding glass: you can be seen, by everybody and anybody… you are horribly exposed to the outside world.

Now maybe this doesn’t sound that remarkable. I mean, obviously, people can see you, it’s not as though I used to think that, the moment you hopped into the car, you assimilated yourself into a world of invisibility, where, behind the tinted windows, you could do as you liked. But, there was always a sense, that when you’re in your car, you’re not as apparent to the outside world, as you are when, say, you’re walking down Rundle Mall wearing a jumper of which you are dubious about the nature of its social acceptability…(or, looking as though you have just emerged from spending the last week of your life living in a puddle, as I did this morning…quote of the day: ((little girl talking to her dad, and pointing at me)) “look at that lady’s hair ”) It was just the sudden shock of realising, you are just as visible when you are coasting along the road, as when you are out walking.

The same thing applies when you’re a pedestrian. You don’t think anyone’s watching you as prance about, swinging bags, or stacking it over a loose piece of pavement, because they’re just cars whizzing by, not people…

How wrong we were. Anyways, that thought weirded me out, so I thought I’d share.

To put a Harry Potter spin on the matter:
“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

The Real Monopoly

2006-04-20T00:34:00.000+09:30

Have you ever walked down a street only to find yourself being sucked inside a building and having money demanded from you by a card wielding property owner?

Monopoly - Teaching us how to function in the real world.

It’s the educational board game that teaches you real life values, and how to handle yourself in the property market. If you play your cards right (literally) you can become a multi-thousandanaire by the end of three hours, and have driven your whole family into bankruptcy or debt.

Conversely, the player who started on a roll (of the lucky dice persuasion) could be holding you and your friends to such a high ransom, that you quake with fear every time you see yourself rounding a corner heavy in enemy houses…

Just. Like. Real. Life.

…or not.

But what would life be like if it really was reflective of a good ‘ol game of Monoppers?

So we’ve covered the whole being suckedbysuperhumanforcesintoahouse side of things, lets get into the whole going to jail aspect.

It’s a nice day, and one is happily walking along when: WHOA! Teleportation Device!!! Suddenly they find themselves trapped in a square prison, diagonally opposite from where they were. But hey, its all good because they can easily get out by either paying $50 worth of bail, or having three cracks at displaying mean feats of luck-having. It’s all good.

They’re out again, and ready to get back to toddling down the street. But HALT! You have to throw a dice to see how many plots of land you can pass! 7 Houses later, “oh good! One of the only three other people who can potentially purchase land in this neighbourhood has neglected to buy this particular property!” Quickly whip out your wallet and take out a percentage of your total of $1500 and pay the bank (which is conveniently located within arms reach) and immediately receive the title of the house.

You wait for the other people to move, then again throw the dice. “CRAP!” you find yourself standing on a giant question mark/hat which tells you that it is necessary for you to pay $100 to everyone else within eyesight for some random reason. Pay up, or you’ll be kicked off the street and into oblivion.

Next move, you find yourself receiving $200 merely for walking around in a complete circle…can’t keep if for long however, because you find that you’ve landed in the tax office, which immediately demands that you pay them for having the sheer AUDACITY to step within ten metres of their building. There goes that windfall…

And then the whole cycle begins again, with the two/three/four/five/six of you circling the block over and over and over again, until finally one of you is rolling in money, whilst the others are frantically searching for things to mortgage, despite being sound in the knowledge that they will never be out of debt for long enough to purchase extensions for their suckinginrenters properties…

Ah well, though maybe not so realistic its definitely an interesting concept.

…and a very fun game!:P

“Do you want to know what my handicap is?” “Yeah! Bowling!” - “21 Jump Street”

Down with Doors!

2006-04-04T19:36:00.000+09:30

As the dominant species on earth we have evolved with intelligence, (which, interestingly I just misspelt…twice) intellect and most importantly, independence, the ability to do things for ourselves…or at least we like to think so.

You’re walking along. It isn't really important where. The only matter of significance is that at the end of the walk, you are aiming to find yourself within a building/shop/classroom (because, like, classrooms and shops aren’t classified as buildings…) Your target comes into sight, the door is only seven steps away and….

Here we take a brief interlude. See, at this point, we are still the picture perfect image of what a dominant species should be. We have the motivation , the willpower and the arm strength to just step forward, and open the door. It is here that society begins to unravel.

…out of nowhere comes someone else, heading towards the same building!!! You’re still about 3.78 metres away, so they get there first and casually swing the door open. That’s where it happens. Something inherent in your mind snaps. You just have to get to the door before it closes.

90 degrees, 70 degrees, 45 degrees…it swings closer and closer to the doorframe. Lurching forward, you get to it just the final inch disappears. Feeling victorious, you swing the door wide open and strut indoors; the hero of the hour.

But what happens if you don’t get there in time? In floods come the depression, the anger, the angst. Second guessing yourself, wondering why, why you couldn’t get there just a nanosecond earlier…

Why do we care so much? If only that other person had not stepped in, there wouldn’t have been an issue. We are all perfectly capable of opening a door.

Maybe it has something to do with the same impulse that powers people to drive across 70 metres of car park to put their rubbish in the dumpster…

So, we have so many books, movies, poems etc. about the inherent flaw within mankind, and the tragic “human condition.” All exploring in excruciating detail, what we are doing to bring about our own downfall, never offering solutions, just doom, gloom, sadness and sorrow, all reasons why there’ll be badness tomorrow...

Did they ever just think to get rid of all doors?

Oh, and this is a good site…if you can catch it :P

http://www.hanttula.com/exhibits/freakyfood/index.htm

Flamingos are Overrated

2006-03-19T18:12:00.000+10:30

Thundering along as though friction was something for the weak of heart, Red forces the yellow behind the pin with a gentle-yet-menacing “flpff,” to a position which would take even a skilled player at least two shots to recover from. Through the deafening silence a British Accent seizes the opportunity to interject… ”Jolly good shot!” it says, and with that, the entire process begins again.

Yes, the day has come. Where once it was the celebrated stomping ground of a Flamingo-wielding Queen with a penchant for abusing hedgehogs and beheading personified cards, Croquet has become: the new “it” teenage sport.

Now, although some have foregone their opportunity to stare Alice in Wonderland in the face and say “you’re using the wrong mallet,” 20+ year 12 students have relished the opportunity to hit coloured spheres through tiny archways using only a very, very large gavel (or was that mallet?) and their extremely superior tactical skills.

Now “stalk it, STALK IT” have joined the ranks of “cool” and “like” (a word that “isn’t even slang, it just doesn’t make sense” – Dad) in the exclusive literary marvel that is: teenage vocabulary.

Not only does it enrich your language, Croquet is also therapeutic. In games such as football, (which was SO good!) rugby or soccer, aggression is not only obvious, but can also be penalised. However, in Croquet, it is actually tactical. Knocking someone else’s ball out of the way gives you another shot…”oops, knocked it too far…didn’t mean to!” It’s passive aggressive heaven!

It’s a game in which you don’t need to: run, jump over things (though there are a few “wayward” balls that can suddenly come hurtling in your direction…again with the passive aggressive :P ) be attached to another person by means of skipping rope, fall off a bike, or even walk long distances. Yet, at the same time, it is good for improving hand eye coordination, “social skills”, and frustration management (a new and improved form of “anger management”) when everyone else is standing around the pin, ball in hand, watching in amusement as your ball bounces off the archway, and somehow, defying physics, shoots off at 45 degrees towards the next field…good times.

So for all of you wondering, what is high on a teenage mind’s priority list? Formal dresses? Hasn’t even begun to enter into common room conversations. Parties or going out? Not with all the exciting study there is to do. Television or movies? Well, yes. But really, at the moment only one word is tantamount to understanding the teenage psyche, and that is: “flpff.”

Decisions Decisions

2006-02-27T21:40:00.000+10:30

Whoever said that you become more decisive the older you get? (Actually, I don’t think anyone said it, but it did make for a more dramatic and forceful opening…I hope) Decisiveness, or lack there of. Why is it so difficult to make decisions?

Having just completed a Physics Practical which took a large chunk of the weekend, and several dollars off my subjective goodwill assets (gotta love accounting) through my many, many questions, it has now been shown that the experiment proves absolutely nothing.

So after an introduction that is worse than “Australia’s Brainiest…” jokes (and maybe even some of those quips “Biggest Loser” hosts come out with) what is the point?

The experiment. The whole point: find a linear function to show that period is directly proportional to radius, and show whether it is positive or negative. Fair enough. Pretty straight forward. At least, if you’re not in the group which managed to produce a Quadratic!!! Yes, that’s right. Logic goes straight out the window, because our results simultaneously support and disprove the hypothesis. The future of science is in good hands.

However, if you look at this result from a different angle, it is a fantastic representation of what has been an ever-increasing problem: indecisiveness.

Gone are the days when you could straight out answer “what is your favourite colour?” What once was “blue!’ has now become “it depends on what day it is,” or “what accessories can I match to it?”

Breakfast: it used to be YoGo, but with age comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes choices. Hot or cold? Yoghurt or Toast? (cereal doesn’t come into it) Peanut Butter or Nutulla? Nearly having a nervous breakdown going over pros and cons of various toppings the day of a big test? This is the reward for becoming “maturing young adults.”

I think the problem now is that we’re too informed. Life used to be black and white. Everything had one answer, and one alone. But now? It’s no longer the toss of a coin, or even the roll of a dice. Hey, we’d be lucky if it were a three dimensional do-decahedron shaped thingy… Too Many Options! Too Many Factors to Take into Consideration!!

Yoghurt is quick to eat (unless you forget a spoon) but can leave you in the weird state between full and bleugggh. Hot or cold depends on the weather outside. Peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth, and Nutella had lots of sugar…but really it comes down to how much time you have to brush your teeth before you leap down the lift shaft and into the bus.

But then after all the assessing and weighing, someone will ask you something, and there it is: The Rash Decision…

What else is there to say, but HELP!!!

The Jumpered Forest that is: Year 12

2006-02-13T19:58:00.000+10:30

Being thwarted by 20 cent pieces, eating Teevee snacks, talking about bananas, waving our arms “like we just don’t care,” reading Monty Python autobiographies (mostly aloud during “The News”, much to the delight of ones parents) and watching “Saved” twice in one weekend; not exactly the year 12 that has been dreaded for the past thirteen years.

