Vivat Vivendum, si hic vivendum esse potest.

So, today was uneventful, really, but yesterday was pretty cool.

Went to my first university protest rally march. (In third year. Yeah, go my social conscience) Against VSU, which was all good. Marched to Railway Square and back, chanting rousing anti VSU chants ("VSU is not our choice, give the students back their voice!") etc. and making up better ones of our own ("Who will we meet? Native Americans! How will we greet them? HOW!").

Very embarrassing moment at railway square, people in the buildings were looking down at the crowds, and in attempt to get them to wave at us, waved at them. They didn't see, so flamboyantly blew kisses, for the hell of it, as you do, and then they waved at me. Was quite disproportionately embarrassed, but was v. amusing to those nearby when I ducked down and hid among the crowd in act of pitiful wimpiness.

Anyway, then we went back to the front lawns and amid boring and ill-delivered speeches (except that of something-president Sam Crosby, who had quite impressive rhetorical skill, really) the Whitlams played, (just the 4 songs, but they were "Gough", "Blow up the Pokies", "No Aphrodisiac" (which, as always, they sang weirdly live, but who cares, really?) and "You Sound Like Louis Burdett" so that was great.) And Wil Anderson performed, which was great.

Since Wil Anderson and The Whitlams was secretly the reason I actually went - don't get me wrong, VSU = evil and so on, but one needs a better reason to miss vital Latin notes- and they were so great it was all good. 3 of us even got organised enough to dance to Louis Burdett, although my foot was completely asleep for the first half, which was sad, in its own little way. In a moment of obsessive fangirlism, could have sworn that Tim Freedman looked at me.

Went to Broadway and bought Thirsty Merc CD with my CD voucher, which was good, but not the utter classic that the new Cat Empire CD is. (A quote from which, translated into dubious latin in an idle moment, is the title of this post- Long Live Living, if living can be this)

Went home and footled idly for a few hours and then, on indecision driven impulse, Catie and I rushed to Chatswood at high speeds to watch Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy movie, which was pretty good (ok, excellent, yay) with Tim and two of his friends.

Then we drove Tim home via some park where we all stopped to wander aimlessly and blather about all sorts of things, of which I have limited memory.

I do, however, remember Tim telling me that I was very tall (he was standing downhill at this point, obviously). Didn't really give this a second's thought until about ten minutes ago, when in a fit of bored curiosity, stood barefoot back to back with Catie. In defiance of all expectation, and in a bruising blow to my ego, Catie is slightly taller than me. Is quite ridiculous, as have always considered myself to be the same height but taller than her. Is probably because was taller than her in year 7, and haven't reassessed height since we met. Also I suppose I tend to wear higher shoes, and, just distantly possibly, completely overanalyse passing comments.

Am moving on as of this moment.... NOW.

Then we finally took Tim home, where he had to forcibly eject us at 1 am. Poor Tim. Poor us. Which is not to say that turning off all the lights without warning, opening a door and saying "after you" lacks, you know, social finesse or anything. No indeed. Is essence of smoothness.

Feel perfectly safe typing such things, as Tim apparently never on internet, and besides... it was funny.

And that concluded the interesting (ish) bits of yesterday.

Oh, except that we met another of Tim's friends at the rally, who had a cloak (not as good a cloak as mine will be when I get organised though), and who was talking to another person in a cape and the hottest flipping boots I've seen in ages.Knee-high black leather with buckled straps all the way up the sides. My description does those boots no justice. They were awesome. According to Tim, he wears knee-high stripy rainbow socks under them. Coooool....

Today was uneventful, although Sam and Bec dropped in in passing, which is, lets face it, about as unusual as having toast for breakfast, and therefore not really deserving of Event Status. Although obviously very nice. Like toast with that Orange and Ginger Marmalade. That stuff is great. (Much better than seeing a ghost, the sight Desiree fears most)

Also, and I know I may conceivably have mentioned this a few zillion times, but I've slashed my thumb open horribly. It hurts. And it's really irritating because it gets caught on things. Ugh.

Still, am nonetheless terribly talented. Managed to rescue moribund pearl coil bracelet and have made new bracelet out of old pearls. Not perhaps quite as nice, but good enough, really. Another example of why I would have made a great 1940s woman. Can sew and cook. And probably can clean, although not entirely sure, as have never tried. Could certainly pose with a vacuum cleaner for soft focus propaganda poster. Sure could hire maid to do the rest. But then, what is point of other domestic attributes? Would be pointless to cook/sew if had accomplished maid. Conundrum.

I decided at about 10 am this morning to become rich and famous. Toyed with idea of becoming famous bass player, as easiest musical instrument to learn, as far as I know, and music v. glamourous. Also with inventing something fantastic, or becoming a famed artist. More long term type of fame, but less exciting and glamourous, and again am hampered by a very serious lack of skill and talent.

V. frustrating, am sure that must be unique and great, but since most people are, there seems to be no real marketing strategy there.

Determined to be rich though, as want to have cellars with vaulted ceilings. And possibly a dungeon, and a very tall tower with a spiral staircase (spiralling in the right direction, anticlockwise, so as to be defensible by sword, in manner of proper castles, which this will be) and a great hall with a dais, and miles of stone corridor and so on. All centrally heated/air conditioned of course, with underfloor heating, so will have to be very rich indeed.

Perhaps will meet telepathic Duke or Earl or similar with vast resources of wealth? Seems unlikely, and if so, he is surely sure to be an unmitigated git. He could hardly help it really. But possibly the telepathy thing would crack his austere outer... shell? And he could send me orchids or similar? Nah. All wrong from a member of aristocracy of this variety.

Is it healthy that I'm considering what sort of flowers an uber rich telepathic castle owning earl would send? I think not.

