It’s a lot of “fud” when “soft and gentle” tissues become equivalent to “Super Strength Sandpaper,” butter menthols are consumed by the square metre, your stomach muscles are strengthened by random bouts of coughing (which, oddly enough, seem to always happen the second after you’ve said “I’m Fine.”) and you wake up saying “There was a bird in my room…I opened the window and it wouldn’t leave until the Pedal Prix Parents were at the front door!” (…as you do?!?)
Colds: an exercise in modern pointlessness. They wouldn’t be nearly as irritating as they are if they served some kind of useful function in society. Maybe if they strengthened your immune system? But no, there are HUNDREDS of cold varieties, so the only thing you become immune to is the particular cold that has sunk its tissued claws into you this time.
They begin innocently enough. A slight twinge at the back of your throat, small enough to give you the impression that a sip of water will soon sort that out. However, slowly it begins to grow, until you find yourself grimacing as you talk. Soon you find yourself quite unable to say “rhodedendrums” without different parts of your face moving to create fascinating images of “embarrassing-grimace-pain.”
Next comes the nose problems. Having come home and consumed about a swimming pool’s worth of liquid, you find that you need to blow your nose. Here’s where things start to get strange. You blow your nose once; and you start to feel worse!!! It’s as though the more you blow, the more clogged your nose, until you find yourself seriously contemplating the “She’s The Man” solution… (just for the record, I didn’t. )
By that time you’ re feeling and looking utterly decrepit (or at least like Rudolph the red nosed koala) and you’ve coughed so much, you’re actually bored of the sound, like a really crappy song you’ve heard over and over again. (mostly because its all one pitch, except for occasional double layers of bass…)
But in the end, what can you do to make yourself feel better? (and this time the answer’s not “Soap Rant!”. Let me explain with an example:
From a Monty Python Sketch:
[A Man holding a bird cage walks into a pet shop, where another man is ducking behind the counter looking for something:]
Man with Cage: “Excuse me! Miss? Miss!”
[man continues looking behind counter]
Man with Cage: “Miss? MISS!”
[owner pops up]
Owner: “What do you mean ‘Miss’?”
[Man with cage looks at him for a moment]
Man with Cage: [pause] “Oh I’m sorry, I have a cold.”
Say and do random things! Then BLAME THE COLD!!! (maybe that doesn’t make sense…oh well, I have a cold :P )
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Soap Rant
When brain-ache’s come knocking at your forehead, and you wake up to find that your throat has been mysteriously sandpapered in the night, how does one cheer themselves up?
( Note: Not with generous servings of Specialist Maths questions)
No, the way to cheer yourselves up is with a good, old fashioned Soap Rant! What’s that? Well, for everyone who hasn’t experienced one, I’ll transcribe one as follows:
Cast your mind back to when the formal had just finished, with tornado-proof hair, and ouchy-feet, something to look forward to was a loooong shower. Now, pretty much anyone who’s seen Psycho is already a bit on edge when embarking upon a mission of cleansing, so any sudden shocks can tip you over the edge of your nerve limit.
Anyways, this was my mind-frame on that Sunday – this was my mind-frame when I discovered that the tranquility scented soap, wasn’t as tranquil as it proclaimed to be!
Standing calmly, trying not to shampoo your eye – reach out for the glint of purple at the corner of your vision only to discover….
FREAKY SOAP FACE!!!
...ok, a bit random I know, but I'm SLEEPY!
( Note: Not with generous servings of Specialist Maths questions)
No, the way to cheer yourselves up is with a good, old fashioned Soap Rant! What’s that? Well, for everyone who hasn’t experienced one, I’ll transcribe one as follows:
Cast your mind back to when the formal had just finished, with tornado-proof hair, and ouchy-feet, something to look forward to was a loooong shower. Now, pretty much anyone who’s seen Psycho is already a bit on edge when embarking upon a mission of cleansing, so any sudden shocks can tip you over the edge of your nerve limit.
Anyways, this was my mind-frame on that Sunday – this was my mind-frame when I discovered that the tranquility scented soap, wasn’t as tranquil as it proclaimed to be!
Standing calmly, trying not to shampoo your eye – reach out for the glint of purple at the corner of your vision only to discover….
FREAKY SOAP FACE!!!
...ok, a bit random I know, but I'm SLEEPY!
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Squash Asparagus
What’s the definition of a “good time”? This could be a deep and meaningful, philosophical question - it could be rhetorical. Or, it could be straightforward.
This question that has plagued us (well, maybe not so much…hands up whoever’s had loooong sleepless nights of pondering “The True Meaning of Fun”?) *cough* finally has an answer!
…and truly, who though it would involve red frogs with protruding hearts/legs, ritual group animal-print balloon sacrifice, kiwi stamped napkins (serviettes?), flower shaped butter, “being attacked by sharks,” eating cake with improvised tongs, the pitter patter of painful feet, flaunting it “what your mamma gave you”, doing U-turns on dark roads while “bussing it”, flower-fueled head-banging, staring down the barrel of a camera, discovering the monarch of all things pancake, the lies, deception and subterfuge of the Non-Wedge, and an accidental subscription to a year’s worth of rain?
The 2006 Black Watch Formal is GO!
I was surprised to discover this actually, as a person who ardently despises being in photos, can’t dance, and who could actually win an Oscar for comedy merely by tottering around in high heels, my expectations were not Apollo high...(The Einstein Factor teaches me new things)
That’ll teach me for having a negative attitude…It all comes down to relaxation in the end (but not tranquility…more on that another day) Careful though…if you’re too off guard, you’ll find yourself revealing the finer facts of your past… Take this from having learnt the hard way: you might think that everyone stockpiled butter packets in case of earthquakes when they were young…but you’d be wrong :P All in all, what I'm trying to say is: WOOT!
So unable to think of a way to adequately finish this off, lets get into some serious mathematics:
Calmness = Good Photos (bar some, where the dubious face may need to be implemented - _ -
Cake + Fork + Spoon = Much Confusion
Table + Lollies = Endless Fun
Table – Lollies = Ended Fun
Hair + Hedge/Wall/Hanging Light = Zany Highjinks and Tangles :)
Asparagus = Leftovers
5 x 3 = 15
This question that has plagued us (well, maybe not so much…hands up whoever’s had loooong sleepless nights of pondering “The True Meaning of Fun”?) *cough* finally has an answer!
…and truly, who though it would involve red frogs with protruding hearts/legs, ritual group animal-print balloon sacrifice, kiwi stamped napkins (serviettes?), flower shaped butter, “being attacked by sharks,” eating cake with improvised tongs, the pitter patter of painful feet, flaunting it “what your mamma gave you”, doing U-turns on dark roads while “bussing it”, flower-fueled head-banging, staring down the barrel of a camera, discovering the monarch of all things pancake, the lies, deception and subterfuge of the Non-Wedge, and an accidental subscription to a year’s worth of rain?
The 2006 Black Watch Formal is GO!
I was surprised to discover this actually, as a person who ardently despises being in photos, can’t dance, and who could actually win an Oscar for comedy merely by tottering around in high heels, my expectations were not Apollo high...(The Einstein Factor teaches me new things)
That’ll teach me for having a negative attitude…It all comes down to relaxation in the end (but not tranquility…more on that another day) Careful though…if you’re too off guard, you’ll find yourself revealing the finer facts of your past… Take this from having learnt the hard way: you might think that everyone stockpiled butter packets in case of earthquakes when they were young…but you’d be wrong :P All in all, what I'm trying to say is: WOOT!