The first week of “responsibility, reason and bridging the gap between adolescence and adulthood” has gone off remarkably unremarkably. Arriving on the first day to be swallowed up by the deep mysterious depths of the earth, or, if your prefer, going down that sacred last flight of steps to the year 12 common room, we discovered that we had at last been rewarded with the trophies of success, a token of maturity, a symbol for all that we had achieved by getting to this point …and this was: wooden lockers!

Standing proud at about 170 cm, with width of about 8 mm, these hollowed out, non metallic, anti magnetic, trees proved to us that the Inanimate Objects are still hard at work behind the scenes. However, having spent the holidays completing “The Dolphin Puzzle” it was a *cough* welcome *cough* new challenge to fit all the books, folders, articles of clothing and most importantly: lunch, into these fiendish devices. (its fun the way nothing fits, and yet there’s still about a 70 cm void of nothingness in which many things could go if it were possible to gather air particles densely enough to enable objects to stand upon them…or if a shelf was installed.

Once the last folder was stacked precariously on top of a text book and beneath my hat, it was at last time to properly begin the year! (on first typing, “y” was omitted, leaving us starting a new “ear.” Great…)

It was then (well, actually about 6 and a half hours later, but SHHHH!!!) that history was made, when, Shock! Surprise! Amazement! Year 12 Jumpers arrived: ON THE FIRST DAY!!!

…the power is ours!!!

It’s amazing how by merely putting on an article of clothing can change the world around you (though, I guess this shouldn’t come as a surprise, being a witness to the horror that stockings can bring about…) Eyes turn, footsteps hasten, then scuttle away into the opposite direction. Voices raise in pitch (and occasionally crack!) as: freshly jumpered Year 12s walk through their newly claimed school.

Funny how you can become so reliant on a symbol, because now I don’t feel like I’m anywhere near old enough to be in this year when I’m not wearing the jumper. Jumper on: it’s like being a planeteer (take a break to sing the Captain Planet theme…here, I’ll start you off: Captain Planet: he’s our hero, gonna take pollution down to zero…*mumble mumble...can't remember the rest* ) Jumper off: the regression begins. I have this theory that the more you take it off, the further down in year levels you go. Today we’re back in year 11…by next Tuesday, who knows?

What is to be done about this new dilemma? On the one hand, are we being mentally affected by “The Jumper Phenomenon?” On the other hand, if we are, what can we do about it, because they’re so fleecy and nice?!?! Ogh! (to make a newly learnt “Educating Rita” noise) Decisions, decisions!

Anyways, unable to think of a “proper” conclusion:

“Gosh, if a man on a length of wire, stark naked suddenly swung across the stage, what would happen?” – Michael Palin

Punching the Pantry

2006-02-01T21:09:00.000+10:30

Walking back home through today’s random downpour, whistling “Singing in the Rain” and enjoying the irony maybe just a little bit too much, it was then that the realisation that there is less than a week left of free days left until: The-year-that-was-always-so-far-away-and-which-signifies-sudden-and-horrible-almost-adulthood.

What does this year mean? More homework, less sleep? Arranging your regular television programs into priority order in a vain attempt to see what you can axe from your schedule? Tidying up, to the point where your paperclips are colour coded and arranged merrily in size order lined up across your desk? Listening to movies while staring at a book, because you’re still being constructive, and it doesn’t really count as “watching.”

…how are we going to survive?

Well, cool and not nerd-like as I am, I have compiled a list of…stuff. Anyways, I thought I’d share with you all for when the work gets too much, there’s always random things that don’t makes sense that can make you feel a whole load better.

Quotes
· [while proposing] “I have four words that will change our lives forever.”
“The cloud is accelerating!!!” – Fantastic Four
· In “Once More With Feeling” Giles says “She need’s back up” followed by “Anya, Tara.” For two years I thought this was “I need a guitar.” Heh, weird.
· “D*mn!” said Carrot, a difficult linguistic feat – “Guards! Guards!” Terry Pratchett
· “A drunk clown hurt me once” – Scrubs
· “That’s why I’m a cat” – crazy guy in “The Real Me”
· “Ahasuerus…I think that’s how he said his name. It sounded like a sneeze.” – “Homeward Bounders” – Diana Wynne Jones

Random Thoughts
· an average person hits the snooze button on their alarm clock three times in the morning. Therefore, if you decide to wake up bright and early and make the most of life, you are below average.
· If a person decides to study mathematics intently, and make the focus of their study null values, and the effects of zero, they could tell people that they “really know nothing.”
· Everyone in a tv program or comic book lives in an alternate universe in some sense, because the television program/book they’re from does not exist where they are. This is particularly weird if it’s something famous or influential. For example, in Smallville, that program would not be on for Clark, Lana, etc. to watch, and no one in that world would ever have read a Superman comic book, because it had never come into being there. Thus, songs like “Superman” by Lazlo Bane, and “Superman” by Five by Fighting (wow these singers are creative people) would not ever have been written, and this would in turn affect Scrubs, which would have a different theme song!

Anyways, add stuff to the super list to help and keep us sane!

Ryan = Seth...Mathematically proven!

2006-01-08T10:41:00.000+10:30

In the grand tradition of wholesome, all rounded and most of all constructive holiday activities, the past few weeks have been taken up by much intense DVD watching, which has led me to the following question then conclusion:

What do the following have in common: Smallville, The OC, and Buffy? (and no, that is not some subtle Black Books-esque comment) ((though they are all fabulous! :P ))

Now at first glance these shows may seem to have very little in common (with the possible exception of Buffy and Smallville, but all the same…) However, if you look at the first seasons of each show, you start to notice some remarkable similarities…leading to the conclusion that Smallville is like a combined version of OC and Buffy!

Look! I can even prove it mathematically!

Season 1 Smallville = Season 1 OC + Season 1 Buffy
Season 1 Smallville = Season 1 (OC + Buffy) < [factorising]
Therefore: Smallville = OC + Buffy [dividing both sides by Season 1]

See! It’s irrefutable!

But just in case the mathematics isn’t convincing enough, here’s a few dot points to support it.

· In the Smallville episode “Stray” the Kents temporarily adopt a kid called Ryan (who, as another point, cooks them breakfast. )

· Smallville (as in the place, not the show) = Hellmouth – It’s just like on Buffy where the place they live is built on a foundation of Kryponite/hell and all the people living there (usually classmates) who are affected, have strange powers and for one reason or another become evil.

· Clark = Seth in the way that they both are in love with a girl at school who’s heaps more popular than them, and when they finally get the girl to like them, end up not being able to go out with them, for reasons of Anna or sudden-discovery-of-major-alien-responsibilities-and-have-to-move-to-metropolis-temporarily…also Clark, Seth, Summer and Lana all have dark hair…though that’s stretching it a bit.

· Buffy and Smallville also each have a gang of teenagers who are equivalent to the Scooby gang (in fact in both shows, they make reference to this)

· Smallville and OC both have the adopted son coming into the perfect family. (though this screws up the maths a bit because in this example Clark = Ryan, but previously we proved that Clark = Seth, therefore Clark = Ryan = Seth, which means that Ryan = Seth which doesn’t make sense…)

· Finally they all have the sports teams who rule the school (though this seems to be the case in most American Teen Programs.) More specifically episodes in both Season 1 Buffy and Smallville, they have the Swim team and football team consecutively, who are being made to play better by evil coaches, both by way of: Sauna. In Buffy, the coach puts something in the steam which turns the swimmers into strange sea demons, and in Smallville, the coach puts meteor rocks in the steam bucket and turns himself into strange fire person...

…and that’s only some of the similarities.

So, whoever said that maths wasn’t useful or fun?

I’d like to withdraw some socks!

The Supermarket vs. Christmas

2005-12-27T21:21:00.000+10:30

It is now almost as far away from Christmas as we can possibly be (other than actual Christmas or Boxing day, but who needs specifics?) and thus spells the end of what is both a fascinating, and intriguing ritual - Grocery Shopping .

Christmas is a time where time runs both fast and slow, a logic which is so warped, that if you followed it, theoretically this should cancel out, but it doesn’t! It begins when the shops crack out the Santa decorations in October, while all the organised people are dutifully getting their present shopping out of the way well in advance. (Statistics show that these account for about 0.00273 of our population) Then follows a forty-five day lull, known as November and Firsthalfofdecember, when almost simultaneously, the World wakes up, and as one makes their way to the stores.

All of a sudden one finds themselves amidst a supermarket (possibly where they applied for a job but didn’t get it. Grrr.) while the world and his wife mill about trying to decide whether or not they can find it in themselves to consume half a turkey.

This week instead of hand-picking beans one by one, you’re hand-picking cherries, while out of the corner of you can see a lady with much handbag giving you the evil eye, the whole time which she is edging ever closer. Little do you know, she is but a decoy! Just when you’re off your guard, “bang!”* her husbands hand reaches across and starts shoveling cherries across, looking sideways at you, subtly, yet firmly letting you know that this is their turf now.

Knowing when a cause is lost, it is time to make a move. Walking away from the hand-bag-lady’s triumphant sneer, in an attempt to locate your parents from within the throng, suddenly “whoosh!”**a twelve year old wannabe surfer cuts across you with his trolley, while his younger brother looks on with ardent admiration. (Why do these people always have a younger brother? It seems to go with the territory.) Then they just stare at you until you leave.

Having survived a few more such encounters, it is time to check out. Look around, all is good – every single que is relatively short, and it seems as though it will be at most a two minute wait before you can start loading onto the conveyor belt (which I think personally would be more interesting if they were mobius strips. Groceries traveling along, groceries being squashed - and around they all go again…anyway…)

Crap! We’ve forgotten something! As you stand and wait until one of the party returns with the missing article, suddenly EVERYONE in the store simultaneously concludes their shopping, and lines up. Good ‘ol Murphy’s Law.

It is only then that you realise that being-a-good-environmentalist bags have been left at home. D*mn.

Ah well. I guess its all worth it in the name of Christmas!

*because that’s totally the noise a hand makes while moving through air.
**I’m just enjoying being inaccurately onomatopoeic now.

All Tied Up

2005-12-18T14:04:00.000+10:30

Shoelaces are all the rage; not as in they are popular, but because they induce anger, anger, ANGER!

From the wide spectrum of shoelace consistencies and textures, only a very narrow few have the right shape and friction to be able to stay tied for a period longer than half an hour. The fun irony of this however is that these particular laces are the most susceptible to becoming frayed at the ends, rendering those little round plastic things at the end completely and utterly useless.

As for all other kinds of shoelaces…why they’ve survived so long is a mystery. Not only do they refuse to fulfil their one, solitary task of keeping your shoes on your feet, they also go out of their way to maximise embarrassment, and minimise movement.

