It has recently come to my attention that my old High School had its annual athletics carnival recently. And this got me thinking.
I have never been 'fit'. Ever. I don't run. It's just not a thing. I was always a cerebral child; reading, playing some instrument or the other, you get the picture. Sport was never something which interested me, and nor, when I participated in school sport classes, did I ever feel a love between sport and I grow.
Now, this idea of an athletics carnival I find particularly abhorrent. First of all, it ain't no carnival. A carnival has cool rides, and fairy floss, and bright flashing lights. An athletics carnival has only children being forced to compete against one another in a grossly unflattering school sports uniform, being bossed around by the teacher who is given the mic for the day. But perhaps it is named so deliberately, in order to trick children like me (except they'd be slightly less intelligent, and fall for it) into believing that this 'carnival' would be fun! and full of great things!
But what is the worst part of it, is the public humiliation. It was bad enough for me being forced to do the 1600m run in mere PE class, as I was inevitably the (or one of) last person to complete it in the so-called 'fitness training' (until I stopped running it, and walked the damn thing instead - my teacher actually stopped bothering to time me). But within my own class, the humiliation of being so utterly uncoordinated and unfit was restricted to only the 19 or so other girls who made up my class.
Athletics Carnivals do not consider the Alices of the school. Everybody is forced to participate in at least one event. And there are mostly events where students are forced to run. So it was many years of doing my pathetic run-trot in front of an entire school that was faced directly towards the athletics track, until I finally persuaded my mother to just let me stay home and be more productive through music practice, or schoolwork instead. What was particularly cruel twist of fate here, is that every time mother did cave in and said 'it's ok, you can stay home', the day was rainy and the 'carnival' was cancelled.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Power: alternatively titled 'LISTEN TO MAH PROBLEMS"
Yes, I'm going to be all self indulged. As we know, blogging is never self indulgent in any form, so this should be some really groundbreaking stuff.
My parents are divorced, and my father's current long-term partner (woman, not man, just to clear that up) is, in layman's terms, bat-shit-fuck-nuts-fruity-loopy crazy. Not in the fun way either.
She has never taken to my sister or me, and particularly considering that I am the younger by several years, she reserves a special place in her black twisted heart for hating me.
We have come to a point where she tolerates me. Sort of. What I mean by tolerates is that she says hello to me. In recent years I sort of gave up trying to make conversation with her as she'd cut it off as soon as was possible, generally by turning to whomever she was next to and starting a conversation with them. Yet in more recent times her thing is to actually avert her gaze from my person.
Last year, and I will remember this until I die, she actually addressed a room in the third person - I was the only occupant - rather than directly address me. A handy trick if ever you want to really disconcert someone.
So I was thinking about this. Where is the power here? In the woman who, in the words of my (eloquent) sister 'must suck like a 'Puerto Rican hooker', or me?
I came to the conclusion that in fact, I am the one here who holds the most power, as I inspire such hatred, and such fear, that she literally can't bring herself to look at me. In her crazy messed up mind, I am someone of such menace, that she wants to pretend I'm not there to make herself feel better.
Despite this, the fact that someone just ignored your 586314th attempt to be courteous to them is pretty soul-crushing, particularly when you're attempting to conform to a level of etiquette, and not actually call them on the fact that they're a massive douchebag (obviously also not descending to their level is additionally factored into this).
So let us leave this blog post with the question, where is power? How can you determine who has it and who doesn't, and what is it that gives one person power?
Ok so that was actually more like 'the many questions'.
And perhaps more importantly, does having such power over another person mean you shouldn't feel like crap when they're an asshole to you?
My parents are divorced, and my father's current long-term partner (woman, not man, just to clear that up) is, in layman's terms, bat-shit-fuck-nuts-fruity-loopy crazy. Not in the fun way either.
She has never taken to my sister or me, and particularly considering that I am the younger by several years, she reserves a special place in her black twisted heart for hating me.
We have come to a point where she tolerates me. Sort of. What I mean by tolerates is that she says hello to me. In recent years I sort of gave up trying to make conversation with her as she'd cut it off as soon as was possible, generally by turning to whomever she was next to and starting a conversation with them. Yet in more recent times her thing is to actually avert her gaze from my person.
Last year, and I will remember this until I die, she actually addressed a room in the third person - I was the only occupant - rather than directly address me. A handy trick if ever you want to really disconcert someone.
So I was thinking about this. Where is the power here? In the woman who, in the words of my (eloquent) sister 'must suck like a 'Puerto Rican hooker', or me?
I came to the conclusion that in fact, I am the one here who holds the most power, as I inspire such hatred, and such fear, that she literally can't bring herself to look at me. In her crazy messed up mind, I am someone of such menace, that she wants to pretend I'm not there to make herself feel better.
Despite this, the fact that someone just ignored your 586314th attempt to be courteous to them is pretty soul-crushing, particularly when you're attempting to conform to a level of etiquette, and not actually call them on the fact that they're a massive douchebag (obviously also not descending to their level is additionally factored into this).
So let us leave this blog post with the question, where is power? How can you determine who has it and who doesn't, and what is it that gives one person power?
Ok so that was actually more like 'the many questions'.
And perhaps more importantly, does having such power over another person mean you shouldn't feel like crap when they're an asshole to you?
Thursday, September 1, 2011
On boyfriend
Recently I have decided that altering my diet was quite a good idea, given that I have previously had a rather unhealthy relationship to food as a track record.