So unable to think of a way to adequately finish this off, lets get into some serious mathematics:
Calmness = Good Photos (bar some, where the dubious face may need to be implemented - _ -
Cake + Fork + Spoon = Much Confusion
Table + Lollies = Endless Fun
Table – Lollies = Ended Fun
Hair + Hedge/Wall/Hanging Light = Zany Highjinks and Tangles :)
Asparagus = Leftovers
5 x 3 = 15
Monday, May 01, 2006
Unexpected Scrutiny
It was one day, when I was sitting in the car, that the realisation finally hit me. For my whole life, until that point, the thought had never really crossed my mind, or if it had, it had been of so little significance, that I had cast it aside before really going into the depths of it. The fact is, you are not, as previously thought, in your own, relatively private world, shaded behind the surrounding glass: you can be seen, by everybody and anybody… you are horribly exposed to the outside world.
Now maybe this doesn’t sound that remarkable. I mean, obviously, people can see you, it’s not as though I used to think that, the moment you hopped into the car, you assimilated yourself into a world of invisibility, where, behind the tinted windows, you could do as you liked. But, there was always a sense, that when you’re in your car, you’re not as apparent to the outside world, as you are when, say, you’re walking down Rundle Mall wearing a jumper of which you are dubious about the nature of its social acceptability…(or, looking as though you have just emerged from spending the last week of your life living in a puddle, as I did this morning…quote of the day: ((little girl talking to her dad, and pointing at me)) “look at that lady’s hair ”) It was just the sudden shock of realising, you are just as visible when you are coasting along the road, as when you are out walking.
The same thing applies when you’re a pedestrian. You don’t think anyone’s watching you as prance about, swinging bags, or stacking it over a loose piece of pavement, because they’re just cars whizzing by, not people…
How wrong we were. Anyways, that thought weirded me out, so I thought I’d share.
To put a Harry Potter spin on the matter:
Now maybe this doesn’t sound that remarkable. I mean, obviously, people can see you, it’s not as though I used to think that, the moment you hopped into the car, you assimilated yourself into a world of invisibility, where, behind the tinted windows, you could do as you liked. But, there was always a sense, that when you’re in your car, you’re not as apparent to the outside world, as you are when, say, you’re walking down Rundle Mall wearing a jumper of which you are dubious about the nature of its social acceptability…(or, looking as though you have just emerged from spending the last week of your life living in a puddle, as I did this morning…quote of the day: ((little girl talking to her dad, and pointing at me)) “look at that lady’s hair ”) It was just the sudden shock of realising, you are just as visible when you are coasting along the road, as when you are out walking.
The same thing applies when you’re a pedestrian. You don’t think anyone’s watching you as prance about, swinging bags, or stacking it over a loose piece of pavement, because they’re just cars whizzing by, not people…
How wrong we were. Anyways, that thought weirded me out, so I thought I’d share.
To put a Harry Potter spin on the matter:
Thursday, April 20, 2006
The Real Monopoly
Have you ever walked down a street only to find yourself being sucked inside a building and having money demanded from you by a card wielding property owner?
Monopoly - Teaching us how to function in the real world.
It’s the educational board game that teaches you real life values, and how to handle yourself in the property market. If you play your cards right (literally) you can become a multi-thousandanaire by the end of three hours, and have driven your whole family into bankruptcy or debt.
Conversely, the player who started on a roll (of the lucky dice persuasion) could be holding you and your friends to such a high ransom, that you quake with fear every time you see yourself rounding a corner heavy in enemy houses…
Just. Like. Real. Life.
…or not.
But what would life be like if it really was reflective of a good ‘ol game of Monoppers?
So we’ve covered the whole being suckedbysuperhumanforcesintoahouse side of things, lets get into the whole going to jail aspect.
It’s a nice day, and one is happily walking along when: WHOA! Teleportation Device!!! Suddenly they find themselves trapped in a square prison, diagonally opposite from where they were. But hey, its all good because they can easily get out by either paying $50 worth of bail, or having three cracks at displaying mean feats of luck-having. It’s all good.
They’re out again, and ready to get back to toddling down the street. But HALT! You have to throw a dice to see how many plots of land you can pass! 7 Houses later, “oh good! One of the only three other people who can potentially purchase land in this neighbourhood has neglected to buy this particular property!” Quickly whip out your wallet and take out a percentage of your total of $1500 and pay the bank (which is conveniently located within arms reach) and immediately receive the title of the house.
You wait for the other people to move, then again throw the dice. “CRAP!” you find yourself standing on a giant question mark/hat which tells you that it is necessary for you to pay $100 to everyone else within eyesight for some random reason. Pay up, or you’ll be kicked off the street and into oblivion.
Next move, you find yourself receiving $200 merely for walking around in a complete circle…can’t keep if for long however, because you find that you’ve landed in the tax office, which immediately demands that you pay them for having the sheer AUDACITY to step within ten metres of their building. There goes that windfall…
And then the whole cycle begins again, with the two/three/four/five/six of you circling the block over and over and over again, until finally one of you is rolling in money, whilst the others are frantically searching for things to mortgage, despite being sound in the knowledge that they will never be out of debt for long enough to purchase extensions for their suckinginrenters properties…
Ah well, though maybe not so realistic its definitely an interesting concept.
…and a very fun game!:P
Monopoly - Teaching us how to function in the real world.
It’s the educational board game that teaches you real life values, and how to handle yourself in the property market. If you play your cards right (literally) you can become a multi-thousandanaire by the end of three hours, and have driven your whole family into bankruptcy or debt.
Conversely, the player who started on a roll (of the lucky dice persuasion) could be holding you and your friends to such a high ransom, that you quake with fear every time you see yourself rounding a corner heavy in enemy houses…
Just. Like. Real. Life.
…or not.
But what would life be like if it really was reflective of a good ‘ol game of Monoppers?
So we’ve covered the whole being suckedbysuperhumanforcesintoahouse side of things, lets get into the whole going to jail aspect.
It’s a nice day, and one is happily walking along when: WHOA! Teleportation Device!!! Suddenly they find themselves trapped in a square prison, diagonally opposite from where they were. But hey, its all good because they can easily get out by either paying $50 worth of bail, or having three cracks at displaying mean feats of luck-having. It’s all good.
They’re out again, and ready to get back to toddling down the street. But HALT! You have to throw a dice to see how many plots of land you can pass! 7 Houses later, “oh good! One of the only three other people who can potentially purchase land in this neighbourhood has neglected to buy this particular property!” Quickly whip out your wallet and take out a percentage of your total of $1500 and pay the bank (which is conveniently located within arms reach) and immediately receive the title of the house.
You wait for the other people to move, then again throw the dice. “CRAP!” you find yourself standing on a giant question mark/hat which tells you that it is necessary for you to pay $100 to everyone else within eyesight for some random reason. Pay up, or you’ll be kicked off the street and into oblivion.
Next move, you find yourself receiving $200 merely for walking around in a complete circle…can’t keep if for long however, because you find that you’ve landed in the tax office, which immediately demands that you pay them for having the sheer AUDACITY to step within ten metres of their building. There goes that windfall…
And then the whole cycle begins again, with the two/three/four/five/six of you circling the block over and over and over again, until finally one of you is rolling in money, whilst the others are frantically searching for things to mortgage, despite being sound in the knowledge that they will never be out of debt for long enough to purchase extensions for their suckinginrenters properties…
Ah well, though maybe not so realistic its definitely an interesting concept.
