In which room-tidying prompts procrastinatory self-examination and rhetorical questions are over-indulged in.

So, I’ve been cleaning my room this evening, as every good citizen ought to do, occasionally (and some more than most, if they’re of a generally untidy mien). Turns out, it’s way tiring. How is it that I have so much stuff? And so much stuff which is just “stuff”?

Why did my mothe-... I mean Santa Claus... feel that I should be given a mint condition 2008 dollar coin – “Sure to appreciate in value!”- in my stocking this past Christmas? And what’s to be done with it now?

Why did I put up, for so long, with having SO MANY power cords underfoot at my desk? Why did this still include 2 external disk drives (obsolete), 2 chargers for my old mobile, and the charger for my camera, which I haven’t seen since over a year ago? Where the hell is my camera, anyway?

What does it say about me that I’m so tired after tidying only: shoes, beside my desk chair, the area in my cupboard with scarves in it, and my jewellery shelf? That I’m lazy or that I’ve hit my lifetime accessory quota and will soon have to seek help, never to be allowed to buy another earring? Why, if I have so obscenely many earrings, can I never find ones that are quite what I’m after (maybe because they’re buried under a pile of miscellaneous earrings, who can say)?

Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to put some kind of menu button on this keyboard where the Delete key used to be?

Why does this version of Word not allow me to Customize Keyboard Shortcuts? I spelled customised the way they liked and everything! What the hell happened to “File”, “Edit”, “View”, “Paragraph”, “Tools” and “Help”? If the software designers are so aware that this is infuriating that “no, you can’t have the old kind back, tough bikkies” is in the FAQ, why don’t they just make it an option?

Back to the room, why would you design a shoe rack with bars so widely spaced that the heels on ladies’ shoes fall through when you put them on it?

Where is the correct place to store a dressing gown which is often damp from being worn fresh out of the shower?

Can I bring myself to throw out those old mascaras that are a bit past it now, but not empty, and which were pretty expensive when I bought them? Why do I own so much Estee Lauder makeup when I’m a student who doesn’t bother to wear makeup on a daily basis?

How can people who do wear makeup on a daily basis bear it? Doesn’t it get awfully tiring and dull? And bad for the pores, or something?

Why on earth would anyone ever design a room with only one powerpoint, and that single, so that without powerboards and double adaptors I could either have a radio or a light or a computer (with no externally powered plug-in things) or a centrally powered alarm clock or an electric blanket or a phone charger, but never more than one? Would it make me a better person to have pursued such an option rather than having 2 powerboards running from the one plug?

Why do I own so many corsets, fascinators, outrageous hats, hair feather ornament things and petticoats? Is it possible that when I’m in shops I forget what life I actually lead and get myself confused with movie people? Do I, on some subconscious level, think that by buying the accoutrements for a life of adventure, I’ll somehow get one, and become a Secret Agent, or similar? (This is a distressingly convincing explanation).

Should the full stop go inside or outside the parentheses when the whole sentence is in the brackets?

When will I face the fact that the longer I sit here writing this crud, the longer it will be before I’ll be able to excavate my bed in order to sleep on it?

Movie Questions

Tagged by Catie of www.phantomday.blogspot.com

1. One movie that made you laugh: The first one I can think of is Monsters Inc. Pixar are so great, you guys. Also, the Emperor's New Groove, if we're going for underappreciated animated movies from that time period.

2. One movie that made you cry: A Little Princess, when I was about 7. I was always scornful of movie-crying, so I remember mainly being embarrassed at my own crying. But also! Her father is killed and everyone is mean to her and locks her in an attic! What's not to be sad about? (Indeed, the answer was the point of the movie, as I recall)

3. One movie you loved when you were a child: Beauty and the Beast. So much, oh my.

4. One movie you’ve seen more than once: All the movies I've listed so far. And really, most movies that I see, I'll end up seeing again. But I guess The Lady Vanishes and Some Like It Hot are such favourites that I watch them most often.

5. One movie you loved, but were embarrassed to admit it: The Lizzie Macguire Movie? It has Hillary Duff in it, you guys. (*hides face*)

6. One movie you didn't like: Fanily Business. It had Matthew Broderick and Sean Connery and whatsisname from The Graduate and Tootsie, and was billed as a 'Comedy Crime Caper'. Actually it was a total downer, with neither comedy nor caper, and the boring-er, grittier kinds of crime only. Also, it made my Dad sad, which is pretty much not on.

7. One movie that scared you: Vertigo. When I first watched this, years ago, my sister and I were so nervous afterwards that we had to watch a sitcom before we could sleep.

8. One movie that bored you: Sin City. It was so Meh, plotwise.

9. One movie that made you happy: Pirates of the Caribbean. I don't know why, but I remember when my flatmates and I first saw it we were all giggle-happy for the rest of the evening.