Pre diet change the levels of sugar that I consumed on a regular (ok, daily) basis were probably toxic to most humans. I have indicated to boyfriend that this is perhaps something I should worry about, and in true boyfriend style, he took wholly to my plan to improve myself.
Before I say anything further, boyfriend is a very healthy eater, strictly regulating his refined sugar intake.
Were I to tell him that yesterday when I was feeling a bit down, I consumed an entire 190 gram block of chocolate (to be fair, I didn't realise that I had eaten quite so much until I reached the end itself), he would recoil in a horror greater than were I to tell him about some truly weird and whacky fetish I held near and dear to my heart.
Yet on the whole, let's face it, where else would I find someone who adores me, despite my odd animal noises to express extremes of sentiment, despite my cuh-razy notions and ideas (and moods), and despite my extreme and ongoing abuse of him. He is also an excellent pillow.
And let's face it, good pillows are hard to find.
Pre diet change the levels of sugar that I consumed on a regular (ok, daily) basis were probably toxic to most humans. I have indicated to boyfriend that this is perhaps something I should worry about, and in true boyfriend style, he took wholly to my plan to improve myself.
Before I say anything further, boyfriend is a very healthy eater, strictly regulating his refined sugar intake.
Were I to tell him that yesterday when I was feeling a bit down, I consumed an entire 190 gram block of chocolate (to be fair, I didn't realise that I had eaten quite so much until I reached the end itself), he would recoil in a horror greater than were I to tell him about some truly weird and whacky fetish I held near and dear to my heart.
Yet on the whole, let's face it, where else would I find someone who adores me, despite my odd animal noises to express extremes of sentiment, despite my cuh-razy notions and ideas (and moods), and despite my extreme and ongoing abuse of him. He is also an excellent pillow.
And let's face it, good pillows are hard to find.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
On massive disparities
Today boyfriend got accepted into postgrad law. I did badly on a French test.
I feel there is a discrepancy here. My self esteem may or may not have plummeted.
I envy people like boyfriend, because what they want to do is so clear. Where they are going is so obvious. Conversely, I am, as I self-describe, a waste of resources in that I am an arts student with no clear desire as to where I want to go (albeit one with an above average command of the English language).
I have always been told that I could do whatever I wanted. Thank god I never wanted to be a physicist, mathematician (any science specialist, really), or sportsperson. But growing up being told something like that, and beyond that (as arrogant as this sounds), accepting that the world really is yours for the picking is quite a daunting thing. Rather than being exceptional in one particular field, I have always been very good at a number of things. Rather than enjoying and being interested in only one area of academia, I have devoured knowledge like I devour chocolate.
I first heard the phrase 'jack of all trades, master of none' used when my mother was relaying a conversation she had with one of my teachers of the day about me. I had never thought too much about it, but I realised that being very good at a broad number of things, without truly excelling at one, can be a curse.
I feel awfully arrogant contemplating this last paragraph, but I gave up modesty for lent and ever found it again. Kidding. I feel that false modesty is worse than a bible basher, and telling something straight up without any 'look at how fabulous I am' is refreshing.
Anyway. I suppose the point I'm trying to make here is that finding your way isn't easy. That just because you have all the ability in the world, doesn't mean you'll achieve (although applying yourself would probably help here), that figuring out where to go and what to do can be the most daunting and unknown thing.
What have I learned from today?
Firstly, that I should have taken those stupid career advisory tests in school a) at all and b) more seriously.
Second, that actually studying for a french oral results in a worse mark than the rather shocking ad lib that I did last semester.
Third, that not knowing what vocation I will ultimately embark on is terrifying the holy crap out of me.
Fourth, that I am proud of boyfriend.
Finally, pizza is the best thing ever and I ate too much of it. Relevance? None. But I had pizza tonight, and it was amazing.
I feel there is a discrepancy here. My self esteem may or may not have plummeted.
I envy people like boyfriend, because what they want to do is so clear. Where they are going is so obvious. Conversely, I am, as I self-describe, a waste of resources in that I am an arts student with no clear desire as to where I want to go (albeit one with an above average command of the English language).
I have always been told that I could do whatever I wanted. Thank god I never wanted to be a physicist, mathematician (any science specialist, really), or sportsperson. But growing up being told something like that, and beyond that (as arrogant as this sounds), accepting that the world really is yours for the picking is quite a daunting thing. Rather than being exceptional in one particular field, I have always been very good at a number of things. Rather than enjoying and being interested in only one area of academia, I have devoured knowledge like I devour chocolate.
I first heard the phrase 'jack of all trades, master of none' used when my mother was relaying a conversation she had with one of my teachers of the day about me. I had never thought too much about it, but I realised that being very good at a broad number of things, without truly excelling at one, can be a curse.
I feel awfully arrogant contemplating this last paragraph, but I gave up modesty for lent and ever found it again. Kidding. I feel that false modesty is worse than a bible basher, and telling something straight up without any 'look at how fabulous I am' is refreshing.
Anyway. I suppose the point I'm trying to make here is that finding your way isn't easy. That just because you have all the ability in the world, doesn't mean you'll achieve (although applying yourself would probably help here), that figuring out where to go and what to do can be the most daunting and unknown thing.
What have I learned from today?
Firstly, that I should have taken those stupid career advisory tests in school a) at all and b) more seriously.
Second, that actually studying for a french oral results in a worse mark than the rather shocking ad lib that I did last semester.
Third, that not knowing what vocation I will ultimately embark on is terrifying the holy crap out of me.