…and a very fun game!:P
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Down with Doors!
As the dominant species on earth we have evolved with intelligence, (which, interestingly I just misspelt…twice) intellect and most importantly, independence, the ability to do things for ourselves…or at least we like to think so.
You’re walking along. It isn't really important where. The only matter of significance is that at the end of the walk, you are aiming to find yourself within a building/shop/classroom (because, like, classrooms and shops aren’t classified as buildings…) Your target comes into sight, the door is only seven steps away and….
Here we take a brief interlude. See, at this point, we are still the picture perfect image of what a dominant species should be. We have the motivation , the willpower and the arm strength to just step forward, and open the door. It is here that society begins to unravel.
…out of nowhere comes someone else, heading towards the same building!!! You’re still about 3.78 metres away, so they get there first and casually swing the door open. That’s where it happens. Something inherent in your mind snaps. You just have to get to the door before it closes.
90 degrees, 70 degrees, 45 degrees…it swings closer and closer to the doorframe. Lurching forward, you get to it just the final inch disappears. Feeling victorious, you swing the door wide open and strut indoors; the hero of the hour.
But what happens if you don’t get there in time? In floods come the depression, the anger, the angst. Second guessing yourself, wondering why, why you couldn’t get there just a nanosecond earlier…
Why do we care so much? If only that other person had not stepped in, there wouldn’t have been an issue. We are all perfectly capable of opening a door.
Maybe it has something to do with the same impulse that powers people to drive across 70 metres of car park to put their rubbish in the dumpster…
So, we have so many books, movies, poems etc. about the inherent flaw within mankind, and the tragic “human condition.” All exploring in excruciating detail, what we are doing to bring about our own downfall, never offering solutions, just doom, gloom, sadness and sorrow, all reasons why there’ll be badness tomorrow...
Did they ever just think to get rid of all doors?
Oh, and this is a good site…if you can catch it :P
You’re walking along. It isn't really important where. The only matter of significance is that at the end of the walk, you are aiming to find yourself within a building/shop/classroom (because, like, classrooms and shops aren’t classified as buildings…) Your target comes into sight, the door is only seven steps away and….
Here we take a brief interlude. See, at this point, we are still the picture perfect image of what a dominant species should be. We have the motivation , the willpower and the arm strength to just step forward, and open the door. It is here that society begins to unravel.
…out of nowhere comes someone else, heading towards the same building!!! You’re still about 3.78 metres away, so they get there first and casually swing the door open. That’s where it happens. Something inherent in your mind snaps. You just have to get to the door before it closes.
90 degrees, 70 degrees, 45 degrees…it swings closer and closer to the doorframe. Lurching forward, you get to it just the final inch disappears. Feeling victorious, you swing the door wide open and strut indoors; the hero of the hour.
But what happens if you don’t get there in time? In floods come the depression, the anger, the angst. Second guessing yourself, wondering why, why you couldn’t get there just a nanosecond earlier…
Why do we care so much? If only that other person had not stepped in, there wouldn’t have been an issue. We are all perfectly capable of opening a door.
Maybe it has something to do with the same impulse that powers people to drive across 70 metres of car park to put their rubbish in the dumpster…
So, we have so many books, movies, poems etc. about the inherent flaw within mankind, and the tragic “human condition.” All exploring in excruciating detail, what we are doing to bring about our own downfall, never offering solutions, just doom, gloom, sadness and sorrow, all reasons why there’ll be badness tomorrow...
Did they ever just think to get rid of all doors?
Oh, and this is a good site…if you can catch it :P
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Flamingos are Overrated
Thundering along as though friction was something for the weak of heart, Red forces the yellow behind the pin with a gentle-yet-menacing “flpff,” to a position which would take even a skilled player at least two shots to recover from. Through the deafening silence a British Accent seizes the opportunity to interject… ”Jolly good shot!” it says, and with that, the entire process begins again.
Yes, the day has come. Where once it was the celebrated stomping ground of a Flamingo-wielding Queen with a penchant for abusing hedgehogs and beheading personified cards, Croquet has become: the new “it” teenage sport.
Now, although some have foregone their opportunity to stare Alice in Wonderland in the face and say “you’re using the wrong mallet,” 20+ year 12 students have relished the opportunity to hit coloured spheres through tiny archways using only a very, very large gavel (or was that mallet?) and their extremely superior tactical skills.
Now “stalk it, STALK IT” have joined the ranks of “cool” and “like” (a word that “isn’t even slang, it just doesn’t make sense” – Dad) in the exclusive literary marvel that is: teenage vocabulary.
Not only does it enrich your language, Croquet is also therapeutic. In games such as football, (which was SO good!) rugby or soccer, aggression is not only obvious, but can also be penalised. However, in Croquet, it is actually tactical. Knocking someone else’s ball out of the way gives you another shot…”oops, knocked it too far…didn’t mean to!” It’s passive aggressive heaven!
It’s a game in which you don’t need to: run, jump over things (though there are a few “wayward” balls that can suddenly come hurtling in your direction…again with the passive aggressive :P ) be attached to another person by means of skipping rope, fall off a bike, or even walk long distances. Yet, at the same time, it is good for improving hand eye coordination, “social skills”, and frustration management (a new and improved form of “anger management”) when everyone else is standing around the pin, ball in hand, watching in amusement as your ball bounces off the archway, and somehow, defying physics, shoots off at 45 degrees towards the next field…good times.
So for all of you wondering, what is high on a teenage mind’s priority list? Formal dresses? Hasn’t even begun to enter into common room conversations. Parties or going out? Not with all the exciting study there is to do. Television or movies? Well, yes. But really, at the moment only one word is tantamount to understanding the teenage psyche, and that is: “flpff.”
Yes, the day has come. Where once it was the celebrated stomping ground of a Flamingo-wielding Queen with a penchant for abusing hedgehogs and beheading personified cards, Croquet has become: the new “it” teenage sport.
Now, although some have foregone their opportunity to stare Alice in Wonderland in the face and say “you’re using the wrong mallet,” 20+ year 12 students have relished the opportunity to hit coloured spheres through tiny archways using only a very, very large gavel (or was that mallet?) and their extremely superior tactical skills.
Now “stalk it, STALK IT” have joined the ranks of “cool” and “like” (a word that “isn’t even slang, it just doesn’t make sense” – Dad) in the exclusive literary marvel that is: teenage vocabulary.
Not only does it enrich your language, Croquet is also therapeutic. In games such as football, (which was SO good!) rugby or soccer, aggression is not only obvious, but can also be penalised. However, in Croquet, it is actually tactical. Knocking someone else’s ball out of the way gives you another shot…”oops, knocked it too far…didn’t mean to!” It’s passive aggressive heaven!
It’s a game in which you don’t need to: run, jump over things (though there are a few “wayward” balls that can suddenly come hurtling in your direction…again with the passive aggressive :P ) be attached to another person by means of skipping rope, fall off a bike, or even walk long distances. Yet, at the same time, it is good for improving hand eye coordination, “social skills”, and frustration management (a new and improved form of “anger management”) when everyone else is standing around the pin, ball in hand, watching in amusement as your ball bounces off the archway, and somehow, defying physics, shoots off at 45 degrees towards the next field…good times.
So for all of you wondering, what is high on a teenage mind’s priority list? Formal dresses? Hasn’t even begun to enter into common room conversations. Parties or going out? Not with all the exciting study there is to do. Television or movies? Well, yes. But really, at the moment only one word is tantamount to understanding the teenage psyche, and that is: “flpff.”