10. One movie that made you miserable: The Object of My Affection. I watched it just after being broken up with when I was tired and emotional, and it turns out that it features thwarted love, which was way unhelpful at the time.

11. One movie you weren’t brave enough to see: Saw. Nup nup nup.

12. One movie character you’ve fallen in love with: The Scarlet Pimpernel; Michael Redgrave in the Lady Vanishes; Dmitri in Anastasia; Tristan Thorne in Stardust. All the pretty, witty, preferably swashbuckly and/or British ones.

13. The last movie you saw: The Bank Job

14. The next movie you hope to see: Tropic Thunder, which hopefully will be ok. Rottentomatoes makes me a little nervous, but the viral video sucked me in good and proper.

15. Now tag five people:I don't know that there ARE 5 people as yet untagged who read this blog. Hmmm. Well, Jordan, Spencer, Dan (on livejournal?), my Dad and Sylvia, perhaps. Those of you sans blogs could maybe do a facebook note? Or, y'know, ignore this...

In which Spring is Sprung, Grass is noted to have Risen, and the Location of Birds is Queried

Which is to say: Hey guys, it’s spring! I tend to think of myself as unbiased in my Seasonal Preferences, but this is clearly a Lie. In about mid-winter, when it had not yet been really Proper Cold, I expressed myself dissatisfied, and wished for some genuine nippiness, but this was clearly a Mistake. [I think maybe it’s time for the Emphatic Capitalisation to take a nap, though. This reads like the blurb on a 1950s ha’penny paperback: “Watch Amazed as our Charming and Beautiful Heroine Struggles to Escape the Evil Machinations of the Mustache-Twirling Villain!”] I’m pretty glad to see the back of winter. Soon: the triumphant return of Warmth!

In a spirit of celebration, I had lunch in the park this afternoon, on the surreptitiously damp grass. (Surreptitious because it doesn’t feel damp when you check it, or when you sit, but when you stand up, your trousers are all unfortunate-looking.) It’s so lovely, though. All sunshine and green grass and blue sky and all those stereotypically lovely things.

I think my favourite thing, though, (and it’s a tough call, I’m pretty thoroughly appreciative of all of the various things about Hyde Park, from it’s Londony name right through to the fact that some fantastic person once decided that there ought to be fairy lights in those great fig trees) is the office people basking in patches all over the place. I like the little groups or people chatting and looking excited to be outside, and the people sitting up and eating their lunch, looking for all the world like 35 year old first graders with lunchboxes, but most of all I love the individual people who sprawl entirely flat on the ground.

This can be done either prone or supine, but for maximum effect, no part of the body should be in any way raised off the grass, and the whole body should be spread out like a completely-asexual starfish. Obviously it’s important to exercise caution in the wearing of skirts, but the really important thing is to achieve that look of devil-may-care oblivion, as if one had been dropped from a great height and landed, ragdoll-like, across as much ground as possible.

I don’t know why I enjoy the sprawling of these office-dwellers and attorneys as much as I do, but I suppose it’s probably the fact that they look so relieved to have escaped into the sunshine. It becomes suddenly clear that these are not, in fact, office dwellers and attorneys, but kids who’ve been turned into grownups, and are forced to spend most of their playtime in offices or cunningly disguised as serious attorneys. This is a terrible fate for any erstwhile seven year old.

All this loveliness gives me my annual urge to go to Floriade on a solo tulip quest, which I seem to somehow miss out on every year. I was under the impression that, being as how it was on just before the thesis due-date, this year would be no exception, but I’ve come up with a cunning plan (or Cunning Plan, even). If (and only if) I’ve managed to get the first draft of my thesis entirely done on time (I’ll have to look up the dates), I shall go. I’ll have the middle of the week off (Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday), which is delightfully off-peak for accommodation prices, and if I print my draft out, and also take my laptop, I can quest down to Canberra and proofread in the watery Canberra sunshine. This will (hopefully) be pretty awesome, you guys! I wonder how much it would cost? And if it will turn out to be in any way practicable? I do hope so.

In which Cinema is mused on, and Popular Culture found Wanting

So, yesterday evening (Whoa, I really do begin everything "so", huh?) Charming Flatmate Sylvia and I went to the movies, because back in the Mists Of Time, Energy Australia sent us a double pass to, I don't know, thank us for using energy, I guess? Since these expire at the end of next week, and life seems to be getting exponentially more hectic as we approach the end of August, yesterday it was, even though we couldn't figure out what to see. At the end of some truly sagaic indecision, we figured we'd see The Bank Job.

"It has Jason Statham in it!" we said, "It'll be like Ocean's Eleven, but with added Britishness! What a jolly time we shall have!"