Tie them in single, double triple knots, and it still won’t make a difference. From the moment they are intertwined, they begin to plot ways to make themselves (and you) become unravelled. Personally I think that they have springs hidden deep within their seemingly fabric exteriors.

What’s more, they take time to tie and untie, every single time when you wear them! In the end you leave them tied in quadruple knots, and just slip them on and off, which eventually makes the back of the shoe smushy, and much in need of a polish. Fabulous.

So why do we still use them?!? There are endless alternatives: the slip on, the gladiator boot, the buckle, wrapping ribbon around your leg, velcro!!! In the end, once more, and like almost every other killer article of clothing, it’s all about looks.

So yet again, it seems we’ll suffer through another pain of clothing in a desperate attempt to cling to an archaic view of fashion, leaving us loosely bound to both the past, and our shoes. Despite having been proven to be ineffective, shoelaces are still retained because “It wouldn’t have lasted if it didn’t have its benefits.” Ever stop to think that this exact utterance may have been used already for generations upon generations of socked trippers? It’s “traditional,” a useful word for preserving useless things,

They’re classic, their classy, they remind you of Mr Darcy (well not really; he wears boots) ((but it rhymed!)) Shoelaces!!!

"It's them, Gentlemen"

2005-12-09T18:51:00.000+10:30

Post exam madness has resulted in the frequency reduction of “Rainy Days.” Gradually cutting down, I am standing strong at only 5 listenings per day, and, proud to say, am now listening to the “Take That, Greatest Hits” album. Yes, heaps cool.

One day into freedom, and there we all were, partaking in an industrious feat of engineering. After 45 minutes had elapsed, all hope for building an adequate “tower of strength” had been abandoned, and we had reassigned ourselves the more important task of adorning our personages with stickers. ( Note: always look at yourself in the mirror before going out, lest you suffer the same fate as some of us; walking down Jetty Rd to post a letter and wander happily around a library, becoming increasingly unsettled by the number of strange glances being thrown in said hypothetical person’s direction.)

However, this is all irrelevant, because what greater way is there to celebrate the end of weeks of incessant prodding of ones brain, than by a nice washing of car (and in my case, forehead)

It’s interesting though, despite the fact that there are oodles (a highly abused word, cruelly forced in the modern era to hide behind an “n” and thus making it synonymous with the image of drowned flour, swimming in “chicken” flavoured powder) oodles, of books on almost anything, there are no readily available guides on the “Do’s and Don’ts” of car-washing! It’s borderline astonishing! This leaves reams of people in the dark about what they should and shouldn’t do in regard to maintaining their ve-hic-le traditionally.

So, I propose we write one.

To begin;

Chapter One: Equipment

The art of cleansing one’s ve-hic-le is highly specialised, and so requires the use of fitting equipment, which is to suitably maintained, and well looked after.

The Bucket: Preferably white, and so easily smunkified, it must have a handle, metal, and seemingly comfortable when initially held. However, this is designed to misleading, because if after half an hour of hauling it about, one’s hand is not aching, something is wrong, and the entire process must be begin again, once a more appropriate water carrier has been located and utilised.

The Hose: Fairly straightforward and standard, colour is optional, and one will know if it is not being utilised properly, as if this is the case, it will remain attached to the tap. Most unsatisfactory, as then shoes will remain. dry!

The Sponge: This has has to be yellow, and refuse to let detergent leave once it has entered. This can be tested by holding aforementioned hose up to the sponge and squirting water. If soapy water is still being squeezed out of it after five repetitions, then this sponge is go! (Definitely a keeper if it ricochets the water off itself and onto you)

Drying Cloths: Can not absorb drips of water. This is not their job. They are there to spread it around, not to dry.

And finally…

The Squeegee: Used for windows, they are the ray of light when washing a ve-hic-le. I say, why stop at windows? Dry the whole car with them!

Anyways, please add to the guide! Hopefully at the end, the mysteries of car-washing will be unveiled, and we will all remember not to wear metal buckled belts while scrubbing the roof…

“Let’s kick ar…prod buttock!” – Feet of Clay, Terry Pratchett

Even Xylophones Aren't Musically Sound

2005-12-02T18:54:00.000+10:30

Once again it is that time of year in which we are assessed mentally, morally and resolvedly. Exam week: where you find out what you’re really made of, and most importantly, what is your brains tolerance range for copping a mental beating???

How do we survive? Not only are there the multi-houred exams, there is also the day after day after day of endless revision, from which you emerge with half a page of biology notes, and a detailed understanding of the paintwork over your desk.

Well, there’s the option of listening to the same song, time after time. However, this can be dangerous, because if you pick the wrong song to get you through these difficult times, you may end up singing the entire Oklahoma score solo in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of “Sloop John B” running around your head, bashing into sides, and defragmenting your newfound understanding of the complexities of photosynthesis. I would recommend Rainy Days – Guster, unless you’ve seen “Life as a House,” in which case, it’s up to your whether you want the image of Hayden Christensen’s character running away as his life and pants fall down around him, in your mind’s eye as you attempt to recall Coulomb’s Law. Hmm…

You could also inadvertently turn to superstition. This can appear in many different forms, such as having to listen to the same song each morning before you leave for your exam (No, not Rainy Days…) lest you do badly due to a break in the routine. This, not such a good thing. It’s preferable to avoid it…unless it’s too late, in which case: DON’T break the cycle!!!

And what of television? Why do those cruel, network people mock us with starting all of the best new shows in the one week in which we are “otherwise occupied.” Don’t they know that this gives rise to the “it’s ok to watch while I’m eating” rule? They just don’t think of all those poor, teenage girls around the country resorting to six meals a day, each one lasting for 43 minutes (the time a tv program runs without ads) plus tea? ( the drink, not the drink plus three biscuits) How sad to have forgotten ones own youth!

Then there’s the rare phenomenon of: having finished your exam half an hour early. Thankful as you are to not be rushing your last few pages, as the last of the ink is drying, the realisation that you have time to not only check back over your work, but that you have time to check back again and again sinks in, and suddenly you find yourself wishing that you had worked just that little bit slower, as the mountainous task looms. Having checked three times, and still having ten minutes left, what can one do with oneself? Some twiddle there thumbs, but keep in mind, that some of us just aren’t coordinated enough to do so, resulting in serious sounding clicks, and severe pen droppage.

Never forget that there is time between exams. It’s not real time, in the normal world sense; it’s like two hours which have escaped from the twilight zones, in which those who are strong consolidate, and others drop padlocks on their hands. (though, it is possible to do both. I hope.)

Well, exam week is an unpredictable and trying time. What I do know however, is that come Tuesday afternoon, I will be standing in the quadrangle, arms outstretched, looking up at the sky ala Andy Dufresne. (rain pending) If anyone would care to join me; that is what we’ll do.

Reckless Wreckers of Shelf

2005-11-25T20:00:00.000+10:30

My desk is now tidy, and has been newly uncovered as the Place to Be, for rubber bands. However, the huddled masses of unusable stationary appreciators shall have to wait, as for the next four days, (and fragments of days afterwards) this desk shall be the official site of frenzied studying.

To take our minds away from the looming madness, for at least a moment, let us hark back to simpler days, and remember the joy of “Library Lessons.”

It is difficult to remember a time when whole lessons, or double lessons could be whiled away with a good book. They would begin in silence, with the class seriously contemplating the symbolism in “Tracy Beaker,” the underlying message in “Dizzy Lizzy,” and the world issues addressed in “Uncanny.” Then, one person would whisper a question to the next, the person sitting opposite would answer…the sound level would escalate so consistently that it would be possible to graph. The next thing we knew, a shelf would be lying on the floor, the books having been assisted in their bid for escape by a wayward elbow. The ensuing “SHHHHHH!!!” would bring dead silence, and the process would start again…

This was not always the case for these lessons however, because about once a term, the peacefulness of this process would be broken up by the violent struggle, known as a “Book Introduction.”

Once in a while, a well-intending teacher would sit us all down with a large stack of books, and for that lesson, give us an outline of the plots and storylines, with the idea that we’d select one, then happily go off and read it.

NOT THE CASE!!!

Innocently scattered around the library, we would all listen intently to the presentation. Book upon Book would be described, explained, advertised, then put onto the table. Inevitably, the teacher would come to “The One Book” that would capture at least 73% of the classes attention. After, that, this percentage were deaf to the attempts of other novels, and instead, focused all their attentions on strategies to get to the book first. Girls in the seats would be dejected, knowing that they didn’t stand a change, lest they sacrifice all dignity and lunge across the room at first opportunity. Girls sitting at the table would be more tense. Out of the five or six seated, they would all be painfully aware that the book was there for the taking, if only they could reach there first. However, this had to be done subtly, in order to avoid embarrassment if you failed in your task. Smiling at each other through their teeth, they would edge their hands, slowly, slowly, towards the book, a difficult task, as the rules of engagement dictate that you must never, never break eye contact with your opponent. VICTORY! One would get her hand on the book, and smugly start to pull it towards herself, while the others looked away sheepishly, in an attempt to appear nonchalant. It would always be at this point that the teacher would look up, and take the book back saying something along the lines of “wait until the end.” Thwarted, the ex-victor would sulk for the remainder of the lesson, as hope returned to the hearts of her class-mates.

Though reminiscing, as though this is a phenomena long grown out of, truly, this still happens now. Take for example the English Studies lesson at the end of Semester one, though this particular process was much more complex than it was in the past, seeing as we are now “mature” and so, out of necessity, levels of subtlety have increased exponentially…However, this is not a bad thing, showing that, at heart, we’re still the care-free, exam-less, reckless shelf wrecking, eleven year olds we once were.

Good luck with exam revision everyone!

Where has all the Butter gone?

2005-11-19T18:22:00.000+10:30

One day, maybe I will have spent the past week building a house, or something else along those lines, so then I can feel justified in saying, both literally and metaphorically: “It’s been a riveting week.” But, seeing as this hasn't been the case, I just won't say anything on the matter. Infact, I'm going to say nothing whatsoever...

...except for all this.

These past seven days haven’t been a proper week anyway, mainly because we didn’t have an assembly! Instead, there was a split double, the best kind, in which you have a lesson, escape, and then, like an iron filing with your domains lining up, there you are, pressed against a piece of projection paper, being clutched by a permanent magnet. (you can never take a metaphor too far) Annoying.