Monday, February 27, 2006
Decisions Decisions
Whoever said that you become more decisive the older you get? (Actually, I don’t think anyone said it, but it did make for a more dramatic and forceful opening…I hope) Decisiveness, or lack there of. Why is it so difficult to make decisions?
Having just completed a Physics Practical which took a large chunk of the weekend, and several dollars off my subjective goodwill assets (gotta love accounting) through my many, many questions, it has now been shown that the experiment proves absolutely nothing.
So after an introduction that is worse than “Australia’s Brainiest…” jokes (and maybe even some of those quips “Biggest Loser” hosts come out with) what is the point?
The experiment. The whole point: find a linear function to show that period is directly proportional to radius, and show whether it is positive or negative. Fair enough. Pretty straight forward. At least, if you’re not in the group which managed to produce a Quadratic!!! Yes, that’s right. Logic goes straight out the window, because our results simultaneously support and disprove the hypothesis. The future of science is in good hands.
However, if you look at this result from a different angle, it is a fantastic representation of what has been an ever-increasing problem: indecisiveness.
Gone are the days when you could straight out answer “what is your favourite colour?” What once was “blue!’ has now become “it depends on what day it is,” or “what accessories can I match to it?”
Breakfast: it used to be YoGo, but with age comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes choices. Hot or cold? Yoghurt or Toast? (cereal doesn’t come into it) Peanut Butter or Nutulla? Nearly having a nervous breakdown going over pros and cons of various toppings the day of a big test? This is the reward for becoming “maturing young adults.”
I think the problem now is that we’re too informed. Life used to be black and white. Everything had one answer, and one alone. But now? It’s no longer the toss of a coin, or even the roll of a dice. Hey, we’d be lucky if it were a three dimensional do-decahedron shaped thingy… Too Many Options! Too Many Factors to Take into Consideration!!
Yoghurt is quick to eat (unless you forget a spoon) but can leave you in the weird state between full and bleugggh. Hot or cold depends on the weather outside. Peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth, and Nutella had lots of sugar…but really it comes down to how much time you have to brush your teeth before you leap down the lift shaft and into the bus.
But then after all the assessing and weighing, someone will ask you something, and there it is: The Rash Decision…
What else is there to say, but HELP!!!
Having just completed a Physics Practical which took a large chunk of the weekend, and several dollars off my subjective goodwill assets (gotta love accounting) through my many, many questions, it has now been shown that the experiment proves absolutely nothing.
So after an introduction that is worse than “Australia’s Brainiest…” jokes (and maybe even some of those quips “Biggest Loser” hosts come out with) what is the point?
The experiment. The whole point: find a linear function to show that period is directly proportional to radius, and show whether it is positive or negative. Fair enough. Pretty straight forward. At least, if you’re not in the group which managed to produce a Quadratic!!! Yes, that’s right. Logic goes straight out the window, because our results simultaneously support and disprove the hypothesis. The future of science is in good hands.
However, if you look at this result from a different angle, it is a fantastic representation of what has been an ever-increasing problem: indecisiveness.
Gone are the days when you could straight out answer “what is your favourite colour?” What once was “blue!’ has now become “it depends on what day it is,” or “what accessories can I match to it?”
Breakfast: it used to be YoGo, but with age comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes choices. Hot or cold? Yoghurt or Toast? (cereal doesn’t come into it) Peanut Butter or Nutulla? Nearly having a nervous breakdown going over pros and cons of various toppings the day of a big test? This is the reward for becoming “maturing young adults.”
I think the problem now is that we’re too informed. Life used to be black and white. Everything had one answer, and one alone. But now? It’s no longer the toss of a coin, or even the roll of a dice. Hey, we’d be lucky if it were a three dimensional do-decahedron shaped thingy… Too Many Options! Too Many Factors to Take into Consideration!!
Yoghurt is quick to eat (unless you forget a spoon) but can leave you in the weird state between full and bleugggh. Hot or cold depends on the weather outside. Peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth, and Nutella had lots of sugar…but really it comes down to how much time you have to brush your teeth before you leap down the lift shaft and into the bus.
But then after all the assessing and weighing, someone will ask you something, and there it is: The Rash Decision…
What else is there to say, but HELP!!!
Monday, February 13, 2006
The Jumpered Forest that is: Year 12
Being thwarted by 20 cent pieces, eating Teevee snacks, talking about bananas, waving our arms “like we just don’t care,” reading Monty Python autobiographies (mostly aloud during “The News”, much to the delight of ones parents) and watching “Saved” twice in one weekend; not exactly the year 12 that has been dreaded for the past thirteen years.
The first week of “responsibility, reason and bridging the gap between adolescence and adulthood” has gone off remarkably unremarkably. Arriving on the first day to be swallowed up by the deep mysterious depths of the earth, or, if your prefer, going down that sacred last flight of steps to the year 12 common room, we discovered that we had at last been rewarded with the trophies of success, a token of maturity, a symbol for all that we had achieved by getting to this point …and this was: wooden lockers!
Standing proud at about 170 cm, with width of about 8 mm, these hollowed out, non metallic, anti magnetic, trees proved to us that the Inanimate Objects are still hard at work behind the scenes. However, having spent the holidays completing “The Dolphin Puzzle” it was a *cough* welcome *cough* new challenge to fit all the books, folders, articles of clothing and most importantly: lunch, into these fiendish devices. (its fun the way nothing fits, and yet there’s still about a 70 cm void of nothingness in which many things could go if it were possible to gather air particles densely enough to enable objects to stand upon them…or if a shelf was installed.
Once the last folder was stacked precariously on top of a text book and beneath my hat, it was at last time to properly begin the year! (on first typing, “y” was omitted, leaving us starting a new “ear.” Great…)
It was then (well, actually about 6 and a half hours later, but SHHHH!!!) that history was made, when, Shock! Surprise! Amazement! Year 12 Jumpers arrived: ON THE FIRST DAY!!!
…the power is ours!!!
It’s amazing how by merely putting on an article of clothing can change the world around you (though, I guess this shouldn’t come as a surprise, being a witness to the horror that stockings can bring about…) Eyes turn, footsteps hasten, then scuttle away into the opposite direction. Voices raise in pitch (and occasionally crack!) as: freshly jumpered Year 12s walk through their newly claimed school.
Funny how you can become so reliant on a symbol, because now I don’t feel like I’m anywhere near old enough to be in this year when I’m not wearing the jumper. Jumper on: it’s like being a planeteer (take a break to sing the Captain Planet theme…here, I’ll start you off: Captain Planet: he’s our hero, gonna take pollution down to zero…*mumble mumble...can't remember the rest* ) Jumper off: the regression begins. I have this theory that the more you take it off, the further down in year levels you go. Today we’re back in year 11…by next Tuesday, who knows?
What is to be done about this new dilemma? On the one hand, are we being mentally affected by “The Jumper Phenomenon?” On the other hand, if we are, what can we do about it, because they’re so fleecy and nice?!?! Ogh! (to make a newly learnt “Educating Rita” noise) Decisions, decisions!
Anyways, unable to think of a “proper” conclusion:
The first week of “responsibility, reason and bridging the gap between adolescence and adulthood” has gone off remarkably unremarkably. Arriving on the first day to be swallowed up by the deep mysterious depths of the earth, or, if your prefer, going down that sacred last flight of steps to the year 12 common room, we discovered that we had at last been rewarded with the trophies of success, a token of maturity, a symbol for all that we had achieved by getting to this point …and this was: wooden lockers!