Fourth, that I am proud of boyfriend.
Finally, pizza is the best thing ever and I ate too much of it. Relevance? None. But I had pizza tonight, and it was amazing.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Returning to Childhood
For a while now, I've had a certain hankering for bubble gum. But not any bubble gum, the gum that I used to adore chewing as a child - hubba bubba, despite my mother's gloom-laden prophecy that it would rot my teeth (actually I've only ever had one filling so take that, mother!). So imagine my excitement and surprise when I discovered sticks of the very same gum for 99 cents in my local supermarket. I bought a stick immediately.
So I excitedly opened the packet and put some in my mouth. Oh the deliciousness, oh the wonder, oh the grape flavour! I chewed until my jaw muscles ached, and then blew bubbles. They were amazing bubbles, in case you were wondering.
But then I as I chewed, I remembered that the gum didn't hold its flavour for long, that after about 15 minutes (less in fact), you were left simply chewing rubber, without taste.
I must admit, I was somewhat disenchanted to remember this.
I guess the moral of this story is that you can never return to your childhood, never re-create those things that in your memory, are perfect, sugar-filled moments of flavoury goodness.
So I excitedly opened the packet and put some in my mouth. Oh the deliciousness, oh the wonder, oh the grape flavour! I chewed until my jaw muscles ached, and then blew bubbles. They were amazing bubbles, in case you were wondering.
But then I as I chewed, I remembered that the gum didn't hold its flavour for long, that after about 15 minutes (less in fact), you were left simply chewing rubber, without taste.
I must admit, I was somewhat disenchanted to remember this.
I guess the moral of this story is that you can never return to your childhood, never re-create those things that in your memory, are perfect, sugar-filled moments of flavoury goodness.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
ALL the precious snowflakes
This is now zombie blog - resurrected from the dead. Why? I'm not quite sure.
I think I needed to be a precious little snowflake, and where better to be so than on the internet, where everybody can see it! (cue the slightly manic expression)
Anyway, I was examining the way in which certain people (and I'm sure everybody will be thinking of one or two specific somebodies) feel the need to broadcast that they are 'special'. That they have 'issues' and 'problems'. It took me some time to realise, but everybody has problems, which they struggle with. Whether it be an overprotective mother who sometimes seems to be more like a child than her daughter, or a father who is a workaholic, and therefore not always around. It happens, it defines us, move on. Deal with it.
I said to boyfriend (yeah, I found one) once, 'I'm a precious dark snowflake. Don't take my dark, dark issues away from me. I am nothing without them, nothing!'. At the time I was joking, but perhaps there is an element of truth within that. We all seek sometimes, I feel, to define ourselves within our insecurities. It is a part of human nature to seek out the worst. Perhaps this is what drives us to move forward (sorry!), to better ourselves, yet I think all too often, we can fall into the trap of simply dwelling on the negatives, rather than letting them inspire us.
We are beautiful in our flaws, but I think we are more beautiful, and more...wonderful, when we let those flaws be what propel us above and beyond.
I guess this is my own moment of zen, and because I am at heart, a precious dark, twisted snowflake (I'm nothing without my crippling insecurities...nothing!!!) I may not be able to take all of my (clearly massive) wisdom. But it's something to return to, even simply for that moment of reflection.
I think I needed to be a precious little snowflake, and where better to be so than on the internet, where everybody can see it! (cue the slightly manic expression)
Anyway, I was examining the way in which certain people (and I'm sure everybody will be thinking of one or two specific somebodies) feel the need to broadcast that they are 'special'. That they have 'issues' and 'problems'. It took me some time to realise, but everybody has problems, which they struggle with. Whether it be an overprotective mother who sometimes seems to be more like a child than her daughter, or a father who is a workaholic, and therefore not always around. It happens, it defines us, move on. Deal with it.
I said to boyfriend (yeah, I found one) once, 'I'm a precious dark snowflake. Don't take my dark, dark issues away from me. I am nothing without them, nothing!'. At the time I was joking, but perhaps there is an element of truth within that. We all seek sometimes, I feel, to define ourselves within our insecurities. It is a part of human nature to seek out the worst. Perhaps this is what drives us to move forward (sorry!), to better ourselves, yet I think all too often, we can fall into the trap of simply dwelling on the negatives, rather than letting them inspire us.
We are beautiful in our flaws, but I think we are more beautiful, and more...wonderful, when we let those flaws be what propel us above and beyond.
I guess this is my own moment of zen, and because I am at heart, a precious dark, twisted snowflake (I'm nothing without my crippling insecurities...nothing!!!) I may not be able to take all of my (clearly massive) wisdom. But it's something to return to, even simply for that moment of reflection.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Ways in which to torment and amuse your children
First, the amusement. Although, perhaps I should be less amused by this story, and more worried about the streak of insanity which seems to permeate my family members, and almost undoubtedly is a part of my genes.
Thanks to having particularly over-protective family members, apparently I am incapable of walking home 2 blocks late at night, alone. Being raped/murdered/mugged/knifed/yelled obscenities at is obviously something that is going to happen in my boring, boring neighborhood (that is apparently 'so safe it's unsafe'). However, putting my frustration at this aside, I was talking to my grandmother today. Apparently mother has put her on the hunt for capsicum spray, or a rape whistle (hehe an honest-to-god rape whistle). My grandmother's monologue went something like this:
'I went into the police station and asked him where I could get capsicum spray, and he told me it was illegal in Australia (which I could have told any member of my family had they bothered to ask), so I asked him if he was allowed to tell me where he could get one on the sly, to which he responded, not really. So I asked my friend whose son is in the police academy if he could source one.' I really dread to imagine what this policeman thought of this tiny European lady, coming in and asking him to break the law.