So, this leads me to remember something. Something strange, mysterious, puzzling, and most of all… irksome! The way things seem to miraculously disappear, then appear again.

This has happened many times in my life. You’ll have something. You’ll know exactly where it is. There is no question that it will not be there when you look for it, because there’s nowhere else it could possibly be. So why is it that the moment that you need it, it will be as though the object in question has ceased to exist? It’s just illogical.

Take for example one such occasion which happened in the not so distant past. On this day, we were young, naieve, and on the cusp of Darcyism. Some others and I were out for lunch, and were called upon to go and order our drinks. Simple enough. We went forward in a huddled mass, and one by one in varying levels of confidence, 0 being me, and 10 being able to order coherently, we stated what we wanted. I was rewarded with a glass containing a straw which I then set down at our empty table. I stood some more, then, upon receiving my drink/corrosive, went back to the table.

Egads! The straw was gone!!! Thoughts whizzed through my mind: it could have nowt to do with leaping straws and their comrades, as it is common knowledge that they need a liquid and buoyancy to assist them. So, maybe someone had brushed past it, and the straw had fallen onto the floor? Despite looking all around, the straw was nowhere to be seen!!! Had it “crossed the boundary?” or had some stingy, straw deprived soul, nicked it from my glass? Whatever the case, it was gone.

However, a new straw was employed, and crisis averted, recovery from the appaling shock had started. But then, this strange day took another unexpected turn…

There was a bread basket, as logic follows, and with it were those little packets of butter. I’d taken mine, coated my bread with half of the contents, then, like a fool, looked away for one moment. Biiiig mistake. I turned around, looked next to the plate and discovered: THE BUTTER HAD GONE! Shock, disbelief, and bewilderment was soon quashed by pizza. The episode had been all but forgotten about, when, suddenly, the butter resurfaced stuck to the back of a birthday present…GAH!

Anyways, so now I hope that if any of you see any mysterious, stealthy, long coated people literally “grasping at straws” you’ll know what lies in store for those who do not watch their empty glasses…

“I have four words which will change our lives forever!” “The cloud is accelerating!!!” – Fantastic Four

Rocks Rolled by Skirty People

2005-11-12T18:27:00.000+10:30

“…and so it came to pass; both were banishéd, to the dusty, dank depths.”

Today has been one momentous occasion after another. (exaggeration is fun) It began as all Sundays do, by awaking to find oneself in charge of a metal army, both pronged and serrated, directing them to smother and divide a pancake land as one sees fit.

Pancakes consumed, I looked out the window, with the innocence of someone expecting to see a green, empty oval. Instead: Rock and Roll Festival on Wigley Reserve!!! (though maybe should have twigged earlier from all the Elvis music…) There were cars, some of which were yellow (well, two) and three different dance floors. People were fully getting into it, some women wearing skirts, made from material for which 2 Pi r could be fully utilised, and which had high swishability factors.

However, this compares not to the shocking event that took place mere minutes later. For almost a year now, Johnny Depp, in all his, wearing a hat, black and white posterliness, has adorned my bedroom wall. Today however, he has been put on temporary hiatus!!! In a momentary lapse of awareness, it was decided that it was “time for a change,” and so ensued a temporary “change of guard.”

( Note: I’m not actually quoting anyone so why I’m using more than my fair share of quotation marks is mystifying, most of all to me.)

Now, for several hours, Orlando Bloom in all his colour and jewellery-ness, has been standing in pride of place. (For fun alternative sentence, replace “pride of” with “Johnny Depp’s”) I feel like the biggest traitor. Why, you may ask, when we all know that Depp is the clear favourite, did he get replaced by someone who was described by my father as “in need of a shave.”? (though he also used this description for Johnny Depp, but it was a good, dramatic way to end the previous sentence) Reasons abound. I didn’t want to get the first poster sun faded, it really was “time for a change,” there are already three other posters of him in my room…but truth be told, Orlando Bloom’s t-shirt is just so yellow! It’s hypnotizing. I challenge anyone to look at it and not turn into a bug around one of those blue zapper things. It’s inexplicable!

I still maintain that it’s only temporary, until either old, or new, Depp poster regains its rightful place.

But the story does not end here!

After a few hours of cleaning the house, in which both a vacuum was used to: 1) Clean the floor, and 2) Cause pain in my finger…damned rubber gloves…the Buffy and Spike poster, too, was removed from display...

This poster has been on my bookcase since year 8, however, nothing stands in the way of Darcyism, and it has now been moved, to make way for Pride and Prejudice. They have been banishéd. (though they were half obscured behind a shelf anyway, so it’s not as big a deal as the Johnny treason)

However, all in all it has been a strange day. Depp’s hidden in my wardrobe, Buffy and Spike are becoming acquainted with a “Once Upon a Time in Mexico” postcard who’s rooming with them in their display folder, and the rock rollers have gone, leaving a mass of orange wheelie bins congregating suspiciously on the reserve…

…well at least the kitchen floor got mopped.

Where is my cow?

2005-11-05T18:01:00.000+10:30

The Amazing Leaping Straw has returned, this time more fiendish and buoyant than ever. Used now to its valiant attempts, I have become very adept at waylaying its efforts. However, this does not mean to say that it is possible to do so in a coordinated, and efficient manner.

So, having started the horror of this weekend by accidentally plunging my thumb into a glass of coke while in a public, grown-uppy type of place, I am now free to embark on this four day test of studiosity.

Right now it is a struggle.

In mere minutes I will stand and face the battle with “The Revision Guide,” a green, A4 representative of the psychological battalion of the Inanimate Objects crew, not emerging until Thursday evening…

…which leads me to ask: What on Earth was up with the trams today? Timetable: 2:40p.m, though whether this is: Tram arrives or Tram leaves is unclear. However, this is of little importance, because despite arriving at 2:38p.m, we were just in time to see it smarmily sneak (seventy sooty scarecrows suddenly south…sorry, had a slight burst of alliteration) up Jetty Road.

Though a whole week’s Quota (or possibly two) of exercise was used up in chasing it, still it managed to escape. However, halfway up Jetty Road another tram was spotted coming the other way, so there was time enough to retreat into an air-conditioned place to recover. Life’s fun like that.

Once recharged, having cheerily waved goodbye to tram and occupants, I was waylaid by a bookstore. (I swear, it stepped out in front of me and expanded its door so no matter where you went, you still ended up puzzled, perplexed, and picking up a book.) From there, a new Terry Pratchett book was discovered, and with it, a new favourite quote.

So, unable to get anymore convoluted and jumpy with topics, I close by saying:

“Have we not all, in some way, lost our cow?”

Life as a Gerbra Bearer

2005-11-01T18:25:00.000+10:30

Preface
My Laptop is on Hiatus. I recommend typewriters to everyone. Not only do they make fun noises during celebrity spelling bees, but you also get to create your very own exclamation marks! As an added bonus, if you touch the tape, life begins to get very, very fingerprinty…

Three weeks have passed, and the majority of us have emerged on the other side as slightly different people. Some have become bearers of various flowers, symbolic of various roles, some people have gotten slightly older (well, in actuality, we’re all getting slightly older all the time…in the time it took me to write that, I too have aged vastly) There’s been the beginning of exams, and much saying of “Dui Bu Qi, wo bu zhi dao” a.k.a. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. Korean soap operas translated into Cantonese, then into Mandarin have been watched for “revisical purposes,” and, possibly most significantly of all, there has been: watching of Pride and Prejudice, reading of Pride and Prejudice, talking about Pride and Prejudice, rewinding and fast-forwarding of Mary Bryant to see ad for Pride and Prejudice. I fear if this continues for much longer, there will be “Severe Pride and Prejudice induced bashing” quickly curtailed by the contagious bouts of “Darcyism.”

…also some horse won some race.

But what is the most important thing that has happened thus far? Is it the looming dawn of a position of responsibility and leadership within the school? Is it the developing talent of balancing work with play? Is it remembering to change your Gerbera’s water? Alas! No, it is none of the above. It is: realising the irony that on most bottles of correction fluid, the product inside is proclaimed to be “Wite-out.” Clever advertising method, or just pure, blatent, and traditional: what-the?-ism? A question unlikely to be answered, but yet allowed me to use two question marks over three letters and a symbol!

So in closing: “Look at Mars!!! It’s red and visible and in the sky… all this month!

...and no, I am not going to talk about the aggression that is me vs. badminton…GAH!

The Airport Perspective

2005-10-18T11:58:00.000+09:30

Here endeth the school day which theoretically shouldn’t have happened. School terms begin on Tuesdays, so, logic follows that, today being a Monday, we should still be on holidays!!! But alas, it was not to be.

Anyways, we got back from Hong Kong on Sunday morning…I managed to unpack, eat, tidy my room and watch Grey’s Anatomy (Gray’s?) all before the time I normally wake up on a Sunday morning (the trade off was that I didn’t sleep for 24 hours)

So, after a fantastic two weeks, there was too much to summarise (without resorting to an epic poem of sorts…maybe later) so I think I’ll tell it from The Airport Perspective. Keep in mind I may lie a bit, and blend things together which were completely separate, and every so often insert something that has nothing whatsoever to do with airports.

We left from the old Adelaide airport. The “airport waiting lounge thing” consisted of many chairs, with even more people, a small tv playing some kind of soap opera…minus the sound, and a shop which seemingly sold only alcohol and perfume. Desparate for gum to prevent ears from exploding on take off, despite searching high and low, ne’er a gum was found (though there was this perfume called Pi. Oddly, I saw that symbol many times while I was away…hmm…maybe that’s a Bad Wolf thing…heh, maybe that means that I’ll be able to destroy the Daleks…) *cough * anyway, all prepared to leave the shop broken and defeated, from no-where appeared a shop assistant, asking if she “could help with anything.” Words were exchanged. Gum was mentioned. Then. Silence, as she motioned us forward, reached behind the desk, and revealed a drawer full of gum!!! Satisfied, we were successfully able to leave the country with hearing in tact.

