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....