The torment arose from when I was talking to my friend, Nick, and he came out with this gem: "If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is, "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did."I am sure I have mentioned before my habit of finding things with which to best torment my future children. I think this make my favourite top five - the highest of course being the names of them; 'Gin', and 'Tonic'.
Moral of the story; it really comes in a full circle.
Thanks to having particularly over-protective family members, apparently I am incapable of walking home 2 blocks late at night, alone. Being raped/murdered/mugged/knifed/yelled obscenities at is obviously something that is going to happen in my boring, boring neighborhood (that is apparently 'so safe it's unsafe'). However, putting my frustration at this aside, I was talking to my grandmother today. Apparently mother has put her on the hunt for capsicum spray, or a rape whistle (hehe an honest-to-god rape whistle). My grandmother's monologue went something like this:
'I went into the police station and asked him where I could get capsicum spray, and he told me it was illegal in Australia (which I could have told any member of my family had they bothered to ask), so I asked him if he was allowed to tell me where he could get one on the sly, to which he responded, not really. So I asked my friend whose son is in the police academy if he could source one.' I really dread to imagine what this policeman thought of this tiny European lady, coming in and asking him to break the law.
The torment arose from when I was talking to my friend, Nick, and he came out with this gem: "If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is, "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did."I am sure I have mentioned before my habit of finding things with which to best torment my future children. I think this make my favourite top five - the highest of course being the names of them; 'Gin', and 'Tonic'.
Moral of the story; it really comes in a full circle.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
A tale of how I got home eventually
So because I am An Adult, I go out late and drink, and I come home under my own steam.
Getting home is something which often results in me encountering a variety of odd or confronting things.
For instance, Monday night, I was walking along, and had the bejesus scared out of me by a possum which ran across the footpath in front of me. Possums are in my opinion, mildly terrifying.
However last night I think tops even last week's experience of my bonding with the Brazilian bus driver.
Because I'm really mature and responsible, I decided mixing antibiotics with wine was a great idea. What normally wouldn't have made any impact, made enough of a hit to mean that not only on the ride home did I, through the power of my phone call into question someone's integrity because I am ever so slightly paranoid (and if you're reading this, I really am sorry, and I hope you can understand my crazy-person logic), but I had a little zone out at the precise moment I needed to be alert enough to realise I was passing the two stops closes to my house. I ended up a few kms away from him, late at night. However, it was all ok, because when one is slightly inebriated in my experience, time becomes compressed, so what was in reality probably at least a 20 minute walk, seemed like nothing at all.
I realised as I walked along, that I very possibly at a passing glance resembled a hooker, however I bravely struggled on towards home.
However, what freaked me out the most was the man walking his dog who (I think) attempted to talk to me, prompting me to walk even faster up my street. My paranoid and alcohol-affected mind envisaged this sinister man with his decidedly unsinister little dogie, following me as virtually ran towards my house.
Shockingly I managed to make it back home without being raped, kidnapped, murdered, accosted or anything even close, and the walk sobered me up a little. So I guess, win?
Getting home is something which often results in me encountering a variety of odd or confronting things.
For instance, Monday night, I was walking along, and had the bejesus scared out of me by a possum which ran across the footpath in front of me. Possums are in my opinion, mildly terrifying.
However last night I think tops even last week's experience of my bonding with the Brazilian bus driver.
Because I'm really mature and responsible, I decided mixing antibiotics with wine was a great idea. What normally wouldn't have made any impact, made enough of a hit to mean that not only on the ride home did I, through the power of my phone call into question someone's integrity because I am ever so slightly paranoid (and if you're reading this, I really am sorry, and I hope you can understand my crazy-person logic), but I had a little zone out at the precise moment I needed to be alert enough to realise I was passing the two stops closes to my house. I ended up a few kms away from him, late at night. However, it was all ok, because when one is slightly inebriated in my experience, time becomes compressed, so what was in reality probably at least a 20 minute walk, seemed like nothing at all.
I realised as I walked along, that I very possibly at a passing glance resembled a hooker, however I bravely struggled on towards home.
However, what freaked me out the most was the man walking his dog who (I think) attempted to talk to me, prompting me to walk even faster up my street. My paranoid and alcohol-affected mind envisaged this sinister man with his decidedly unsinister little dogie, following me as virtually ran towards my house.
Shockingly I managed to make it back home without being raped, kidnapped, murdered, accosted or anything even close, and the walk sobered me up a little. So I guess, win?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
I really wish I weren't awake right now
It is a particularly cruel twist of fate that I woke up this morning just before 7 and was unable to get back to sleep.
I'd had minimal hours of sleep, and I had drunk just enough water that my brain wasn't telling me to commit suicide to end the fiery wrath that is a hangover - leaving me barely coherent and with a slight headache.
There is a particularly wonderful art to talking to parents when one is hungover I think. And when I say wonderful, I mean horribly sadistic and difficult.
However, now that I am An Adult I'm allowed to go out and drink and make stupid decisions (to a lesser degree). This morning I was treated to the 'you can't do this regularly on a uni night' lecture - something which if I were a parent, I would not give to my obviously slightly hung over 18-year old daughter. Then I (in my opinion) managed to conduct a conversation with my mother, where we both wisely skirted the issue of the specifics I had gotten up to last night, and I retreated to the space at the back of my head that was filled with gremlins poking me, that is until Mother asked me 'what did you drink last night?' disbelieving that I had drunk only cheap wine, and then informing me my eyes were red.