Standing proud at about 170 cm, with width of about 8 mm, these hollowed out, non metallic, anti magnetic, trees proved to us that the Inanimate Objects are still hard at work behind the scenes. However, having spent the holidays completing “The Dolphin Puzzle” it was a *cough* welcome *cough* new challenge to fit all the books, folders, articles of clothing and most importantly: lunch, into these fiendish devices. (its fun the way nothing fits, and yet there’s still about a 70 cm void of nothingness in which many things could go if it were possible to gather air particles densely enough to enable objects to stand upon them…or if a shelf was installed.
Once the last folder was stacked precariously on top of a text book and beneath my hat, it was at last time to properly begin the year! (on first typing, “y” was omitted, leaving us starting a new “ear.” Great…)
It was then (well, actually about 6 and a half hours later, but SHHHH!!!) that history was made, when, Shock! Surprise! Amazement! Year 12 Jumpers arrived: ON THE FIRST DAY!!!
…the power is ours!!!
It’s amazing how by merely putting on an article of clothing can change the world around you (though, I guess this shouldn’t come as a surprise, being a witness to the horror that stockings can bring about…) Eyes turn, footsteps hasten, then scuttle away into the opposite direction. Voices raise in pitch (and occasionally crack!) as: freshly jumpered Year 12s walk through their newly claimed school.
Funny how you can become so reliant on a symbol, because now I don’t feel like I’m anywhere near old enough to be in this year when I’m not wearing the jumper. Jumper on: it’s like being a planeteer (take a break to sing the Captain Planet theme…here, I’ll start you off: Captain Planet: he’s our hero, gonna take pollution down to zero…*mumble mumble...can't remember the rest* ) Jumper off: the regression begins. I have this theory that the more you take it off, the further down in year levels you go. Today we’re back in year 11…by next Tuesday, who knows?
What is to be done about this new dilemma? On the one hand, are we being mentally affected by “The Jumper Phenomenon?” On the other hand, if we are, what can we do about it, because they’re so fleecy and nice?!?! Ogh! (to make a newly learnt “Educating Rita” noise) Decisions, decisions!
Anyways, unable to think of a “proper” conclusion:
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Punching the Pantry
Walking back home through today’s random downpour, whistling “Singing in the Rain” and enjoying the irony maybe just a little bit too much, it was then that the realisation that there is less than a week left of free days left until: The-year-that-was-always-so-far-away-and-which-signifies-sudden-and-horrible-almost-adulthood.
What does this year mean? More homework, less sleep? Arranging your regular television programs into priority order in a vain attempt to see what you can axe from your schedule? Tidying up, to the point where your paperclips are colour coded and arranged merrily in size order lined up across your desk? Listening to movies while staring at a book, because you’re still being constructive, and it doesn’t really count as “watching.”
…how are we going to survive?
Well, cool and not nerd-like as I am, I have compiled a list of…stuff. Anyways, I thought I’d share with you all for when the work gets too much, there’s always random things that don’t makes sense that can make you feel a whole load better.
Quotes
· [while proposing] “I have four words that will change our lives forever.”
“The cloud is accelerating!!!” – Fantastic Four
· In “Once More With Feeling” Giles says “She need’s back up” followed by “Anya, Tara.” For two years I thought this was “I need a guitar.” Heh, weird.
· “D*mn!” said Carrot, a difficult linguistic feat – “Guards! Guards!” Terry Pratchett
· “A drunk clown hurt me once” – Scrubs
· “That’s why I’m a cat” – crazy guy in “The Real Me”
· “Ahasuerus…I think that’s how he said his name. It sounded like a sneeze.” – “Homeward Bounders” – Diana Wynne Jones
Random Thoughts
· an average person hits the snooze button on their alarm clock three times in the morning. Therefore, if you decide to wake up bright and early and make the most of life, you are below average.
· If a person decides to study mathematics intently, and make the focus of their study null values, and the effects of zero, they could tell people that they “really know nothing.”
· Everyone in a tv program or comic book lives in an alternate universe in some sense, because the television program/book they’re from does not exist where they are. This is particularly weird if it’s something famous or influential. For example, in Smallville, that program would not be on for Clark, Lana, etc. to watch, and no one in that world would ever have read a Superman comic book, because it had never come into being there. Thus, songs like “Superman” by Lazlo Bane, and “Superman” by Five by Fighting (wow these singers are creative people) would not ever have been written, and this would in turn affect Scrubs, which would have a different theme song!
What does this year mean? More homework, less sleep? Arranging your regular television programs into priority order in a vain attempt to see what you can axe from your schedule? Tidying up, to the point where your paperclips are colour coded and arranged merrily in size order lined up across your desk? Listening to movies while staring at a book, because you’re still being constructive, and it doesn’t really count as “watching.”
…how are we going to survive?
Well, cool and not nerd-like as I am, I have compiled a list of…stuff. Anyways, I thought I’d share with you all for when the work gets too much, there’s always random things that don’t makes sense that can make you feel a whole load better.
Quotes
· [while proposing] “I have four words that will change our lives forever.”
“The cloud is accelerating!!!” – Fantastic Four
· In “Once More With Feeling” Giles says “She need’s back up” followed by “Anya, Tara.” For two years I thought this was “I need a guitar.” Heh, weird.
· “D*mn!” said Carrot, a difficult linguistic feat – “Guards! Guards!” Terry Pratchett
· “A drunk clown hurt me once” – Scrubs
· “That’s why I’m a cat” – crazy guy in “The Real Me”
· “Ahasuerus…I think that’s how he said his name. It sounded like a sneeze.” – “Homeward Bounders” – Diana Wynne Jones
Random Thoughts
· an average person hits the snooze button on their alarm clock three times in the morning. Therefore, if you decide to wake up bright and early and make the most of life, you are below average.
· If a person decides to study mathematics intently, and make the focus of their study null values, and the effects of zero, they could tell people that they “really know nothing.”
· Everyone in a tv program or comic book lives in an alternate universe in some sense, because the television program/book they’re from does not exist where they are. This is particularly weird if it’s something famous or influential. For example, in Smallville, that program would not be on for Clark, Lana, etc. to watch, and no one in that world would ever have read a Superman comic book, because it had never come into being there. Thus, songs like “Superman” by Lazlo Bane, and “Superman” by Five by Fighting (wow these singers are creative people) would not ever have been written, and this would in turn affect Scrubs, which would have a different theme song!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Ryan = Seth...Mathematically proven!
In the grand tradition of wholesome, all rounded and most of all constructive holiday activities, the past few weeks have been taken up by much intense DVD watching, which has led me to the following question then conclusion:
What do the following have in common: Smallville, The OC, and Buffy? (and no, that is not some subtle Black Books-esque comment) ((though they are all fabulous! :P ))
Now at first glance these shows may seem to have very little in common (with the possible exception of Buffy and Smallville, but all the same…) However, if you look at the first seasons of each show, you start to notice some remarkable similarities…leading to the conclusion that Smallville is like a combined version of OC and Buffy!
Look! I can even prove it mathematically!
Season 1 Smallville = Season 1 OC + Season 1 Buffy
Season 1 Smallville = Season 1 (OC + Buffy) < [factorising]
Therefore: Smallville = OC + Buffy [dividing both sides by Season 1]
See! It’s irrefutable!
But just in case the mathematics isn’t convincing enough, here’s a few dot points to support it.