Will therefore sign out and watch rage. Have a charming weekend, friends. May your weekend contain less writing of Psych essay than mine will.

Procrastination is the order of the day. Again. You'd think I'd tire of it, wouldn't you?

I have an essay due tomorrow. I hate that. At present, though, I am at work, and thus it is perfectly fine that I'm posting here rather than writing that essay.Yes? Because I can't possibly write an essay at work, can I? No indeed. And i would be too... sensible to start my readings, which I do, in fact, have here. Damn.

If I describe it as being "wanton", admit it, and move on, does that allow my non-reading-ness? Tough call. I mean, obviously I should do my readings now, but sod it all.

Anyway, Sam's party was on Sunday, and then he and Bec stayed at our house until 10 pm on Monday, so I blame them.

Feel like philosphising on the nature of *waves hand vaguely* ... stuff, but I can't think of anything. Rats.

What is it about people that leads us to obey magic 8 balls? Why are push-pops so much fun? What is the fascination with handcuffs which it seems we all contain, just barely repressed? (For those of you who missed the [perfectly chaste] conversation that this references, don't stress)Why is it that even the most sensible person, when idly toying with a pair, will inevitably handcuff themselves, sometimes to innocuous furniture, just to see what it's like? Why are the chains so short that it makes cage-matches of thumb wars near-scarring? Why am I dwelling on this? Why is it that people will be excessively grateful for small things, like a lift home from uni, and then completeyl fail to appreciate the gratitude required of them/us when someone really comes through for us? Why is it that some people are so outstandingly, surprisingly capable in stressful situations? Why are there not medals for those people, rather than just the staggered respect of bystanders? Why don't guys wear eyeliner all the time? Or tuxes? Or both? All the time? If someone could make them do so, would there be medals for them? There ought to be medals for them too. Why do pretty shoes always hurt to wear for any length of time? Why does my hair take so long to dry? Why has my post been reduced to a string of quasi-philosophical questions, boring to almost all readers?

Deep. Or just really, really, shallow.

Interesting fact: Trains = Boring

So outrageously broke this week. After I pay my rent, the leftover funds I'll have to cover bills, food, bus tickets, frivolities, etc, comes to a grand total of... Five Dollars. That, my friend, is student living. Oh, and petrol too, of course, since today is my mother's birthday, and instead of going to the city as originally planned, a one dollar bus trip away, they've decided that Leura is a much better place. Leura. I ask you. That's an hour and half by train from Penrith. So petrol might come up this week too, in all probability. Possibly I'll only drive to places that are downhill of where my car is. Brilliant. Unless, of course, you happen to live in Lamb St, Lilyfield, like I do.

Oh crap! I'm here! *exits train at speed*

Adios, dear readers, I shall post again anon.

Breathing in the colors, Blue was resting up for today, while it was kicking back, they were glass-blowing these waves

These last two days, yesterday especially, have been like a last glorious sliver of summer, before we descend into wintry autumn in earnest. It's great to watch people react. Girls gleefully pull skirts out of wardrobes for one last outing, guys wear their shorts like they're going out of fashion, so to speak. Areas of grass are suddenky covered with canoodling couples, looking terribly sincere, and slightly giggly, as they milk the sunshine for all its worth. I keep catching myself automatically looking forward to Christmas without thinking.

Also, the title quote is from the song "Out the Back" by the inimitable Whitlams. The rest of the quote, which wouldn't fit, is "It's how the gum trees are stamped into the sky, I could be eight years old with these colours in my eyes".

In other news, work is dull. Just had a patient here whose mother was so domineering ('no, dear, you can't have an appointment before 5, I work. You'll just have to leave Tafe for an hour or so") that I wanted to thump her. Aaargh. Outrageous of parents to insist on accompanying 19 year old daughters to gynaecologist appointment. What if vitally medical information (eg, "Are you sexually active?") had to be witheld as a result of it? Could be dangerous. This irritates me. At least let the girl get a word in flipping edgewise. >(

Yesterday, I was talking to the girl whose name I was complaining about being unable to remember a few posts ago, but which I figured out. She had a presentation next, about which she was nervous, and for which she had put on makeup. But she had an unblended smudge right between her eyes, so I told her, but she couldn't fix it, so I did.

Similarly, and I have a point eventually, I was talking to TheOtherSam (as opposed to AfroSam) about the Tea Room in the QVB, and how he really should go one day and so on...

At the end of that conversation it occurred to me: both these conversations could have been read as me flirting outrageously, (although not in text, apparently, only if you were there)which I wasn't. The more I thought about this, the more it seemed to be the case that all my interactions could probably be read 9inaccurately, obviously)as me flirting with people. Hmmm... Bizarre. Is it so? Am I reading too much into stuff? Does everyone interract in this way, or do I have a diminished sense of other people's personal spaces? Do people constantly think I'm hitting on them when in fact they really do have leaves in their hair and look like an idiot?

All slightly interesting questions, none of which I will gove any more thought to, lest I start watching the way I behave. Whenever I do that, I always seem to become wierdly awkward. Like when you try to treat someone "just like you treat everyone else", (especially after you break up with someone) which is, of course, completely impossible, because you treat everyone slightly differently.

Hmm...

Why is it, since I am thinking along these lines, that when I've been at work all evening, toward the end of the shift, it seems like such a huge effort to look up at people and make eye contact? This never seems to be the case at other times, but by the end of work, it seems literally to be a huge physical effort to maintain eye contact. That really is odd.