To be honest, this is a bit of a nothing post, but I thought it was a vaguely humorous story to tell - particularly as it's 8 in the morning, and because I'm in the mood to skirt responsibility a little, I've decided that my 10 am lecture is miss-able in favour of me finding some panadol and having a shower, and maybe seeing if I can find some of that fluid solution that apparently helps me put in contact lenses but may possibly remove the red glow that is apparently in my eyes right now-at least the red will bring out the green in my eyes?.
So I'm going to go and do that, now that I've had a little sit down, and written this woefully pointless blog, and I hope you enjoyed reading this, perhaps feeling pretty good you aren't me right now (in which case I'm clearly wonderful because I've made someone's day).
But let's think about what I have learned before I depart in search of eyedrops, or whatever:
1) Don't refill your wineglass when you still have wine in it - you lose count very fast of how much you've had to drink.
2) See 1.
3) I obviously didn't have a big enough waterglass by my bedside table
4) Getting home is so much more fun when you have a brazilian bus driver who you can chat to on the way (I think his name was like, Frederico - how awesome is that!!)
5) I'd say when you get home, take a nice big sleeping pill to keep you asleep, but I'm relatively sure that mixing sleeping pills and alcohol is not the way to go. So I'll go with more water.
6) I have damn good grammar even in this condition (and I'm sure The Husband will pounce all over my mistakes when he reads this)
I really hope my mother never reads this post...
I'd had minimal hours of sleep, and I had drunk just enough water that my brain wasn't telling me to commit suicide to end the fiery wrath that is a hangover - leaving me barely coherent and with a slight headache.
There is a particularly wonderful art to talking to parents when one is hungover I think. And when I say wonderful, I mean horribly sadistic and difficult.
However, now that I am An Adult I'm allowed to go out and drink and make stupid decisions (to a lesser degree). This morning I was treated to the 'you can't do this regularly on a uni night' lecture - something which if I were a parent, I would not give to my obviously slightly hung over 18-year old daughter. Then I (in my opinion) managed to conduct a conversation with my mother, where we both wisely skirted the issue of the specifics I had gotten up to last night, and I retreated to the space at the back of my head that was filled with gremlins poking me, that is until Mother asked me 'what did you drink last night?' disbelieving that I had drunk only cheap wine, and then informing me my eyes were red.
To be honest, this is a bit of a nothing post, but I thought it was a vaguely humorous story to tell - particularly as it's 8 in the morning, and because I'm in the mood to skirt responsibility a little, I've decided that my 10 am lecture is miss-able in favour of me finding some panadol and having a shower, and maybe seeing if I can find some of that fluid solution that apparently helps me put in contact lenses but may possibly remove the red glow that is apparently in my eyes right now-at least the red will bring out the green in my eyes?.
So I'm going to go and do that, now that I've had a little sit down, and written this woefully pointless blog, and I hope you enjoyed reading this, perhaps feeling pretty good you aren't me right now (in which case I'm clearly wonderful because I've made someone's day).
But let's think about what I have learned before I depart in search of eyedrops, or whatever:
1) Don't refill your wineglass when you still have wine in it - you lose count very fast of how much you've had to drink.
2) See 1.
3) I obviously didn't have a big enough waterglass by my bedside table
4) Getting home is so much more fun when you have a brazilian bus driver who you can chat to on the way (I think his name was like, Frederico - how awesome is that!!)
5) I'd say when you get home, take a nice big sleeping pill to keep you asleep, but I'm relatively sure that mixing sleeping pills and alcohol is not the way to go. So I'll go with more water.
6) I have damn good grammar even in this condition (and I'm sure The Husband will pounce all over my mistakes when he reads this)
I really hope my mother never reads this post...
Monday, February 28, 2011
We Need More Vigilantes
I managed to become sick in time for the first day of Uni. Oh karma, you utter bitch! However, because obviously I did not create this disgusting icky thing which is currently assailing my immune system, I began to search for the culprit who had transmitted this thing to me.
And I found him.
As I was on the bus to O-Week a few days ago, I heard an almighty sneeze. I glanced up, and noticed that the man (he 'aint no gentleman) hadn't moved. This meant he either had ninja-like arms with which to considerately cover his face, or HE DIDN'T. My worst suspicions were confirmed a couple of minutes later, when he sneezed again, and made no movement to cover his mouth.
As a minor germophobe, I felt his airborne germs sailing through the bus to land on me, and I was powerless to stop them.
I regret not leaning over to this inconsiderate cretin, and saying to him 'Excuse me, but that is disgusting, and unhygenic, and I can't believe you would actually be so inconsiderate.' This got me to thinking that perhaps our society needs more vigilantes, the batman of common decency if you will, but more than one - a legion even.
I don't know about you dear reader, but having someone next to me, coughing or sneezing their germs into the very air which I am about to inhale is one of the things in life which is simply terrible, and it is a veritable scourge upon our society. It must be stopped damnit!
Sneezing openly today is a breakdown of courtesy and etiquette, and if we don't say no, tell the world that we don't accept it, it will of course, lead to a breakdown in the order of our very society and ultimately to chaos!
And I found him.