· In the Smallville episode “Stray” the Kents temporarily adopt a kid called Ryan (who, as another point, cooks them breakfast. )
· Smallville (as in the place, not the show) = Hellmouth – It’s just like on Buffy where the place they live is built on a foundation of Kryponite/hell and all the people living there (usually classmates) who are affected, have strange powers and for one reason or another become evil.
· Clark = Seth in the way that they both are in love with a girl at school who’s heaps more popular than them, and when they finally get the girl to like them, end up not being able to go out with them, for reasons of Anna or sudden-discovery-of-major-alien-responsibilities-and-have-to-move-to-metropolis-temporarily…also Clark, Seth, Summer and Lana all have dark hair…though that’s stretching it a bit.
· Buffy and Smallville also each have a gang of teenagers who are equivalent to the Scooby gang (in fact in both shows, they make reference to this)
· Smallville and OC both have the adopted son coming into the perfect family. (though this screws up the maths a bit because in this example Clark = Ryan, but previously we proved that Clark = Seth, therefore Clark = Ryan = Seth, which means that Ryan = Seth which doesn’t make sense…)
· Finally they all have the sports teams who rule the school (though this seems to be the case in most American Teen Programs.) More specifically episodes in both Season 1 Buffy and Smallville, they have the Swim team and football team consecutively, who are being made to play better by evil coaches, both by way of: Sauna. In Buffy, the coach puts something in the steam which turns the swimmers into strange sea demons, and in Smallville, the coach puts meteor rocks in the steam bucket and turns himself into strange fire person...
…and that’s only some of the similarities.
So, whoever said that maths wasn’t useful or fun?
What do the following have in common: Smallville, The OC, and Buffy? (and no, that is not some subtle Black Books-esque comment) ((though they are all fabulous! :P ))
Now at first glance these shows may seem to have very little in common (with the possible exception of Buffy and Smallville, but all the same…) However, if you look at the first seasons of each show, you start to notice some remarkable similarities…leading to the conclusion that Smallville is like a combined version of OC and Buffy!
Look! I can even prove it mathematically!
Season 1 Smallville = Season 1 OC + Season 1 Buffy
Season 1 Smallville = Season 1 (OC + Buffy) < [factorising]
Therefore: Smallville = OC + Buffy [dividing both sides by Season 1]
See! It’s irrefutable!
But just in case the mathematics isn’t convincing enough, here’s a few dot points to support it.
· In the Smallville episode “Stray” the Kents temporarily adopt a kid called Ryan (who, as another point, cooks them breakfast. )
· Smallville (as in the place, not the show) = Hellmouth – It’s just like on Buffy where the place they live is built on a foundation of Kryponite/hell and all the people living there (usually classmates) who are affected, have strange powers and for one reason or another become evil.
· Clark = Seth in the way that they both are in love with a girl at school who’s heaps more popular than them, and when they finally get the girl to like them, end up not being able to go out with them, for reasons of Anna or sudden-discovery-of-major-alien-responsibilities-and-have-to-move-to-metropolis-temporarily…also Clark, Seth, Summer and Lana all have dark hair…though that’s stretching it a bit.
· Buffy and Smallville also each have a gang of teenagers who are equivalent to the Scooby gang (in fact in both shows, they make reference to this)
· Smallville and OC both have the adopted son coming into the perfect family. (though this screws up the maths a bit because in this example Clark = Ryan, but previously we proved that Clark = Seth, therefore Clark = Ryan = Seth, which means that Ryan = Seth which doesn’t make sense…)
· Finally they all have the sports teams who rule the school (though this seems to be the case in most American Teen Programs.) More specifically episodes in both Season 1 Buffy and Smallville, they have the Swim team and football team consecutively, who are being made to play better by evil coaches, both by way of: Sauna. In Buffy, the coach puts something in the steam which turns the swimmers into strange sea demons, and in Smallville, the coach puts meteor rocks in the steam bucket and turns himself into strange fire person...
…and that’s only some of the similarities.
So, whoever said that maths wasn’t useful or fun?
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The Supermarket vs. Christmas
It is now almost as far away from Christmas as we can possibly be (other than actual Christmas or Boxing day, but who needs specifics?) and thus spells the end of what is both a fascinating, and intriguing ritual - Grocery Shopping .
Christmas is a time where time runs both fast and slow, a logic which is so warped, that if you followed it, theoretically this should cancel out, but it doesn’t! It begins when the shops crack out the Santa decorations in October, while all the organised people are dutifully getting their present shopping out of the way well in advance. (Statistics show that these account for about 0.00273 of our population) Then follows a forty-five day lull, known as November and Firsthalfofdecember, when almost simultaneously, the World wakes up, and as one makes their way to the stores.
All of a sudden one finds themselves amidst a supermarket (possibly where they applied for a job but didn’t get it. Grrr.) while the world and his wife mill about trying to decide whether or not they can find it in themselves to consume half a turkey.
This week instead of hand-picking beans one by one, you’re hand-picking cherries, while out of the corner of you can see a lady with much handbag giving you the evil eye, the whole time which she is edging ever closer. Little do you know, she is but a decoy! Just when you’re off your guard, “bang!”* her husbands hand reaches across and starts shoveling cherries across, looking sideways at you, subtly, yet firmly letting you know that this is their turf now.
Knowing when a cause is lost, it is time to make a move. Walking away from the hand-bag-lady’s triumphant sneer, in an attempt to locate your parents from within the throng, suddenly “whoosh!”**a twelve year old wannabe surfer cuts across you with his trolley, while his younger brother looks on with ardent admiration. (Why do these people always have a younger brother? It seems to go with the territory.) Then they just stare at you until you leave.
Having survived a few more such encounters, it is time to check out. Look around, all is good – every single que is relatively short, and it seems as though it will be at most a two minute wait before you can start loading onto the conveyor belt (which I think personally would be more interesting if they were mobius strips. Groceries traveling along, groceries being squashed - and around they all go again…anyway…)
Crap! We’ve forgotten something! As you stand and wait until one of the party returns with the missing article, suddenly EVERYONE in the store simultaneously concludes their shopping, and lines up. Good ‘ol Murphy’s Law.
It is only then that you realise that being-a-good-environmentalist bags have been left at home. D*mn.
Ah well. I guess its all worth it in the name of Christmas!
*because that’s totally the noise a hand makes while moving through air.
**I’m just enjoying being inaccurately onomatopoeic now.
Christmas is a time where time runs both fast and slow, a logic which is so warped, that if you followed it, theoretically this should cancel out, but it doesn’t! It begins when the shops crack out the Santa decorations in October, while all the organised people are dutifully getting their present shopping out of the way well in advance. (Statistics show that these account for about 0.00273 of our population) Then follows a forty-five day lull, known as November and Firsthalfofdecember, when almost simultaneously, the World wakes up, and as one makes their way to the stores.
All of a sudden one finds themselves amidst a supermarket (possibly where they applied for a job but didn’t get it. Grrr.) while the world and his wife mill about trying to decide whether or not they can find it in themselves to consume half a turkey.
This week instead of hand-picking beans one by one, you’re hand-picking cherries, while out of the corner of you can see a lady with much handbag giving you the evil eye, the whole time which she is edging ever closer. Little do you know, she is but a decoy! Just when you’re off your guard, “bang!”* her husbands hand reaches across and starts shoveling cherries across, looking sideways at you, subtly, yet firmly letting you know that this is their turf now.