I wonder what Sam wants for his birthday? I always ask for HMV vouchers, if people don't know what to get me. I could spend a thousand dollars on CDs and DVDs with no trouble at all. Will either have to have genius idea, or be depressingly generic. Some people, I know, really resent gift vouchers as gifts. This, I think, is bizarre. Much better than getting someone a Dixie Chicks CD and hoping that they'll like it. (And my example is strictly hypothetical, of course, not me making fun of Catie at all. No indeed.)

blog drought

everyone seems to have a blog these days, but no-one else is posting! *grumbles*

Well, nuts to you all. :P

Style largely depends on the way the chin is worn. They are worn very high, just at present.

Yay for the Importance of Being Earnest!

Have now worn the feather thing to uni, and thus proven to my own satisfaction that I was able to do so.So now I don't have to do that again. And now I'm kind of torn between "Let us never speak of this again" and only ever wearing completely nondescript clothing ever again and wearing a cape next Monday. Jeah. Cape. This, of course, relies on me procuring materials for and making a cape before next monday. Or whenever. So who knows?

Also, Tim seems to want one. These are the single easiest garments in the world to make, so I wouldn't mind, particularly, but I feel that his idea of a cape is probably idealised. Also, what's the point of going around being so pointedly different if you then give other people capes? On the other hand, then it wouldn't just be me, and I could wear my convenient garment casually without feeling selfconscious.

Deep.

Actually, I was fine, except for a guy in my latin class, who I think was trying to be friendly, said, when we were discussing my reasons for wearing the hat thingy , "yeah, I noticed you before we got inside and I was like 'freak', and then I realised it was you, and I was like... 'freak'."

Yeah. Nice.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for friendly banter, but up til that point, it had absolutely not occurred to me that people might think 'freak' at all. Bizarre? Perhaps. But when I see people wearing something really different, I don't think 'freak' so much as 'cool, how staggeringly confident of you to be able to carry that,' and so on. Is this just me? Have always firmly believed that you could 'carry' anything if you wore it with enough confidence, or at least enough appearance of confidence. As my year nine 'year director' used to say, (quite oddly, I rather thought) "Fake It 'til you Make It". Odd advice though this was for Mrs Miller to be giving us, with such things as confidence and sleep it usually works. Not flying, and immunity to piranhas and other such extremely difficult tasks, but most things.

With brazen confidence and the arrogant assumption that you can get away with anything, you can get away with anything. Just about.

So, anyway, since I am informed by my over-shoulder-literary-critic (who now even says that mentioning her is bad style) that I am harping rather, I shall now move on. As she accurately says now, she didn't phrase it that well.

Ugh, the radio is on, and I really hate that ad. The one that is pretty much "Premature ejaculation! Problems with getting an erection! blah blah blah... Premature ejaculation!" [repeat ad nauseam] This irritates me. First of all, as a female, I can't help but feel left out [not that I particularly mind, mind you]. And secondly, the guy who reads it sounds so unbearaby smug and condescending, with apparent subtext of "Heh, I understand that you might have this problem. I hear it's terrible. Ha, sucks to be you. Let's dwell on your pain by repeating embarrassing phrases in a louder voice than the rest of it, so that even if it's a problem for you, you can't listen to the ad and respond if anyone is listening to the ad with you, because then it will be obvious to the whole world, and you will be humiliated. Fear my virility."

Am so glad am female. Feel that if I were a guy, people would read too much into my rant.

It's funny, the things that guys chat about, and girls don't. When you get many guys in a group with few girls, the conversation can tun to urinal etiquette. But it never does with girls. Or, you know, equivalent subjects. the absolute closest girls ever get is "hey, do you have a nurofen?" with the standard reply being either "yes, here" or "no, sorry".

Or, for instance, I was idly flicking through the blog archives of a friend of mine, who said things about shower gel which might perhaps have permanently damaged me psychologically. [also, it was in conjunction with an etymological question which I already knew the answer to, so I felt very well educated, so I guess that was a plus]

Is it just me to whom it absolutely never occurrs to think of friends in the shower,especially with shower gel in any way shape of form, whatsoever? Because guys seem to chat idly about such things. Wierd.

So...just...wierd...

Arrgh....*finishes postin inarticulateness*

A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Unlike my post. Ha!

Am attempting to screw up enough courage to wear hat thing tomorrow. Will be devastated if it rains, as will have little choice but to not wear it, and yet will still feel cowardly. Is distantly possibly that I may actually chicken out and be cowardly tomorrow.

My tummy hurts. This is, I think, unrelated to feather thing quandary. Which, incidentally, Bec tells me is called a fascinator. Feel that fascinators may be rather smaller, by and large. This is really more by way of being a gobsmacker. It adds a foot to my height, you know.

Which leads us to the question of earrings. What kind of earring can one wear with something so patently over the top?

Also, as collateral preparation for my next attention-whorish move, I'm going to Spotlight tomorrow afternoon, after theatre sports. Anyone going to theatresports is invited to come and keep me company on this quest.

Since am getting my car detailed (cleaned really thoughroughly - Iwouldn't explain, but since today Sam, Sam, didn't know it, I figured I just would) tomorrow, although who know what that will cost? A fortune doubtless. Where was I? I apologise for the abandoned syntax there. Since, as I said, I am getting my car detailed, I will drive to Spotlight.

If I actually bother, you understand.

I rather appears that car cleaning will cost a fortune. Hope do not have to sell Catie into slavery in order to finance it. I'm sure I'd never hear the end of it.

A title should also be incisive, but this isn't.

Is it tragic that I have a word document on my laptop called “Blog post.doc” in which I can type posts and then cut and paste them at blogger.com? In fairness, I originally et it up so that I could save posts before publishing them, which (a) spellchecked them, and (b) meant that they didn’t get deleted when the site crashed, as it seems to do occasionally.