Several hours, and “Fantastic Four,” “Bewitched,” “Unleashed” and “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” later, we appeared in Singapore for one night. I promptly experienced: “Falling asleep on bus,” “falling asleep in taxi,” almost “falling asleep in lift”, and finally “falling asleep in hotel.” The next day, having awoken at an appalling hour, we found our way back to the airport, where I promptly got a back massage from some guy trying to sell be a back massager. Then, back to the tv lounge for much “Ed” watching, and getting on plane. After “falling asleep on plane” watched the end of “Unleashed” then did…I don’t remember…

In Hong Kong airport, with much luggage, we were greeted with bottles of water, and two doored lift. After a week of accicentally locking room-mate out of room by putting slidey thing across door and leaving through adjoined room, Disneyland, Shopping, Family and t-shirt logo spotting (My personal favourites were:
“I hate Texas”
“I am a Dog”
“Too much medicine breeds contempt”
“The best wood from TREE” and
“Green Lemon Pig”)
we packed our bags (just typed “bugs”…makes for interesting mental images) off to the airport again it was. For 2.5 hours I: learnt bus routes, met old colleagues of dad, sat under the letter “K,” and read a vast majority of a Terry Pratchett book (“Thief of Time” it was good.) We then met our tour group, got tags, caught a train to the other side of the airport, and bought gum. Plane had no movie (the safety video was acted out by the stewardesses!) I had an apple juice, and managed to break a nail while opening. The irony was: no nail clippers allowed on the plane…we only had hand luggage, and so, no nail clippers full stop!!! Agghh! The snagginess!

At Gui Lin airport we rode many of those flat escalator things, and met the China tour guide and bus driver…after four days (well, 3.25) of boats, tea, the FuBo general, and his sword and arrows (that needs to be explained, not described) mountain climbing, umbrellas, Ellenphants, water shows and being adopted by an American extended family, back to the airport it was…

Firstly, was desparate for toilet, so ran around terminal. Then, while wheeling bags, was cut off by rude other man in other tour group. I’d like to say I said something, but instead, merely scowled heartily in his general direction. Then, while boarding the plane, had yet another man literally breathing down my neck. However, I soon put a stop to that by holding loud exaggerated conversation about (in general of course) how irritating it is when people stand too close. Man moved back for few glorious moments, then: the coughing began.

After that we spent another day in Hong Kong, before it was time to journey back. Arrived in clinical, bleached looking new airport, where arrivals have big scary dominating star wars-esque desks which literally loom, and hold a mysterious metal ledge. Other than that…I have not concludatory sentence…well, I apologise for the 826 wordliness of that…

Now it is back to the school world of tests, exams, homework, and….voting. I just can’t accept that, when tomorrow (or, today, looking at the time) arrives, someone in our year level is going to be Head Girl. We’re so old!!!

<[ - _ - ]> This is some kind of face thing…

The Sham of Hair Products - as September ends

2005-10-02T13:18:00.000+09:30

This has been a particularly sporadic week, in most senses. (those being the lesson sense, the schedule sense, the normal sense, and the newspaper sense) But, when we came through it, at the other end lay the glittering thing. (I would have said prize, but when I typed it, it looked weird, so I decided to say thing instead) This will have to be a shorter-than-normal comment because I have to leave in a minute, but I just wanted to share a few thoughts.

1) All this month I’ve been hearing “Wake me up when September ends” by Greenday, and fair enough, it’s been a bit of a busy month. But here’s the thought. Our holidays begin pretty much at the end of September, in which time, all of us sleep deprived high-schooly types will be going to sleep. I just think it’s interesting that we’ve all been listening to a popular song singing about the exact opposite of what it is we want to do…or, if you want to take the symbolic view, maybe the song it completely and utterly correct. We’re “waking up” as it were, from the school term…or not…anyways…

2) Also, shampoo. Firstly, it’s name. Sham. Poo. What’s the meaning of that? Is it some sort of fake crap? Which would make it all the more disturbing that we all rub it into our hair (plural) at regular intervals. Secondly, shampoo hasn’t been around forever. There would have been centuries upon centuries of people who walked around with dirty hair, but it would have been considered normal. I’m just wondering where the turning point happened…when did someone decide: oh, I think I’ll toss some chemicals together and rub it in my hair and remove the waterproof layer, despite the fact that this would be against the social norms…and why did it catch on? Hmm…

Anyways, have great holidays everyone!

And watch Howl's Moving Castle!

Algernon's Miraculous Time Machine (a.k.a The Liberty Bell)

2005-09-20T23:19:00.000+09:30

Emerging briefly from the deep, black-hole-esque (wow! three hyphens within one word…albeit a made up one, but still cool nonetheless) realms of study and revision, I would like to ask a question.

Imagine (doesn’t that just conjure up images of different languages being mispronounced by a large mass of people?) *cough* I’ll try that again. Imagine that it’s many decades from now, and, we’re (brace yourselves) not teenagers anymore!!! You are approached by someone. I can’t be bothered to make up a full backstory for this fictitious person, so let’s just go with: his names Algernon, he’s 38, 5’11, is partial to the colour purple, and has invented a time machine. This is no ordinary time machine however (yes, long gone are the days of piffling normal over the counter time machines) it allows you to go back and actually re-live and experience your teenage years again. To prevent paradoxes and the such (and I know I’ve had this argument in a previous post, but I’m going to go with the time is fragile theory as opposed to the logical, actually makes sense and has backup argument theory) you can’t actually change anything, but you will be actually re-living your own past, moment by moment.

Just suspend the complexities of teenage life for a moment, and simplify it down to two aspects: school and social. Theoretically we have a balance of these…but anyways, negate all the negative sides of social, as (supposedly) it is the positives that stick with us, and are what we’d rather think about, if we’re being optimistic (off on a tangent for a moment…is the glass half full or half empty? Have you noticed that generally when people ask you this there is no glass!!! ) Anyways, coming to the question.

You are offered a day, a month, a year, whatever, take your pick, of re-living your teenage years. This means an opportunity to experience again all the funny things that happen in class, go out on the weekend with your friends, do all the stuff that you remember, in essence memories. (wow, I’m really starting to sound like one of those books of motivational stories that motivational speakers use to attempt to motivate an unmotivatable group of students too early on a Monday morning) But the trade off is, you have to re-live all the work too. That means that you have to study for tests you’ve already done, repeat all your maths exercises and do the English Connected Text essay again.

So, really the question is: Would you be willing to re-do all your work in order to re-live your memories? (that was badly worded, but meh)

Whee!!!

SHIrT

2005-09-09T18:22:00.000+09:30

Two consecutive days of fitness madness. Aerobics – sounds not-too-bad…that is until the calf muscles seize up, and you’re suffering from lower back pain while you’re frantically attempting to not fall sideways while rocking in yoga, which, when you finally sortof get the hang of it, the teacher tells you to breathe through your mouth, and end up having a coughing fit, which, though for reasons unknown, seemed like the funniest thing ever at the time. And now, after almost the longest sentence ever (72 words or thereabouts) I’ll get onto the actual thingy (there is an appropriate word for it, but I can’t think what it is) that I was going to talk about.

Today was casual clothes day. Long gone are the days of a mere gold coin donation – now, it is $2 or the uniform shop for you…though why they didn’t think of it earlier is mystifying – essentially you double your money…and what is the true meaning of casual clothes day (or “CCD to the zap” as it is known in the more exclusive circles) other than a prime opportunity for everyone to express their “true creative selves?” Why, it’s actually a guise for allowing student one day of freedom in these middle terms from those bleached, glad-wrap-esque fantastic creations, better known as the school shirt.

Buy them new and they’re fine. They come almost with a 3 minute guarantee of “full coverage” But alas, the moment they are exposed (no pun intended) to the actual, outsidetheuniformshop world, they start to show their true colours…or lack there of.

I myself own several shirts. I’ve stockpiled them over my many years. Out of about six (or something like that…I don’t know exactly how many) only one remotely comes near to being only semi-transparent. Of course, all the laws of life would make it, that this single shirt, the only reasonably decent one, is the shirt that is covered in paint! Isn’t life fair?

So how can this problem be counteracted? Now, here comes what could be one of the most ingenious plans ever. You can cover it up with a jumper. Sounds reasonable enough. You only encounter the shirts in the winter months, so it serves to reason that it would be likely that you need to wear a jumper, regardless of the risqué shirting attire. (shirting…a highly under-used word) But here’s the clincher. Here is where: the plan unravels and starts to make no sense whatsoever!!! We live in Australia. Winter here is not as extreme as in other countries. I personally, find it a very rare occasion where it is absolutely necessary to wear my jumper with my blazer (in fact, I find it a very rare occasion where I am willing to wear my blazer at all. You need to be wearing about 7 jumpers in order to just fill out the horrid garment.) Though I know that there are a few who do so regularly. (wear jumper and blazer, not 7 jumpers) But for some of us, this is wear (hehe) a vicious cycle will ensue. It goes something like this.

Step 1: Girl covering up indecent shirt with school jumper. Weather is relatively cold.
Step 2: Girl attempts to leave school while wearing jumper.
Step 3: Girl is threatened with demerits and detentions and other such “d” related things.
Step 4: Girl is required to wear blazer.
Step 5: Girl removes jumper in order to not overheat while in the grips of blazer/
Step 6: Girl wears blazer, and nasty glad-wrap shirt is exposed for all to see…

…she looked more decent in the jumper.

And so ends the strange cycle of the vindictive entity known as: the school shirt.

Could this be yet another chapter of the inanimate objects movement?

Igloos - the purple kind

2005-09-04T17:32:00.000+09:30

Once more, this weekend has been one where time does not seem to run normally. While some things seem to have lasted forever, others seem to have run by, completely insensitive to the generous volume of homework fate has placed upon my shoulders…which, incidentally, I have spent almost the whole day doing, and yet haven’t even made a considerable dent in…hmm…

The remarkable thing about the show…it can get dark, and yet, it is possible not to notice!!! Seriously, if you’re there without a watch, with a stiff neck which inhibits you from looking at the sky, you’d think you were in Antarctica, the city (or country…don’t know which. One of the many good reasons that I quit Geography) that actually doesn’t sleep…or if they do, they do so while wearing sunglasses with all the curtains closed…

But one thing that’s become increasingly noticeable (I tried to make a linking sentence there in order to make the writing flow but failed…just pretend it worked) is the sudden influx of Moths.

They’re EVERYWHERE!!! At school, there is not a single surface where there is not at least one such specimen to be found (alternatively put: in a sample of 25 surfaces, with p = 0.3, with x being moth numbers, the probability of this is equal to: 1 – Pr(x<1)>most of all: on the toilet paper!!!

First off, the school toilet paper is already roughly in the same category of anti-absorbent rice/sand paper. (though, I’ll credit, it has improved since a few years ago) If it’s not squished into an oblong shape, therefore making it impossible to pull without ripping, some genius will have placed an entire roll into the u-bend. Brilliant. (which, incidentally I find a fascinating word, because Brillo-pads is like the British equivalent of a scouring pad, and an ant is an ant…not intentional I’m sure, but it effectively conjures up an interesting mental image) Anyways, now, in addition to all this, we have moths to add to the mix.