As I was on the bus to O-Week a few days ago, I heard an almighty sneeze. I glanced up, and noticed that the man (he 'aint no gentleman) hadn't moved. This meant he either had ninja-like arms with which to considerately cover his face, or HE DIDN'T. My worst suspicions were confirmed a couple of minutes later, when he sneezed again, and made no movement to cover his mouth.
As a minor germophobe, I felt his airborne germs sailing through the bus to land on me, and I was powerless to stop them.
I regret not leaning over to this inconsiderate cretin, and saying to him 'Excuse me, but that is disgusting, and unhygenic, and I can't believe you would actually be so inconsiderate.' This got me to thinking that perhaps our society needs more vigilantes, the batman of common decency if you will, but more than one - a legion even.
I don't know about you dear reader, but having someone next to me, coughing or sneezing their germs into the very air which I am about to inhale is one of the things in life which is simply terrible, and it is a veritable scourge upon our society. It must be stopped damnit!
Sneezing openly today is a breakdown of courtesy and etiquette, and if we don't say no, tell the world that we don't accept it, it will of course, lead to a breakdown in the order of our very society and ultimately to chaos!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tolerance in batting for the other side
Something interesting happened to me the other day. Well, to be perfectly honest, it probably wasn't all that interesting to anybody other than me, but I have a blog, so I'm going to share it...ha.
This past week was O-Week at Uni, with clubs to be joined, and all sorts of organisations having picnics and such to put themselves forward for new students to become aware of them. One of these such picnics was the 'Queer Picnic'. Before I go any further (and before you, dear reader, make any hasty judgements on my stance here), I would like to state categorically that I am massively in favour of gay rights. I believe firmly in gay marriage, the right for gay parents to have children (whether it be through adoption or other means), and I think on the whole, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay.
I am also apologetically politically right-wing. I went to the Queer Picnic the other day, directly after joining the French Club (to support my subject), and as an impulse-join, the Liberal Club. When I sat down at the Picnic on the grass, I had in my hand, a rather heavy showbag (and some pins!!!), on the side of which, was emblazoned the liberal club's logo. Upon seeing this, a couple of people (who I hadn't even met) made a couple of comments, expressing disdain and disgust for my choice. I chose not to respond, as I was perhaps not in the best place to pick such a fight, but it most certainly got me thinking; for a group that is meant to understand very much, being branded with a stigma, and being hated on for their lifestyle, the response to my choice (and it was hardly like I was standing up there screaming 'LOOK AT WHAT I JUST JOINED EVERYBODY') was one that was surprisingly intolerant.
At this point, I am culling my urges to go on a political rant, citing in depth the fact that the party isn't actually anti-gay per se (and anybody who jumps up and down referencing Tony Abbott, evidently has missed the fact that while he has a set of beliefs, he actually subverts them in favour of advocating the party policy), they simply don't use gay-rights as a platform like other parties do, and various other examples to this end. But I am not, because I don't wish to shove my political beliefs in your face, dearest readers (maybe at another point). The main point which I am trying to make is that for people who are part of a group that is not shown a lot of tolerance across the board, one would think that they in turn would extend tolerance towards me. I was after all, at their picnic, obviously someone who supported them. The oppositions are obviously the Christian Union(s).
Having said this, I am sure there were people at the Queer Picnic, who were actually gay, and supported the liberal party, it is also that, as mother said when I relayed the story to her in frustration, 'it's very fashionable to be left at University'. I laughed.
Anyway, I hope this makes some sort of sense, and I do apologise for any spelling errors – I'm typing on a tiny keyboard as my IT man (aka Dad), has taken away my computer for some TLC and a bit of a system fix up, as I treat my computer shockingly.
Keep calm and carry on.
This past week was O-Week at Uni, with clubs to be joined, and all sorts of organisations having picnics and such to put themselves forward for new students to become aware of them. One of these such picnics was the 'Queer Picnic'. Before I go any further (and before you, dear reader, make any hasty judgements on my stance here), I would like to state categorically that I am massively in favour of gay rights. I believe firmly in gay marriage, the right for gay parents to have children (whether it be through adoption or other means), and I think on the whole, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay.
I am also apologetically politically right-wing. I went to the Queer Picnic the other day, directly after joining the French Club (to support my subject), and as an impulse-join, the Liberal Club. When I sat down at the Picnic on the grass, I had in my hand, a rather heavy showbag (and some pins!!!), on the side of which, was emblazoned the liberal club's logo. Upon seeing this, a couple of people (who I hadn't even met) made a couple of comments, expressing disdain and disgust for my choice. I chose not to respond, as I was perhaps not in the best place to pick such a fight, but it most certainly got me thinking; for a group that is meant to understand very much, being branded with a stigma, and being hated on for their lifestyle, the response to my choice (and it was hardly like I was standing up there screaming 'LOOK AT WHAT I JUST JOINED EVERYBODY') was one that was surprisingly intolerant.
At this point, I am culling my urges to go on a political rant, citing in depth the fact that the party isn't actually anti-gay per se (and anybody who jumps up and down referencing Tony Abbott, evidently has missed the fact that while he has a set of beliefs, he actually subverts them in favour of advocating the party policy), they simply don't use gay-rights as a platform like other parties do, and various other examples to this end. But I am not, because I don't wish to shove my political beliefs in your face, dearest readers (maybe at another point). The main point which I am trying to make is that for people who are part of a group that is not shown a lot of tolerance across the board, one would think that they in turn would extend tolerance towards me. I was after all, at their picnic, obviously someone who supported them. The oppositions are obviously the Christian Union(s).