So, currently in Latin, listening to Catullus, and realising that it has started to rain again, but that my umbrella is in my car. Far, far away. This is not usually a disaster, all you have to do is enjoy the rain. Except that obviously I have my laptop, which doesn’t enjoy a swim as much as I. Will wrap laptop in an Honi Soit in bag. Also will close bag. Will then dance in cheerful dampness to Broadway. What an excellent plan. Jeah.

On the subject of “jeah”. This is German, and therefore pronounced “yeah”. However, “jeah” has an overtone of “sweet” in the “dude, where’s my car?” sense. Thus, the question “are you coming to latin now?” is answered “yeah” (or “yes”, or “noooo! *stabs self with plastic Manning cutlery*). Conversely, “hey, you’ve won a million dollars! Also a beach house and hot telepathic guy!” would be answered “jeah” or even “Jeah” or “you lying bastard, don’t toy with me like that! As if it’s not bad enough that I have to go to Latin now!*kicks*”.

Damn, now I’ve missed some translation.

***
Now at work (behold the magic of text: for you, no time has passed, for me: hours). Decided somewhere en route that one of these days we should forcibly mascara (Enmascara? Mascar? What’s the verb here?) the guys at Manning. Just in the spirit of enquiry, you understand. What would Chris look like when he does that eyelash flutter thing he does with mascara on? How long could Tim’s eyelashes conceivably become? Would he be able to stand up under their weight? How about Sam? With his colour eyes, it could look pretty cool.

It must surely be unusual to ponder such matters as one drives through the 80km zone around Wallgrove Rd. Oh the uniqueness of me.

Possibly, however, this would be detrimental to our dear boys. Kathryn’s brother yesterday introduced him to someone, having just met him, as “the fairy”. Is this overly familiar playful banter or misplaced and appalling homophobic-type slur deserving of a good kicking? Is it, in fact, deserving of a good kicking either way? Terribly bad manners. Surely when 3 girls at once flirt absolutely outrageously with the one guy at a dance class, the conclusion to leap to is that he’s a total stud? To impune his masculinity infers surely that Jeremy is severely lacking in either self confidence, manners or studliness. (For demonstration of Sam’s security in his own masculinity, I refer you to the photos taken at the Easter show. It takes a very secure man to wear Princess face paint. Cannot help but respect that, really.)

In fact, could only ever respect that in any guy. Gay or straight, it takes an incredible amount of confidence to wear that face paint. I applaud you Sam, and anyone else who has ever done so.

Returning to Kathryn’s scurrilous brother, or rather the group he represents, (or who I’ve decided for him to represent here, since I’m feeling grumpy with his liberty-taking), one has to wonder, is there anything less attractive in a man than homophobia? Sexism perhaps? But at least that’s universally spurned, whereas there are people who agree with your average homophobic bastard.
Wouldn’t it be nice if they all, all over the world, fell down right now? And got slightly hurt? Slightly to grievously on a sliding scale. Jeah.

I want it to stop raining. Because on Thursday I want to wear my hat thingy, and I don’t want it to get wet. That would be terrible.

On with the stupid filing, though. *sigh*

Wierd running into people day

In addition to running into Meg Cooke today, I also saw a girl from our school, who was a few years below us, ans also name Angela. She greeted me unexpectedly, and follwed the "hi Angela!" With a "you do remember me, don't you?" Is anything in the world more damaging to the memory th an that sentence? I think not. I know we did something together once. I think perhaps the Religious and Ethical Questions thing in year 11? (yes, I know, the irony: Ang on a religious and ethical questions team- we came third, you know) Not sure, however.

Does it count as running into Tim randomly if we went specifically to see him? Perhaps not.

Also, on Sunday, saw heaps of people that I haven't seen in ages.

And then today we were (Bec, cat, Sam and I) all learning to rock and roll dance, having just mastered the charleston (we're so hip. If we ever get transported back in time, we'll totally be able to dance there). And we had to pair off randomly, and Bec's partner, who looked vagely familiar, said "I'm Jeremy" and before I even realised that I recognized him I'd said
"Jeremy Smith!" and he says "yes?" (subtext: who are you? you scare me!)

Angela: "you're Kathryn's little brother, yes?" (subtext: but I swear I was taller last time we met... wierd)

Jeremy: "Yes. Who are you?" (read: who the friggin hell are you? you still scare me)

Angela: "I'm Angela" (for subtext, see actual text here)

Jeremy: *looks confused for a moment* "Oh, Ang. I've heard of you."

Angela: *feels vaguely apprehensive*

This is pretty much the gist of that conversation. But was v. wierd, he has so may Kathryn mannerisms. And also is about twice as tall as he was last I saw him.

Also, he ruffled Sam's fro. But so does everyone.

Thus ends my spate of running into to people randomly. I assume....

Cool feather hat thingy

It occurs to me that I completely failed to mention, in my last, rather verbose post, that I went to Glebe markets on Saturday. Not that this is, in and of itself, a vitally noteworthy thing, but this time, my friends, I bought a Really Cool Feather Hat Thing. If I can get image hosting to work, I shall post a picture of it. It’s very cool. And as soon as I can think of an excuse to do so, I have every intention of wearing it. Possibly to uni? But then, I feel that it could conceivably be viewed as a mildly eccentric sort of thing to wear. Or very eccentric. Also, if it rains, it might get rather damp. And limp. How terrible! Also, I saw Meg Cooke (a girl from my school year) today (at a distance). I didn’t know that I remembered her, actually, I was rather surprised to remember her full name.

Interesting social question; how do you ask the name of someone who you sit next to in many lectures, and were originally introduced to over a year ago? Especially if you’re then dim enough to mention your blog to them, so that then they might read this post and you have to word it all so vaguely. (no, its not you, obviously. I know your name, it’s that person over there that I don’t know the name of. You know, wossname. You, I reiterate, I recall. Lets do something on Friday, eh?)