No.

To be fair, I was already slightly disconcerted when we arrived, since I'd figured I'd duck into Pizza & Games to say 'hi' in the spare half hour I had before we were to meet (since it turns out that the library was randomly closed at 8, wtf), and the Holme Building seemed to be deserted. I'm not sure where it was, or if it was in fact on yesterday, but never before have so many potential geeks vanished, with so much hypothetical pizza, so completely. There were imaginary tumbleweeds and everything.

Also, we got a smidgin carried away with the catering, on the grounds that Movie Picnic is way better than Movie and then Really Late Dinner, so we still have toffee apples left over, which is pretty neat, also some chocolate with poprocks in it (Weird? or Weirdly Delicious? Only time will tell!{EDIT: Time has told. Weirdly Delicious wins hands down. The poprocks make it veeerrrry strange, but also totally awesome. A++ : Would snack again}). Also we had Oporto and grapes and Pods and drinks and there was Much Rejoicing.

This movie was not, it turns out, a Rollicking Crime Caper; it was one of those movies where someone gets beaten up, tied to a chair and taken to with a sandblaster. This, in fact, is what I'm going to have to call Deeply Uncool. (It seems strangely marvelous to me that Deeply Uncool is my second most severe term of disapprobation, second only to Not Okay. All the more general terms like Really Bad or similar seem weak in comparison, maybe due to the 80s slang? Is it because things that are Bad may just be Bodacious in disguise?) I realise that there was more to this movie than that, but honestly not nearly so much more as to make us overlook this aspect of it.

It seems strange to me that for some people, such a scene is a reccommendation. I can see where the whole opening sequence with the topless ladies or the later scenes with strippers might appeal, and I am actually appealed-to by the thrilling heist bits and crazy 70s clothing, but I geniunely Don't Get the appeal of your basic Horrible Torture Scene. "Where's that get fun?" I cry, Jayne-stlye.

Am I uptight here, or is this just some kind of mental illness which seems to grip boys? Why? And is it unreasonable that it makes me think that maybe there's something wrong with people who look for that in their evening's entertainment? Clearly I'm the odd one out, here (well, Sylvia too), so it's unreasonable for me to judge everyone else, but it is too late for such sensibleness.

Anyway, in short, my point is this: "Srsly, gais, wtf?"

In which an Optimistic Beginning is followed up on, and Communication is Essayed

So! Despite the obvious vanity (in both senses – or is it “vainness” in the second sense? Surely not) of writing blog posts when I ought to be getting things done and when doubtless the novelty of reading this sort of blather will pall rapidly on both (!) the people of whose readership I’m aware, here we are again.

My. That sentence was pretty long, huh? I don’t tend to even notice that I’m doing it until I look back and realise that I’ve spanned 8 lines and 2 continents, or something. Also I’m tolerably sure that my over-parenthesising is getting worse, with nested brackets and subclauses running amok in the middle of even the simplest sentence. And that’s just in written communication! I caught myself yesterday breaking off in the middle of something to comment on the posture of a by-passer before returning to the rest of the sentence, which was, in turn, also rubbish. Surely this presents a near-insurmountable obstacle to the understanding of your average Man On The Street. Or Woman On The Street, obviously.

Actually, I was once told by my Charming Flatmate Sylvia’s erstwhile boyfriend Iain (there’s a name with too high a vowel concentration if ever there was one)(Oh my goodness; see? I did it again!) that when he first met me, he had to concentrate as hard to understand me as he did when people in his language class spoke in French. I can but hope that this was hyperbolic, since otherwise, clearly, We Got Problems.

Naturally, the obvious thing would be to strive for a Solution. Short, punchy sentences. Slow, careful enunciation. Nary a subclause in sight, fewer archaic words, and a close attention paid to tricolon. Also, maybe I could try being less allusive, especially since sometimes the things I’m quoting (or alluding obscurely to) enjoy a ridiculously limited audience, such as being exclusively available to the occupants of my head. Still, taking on board all of these very sensible suggestions, I find myself disinclined to acquiesce.

It’s ‘cause I’m a Rebel, y’see.

Actually, I partly blame my work for exacerbating it. My manager’s English is so dodgy (his abuse of idiom –“It’s a catch 20-20!”- is enough to make strong men shudder) that I suspect I’m rebelling by making my language more complex at the same time as being sucked into the vortex of his other bad linguistic habits. I fear that by the time I leave this job I’ll be utterly unable to communicate with real people. Like Eliza Doolittle: “What have you left me fit for?” but without the Shaw wit or the Rex Harrison sexual tension, and with the language ebbing in the other direction.