Having said this, I am sure there were people at the Queer Picnic, who were actually gay, and supported the liberal party, it is also that, as mother said when I relayed the story to her in frustration, 'it's very fashionable to be left at University'. I laughed.
Anyway, I hope this makes some sort of sense, and I do apologise for any spelling errors – I'm typing on a tiny keyboard as my IT man (aka Dad), has taken away my computer for some TLC and a bit of a system fix up, as I treat my computer shockingly.
Keep calm and carry on.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Litmus Tests
So apparently I do this thing, where I smile in a particular way at people. The Husband, has named it 'The Alice'. As the much-anticipated O-Week starts this week, I suggested I could just do The Alice, and enchant people that way. He suggested it would be a litmus test. If people aren't enchanted by The Alice, then they can resist my darling smile, and therefore may require more time, and therefore yield a beneficial friendship. Quoth The Husband, 'Resistance indicates failure of one sort. But success of another. More backbone. That's what we like to see'.
It sort of got me thinking, what are my litmus tests for people?
Well, firstly, that they know what a litmus test is.
Secondly, their use of the English language, and whether or not they butcher it. I have learned the hard way that a man who butchers the English language, is one who is not worthy.
Thirdly, someone who does not really bother with small talk. My friend who is doing law at another University, just suggested that she was questioning why she ever wanted to do it, as it required small talk, a social nicety which she was not fond of in any way, shape, or form. I can identify with this. While I can do small talk (ok that's a blatant lie, when I really need to, I can sort of do small talk, but only when really forced to), I prefer big talk. Launching right into the things which actually interest me. Who the hell actually wants to talk about the weather? Seriously.
Sadly I must end this here, as my cat is purring and awkwardly nestled against my arm (and being as inconveniently adorable as possible), making the typing of this excessively difficult.
I will leave you with this thought. Probably one of the best things I've seen in a while. And of course, it goes with my undying love for William Shatner. Everything he is in is simply gold. Here it is.
Oh, and one final confession. I actually can't bring myself to hate Justin Bieber. I actually kinda like him. It's a bit like Lady GaGa....kinda grows on you.
It sort of got me thinking, what are my litmus tests for people?
Well, firstly, that they know what a litmus test is.
Secondly, their use of the English language, and whether or not they butcher it. I have learned the hard way that a man who butchers the English language, is one who is not worthy.
Thirdly, someone who does not really bother with small talk. My friend who is doing law at another University, just suggested that she was questioning why she ever wanted to do it, as it required small talk, a social nicety which she was not fond of in any way, shape, or form. I can identify with this. While I can do small talk (ok that's a blatant lie, when I really need to, I can sort of do small talk, but only when really forced to), I prefer big talk. Launching right into the things which actually interest me. Who the hell actually wants to talk about the weather? Seriously.
Sadly I must end this here, as my cat is purring and awkwardly nestled against my arm (and being as inconveniently adorable as possible), making the typing of this excessively difficult.
I will leave you with this thought. Probably one of the best things I've seen in a while. And of course, it goes with my undying love for William Shatner. Everything he is in is simply gold. Here it is.
Oh, and one final confession. I actually can't bring myself to hate Justin Bieber. I actually kinda like him. It's a bit like Lady GaGa....kinda grows on you.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Crunchies and a tidy room
I have felt no motivation to do much in the way of blogposts in recent days. Probably because a friend exclaimed joyfully that I continued blogging and provided entertainment, thereby putting the pressure on to produce something of worth, rather than the usual mindless drivel I generally produce.
Today's piece focuses on something many of my peers will find a near and dear subject to them; the issue of tidying one's room.
The Husband was over yesterday. Before I launch into the topic I just this second came up with, and decided would be excellent material, I will share with you this anecdote, for I feel it is amusing, and you will all find it amusing too goddamnit!
So, a few months back, when I was doing the ol' year 12, The Husband said to me 'if you get above 90, I will buy you $100 worth of crunchies'. There is a back story to why crunchies, to briefly summise, I said to him once 'but they taste better when you buy them for me'. So I got over 90, and he had to pay up. Yesterday, was pay day.
I picked him up at the supermarket, so I could sadistically watch him calculate $100 worth of crunchies, and then have this amount rung up by a bewildered cashier. As I was driving there, I got a text, suggesting that 'I look like a psycho with a crunchie obsession'. Then there was the counting (sadly Coles had specials on, which made the mental arithmetic much easier, much to my dismay). I admit, the shelves were quite bare of crunchies by the time we were done. I also learned a lesson; filling a shopping basked with crunchies, will get people looking at you as if you have a mental problem.
Then there was the cashier. I was not disappointed, as the glances we received from the cashier were ones of deep surprise with a touch of suspicion. I particularly liked the touch of the single pack of mint crisp timtams which we put right at the end. I like to think that this cashier would have recounted this story to her friends, thus putting our saga of crunchie purchasing into the universe.
But. Several crunchies into the day, The Husband ventured into my room, making loud comments about the state of it. It is my observation that there are people who are fanatically neat, those who generally inhabit states of general disarray and therefore can never find anything yet are content within their mess, and finally those who would ideally be neat, yet find that often they are in a state of general untidiness, yet can find anything and everything within this mess (aka the heap system). I am one of the third. The Husband is one of the first.
I genuinely believe if causes him physical pain to see my room in its natural state of mess, with things strewn on the floor and, for that matter, every available surface. I can find anything within my room instantly, however it is not neat, or tidy. I am like my father, whose office is truly something to be amazed at. Books lie in haphazard piles, with no obvious system to the piles, his desk is just awash with papers, some even hiding the keyboard when he isn't using it. I haven't ventured into his draws for quite some time, and frankly, it is a place even I would dare not delve too deep.