Damn, its raining really really heavily and I don’t want to have to go outside to get to my History lecture. I’m always reluctant to go to those, but they always end up being good, so I suppose I must Brave The Elements. Blast.

Random Road Trip: a long day full of irrelevancies & sequential non-sequiturs

So, last night was Jasmine’s 21st, a toga party, which was very good, and much fun, and so on. But since people reading this, by and large, either don’t know Jasmine (but would probably like her) or were there, I feel that to recount the events of that evening would be pointless, not to mention that unless events of notable impact occurred, it’s usually best, I think, not to intellectualise fun evening of this variety.

Suffice it to say that the plan of putting the Legolas cutout on her bed surrounded by red rose petals was a success. If anyone wants pictures, post a comment, and I’ll email them to you. Otherwise, on with the post.

After we got home, at about 1:30, I was tired, and went to bed, to read a bit before sleeping, as is my wont. At five o’clock in the morning when I eventually finished “Draco Malfoy and the Tome of Entrapment” by Saber Shadowkitten, I realised what time it was, and went to sleep. (yeah, a little too absorbing a tale, perhaps)

As such, I woke up today at 1pm (although I often do even when I get to sleep at a reasonable time also). It seemed such a nice day (even though we were out of marmalade) that Catie and I decided we needed to do something. We were unable to decide, eventually, so we settled for a random road trip: drive onto the nearest major road, and follow some car to wherever they’re going. So we did. We almost went to Newcastle, but ended up lost in Chatswood instead. And so, in the spirit of randomness, we thought to go and try and find were Tim worked, and, if he was there, say hi.

After searching far and wide in Chatswood Chase, trying on cloches (Catie looked great, I looked distressingly like Jack Lemon in Some Like It Hot, one of the best movies ever: watch it this week sometime), and buying cool teas (Chilli Kiss and Ginger Spice were the flavours du jour, mmm…), we came to a realisation: the was no Angus and Robertson in the whole place. But why? Has Tim lied to us? If so, why? Were we going slowly mad? If so, why? Could you poison hats with psychoactive drugs to make people unable to find friends’ workplaces? If so, again, why?

And then we realised that Angus and Robertson was in Westfield, two blocks up, and ambled sheepishly thither.

After wandering this confusing place for a while, in the spirit of randomness, we decided to cheat, and looked at a store directory. After minimal further lostnesses, we found A&R and Tim. Success!

Tim gave us his new blog address, www.mechablogzilla.blogspot.com and we went and had lunch. At 5.

Tim, unwisely, took us up on our offer to give him a lift home. But first, we thought, we’ll just follow this car in front of us for half an hour. All the way to Epping Road, where we (accurately) decided that my car needed to be washed. So we went to the car wash on Epping road, bought lollies, and were informed that the car wash was out of service. The only other carwashes we could think of were in Burwood and on the M4. And the Burwood ones were likely closed. So we drove randomly on. Near theM2, an idle remark lead to us Questing all the way to Penrith to pick up my other other watch (speaking of which, yay!). Whereupon we ended up having roast lamb dinner with my family. When we (eventually) left, many duck-walked-into-a-bar jokes later (well, two), we drove back down the M4, and to the car wash, which was, frustratingly, also not working. Now convinced that there was a conspiracy at work, and refusing to be beaten, (I would like to work in the word “indomitable” here, but can’t be bothered), we exited the M4, drove down it the other direction again in order to access the carwash on the other side, and finally managed to do so.

Car washes really are great, aren’t they? So scary and exciting. We laughed we cried (largely with laughter after-) we screamed in fear. Especially those great big whirring brush thingies. Catie and I nobly resisted the temptation to use our executive front seat powers to open Tim’s window. It was a near thing, though.

After this excitement, we U-turned once more, and eventually got Tim to his house. Then we moseyed on home, some 7 hours after we had decided just to go out for half an hour, and I had to do my nasty ole Latin exercise.

After that, I set about accidentally proving one of those universal laws: that which is heaps of fun at the time, and hugely hilarious if you’re there, is terribly dry and dull, when recounted in text.

Nonetheless, it’s been a good day, and I leave you with that immortal truth: “Guess you had to be there”.

Tragedy

Tragedy, ladies and gentlemen, has struck repeatedly this evening. First of all, my watch, which was new this January, has apparently broken, so I have to take it in to be fixed tomorrow. On top of this, my Sunglasses, which I bought the same day, and which I maintain deserve the capitalisation (my pink 70s aviators!) have had a lense pop out. To console myself, and bestir myself from grief, and with the added benefit of allowing me to tell time until tomorrow, I decided to wear my special formal watch-necklace which was given to my when I graduated. When I picked it up, however, the back of it fell off! So now I have to get all three fixed tomorrow, and I won't know what time it is until, probably, Tuesday! Aaargh!

Also, am v. upset re. breakages in their own right. Am excessively attached to that graduation watch thingy. (excessively attached in Wildean sense, not sense of worrying obsession)

In the latter sense however, I am currently enamoured of fanfic, as you will have gathered. Finally finished "Underwater light" today (link in earlier post). Was wonderful, was charming, was great, was addictive, lent itself to increased MalfoyObsession (Draconism). Was also incredibly frustrating ending. May have to jump off something high onto something spiky.