Knowing when a cause is lost, it is time to make a move. Walking away from the hand-bag-lady’s triumphant sneer, in an attempt to locate your parents from within the throng, suddenly “whoosh!”**a twelve year old wannabe surfer cuts across you with his trolley, while his younger brother looks on with ardent admiration. (Why do these people always have a younger brother? It seems to go with the territory.) Then they just stare at you until you leave.
Having survived a few more such encounters, it is time to check out. Look around, all is good – every single que is relatively short, and it seems as though it will be at most a two minute wait before you can start loading onto the conveyor belt (which I think personally would be more interesting if they were mobius strips. Groceries traveling along, groceries being squashed - and around they all go again…anyway…)
Crap! We’ve forgotten something! As you stand and wait until one of the party returns with the missing article, suddenly EVERYONE in the store simultaneously concludes their shopping, and lines up. Good ‘ol Murphy’s Law.
It is only then that you realise that being-a-good-environmentalist bags have been left at home. D*mn.
Ah well. I guess its all worth it in the name of Christmas!
*because that’s totally the noise a hand makes while moving through air.
**I’m just enjoying being inaccurately onomatopoeic now.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
All Tied Up
Shoelaces are all the rage; not as in they are popular, but because they induce anger, anger, ANGER!
From the wide spectrum of shoelace consistencies and textures, only a very narrow few have the right shape and friction to be able to stay tied for a period longer than half an hour. The fun irony of this however is that these particular laces are the most susceptible to becoming frayed at the ends, rendering those little round plastic things at the end completely and utterly useless.
As for all other kinds of shoelaces…why they’ve survived so long is a mystery. Not only do they refuse to fulfil their one, solitary task of keeping your shoes on your feet, they also go out of their way to maximise embarrassment, and minimise movement.
Tie them in single, double triple knots, and it still won’t make a difference. From the moment they are intertwined, they begin to plot ways to make themselves (and you) become unravelled. Personally I think that they have springs hidden deep within their seemingly fabric exteriors.
What’s more, they take time to tie and untie, every single time when you wear them! In the end you leave them tied in quadruple knots, and just slip them on and off, which eventually makes the back of the shoe smushy, and much in need of a polish. Fabulous.
So why do we still use them?!? There are endless alternatives: the slip on, the gladiator boot, the buckle, wrapping ribbon around your leg, velcro!!! In the end, once more, and like almost every other killer article of clothing, it’s all about looks.
So yet again, it seems we’ll suffer through another pain of clothing in a desperate attempt to cling to an archaic view of fashion, leaving us loosely bound to both the past, and our shoes. Despite having been proven to be ineffective, shoelaces are still retained because “It wouldn’t have lasted if it didn’t have its benefits.” Ever stop to think that this exact utterance may have been used already for generations upon generations of socked trippers? It’s “traditional,” a useful word for preserving useless things,
They’re classic, their classy, they remind you of Mr Darcy (well not really; he wears boots) ((but it rhymed!)) Shoelaces!!!
From the wide spectrum of shoelace consistencies and textures, only a very narrow few have the right shape and friction to be able to stay tied for a period longer than half an hour. The fun irony of this however is that these particular laces are the most susceptible to becoming frayed at the ends, rendering those little round plastic things at the end completely and utterly useless.
As for all other kinds of shoelaces…why they’ve survived so long is a mystery. Not only do they refuse to fulfil their one, solitary task of keeping your shoes on your feet, they also go out of their way to maximise embarrassment, and minimise movement.
Tie them in single, double triple knots, and it still won’t make a difference. From the moment they are intertwined, they begin to plot ways to make themselves (and you) become unravelled. Personally I think that they have springs hidden deep within their seemingly fabric exteriors.
What’s more, they take time to tie and untie, every single time when you wear them! In the end you leave them tied in quadruple knots, and just slip them on and off, which eventually makes the back of the shoe smushy, and much in need of a polish. Fabulous.
So why do we still use them?!? There are endless alternatives: the slip on, the gladiator boot, the buckle, wrapping ribbon around your leg, velcro!!! In the end, once more, and like almost every other killer article of clothing, it’s all about looks.
So yet again, it seems we’ll suffer through another pain of clothing in a desperate attempt to cling to an archaic view of fashion, leaving us loosely bound to both the past, and our shoes. Despite having been proven to be ineffective, shoelaces are still retained because “It wouldn’t have lasted if it didn’t have its benefits.” Ever stop to think that this exact utterance may have been used already for generations upon generations of socked trippers? It’s “traditional,” a useful word for preserving useless things,
They’re classic, their classy, they remind you of Mr Darcy (well not really; he wears boots) ((but it rhymed!)) Shoelaces!!!
Friday, December 09, 2005
"It's them, Gentlemen"
Post exam madness has resulted in the frequency reduction of “Rainy Days.” Gradually cutting down, I am standing strong at only 5 listenings per day, and, proud to say, am now listening to the “Take That, Greatest Hits” album. Yes, heaps cool.
One day into freedom, and there we all were, partaking in an industrious feat of engineering. After 45 minutes had elapsed, all hope for building an adequate “tower of strength” had been abandoned, and we had reassigned ourselves the more important task of adorning our personages with stickers. ( Note: always look at yourself in the mirror before going out, lest you suffer the same fate as some of us; walking down Jetty Rd to post a letter and wander happily around a library, becoming increasingly unsettled by the number of strange glances being thrown in said hypothetical person’s direction.)
However, this is all irrelevant, because what greater way is there to celebrate the end of weeks of incessant prodding of ones brain, than by a nice washing of car (and in my case, forehead)
It’s interesting though, despite the fact that there are oodles (a highly abused word, cruelly forced in the modern era to hide behind an “n” and thus making it synonymous with the image of drowned flour, swimming in “chicken” flavoured powder) oodles, of books on almost anything, there are no readily available guides on the “Do’s and Don’ts” of car-washing! It’s borderline astonishing! This leaves reams of people in the dark about what they should and shouldn’t do in regard to maintaining their ve-hic-le traditionally.
So, I propose we write one.
To begin;
Chapter One: Equipment
The art of cleansing one’s ve-hic-le is highly specialised, and so requires the use of fitting equipment, which is to suitably maintained, and well looked after.
The Bucket: Preferably white, and so easily smunkified, it must have a handle, metal, and seemingly comfortable when initially held. However, this is designed to misleading, because if after half an hour of hauling it about, one’s hand is not aching, something is wrong, and the entire process must be begin again, once a more appropriate water carrier has been located and utilised.
The Hose: Fairly straightforward and standard, colour is optional, and one will know if it is not being utilised properly, as if this is the case, it will remain attached to the tap. Most unsatisfactory, as then shoes will remain. dry!
The Sponge: This has has to be yellow, and refuse to let detergent leave once it has entered. This can be tested by holding aforementioned hose up to the sponge and squirting water. If soapy water is still being squeezed out of it after five repetitions, then this sponge is go! (Definitely a keeper if it ricochets the water off itself and onto you)
Drying Cloths: Can not absorb drips of water. This is not their job. They are there to spread it around, not to dry.
And finally…
The Squeegee: Used for windows, they are the ray of light when washing a ve-hic-le. I say, why stop at windows? Dry the whole car with them!
Anyways, please add to the guide! Hopefully at the end, the mysteries of car-washing will be unveiled, and we will all remember not to wear metal buckled belts while scrubbing the roof…
One day into freedom, and there we all were, partaking in an industrious feat of engineering. After 45 minutes had elapsed, all hope for building an adequate “tower of strength” had been abandoned, and we had reassigned ourselves the more important task of adorning our personages with stickers. ( Note: always look at yourself in the mirror before going out, lest you suffer the same fate as some of us; walking down Jetty Rd to post a letter and wander happily around a library, becoming increasingly unsettled by the number of strange glances being thrown in said hypothetical person’s direction.)