Moths on toilet paper does not sound like a winning combination. Now, I’m sure there are a whole host of fantastic arguments to support this, but I’ll go with, mostly it’s just “eww.”

I’m not afraid of moths. They’re just little flying things, which flap in your eyes and make you jump not because they’re scary, but because this is just what your reflexes make you do when anything comes hurtling towards you. All the same, it’s just strange, and oddly unsettling (like half-rhyme) that all of a sudden they’re everywhere…

It’s interesting that the phrase “to take out” can either be taken in a boy/girl context, or in terms of assassination…too cynical?

An Unlikely Reflection

2005-08-30T19:06:00.000+09:30

It’s a dark and windy night, and yet doesn’t feel in the least bit sinister. I guess maybe it’s because in all the horror movies I’ve ever seen, as the suspense builds, the editing tightens, the music that is swelling is not “In the Navy” by the Village people. Great, one cliché stereotype down…several more to go.

Well, as this is sortof like the weather you get at the beginning of a movie (though not a very good one I’ll wager, maybe something along the Lines of Ed Wood though without the cross-dressing or the freakiness…which is pretty much the entire movie, so maybe forget that whole comparison and move on) it seems that this would be a fitting time for a reflection of some kind. Fantastic. The idea’s there, now all I need is something to reflect on. In the films they never have this problem. Whether the protagonists life is anything ranging from inane to unrealistically dramatic (which, for some odd reason is always the most realistic) they can always immediately launch into some anecdote, which will inevitably lead to three things: 1) someone crying, 2) a love interest of some kind, and 3) (usually) some sort of situation where everyone is chasing after everyone else, either by running, or in cars…or on unicycles…and it is guaranteed that somewhere in there, there will be chickens.

But all of this is rather ambitious…and I am still at a loss as to what I should reflect on. The past year? I’ve been brainwashed by Maths to such an extent that when I open my pencil case, I automatically get my calculator out, without even giving it a thought. This is strange and unnatural, and chances are high that you will never see something like that happen to someone in a movie, because, simply it is not realistic…

This brings me to a point. I didn’t have one initially, but I figured that if I just kept typing, something would jump out at me. Reality. Or, more specifically, what is realistic. I thought I had a pretty good grasp of what is realistic, and what isn’t. What the movies portray is a strange form of reality. It could happen, but it’s unlikely. Some people, while watching a film ( usually while other people are around…) like to point at the screen, and say “that is so unrealistic.” And fair enough, most of the time, what happens on the screen is so far fetched, you are more likely to have your winning lottery ticket struck by lightning, then have your life emulate that of a flawless movie character. But when we say, “unrealistic” what are we actually trying to tell people? We are comparing what we see on film, to what we experience every day, we are drawing a clear distinction between that, and our own lives. (just typed liver…and yet, still makes grammatical sense...interesting…) Or at least we think we are. In reality WE ARE NOT. Just think of some of the things that happen to us, that are just so wack, random and unlikely.

Bowling balls bouncing out of the gutter, and back into the pins. When you’re thinking or talking about someone, and they walk past or bump into them (“first week back, guess who bumped into me”…grrr.) ok maybe that’s not such a great example, but nothings really springing to mind, but I know that strange, unlikely things have happened, more strange than things you would see in a movie, and I have no doubt whatsoever, if someone were to film them, present them as a movie to people who had never met you, they would have no hesitation before pointing and proclaiming those inescapable words “that’s unlikely!”

So, I said I had a point…it was heaps clear before, and now I’ve confused myself, so now, the point has forked into two directions:
1) Life is stranger than fiction – you couldn’t write some of the things we experience in these strange, teenage years…
2) Nothing is “unlikely” in the conventional sense of the word – it looks better when I have a comment here…

Anyways, though we can statistic things to death…weird things will still happen. Life is more interesting than movies!

This is the part where everyone holds hands and runs off into the sunset, laughing and grinning idiotically, then we snap back into the present, where the protagonist is sitting at his/her typewriter ((getting a really “Series of Unfortunate Events” vibe here…that would make me Jude Law…hmm)) smiling to themselves, as they take the last page of the manuscript out, and look at it reflectively…

What they wouldn’t do/say is:

I don’t run…I HURTLE

The Elusive True Base

2005-08-25T22:40:00.000+09:30

Mathematics. It’s everywhere. Thought it may appear in many different fiendish disguises, calculus, trigonometry, statistics, hypothesis modelling…the all-time favourite: Pythagoras, and serve many purposes, such as running this computer and making the internet usable, at the heart of all the complication, it the base ten number system. So, why do we have ten numbers in a series? 1-10, 11-20, 21-30? It would work just as well with any number, so why was 10, just another integer, selected to be this all important thingummy? Through all its complication, at the root of it all, our entire mathematics system is based upon the number of fingers we have. So, it would seem, that had we not 10 fingers (and DON’T get into the “thumbs are not fingers” arguments…I’ve had that argument more times than…well, 10) maths may have been based upon a completely different digit…but was it what we really wanted?

Now, it’s not as though any of us have ever sat down and said “wouldn’t it be jolly smashing if we had a number system with a base other than ten?” because, other than the fact that it’s not a very interesting chain of thought, to quote so many debates ranging from year 6 to Senior B – “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” There’s nothing wrong with having a base ten number system, but slowly it has begun to dawn on me that, though somewhat subtly, the human race seems to have an inherent preference for Another Number!

It seems, that for some unbeknownst reason, the Number 7, plays a large, if not equal to that of mathematics, role in Today’s Modern Society. Sound unlikely? Then explain why there are:
- The 7 World Wonders
- The 7 Deadly Sins
- 7 colours in a rainbow (though a bit dubious about Indigo)
- 7 music notes
- 7 dwarfs to accompany Snow White
- going to be 7 Harry potter books
- one for every year he is at Hogwarts double whammy with that one
- 7 days in a week
also why:
- 7 is the neutral pH
- Does one “sail the 7 seas”
- There are “7 brides for 7 brothers”
- Is there a classic series “The Secret 7”
- Is there a phrase for being unsettled in marriage after 7 years, known as “The 7 year itch”
- which is also the name of a movie featuring Marilyn Monroe yet another double whammy
- Do a lot of schools stop at year 7

Though other numbers do inevitably feature in the Grand Scheme Of Things, i.e. “The Famous 5,” etc. no other number seems to be as prominent as the Almighty 7, not even the All Powerful 10. So…is something trying to send us a message? That, it’s time to be rid of the order and logic of having an even number system, based upon fingers, and to embrace the chaos that would ensue from a base 7 number system? I think the answer is a resounding: no, Personally, I think it’s so popular purely because it is conveniently situated between 5 and 10.
So now, having just voided all my previous text, I’d like to firstly say: LOST, why do you do these things to me? Why can’t you just be over with?!?! and finally, trail off on a dramatic note, of which I have not yet thought of…

The Flaw in the Brilliant Y

2005-08-20T20:59:00.000+09:30

The Y generation – we are the best at multi-tasking, procrastinating, and have an attention span of roughly 13 seconds…or so science tells us. But what makes us so different from the previous generations? Over the last 100 years, things have been changing really, really quickly. When compared to the entire human timeline, things are actually moving at a ridiculous rate. And why? Theories abound – the abolishment of the class systems, political upheavals, the cut down of the role that most monarchies play on the world stage…but I think it’s down to technology – and more to the point: television.

TV has been around for quite a few decades now, a fourties novelty, which has today become and indispensable household item, right up there with refrigeration and bathrooms…maybe not such a crash-hot idea to put those two things in the same sentence…anyways…so now we are about the second generation, where virtually all of us have grown up with it there, always in the background, a constant. From Miffy, the freaky rabbit with a mouth that’s looks like it’s been crossed out, to the “many delightful and daring escapades” of those crazy OC kids, we have grown up with it. There’s something for everyone.

But are we dependent? I’ll be the first to put my hand up and say a loud and resounding: “yes.” For the last few weeks, Saturday night has meant “Dr Who!” for six months, Tuesday meant OC, and when Monday rolled around, that was Desperate Housewives time. But now they are all finished, gone, for six months. When next Thursday comes around, not only will that mean the weekly pilgrimage to three hours of wonderment, it will also spell the end of Lost, and with that, it all ends. Where does that leave me? I have House, yes, but it doesn’t quite fill the gap. Besides, that’s not the point. The scary thing, is that there is a gap to fill. Television has become so ingrained into our lives, that when a part of it stops, or goes away, something which has incorporated itself into our weekly lives, it feels as though there is a gap.

What does one do with oneself on Tuesday evening, now that the OC has forsaken us? Once the homework is done (ah, but the homework is never done) you sit yourself down for a nice, long hour of…nothing. You could read…yeah, but there’s still something missing….msn can fill the gap for a while…but not forever…you could do some more homework, get ahead…no, not when you’ve just escaped…so on the TV goes, and after some frantic, yet bored (yes, us Y-genners are good at strange, contrasting expressions) channel surfing – there it is: the new gap filler…crisis averted. The temporary void in your life has been filled…at least for the next six months…

So, what exactly is it that I’ve already spent…wait…*presses a few buttons* 474 words trying to say?

Last night, I finished watching the Korean soap opera!

Oh strange is the life of a Y generation child

The Silent Epidemic

2005-08-13T22:05:00.000+09:30

The symptoms include: fatigue, irritability, lowered brain capacity, and aggression. It is ongoing, will last for many years, and will happen to over 90% of our population in Australia. But the truly scary thing, if you’re reading this and are 15+ years old, then chances are that it’s happening to you right now at this very moment. I am of course talking about homework

Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate having the opportunity to get an education, to “partake in the learning journey,” but the fact is, there are some aspects of it that are almost unbearable.

The week ends and everyone goes home for a rest: maybe sleep in, have a late breakfast, go shopping? Sounds like a good Saturday. Then, maybe on Sunday you can go see a movie, catch up with friends…why not stay up late, just for the hell of it. You could do that, but it wouldn’t be as fun as it sounds. Homework is never ending. Even when you’re not doing it, the guilt of it still hangs, ever looming, over your head, at the back of your mind. ( note: though grammatically correct, the image created by the last sentence is physically impossible ) and if you ever are lucky enough to be up to date, to have finished everything, you know, that it is only the end of the first wave, and when you enter battle, whoops, I meant “the school gates,” on Monday, the second line is standing in wait, ready to heap upon you the reams of work that are the foundations of teenage life. Before you know it, it’s Friday again, and after a week of stretching your brain beyond human capacity, and where you haven’t gotten to sleep before the witching hour for the past five days, you know that yet another guilt-laden weekend lies just at the end of the bus trip, the bridging gap between the homework zone, and the work environment.