Consoled myself with Cassandra Claire's "Something Impossible" which is quite short, and excellent. Highly recommend it. Even if you don’t like slash, everyone loves Cassandra Claire. She’s still the prettiest, but still not king, and Sam will kill her if she tries anything. http://www.astronomytower.org/authors/cassie/SI.html


Furthermore, have horrible, horrid, even ( just watched a movie full of English people, including David Niven, made in the late 30s, am thus inclining towards saying things like "horrid" rather than "horrible", in manner of 19th century governess or girl in Boys Own story)...where was I? Oh yes, nasty Biology report to finish (read: start) before can sleep.

Those whom the gods wish to destroy, it seems, they first make Angela Pardey.

Sympathy is demanded and appreciated. Offers to fix watches and write report will be rewarded with eternal devotion, provided that they are both seriously meant and received in the next 10 minutes, before I have to start work.
Otherwise, should I detect a tone of mockery in these offers, I shall wreak a Great and Terrible Vengeance.

Wednesday (next week I'll have to come up with something better)

On way to Psych this morning, say a poster for DarcySoc, which said "relive the chivalry" and "weekly screenings of Pride and Prejudice", and I thought, yes, life is charming.

Woke up very awake this morning, as most days befgin with an epic battle between me and the alarm clock, and only after a valiant struggle, when it becomes clear that I can't win, do I get up, or admit to wakefulness.

Blasted computer shut down for no apparent reason this morning, and lost all the webaddresses I had open. Tehn when I rebooted it, there were no icons or bars on my screen, only wallpaper. Is very nice wallpaper, mind you.

So I had Bio this morning first of all, always tiring. What the hell is a mole? As in a mole of oxygen, not adorable furry creature burrowing in ground and going on boating parties with water rats.

Very much appreciate help with this query, which I insistently await.

Slightly less sagaic, honest

This is getting unhealthy, was driving along the M4 and kept wanting to pull over to write stuff on here. Tragic. Must get a life, and I would, only I understand that they're terribly complicated. And I kind of like this. And my life, really.

Today's Drive-in movie was "Bride and Prejudice". This is something of a game with me: try to identify the movie showing at the drive-in from the half-second (literally) and no sound. So am always proud when I get it. Also, am always vaguely surprised that there is a movie showing at the drive in on a Tuesday, when I'm coming back from Penrith and work and parents.

Speaking of parents, have ill-advisedly given address of this blog to my Dad. (now regret comments re. non-studiousness at uni and non-filingness at work) As such, discretion in 'comments' are called for, don't mention anything I've been lying to them about. ;)

This is the thing about a blog. Almost certainly no-one reads this, but feel like Bridget Jones, except for the lack of Darcy and Englishness and thirtysomething angst and well, most of it. But feel am writing to an imaginary audience. This leaves me feeling less like a tool when I post.

So, today I was reading a fanfic called "Underwater light" by Maya (on schnoogle). I'm only up to chapter 6, but so far, I wholeheartedly recommend it. Nicely done Julz for recommending it.

Conversely, she also thought that I'd enjoy Zed Adams. And, well.... nup. Not really. Graphic ickiness without the plot to carry it . Triteness posing as wit. Cigarettes and Alcohol. Not really a fan I'm afraid, although I totally appreciate the thought. It just... missed the mark a little, I thought.

Possibly I shouldn't object to the cigarettes and drugs thing, but here I must side with the great Ralph Waldo Emerson, who famously said to Lord Byron (who needed telling), "Drugs are bad. Mmmkay?"

Great Man, really. Wonderful flair for language.

Did they even live in the same time period, do you think? I only ask because (a) I don't know, and (b) some of you might be joke-missing fools.

Except of course for reasonable amounts of alcohol. And caffeine, although as far as I'm concerneds, caffeine is less a drug than a food group.

Catie says I'm "using too many words" in my posts. To which I respond, that if I had image hosting still, they might be thousands of words shorter. But I can't remeber what the site that hosted my pics was. She also is criticizing generally, to which I, equally wittily reply, "do you want a chance to check your damn email or not? Bugger off." >:(

Heh. Feel the power of being the one with a computer. Jeah.

Jasmin gave me a poster today! Yay! Am terribly excited, lopve presents, and posters, and all connected things. Now having the usual debate with myself as to where I'll put it.

I'll leave it that for this evening, having been thoughroughly derailled by my flatmate, to whom I will now lyingly say that the internet is down, and she can't check her email. hehehe... Also, have run out of things to say, and don't want to scare people off permanently with post length. So goodnight all, and don't bite the bedbugs.

The Saga of Monday

Ok, have been nobly resisting the temptation to play with computer for 20 minutes, but here I am in History and Philosophy of Psychology and the Charming Dutchman is gone, replaced for 6 whole lectures by my very boring tutor. Am heartbroken. I loved that Dutch Guy and his lemon.

5 points to the girl in the stripy jumper for distracting Dullman for 10 minutes as he struggled with the microphone.

So: new developments: the guy who looks like Clark Kent has had a haircut, and looks good. (what with the glasses and the shoulder length ‘raven hair’ he was beginning to look oddly like a post-Hogwarts Harry Potter is one of those ‘oblivious-to-his-own-gorgeousness’ ones.)
Also he seems to know the charismatic guy with the limp from last year’s tutorial. That guy’s clearly something of a hub, actually. He knew Dean too, who has conversely ket his hair grow out over the holidays and now looks rather like a $2 religious miniature, except that of course, those rarely portray Christ in glasses and Grey sweats, which is what Dean always wears. Why? Why doesn’t he cut his hair short, maybe spike it with gel, and shave everyday? If he went the whole hog and bought a couple of pairs of nice jeans and some of those loose button through shirts that are so flattering at the moment, he could have, as they say, some serious potential. Well, potential, I don’t know if I want to commit to “serious” potential.

The coolly dressed Punk Chick is sitting with the guy with the short mohawk and the bracelet with… was it Leah?… on it, also both from that tute. Sam being absent, rather wish was sitting with them, but really don’t know them well enough.