All of a sudden the ridiculous number of facebook statuses don’t seem so bad, do they? “At least there,” you hypothetically say to your hypothetical self, “she has a character limit.” Damage control is key. Alas, something seems to be Rotten in the State of Facebook. Which is to say: my status updates aren’t going into my Mini-Feed, which annoys me more than it ought, mainly because since Facebook has taken over our minds and lives, I pretty much use status updates to keep track of where I’m up to, and without a record of them, I feel sort of adrift, and also because without them, it’s impossible to look at them and tell how much time I’ve wasted. Usually I can look at them and say “Look! You’ve updated your status thirteen times today! Get some sodding work done!” but at present I’m utterly unaccountable, which seems dangerous.

Ok, seriously, this is Just Silly. I’m going to get some work done. Especially since any hypothetical readers doubtless threw up their hands in despair and left paragraphs ago.

In which a Blog is visited with Forlorn Hope

So! It's now been over a year since I last successfully logged in to this account, mainly because of the changeover to google accounts, which my account never really worked for.

Note to self: when next unable to remember password, the clue is lolcat.

So much, as usual, has happened since my last foray into the blogosphere that it seems like perhaps the best thing to do is simply ignore all the water under the bridge, and do some kind of Clone Wars-style backstory thing with poor animation and continuity at some hypothetical later date. I don't really remember what blogs are for, to be honest, but I remember being disticntly under the impression that the very early posts I made (though distressingly fanfic-heavy) were the best-quality writing. Possibly because that was way back in the mists of early 2005, a time distant enough to warrant the golden haze of pleasantly inaccurate recollection. The upshot of all this is that until I find my feet again, this blog will be written in a lax, scattershot sort of way.

I've been writing my thesis-plan over the last two days, with perhaps indifferent success. Still, if I put all of the bits of plan and the copy-pasted paragraphs which seemed relevant in my various readings and generally all of that not-really-deserving-to-be-wordcounted bollocks into one Word document and wordcount it anyway, I get the very reassuring figure of 7, 750 words, which is something. I have every intention of having the first draft of the first chapter (not the First Chapter; Chapter 1, you understand, but the first to be written) done by Monday.
Give Us Successful Meeting Of An Arbitrary Deadline Or Give Us Death!

(Cake or Death? Cake, please!)

Also to be achieved in that time is a trip to Circe Du Soleil, a day's work, a trip to the cinematograph show with Sylvia, a double swing-dance class, and what my parents like to call Lunch At The Club. If you listen closely when they say it, you can actually hear the Emphatic Capitals dropping serenely into place as they footle about at The Club (actually the Royal Automobile Club) thinking of it like the Drones Club in a P.G. Wodehouse, or White's in a Regency novel, as their various fancies take them.

Then, next week it's my birthday on Tuesday, whereupon I shall turn 23. This means that I'm almost exactly a mere 5 years from "pushing thirty", but instead of thinking about that, I'm going to... well, try to ignore it, because it's Clearly Stupid.

Also clearly stupid, but considerably more fun, is the Ridiculous and Princely Sum I spent on socks in the last month. I went in on a group order at sockdreams.com, which is pretty cool, and now own more socks than a centipede with poor circulation. Today's ones have this fantastic lace on them, but it's Swing Dancing tonight, so I might wear my skull-and-crossbones shirt and skull-and-crossbones stockings, Just Because I Can.

In other news, and in a spirit of enterprisin'-ness, I totally discovered (and then was Lured into commenting on) the blogs of some people who I don't really know in a bloggy way, due to the Siren Call of facebook. I'm not sure if I hope they read and respond to the comments, or hope that they never notice at all.

Anyway, it's now 2 o'clock, which makes it definitely time to Get Back To Work, and really very probably time to never abuse emphatic capitalisation so again, so I shall bid you adieu, Fair Readers, and though I seriously doubt your existence, do not let this induce Existential Angst in you.

Blogger let me in!

So, for the first time in moths,I am currently able to log in to blogger! Yay!

Since I was last able to acheive this feat, these things have happened to me:
I joined facebook
I got a LiveJournal
I checked my email, only to find all mail and contacts spontaneously deleted again.
I finished the coursework aspect of my degree (only honours left to go, if that) - 6 months ahead of time: go me!
I've been working in Penrith full-time, which is a little soul-destroying.
I got in contact with the guy I had a crush on in Kindergarten. Trippy.


also...
My flatmate got engaged. Not so much something which happened to me as near me, but still, cool!

So...

Tim and I have broken up.

In other news, this is the first time all week that blogger has let me log in! What's that about?

I wish I was rich

And had a house to use these wallpapers in.

http://www.trustworth.com/wallpaper.shtml

Awesome words

My favourite word today is "abecedarian". Woot!

Also, recherche. Recherrrrrrrrrrche!

Ah work, it makes you appreciate the little things which aren't work.