“School days are the happiest,” or so the phrase goes. And, to a degree, this is true. For the most part, it’s great. I like the atmosphere, the people, the place itself. But there’s always something there, something niggling, like a sneeze that will never come. Maybe it’s because of the days where the work has built up so much, that you go to bed wishing, that when you wake up, you’ll have a cold, or a stomach ache, or just generally feel crap, just so you can sleep, and escape to that place where homework doesn’t rule your existence. Six hours or less, out of 24, where you are free…then you get out of bed, not really awake, and suddenly discover yourself amidst a biology test…hmm…

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that things have started to change at school. Not only the teachers, the students, and the “social hierarchy,” but our very language. Where mean once was a description of “nasty, horrible girl,” who stole your eraser, is now a term for the “average percentage of Mexican lyrebirds who consume over 30 000 smunklemuggets in an hour,” and is now represented by the letter “meu.” What was once “Art” is now “Hess G in some cases, but if you take this strain, it’s Hess R unless you perform a triple pirouette with pike.”

All the same, I don’t think I’d trade these years for anything. (that’s the brainwashing kicking in) Stick to your guns and you’ll get through this: Here’s to the SACE years! For nothing can be worse than inanimate objects!
Spare a thought for Christopher Eccleston, a truly fantastic Dr Who.

The L in Avocado

2005-08-05T21:00:00.000+09:30

I have a strange compulsion. It’s not so much an impulse or an urge, more of an inherent need – as though if I don’t do it, the world will fall apart around me, and the elephants will finally make their move and seize control. So what is it? What could possibly be so incorrect, and yet so unavoidable? Picture this: you’re writing a school assignment/email/shopping list, and it comes to the point where you have to write it, the word itself, avocado…on the surface of it, it seems simple, ordinary, not sinister in the least, but if this is truly the case, then why do I always spell it “AVOLCADO” ??? There has never been an “L” in avocado. There has never been a need to have an “L” in avocado. So why do I always see fit to put it there? It’s mind boggling. It causes alienation of a perfectly good word, and strikes fear in the hand of those (well, me…because I’m sure you can all spell it) writing it. Wow, now I can finally understand what it would be like to be one of “the Knights who say “Ni!””

I said It! Oh I said It again! You said It!!!

Lament of Fruit

2005-08-01T21:16:00.000+09:30

Today was a day of cold winds, fruit conspiracies, limericks, pigtails, pizza pizza pizza pizza (and no, thats not blatent enthusiasm...it's how many pieces I had...), “happiness is…”, and rusty scouring pads. So what does that mean exactly? CLAN BIRTHDAY! (though I’d wager that the fruit conspiracy and scouring pad thing may have thrown you a bit) All but three of the above were to celebrate yet another year of existence of the glorious clan Cameron (previously Wallace, but changed due to “unavailability of tartan.”)

It began today with the assembly. No wait, scratch that. Actually it began with the pigtails. Yes, at heart I am a sweet, Dorothy-esque, pigtail-wearing, Wizard of Oz escapee…or not. All the same, it’s clan birthday! Whatever my hair looks like, it can’t possibly be more amusing than me attempting to say “dude.” Having purchased new sash to replace the previous one, which seems to have drifted off into the abyss, we headed off to assembly, where Sally and I were strategically placed near the only open door in the hall!!! After a rip-roaring time of hellz-a-poppin fun (thank you Dylan Moran) those of us so inclined plodded off to Biology. NEW CONSPIRACY! Brace yourselves because this may come as a shock, but we, the superior race on earth, masters of electricity, wearers of shoes (though, this statement can also apply to horses…and v. pampered lap-dogs…hmmm…) and users of umbrellas, are being exploited by F R U I T. May I have a moment to say: Didn’t see that one coming. We’ve had movies like “Planet of the Apes”, “The Time Machine,” “Cats and Dogs,” “The Faculty”…even that Simpson’s episode where the dolphins force the humans into the sea and take over the earth, but fruit??? Where were you on that one Spielberg? It would seem, that fruit – clever, cunning, fruit – is a trick to make animals and humans alike into helping the corresponding plants to propagate the earth, by making us eat the eat the fruit, then deposit the seeds somewhere, allowing a new, F2 generation of the plant to develop…we are being used! However, there seems to be a hint of, possibly unintentional, resistance. We have been taught to throw our rubbish away, lest we be labelled a “litter bug.” Fruit: Biodegradable, yes, but force of habit is stronger than rational thought, so all it’s clever plotting and planning, literally goes straight in the bin. Points to the human race, oblivious to the threat, but still inadvertently protecting ourselves…should we be worried about the lack of awareness, or proud of our instincts?

The truly scary thought however, is that fruit is not an inanimate object. It is a living thing. So does this mean that “the network” is branching out? (a branching network…whaddayaknow?) Is it aware of the PAIOC plan and starting to gather enemies? BE AWARE!

…and no, I’m not going to explain the scouring pads thing.

Thursday kind of Friday

2005-07-29T20:55:00.000+09:30

Today is a Thursday kind of Friday, the best kind of Friday there is. On a this type of Friday, I go through the day thinking that there is one more day of school left, but when the realisation of what the actual day is hits, it’s an extremely pleasant not-quite-surprise.

Despite this positive note however, I have an observation that I want to write about. Why is it that when you come across someone walking in the other direction it is excruciatingly difficult to get out of the way or get past?

I’m certain that this has happened to everyone at some stage in their life. For someone to have avoided this kind of situation, they must have never come into contact with any other person ever. Though this might seem like an attractive lifestyle to people such as I, who are extremely talented at finding new and fascinating ways to embarrass themselves and stack it, (for this I use the example of tripping over onto grass, and still managing to cut my leg pretty badly) this doesn’t seem highly likely.

It’s the classic situation: you’re walking down a path/rundle mall/corridor, or making your way acrosss a classroom/shop/alien spacecraft, and all of a sudden, you encounter a person walking towards you. You graciously step aside to let them pass, only to find that they too, have moved, but in the same direction. Yet again you find yourself face to face. Move again, but the same thing happens once more. You both pause, giving the other the opportunity to make the first move, but neither does. Then, suddenly, both of you thinking that the other will remain where they are, makes another move again. Face to face once more. Fortunately, these things usually only go for three moves, until someone finally breaks the pattern. You smile awkwardly to try and rectify the situation, but your adversary does not. Instead, written across their face is an unreadable expression, which could be anything from pity to annoyance. With that, you walk away, already preparing to erase the past 27 seconds from your memory…or maybe it’s just me…

Anyways, on another note, on Saturday 30th August, or as it is more commonly known: tomorrow, come on msn! At 8:30p.m, we’re going to try and have a really massive conversation, so get as many people on as you can!

It’s been a while since I used one of these, and now that I am, I can’t think of what to write…oh well, when in doubt, say “Pineapples!”

The New Bane of Life

2005-07-20T19:21:00.000+09:30

Upon return to my computer I seem to have forgotten what it is I wanted to say. Today has mainly been taken up with reading Harry Potter, and now that I’ve finished, I’ve been left with the flat, curious slightly depressed and desperate feeling which now seems to follow reading any of the most recent potter books. Some of the stuff was definitely unexpected, well, at least stuff that, if it were to happen, which it did (wow, was that a seriously confusing series of words or what?) I didn’t expect until at least the seventh book. Possibly I’ll write more on that later (though I’ll put it in wingdings if possible so it wont ruin anything for anyone) But on another note (a resounding “middle C” I think….) Work Experience! Or more to the point: Stockings…

I had an awesome time at work experience! (and I think there are some people reading this who are severely sick of hearing about it, and might possibly hit me if they have to hear any more about it) The people were really great and helped me a lot, and the work was heaps interesting (and I’m not being sarcastic!) The one downside though, is that workplaces and skirts, when combined = s t o c k i n g s.

In my time I have called many things The Bane of Life. Sand, straws…even my previous bag, but one of the ultimate (and by that I mean definitely in the top 7) has got to be the female hating phenomenon that is: Stockings. It travels under many guises. Tights, pantyhose…and the list goes on…an interesting note on this - with the latter being an exception – these are words for pain, or the infliction of such. Stocks: In medieval times, they put people in these as a form of punishment and public humiliation. Tights: Well, anything wrapped tightly around you can cause pain, irritation, or even suffocation. Interesting that these terms should be used in conjunction with a form of attire, but then again, women’s clothing has never exactly been designed to be user friendly.

For example:
1) Corsets – need I say more? They were rib-breaking bones of whales aimed at making women look skinnier. They could crush your internal organs and make you faint.
2) Earrings – great, stab holes in your ears and hang things off them.
3) High-heeled shoes – they can cause permanent damage to your feet, and they hurt! (anyone who has been to a formal can attest to this fact)
4) Pointy shoes – another form of foot torture. Why not force five toes in towards one another diagonally ending in a point…other than the massive amounts of pain

And then there’s stockings…
Though they don’t cause pain so much, they’re just damned irritating. They cling to your legs, they never quite pull up all the way, and if they do, within half an hour you’re subtly trying to pull them up again (unless of course you’re at school, where you can pull them up without any subtlety whatsoever) and they make that gross noise when you pull on them, and they collect dust. Then with all that being said, they get ladders in them (though I have this down as a negative point, personally this is my favorite point about stockings…it’s amusing, and oddly entertaining to watch them get longer and longer)

Some women’s clothing is insane, and yet, though I recognise this fact, I, like most others out there, will continue on and be a hypocrite (though with the exception of pointy shoes…I draw the line at that) And why? For what? To tell the truth, I don’t really know. People could say that it looks good, it makes you attractive. But this is down to perception. It looks nice because you think it should look nice. Then again, this is the thinking behind most things. Though there are exceptions, for most things: something is irritating because you think you should be irritated by it, and something is boring because it is accepted as boring…and on that note I’ll wind this up with a new definition of The Bane of Life:

A sandy beach where the dress-code is stockings, where the most evil of inanimate objects reside.