Wonder where Sam is, anyway?

Possibly ought to pay attention, but is v. boring and about Darwin. Feel that am sufficiently familiar with Darwin and his Beagle to be going on with. .

Am nobly resisting temptation to read all these fics which Julz sent me. Mustn’t capitulate, because tend to accidentally tell off obnoxious characters out loud. (Feel that suddenly saying “oh, you utter bastard” to some homophobic Death Eater or something in a quiet lecture theatre could be detrimental to social and academic career.)Also liable to blush, giggle, etc. Moreover, if people read over shoulder, could be mortifying. Not sure what hind of tics they are.

Really miss that lemon.

The whole lemon thing began when he was talking about perception. Eg: an apple: one perceives redness, roundness etc.. And he stopped and said “And have is where I fall down as a lecturer, because this morning, I couldn’t find an all I found was this lemon.”

From then on, he brought his lemon to every lecture. He used it to explain religion in terms of “if are falls in the woods and no-one is there, does it make a sound?” too.
“If I have my lemon here, and I want to make a margarita ‘then I turn any back on it, and to longer perceive it, is it still there? What if it’s gone why I turn around? My margarita will be ruined! So Berkeley used religion here; when I turn my back, God will watch any lemon for me and my drink will be fine. That how religion got worked into philosophy. This was the 18th century, so it made everyone feel a lot better.”

The guy was classic.

Slightly wormed. Everyone else in my lecture appears to be writing studiously [this came out on my handwriting recognition software as “inky fringy” oh dear.] suspect I might be missing something. (just tried listing again, but really is unutterably dull.)

Love that word: “unutterable”. Unutterably. Unutterablyunutterableunuttered- Jeah.

It being my Dad’s birthday today (49), he, Mum, my Grandmother (who is visiting us at the moment so as to see the doctor with greater convenience) and I all went to lunch in the Italian forum. Was quite nice, really, although I do rather think that my bruschetta’s better. Anyway, went to that great shop “The Merchant of Venice” which sells those excellent masks, afterwards. They’re so ridiculously expensive, though. I mean good grief. $200? It’s a flippng ornament. No-one holds proper masques these days. Like the ones in The Count of Monte Cristo or (*shame*) Georgette Heyer, where people don’t recognize each other. Who looks at the bit of face around people’s eyes? You hear the voice, see the posture and walk, see the hands, builds, skin colours, even. Even if all this was blurred out somehow (and then what’s the point of the mask?) you recognise people’s turns of phrase. I’m pretty sure I’d be spotted instantly. Who says unutterably these days (unutterableunutterableunutterable)? It’s all just hopeless.

I suppose this is the advantage of internet forums. Actual anonymity. But what’s the point? You never meet those people, and if you do, its ruined.

Mind you, I must admit that I’ve often secretly thought it would be pretty cool to run into a internet person by accident.I can see it now…
*fade to dreamscape*
Random Attractive Guy: *makes reference to internet forum which I used to frequent*

Me: Oh, have you been there? I used to hang out there a lot, I thought I was the only Sydney person on that site.

RAG: Oh my god, you’re flamechick?! I totally love you! Will you go out with me?

Me: [and here this fails] Are you telepathic?

RAG: What? No.

Me: Oh, sorry, then. Nothing doing. Nice to run into you though. Have a nice life!

Hmmm…. Possibly, on reflection, this is less than ideal.


History now. This is the one with the Russian lecturer. At least he’s still here. Also still rather uninteresting, though. Oh well. *is studious*.

Wait, retract that, French history fascinating, all out of Dumas The Three Musketeers, and the Countof Monte Cristo, and the Man in the Iron Mask. And “Under The Red Robe” whoever wrote that. Love Richelieu: political genius, also Louis XIV, but not Louis XV. Do not deserved to be vilified in literature. But is really excellent literature, so forgive them. Oh, and The Scarlet Pimpernel. All good historical literature seems to be French. Why is that? French prose is terrible. Foucault, Derrida, anyone?

Hate my tutor, however, critical bastard.

Whoa, it’s really dark at six now. Freaky. And will only get darker as winter progresses, of course. Will have to walk back from busstop in the dark, most intimidating. Not today, however, as am parked in Seymour Centre Car Park. Walk there will doubtless be intimidating, however.

The girl with the cool short bright pink hair in my History tutorial now has purple hair. Am v. jealous. Wish I had hair light enough to dye effectively.

Also: weirdness: the girl with whom I’m doing my history presentation in a fortnight turn out to be Larissa Chu’s sister Natalie. So bizarre. Apparently she recognized my name, so she asked if I went to PLC. Had never really considered myself a subject for discussion in the Chu household. Truly bizarre afternoon.

Will adjourn for frozen Coke, and battle the traffic home, and the, if my internet is functional, post this infernally long piece of blather on the blog where maybe a grand total of one person will get as far as this sentence. To that person I say this: Hello, and I salute your perseverance. I also apologise for wasting your presumably valuable time. Have a pleasant life, until I next post, after which point renewal of my blessing is reliant on your reading that too. Adios and farewell, loving fans.

Late night ramblings

Feel obscurely that ought to post, but nothing of note has happened, particularly. This is not unusual, things of particular note do not often happen. Possibly my "things of note" standards as too high.

Actually, I went to the Lord of The Rings Exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum this evening, which was good. Had to work hard to suppress the urge to fangirl and giggle at the actual costumes worn by the actual actors (next to their actual skin....oooh…). Had mixed success.

