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!
Friday, November 25, 2005
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Where has all the Butter gone?
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…
...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…
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Rocks Rolled by Skirty People
“…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.
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.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Where is my cow?
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:
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:
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Life as a Gerbra Bearer
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
The Airport Perspective
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!!!
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!!!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
The Sham of Hair Products - as September ends
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Algernon's Miraculous Time Machine (a.k.a The Liberty Bell)
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)
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)
Friday, September 09, 2005
SHIrT
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.
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.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Igloos - the purple kind
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…
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…
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
An Unlikely Reflection
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:
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:
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The Elusive True Base
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…
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…
Saturday, August 20, 2005
The Flaw in the Brilliant Y
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!
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!
Saturday, August 13, 2005
The Silent Epidemic
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!
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!
Friday, August 05, 2005
The L in Avocado
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!””
Monday, August 01, 2005
Lament of Fruit
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.
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.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Thursday kind of Friday
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
The New Bane of Life
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.
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.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
...and yet more buttons
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…
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…
Monday, July 04, 2005
Love as a Pizza
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.
"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
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