...and yet more buttons

2005-07-09T21:06:00.000+09:30

Holidays have begun, and so has the Inaugural Clean Up. This is when everything in my room gets taken out of its’ cupboard, shelf or cabinet, and put on the floor, in the hope that it will get sorted out, and eventually not be so disorganized. Unfortunately, in the interim, there is a resulting second level of floor, consisting of (sometimes extremely pointy) three-dimensional objects. High trippability factor…on the plus side however, cleaning my room has allowed me to rediscover a lot of things. I haven’t finished completely yet, so this will be a running total. So far:

Rulers: 9 + a geoliner
Sailormoon Badges: 5
Other Badges: 42
Watches: 10 (but many are not working, and one is pink and features Minnie mouse [!?!] )
Wallets: 5
Tennis Balls: 4 (odd, as I never have, and never will, play tennis…)
…and many, many buttons.

I’ll add more as I find it, but I think that’s the most of it…
On another note, having spent a fair while reading this Celtic Myths book earlier today (well, an hour and a half) there was an interesting story about fairies. Apparently, Walt Disney’s Tinkerbell and…that other one….I can’t remember the name…meh…anyways, those fairies are apparently overly nice misrepresentations of what the legend of actual (and I use that term very loosely) fairies are. Apparently they’re vengeful, spiteful and vicious creatures who enjoy messing with the human race. One such thing that they apparently do is carry people off invisibly, and as they pass, people apparently see or feel a “fairy wind.” (though descriptions of this were very vague) If you see one of these, it is believed that you should say something along the lines of “God Bless You,” and this forces the fairies to release whoever it is they are carrying off…I was just wondering if this had anything to do with saying “bless you” when someone sneezes…interesting, as this would mean that people in the past might have thought that you were expelling a wind created by fairies, as they carried off some “pore ‘ol soul” to somewhere…rational…

Love as a Pizza

2005-07-04T20:52:00.000+09:30

Well, as I sit here in my year-nine-make-it-yourself robe (it has blue bears on it...they're all facing in different directions, I guess thats so that you can't possibly stuff it up by sewing it the wrong direction...good work) and my pyjama pants which looks suspiciously like Shawshank Prison pants (unintentional I swear! I didn't realise until after I got them) for some reason I got to thinking about the Dean Martin song "That's Amore." I think I may have mentioned this before, but one of he verses is as follows:

"When the moon hits your eye,
like a big pizza (or it could be piece of) pie,
thats amore"

So amore is love. What the lyrics are saying (or so it seems to me) is that love is comparable to being smacked in the eye by the moon, which is the same thing as a pizza...what the...

Anyways, thats my odd observation for today.

This is not a Marquee

Something about random colours

2005-07-02T15:17:00.000+09:30

So it is technically the end of term. Most people are off to work experience next week, and the only lessons going are maths, maths and maths (oh and chinese) so really, everything was wrapped up yesterday...but it didn't really feel like it...oh well, I guess thats probably a residual junior school/middle school thing. If we haven't scrubbed our desks down (an age old ritual, involving diluted derergant ((which possibly might be just straight water)) and paper towels ((which miraculously morph into paper towel fragments upon contact with the table)) which, in the end, just results in an odd clinical smell) and collected our "artwork" (in my case, odd drawings of purple floating pumpkins, or the like)

Anyways, what did I actually want to write about? It was something about colours...I think possibly how random the names of some colours are...I mean, paints have about 3049 to a googolplex shades of green, and all have impossibly soppy names. What the? Anyways, I'm going to try to and put a list together of the names then...I don't know what...possibly make a story out of them...so feel free to add colour names etc.

"...give the schedule a kick in the ass" - Frank Darabont

Don't blindly trust the Analagy!

2005-06-27T23:53:00.000+09:30

My exams are finished! The feelings of relief, joy and rapture are...well, to tell you the truth, they actually do not seem to be cropping up at all...odd...maybe that has something to do with the back exercises of maths I have yet to do, and all the piano practice I haven't done...but on the plus side, I did watch Black Books, and learnt how to say Dylan Moran's name properly...excellent.

Anyways, what I wanted to really comment on, was the way in which we will blindly trust analagys. If something can be said in a different way, expressed using an example, then it must be true. The same applies for idioms, metaphors and the such...but think of it like this: using the "analagy" of a game of chasie (chasee?): There is a child who is very bad at chasee and so always gets caught, so they decide to start cheating. When the cheating is discovered, they are not allowed to play anymore. So what does this teach us? Well, it's all up to interpretation really. One: That cheating will leave us left out and will never pay, or Two) That firstly you get caught, and then you cheat (?!?) and when this is discovered, you are rewarded by not having to suffer through a lunchtime of being "It" and not being able to catch someone...

Anyways...

You can't catch me!

The Unceasing Joys of Exam Week

2005-06-25T15:12:00.000+09:30

Yes, it’s that time again. That time that comes around every six months. Exam week. Six school days when strange, strange things can happen. Mooing phones, weird bouts of calmness, and maniacal laughing during intense scenes of “The Shawshank Redemption.” (which incidentally is a fantastic film) So far, for me its 3 down, two to go, and then……BLACK BOOKS!!! *cough* Meanwhile, things are still not shrinking, Black Holes are not being utilized, and the Network is still working at its best (take for example the mooing phone)

However, on a different note, how irritating is it when you can’t tie your hair up because its wet or something, and then you have to go out, and: the wind is blowing in the other direction!!! Gah! (yes, because that’s a normal noise to make…) There’s no way around it either. You either have to walk backwards (?!?) or turn around, grab all your hair in a ponytail, then walk while holding it…v. normal looking, and extremely coordinated…well, it’s either that or tripping over every singly fire hydrant from where you are, to where you’re going. Possibly, this could be solved by carrying a hair tie with you at all times, but then if your hair’s wet (the reason it wasn’t tied up in the first place) you get a kink in it…excellent.

So the moral of this story? We should all wear anti wind bubbles on our heads, like a kindof hat…or not.

He could think in italics! Such people need watching….preferably from a safe distance...

Escapades of The Amazing Leaping Straw - The Network Strikes Back

2005-06-19T17:32:00.000+09:30

It seems that there is a network of implements working against the human race. To begin with, we had The Handle; a cruel instrument of inconvenience, desperately fighting against the schedules of innocent schoolgirls. When The Handle was finally “taken down,” all thought that the battle was over. How wrong this thought was. After about a week of calm, came the confirmation that It was not yet over. After a week, came: the Amazing Leaping Straw. This was not a solitary agent, no doubt, countless other people have experienced attack from this plastic platoon – there you are, innocently ordering a drink, only to find that, upon its arrival the straw is trying to escape! Not only this however, while on its way out, it’s doing it’s utmost to Splash You. No matter how much you push it back down, the combination of the strong willed Leaping Straw, and laws of Physics and buoyancy will keep attempting to defy you. The only alternative to giving up is to chug half the glass, or wait for the ice to melt, and so dilute the fizzyness of the drink. This is EXACTLY what the straw wants. There is no escaping the wrath of Inanimate Objects.

Stand Strong: There is a possibility of victory! We cannot let them win.

Black Holes and Shrink Rays

2005-06-18T16:05:00.000+09:30

I reckon, that Black Holes and Shrink Rays could solve a lot of the world's problems. Firsly, black holes have a HUGE compression power. ( I think they're created when a star explodes ((implodes!!!) or something like that) Theoretically (because noones certain that they exist at all) anything that gets caught in a black hole, would get crushed into nothing. It would cease to exist. Even time could get swallowed up by a black hole (creating the whole worm-hole thing which could make time travel possible...but time travel means possible paradoxes...and so to deal with those, we'd need parallell universes...anyways, I'm getting off topic) So, how could black holes be useful. Well, what if we could find one (though it would probably be like billions of light years away) then we could send all our garbage, nuclear waste etc. into one, then get it crushed into nonexistanse. That would solve the land-fill problems, and all the issues about being exposed to radiation. Though this would be good, there are so many problems with this (mostly cost, time taken, and logistics) but theoretically, it could work...and that leads me to shrink rays (well, really it doesn't, but I couldn't think of a linking thingo)

So, shrink rays...basically, if we could shrink stuff, it would be good. Parking wouldn't be an issue, because you could shrink your car and put in your pocket. Two major problems with this - 1) You could lose it - thats a costly mistake and 2) Whats to stop you shrinking someone else's car and putting it in your pocket? To deal with 2) you could have specific shrinky things for each car, kinda like a key. Also, if you could shrink things, then you wouldn't need the whole black hole thing (except for the radiation) because you could reduce landfill by just shrinking everything. Anyways, I reckon thats enough convoluted theories for one post.

In Conclusion: "Rock-a-moodle-fod!" From a chicken who cannot read.

Well, it's nearly 11 and I feel like typing

2005-06-13T22:46:00.000+09:30

Avoidance of maths homework...not a good trait to have. This is what I am exercising at this very moment. After a weekend of much confusion (and strange noises and confessions) I appeared at the other end of it having watched The Empire Stikes Back, Mr and Mrs Smith, with a completed English oral, debate and Aus studies project. Also interestingly enough, I somehow managed to watch NCIS three times...but most of all, I have a new bag! I think the handle is tame, but only time will tell.

Qustion: Is it strange that this weekend has felt like it's gone forever, yet I can't remember most of it?

Watch Black Books! 9:00p.m Wednesday ABC!

Revenge of The Handle

2005-06-10T17:37:00.000+09:30

My school bag has a life of it's own, the aim of which I think is to frustrate me. To look at, it does not seem too menacing; just below hip height, black with bits of white around it, zip, handles and "The Handle...." To begin with, it was alright - it was bigger than my last one, so fit more books, it was more sturdy, and the zip worked. It was all great, until it decided to let "The Handle" lead it. At the beginning, it would just get a litttle bit stuck, each bit more and more, until finally it came to the point where every morning after getting off the bus, an epic battle would ensue. Then I found "the way" to open it. I alone mastered "The Handle" and felt like I had won. Then Yesterday happened. One kick, and the bag thought "screw this" we're getting back into the game. All of a sudden, one of the stands came off, so the bag can no longer support its own weight. Stand it up, and it will topple to the ground. Then, came "the Handle's" revenge. Leaving McDonalds, it finally took control. Simply refused to work, leaving me with a heavy bag, which threatened me with the idea that I might have to carry it...all the way to chinese school. Four brave souls battled with it, until upon the 60th attempt, I defeated it. "The Handle" worked, and I was able to wheel the bag. Alas, the story does not end here. Forced to close "the Handle" in order to put it in the car, I was convinced of my ability to open it the next day. This did not happen. Trial upon trial, proved fruitless.

"The Handle" had made it's last stand.