It's impressive, really, the level to which LOTR seems to effect people. A book leading to a movie leading to people queuing (how ought that be spelled, do you reckon? It looks wrong) to see costumes worn in the movies, and sets and so on, and paying a hundred dollars for a cardboard cutout of the characters, or one thousand, seven hundred dollars for a LOTR- style cloak from the souvenir shop. Not to mention spawning an entire genre of books and movies. How amazing. I wonder what Tolkien would think? What would it be like to have that sort of impact? I know Schroedinger (the guy with the hypothetical dead/alive cat in a box, and father of quantum theory) was irritated by the thing getting so out of hand, and later in his life snapped that he "wished he'd never thought of the damned thing". Would you resent that sort of intrusion? Do you get to resent it if you publish? I think not. If it was the sort of idle philosophising that one did in one's lounge room whilst watching Rage at 2:30 am on a friday, then one would be justified, perhaps, if people went and built a scientific discipline out of it.

Seems to be common, such resentment, now I think about it. Marx famously said that he wasn't a "Marxist". My history lecturer always talks about the difference between Marxism and Marxian (the latter being his name for Marx’s approach). Of course, he's Russian, so he has that accent, and instead of pronouncing it "ism", he says [and here I realise that it's impossible to make this distinction in writing, which is probably the source of his problem] it as two syllables "is-muh".

Its not a proper Russian accent, though. Only femmes fatale with dark lipstick can have a proper Russian accent.

Everyone seems to have an accent this year. My history lecturer, obviously. My History and Philosophy of Psychology lecturer, who is dutch, and the absolute best lecturer ever (more on this guy when I can be bothered). My new flatmate, whose name is Bryan (or Brian, who knows?), but who inexplicably prefers to be called Felix (well, not inexplicable, perhaps, I'm not a fan of the name Bri/yan myself), is Scottish, and hence has that inimitable accent of the Scot.

I've never had any trouble with accents before, and certainly never with UK accents, but every now and then, even though his accent is not broad, he'll say something and either I will completely and embarrassingly misunderstand, thinking that I have understood, or, which is preferable, I will not even think in error that I have understood, but will rather have to nod and smile, and hope it becomes clear with time. Oh well.

I am, in fact, watching Rage at about 1 am on a Saturday at the moment. Bjork seems to be popular with today's guest programmer, and the more of her clips I watch, the more I like them. They're really different, not only from other people's clips (also big this evening has been nineties rap, bizarrely. I never previously knew that large [like, 25 cm diameter] clocks hung about the neck were the precursor to bling. Apparently they were. So there you go), but also from each other. Each is truly unique, a bit like the singer seems to be. She has an unusual sort of beauty, she's occasionally oddly presented, but you can't deny her prettiness. Or I can't, anyway, and Cat agrees, so I guess I must be right.

That sounds rather like that Robbie Williams line "You can't argue with popularity, or you could, but you'd be wrong". You have to admire the.... the only word here is spunk, of that guy. His effortless arrogance, his smooth admissions of vulnerability, and his... well, his englishness doesn't hurt either to be honest. But its the staggering confidence that you have to really admire. Also his reactions to people asking him if he's gay all the time. Instead of denying it in a fit of threatened heterosexuality (which would be terribly unattractive), he just shrugs it off, like he's straight, but he's not going to rule it out if he gets a better offer. ["Press be asking do I care for sodomy? I don't know, yeah, probably."]

Um... didn't mean to end up waxing lyrical about singers, but so it goes.

Ooh, early Beatles clip, Paul McCartney was a bit of dish when he was younger, wasn't he? Definitely more of a Paul- than John Lennon fan. Also, I like the early Beatles songs better. I know its cretinous, but really, beautiful as "Golden Slumbers" may be, who can go past the infectious cheerfulness of "I wanna hold your hand" and "Just to dance with you"? They're just so adorable.

Now Prince is on. Am much less enamoured of him. For one thing, they've played three Prince clips in a row, and for another, the second one, "When 2 R in love" ( I shudder at this txt-style language. Honestly. Ugh) was just a blck screen with subtitles. In txt style. So really boring. And yes, this does direct your attenti0on to the words, but when it also writes "synthesizer plays bass beat staccato" this is pointless, it intellectualises what ought not be an intellectual thing. Also it points out that a synthesizer is being used. Not classy. Worst of all, it makes more obvious and intrusive such lyrical gems as "When 2 r in love, the hips move with the speed of a runaway train" [ew, thanks for that, Prince] and others which I either can't remember or have perhaps actively repressed, but which were of a similar calibre.

Either way, leaving the subject of Prince's musical depravities (and here I must admit to rather liking one of his songs, though none of the ones played this evening, and anyway, this doesn't count, because I liked the Backstreet Boys too, at the time), I move on to the subject of my new jeans. Or rather, my old jeans.
My old jeans which newly have ribbon and beads and buttons sewn onto them. They're terribly shiny and nice. They also have a defunct hairclip and bracelet charm on them. And herein lies the cause of their decoration.

Now, when charms fall of my charm bracelet, I do not have to bid them farewell, but can instead sew them onto the jeans. Yay! This is particularly the case with my anchor charm. Easily my favourite charm, but also easily the most absolutely flipping irritating charm I've ever had. An anchor can, for the purposes of charm bracelets worn around fabric, be thought of as a pair of linked, barbed hooks, lying in wait to tie themselves inextricably to your coat, your scarf, and, on one memorable occasion, the lining of your handbag [think about it, a disaster in its own way. Spare change and the inevitable embarrassing contents went everywhere].This might explain the weakness that developed in the link, and the eventual falling off of the charm from natural causes. And now it's out of harm's way. And it's making my jeans prettier. Its absolutely win/win.

Anyway, I suppose it's about time to wrap this up, so I bid you all good night, and shall retire to bed with further ado.