However, this is all irrelevant, because what greater way is there to celebrate the end of weeks of incessant prodding of ones brain, than by a nice washing of car (and in my case, forehead)
It’s interesting though, despite the fact that there are oodles (a highly abused word, cruelly forced in the modern era to hide behind an “n” and thus making it synonymous with the image of drowned flour, swimming in “chicken” flavoured powder) oodles, of books on almost anything, there are no readily available guides on the “Do’s and Don’ts” of car-washing! It’s borderline astonishing! This leaves reams of people in the dark about what they should and shouldn’t do in regard to maintaining their ve-hic-le traditionally.
So, I propose we write one.
To begin;
Chapter One: Equipment
The art of cleansing one’s ve-hic-le is highly specialised, and so requires the use of fitting equipment, which is to suitably maintained, and well looked after.
The Bucket: Preferably white, and so easily smunkified, it must have a handle, metal, and seemingly comfortable when initially held. However, this is designed to misleading, because if after half an hour of hauling it about, one’s hand is not aching, something is wrong, and the entire process must be begin again, once a more appropriate water carrier has been located and utilised.
The Hose: Fairly straightforward and standard, colour is optional, and one will know if it is not being utilised properly, as if this is the case, it will remain attached to the tap. Most unsatisfactory, as then shoes will remain. dry!
The Sponge: This has has to be yellow, and refuse to let detergent leave once it has entered. This can be tested by holding aforementioned hose up to the sponge and squirting water. If soapy water is still being squeezed out of it after five repetitions, then this sponge is go! (Definitely a keeper if it ricochets the water off itself and onto you)
Drying Cloths: Can not absorb drips of water. This is not their job. They are there to spread it around, not to dry.
And finally…
The Squeegee: Used for windows, they are the ray of light when washing a ve-hic-le. I say, why stop at windows? Dry the whole car with them!
Anyways, please add to the guide! Hopefully at the end, the mysteries of car-washing will be unveiled, and we will all remember not to wear metal buckled belts while scrubbing the roof…
Friday, December 02, 2005
Even Xylophones Aren't Musically Sound
Once again it is that time of year in which we are assessed mentally, morally and resolvedly. Exam week: where you find out what you’re really made of, and most importantly, what is your brains tolerance range for copping a mental beating???
How do we survive? Not only are there the multi-houred exams, there is also the day after day after day of endless revision, from which you emerge with half a page of biology notes, and a detailed understanding of the paintwork over your desk.
Well, there’s the option of listening to the same song, time after time. However, this can be dangerous, because if you pick the wrong song to get you through these difficult times, you may end up singing the entire Oklahoma score solo in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of “Sloop John B” running around your head, bashing into sides, and defragmenting your newfound understanding of the complexities of photosynthesis. I would recommend Rainy Days – Guster, unless you’ve seen “Life as a House,” in which case, it’s up to your whether you want the image of Hayden Christensen’s character running away as his life and pants fall down around him, in your mind’s eye as you attempt to recall Coulomb’s Law. Hmm…
You could also inadvertently turn to superstition. This can appear in many different forms, such as having to listen to the same song each morning before you leave for your exam (No, not Rainy Days…) lest you do badly due to a break in the routine. This, not such a good thing. It’s preferable to avoid it…unless it’s too late, in which case: DON’T break the cycle!!!
And what of television? Why do those cruel, network people mock us with starting all of the best new shows in the one week in which we are “otherwise occupied.” Don’t they know that this gives rise to the “it’s ok to watch while I’m eating” rule? They just don’t think of all those poor, teenage girls around the country resorting to six meals a day, each one lasting for 43 minutes (the time a tv program runs without ads) plus tea? ( the drink, not the drink plus three biscuits) How sad to have forgotten ones own youth!
Then there’s the rare phenomenon of: having finished your exam half an hour early. Thankful as you are to not be rushing your last few pages, as the last of the ink is drying, the realisation that you have time to not only check back over your work, but that you have time to check back again and again sinks in, and suddenly you find yourself wishing that you had worked just that little bit slower, as the mountainous task looms. Having checked three times, and still having ten minutes left, what can one do with oneself? Some twiddle there thumbs, but keep in mind, that some of us just aren’t coordinated enough to do so, resulting in serious sounding clicks, and severe pen droppage.
Never forget that there is time between exams. It’s not real time, in the normal world sense; it’s like two hours which have escaped from the twilight zones, in which those who are strong consolidate, and others drop padlocks on their hands. (though, it is possible to do both. I hope.)
Well, exam week is an unpredictable and trying time. What I do know however, is that come Tuesday afternoon, I will be standing in the quadrangle, arms outstretched, looking up at the sky ala Andy Dufresne. (rain pending) If anyone would care to join me; that is what we’ll do.
How do we survive? Not only are there the multi-houred exams, there is also the day after day after day of endless revision, from which you emerge with half a page of biology notes, and a detailed understanding of the paintwork over your desk.
Well, there’s the option of listening to the same song, time after time. However, this can be dangerous, because if you pick the wrong song to get you through these difficult times, you may end up singing the entire Oklahoma score solo in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of “Sloop John B” running around your head, bashing into sides, and defragmenting your newfound understanding of the complexities of photosynthesis. I would recommend Rainy Days – Guster, unless you’ve seen “Life as a House,” in which case, it’s up to your whether you want the image of Hayden Christensen’s character running away as his life and pants fall down around him, in your mind’s eye as you attempt to recall Coulomb’s Law. Hmm…
You could also inadvertently turn to superstition. This can appear in many different forms, such as having to listen to the same song each morning before you leave for your exam (No, not Rainy Days…) lest you do badly due to a break in the routine. This, not such a good thing. It’s preferable to avoid it…unless it’s too late, in which case: DON’T break the cycle!!!
And what of television? Why do those cruel, network people mock us with starting all of the best new shows in the one week in which we are “otherwise occupied.” Don’t they know that this gives rise to the “it’s ok to watch while I’m eating” rule? They just don’t think of all those poor, teenage girls around the country resorting to six meals a day, each one lasting for 43 minutes (the time a tv program runs without ads) plus tea? ( the drink, not the drink plus three biscuits) How sad to have forgotten ones own youth!
Then there’s the rare phenomenon of: having finished your exam half an hour early. Thankful as you are to not be rushing your last few pages, as the last of the ink is drying, the realisation that you have time to not only check back over your work, but that you have time to check back again and again sinks in, and suddenly you find yourself wishing that you had worked just that little bit slower, as the mountainous task looms. Having checked three times, and still having ten minutes left, what can one do with oneself? Some twiddle there thumbs, but keep in mind, that some of us just aren’t coordinated enough to do so, resulting in serious sounding clicks, and severe pen droppage.
Never forget that there is time between exams. It’s not real time, in the normal world sense; it’s like two hours which have escaped from the twilight zones, in which those who are strong consolidate, and others drop padlocks on their hands. (though, it is possible to do both. I hope.)
Well, exam week is an unpredictable and trying time. What I do know however, is that come Tuesday afternoon, I will be standing in the quadrangle, arms outstretched, looking up at the sky ala Andy Dufresne. (rain pending) If anyone would care to join me; that is what we’ll do.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Reckless Wreckers of Shelf
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!
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!
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!
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