But, I mentioned to The Husband, that I should enlist him to clean my room one day (in jest I might add), to which he responded that he would quite like to. So we did a little clean. I am sitting on my bed, staring at one of the areas we cleaned, and it is indeed neat, and tidy, and beautifully ordered.A far better job than I could ever have hoped to achieve on my own. Guess who's coming around next weekend?
I don't really think there is any great conclusion to be drawn from this post. Other than, if you are not a person who is tidy by nature, have a friend who is, so they can help you tidy. And buy you lots of crunchies.
At least this year as I struggle through first year Uni, I will have a tidy room, and I'll at least be able to survive off crunchies for a good six months.
Today's piece focuses on something many of my peers will find a near and dear subject to them; the issue of tidying one's room.
The Husband was over yesterday. Before I launch into the topic I just this second came up with, and decided would be excellent material, I will share with you this anecdote, for I feel it is amusing, and you will all find it amusing too goddamnit!
So, a few months back, when I was doing the ol' year 12, The Husband said to me 'if you get above 90, I will buy you $100 worth of crunchies'. There is a back story to why crunchies, to briefly summise, I said to him once 'but they taste better when you buy them for me'. So I got over 90, and he had to pay up. Yesterday, was pay day.
I picked him up at the supermarket, so I could sadistically watch him calculate $100 worth of crunchies, and then have this amount rung up by a bewildered cashier. As I was driving there, I got a text, suggesting that 'I look like a psycho with a crunchie obsession'. Then there was the counting (sadly Coles had specials on, which made the mental arithmetic much easier, much to my dismay). I admit, the shelves were quite bare of crunchies by the time we were done. I also learned a lesson; filling a shopping basked with crunchies, will get people looking at you as if you have a mental problem.
Then there was the cashier. I was not disappointed, as the glances we received from the cashier were ones of deep surprise with a touch of suspicion. I particularly liked the touch of the single pack of mint crisp timtams which we put right at the end. I like to think that this cashier would have recounted this story to her friends, thus putting our saga of crunchie purchasing into the universe.
But. Several crunchies into the day, The Husband ventured into my room, making loud comments about the state of it. It is my observation that there are people who are fanatically neat, those who generally inhabit states of general disarray and therefore can never find anything yet are content within their mess, and finally those who would ideally be neat, yet find that often they are in a state of general untidiness, yet can find anything and everything within this mess (aka the heap system). I am one of the third. The Husband is one of the first.
I genuinely believe if causes him physical pain to see my room in its natural state of mess, with things strewn on the floor and, for that matter, every available surface. I can find anything within my room instantly, however it is not neat, or tidy. I am like my father, whose office is truly something to be amazed at. Books lie in haphazard piles, with no obvious system to the piles, his desk is just awash with papers, some even hiding the keyboard when he isn't using it. I haven't ventured into his draws for quite some time, and frankly, it is a place even I would dare not delve too deep.
But, I mentioned to The Husband, that I should enlist him to clean my room one day (in jest I might add), to which he responded that he would quite like to. So we did a little clean. I am sitting on my bed, staring at one of the areas we cleaned, and it is indeed neat, and tidy, and beautifully ordered.A far better job than I could ever have hoped to achieve on my own. Guess who's coming around next weekend?
I don't really think there is any great conclusion to be drawn from this post. Other than, if you are not a person who is tidy by nature, have a friend who is, so they can help you tidy. And buy you lots of crunchies.
At least this year as I struggle through first year Uni, I will have a tidy room, and I'll at least be able to survive off crunchies for a good six months.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Being an adult sucks
I was really excited to leave school, to be in the big wide world and seen by all as an adult.
I was having a conversation with a friend who is still in school. This friend confessed to me that he did not want to leave school, because everything was provided for, there was no undue expectations. I disagreed with that, because I cherish my independence and freedom. However there is something getting in the way of me enjoying life as an adult. Everybody else messing things up.
As an adult, it means I have to pay for my own stuff. this isn't so much a problem because I have a job which, while it doesn't pay particularly well, gives me enough money. Budgeting, I find preversely, nearly masochistically enjoyable as I find a feeling of satisfaction, but the required interaction with the rest of the world to handle this money is quite impossible.
Today I tried to start up an account online in which to create a fund for my car's service, registration and insurance, of which I must pay a significant amount, now that I am an adult (and licensed, and in possession of a car...). There was a technical error, and I very basically wound up twice in the space of an hour on the phone to the delightful technical support people who were unable to resolve my problem. I found myself in a terrible mood, having recided countless of times, my name, date of birth, postal code, and the answer to my security question. And it got me nowhere. As I type, my account still does not work.
Going to University is an exciting new beginning, but when I was bitching to my friend that my application for a diploma of languages wasn't processed until well, today, when all other subject registrations were two weeks ago, he replied that as an adult, I'm meant to find all this sort of information out by myself. While I actually argue that the system of my university is actually archaic and in desperate need of an update, as there is technology available to make the administration more user-friendly (and I'll be brutal, better at spoonfeeding me the information I need), the basic fact is too bad, even if I am right. I'm but a measly student, and they are the all-powerful administration, and they lord all the power over me. I can all but hear the manic cackles of glee from them as they observe my pain and rage.
I'll stop this soon, as I have to (maturely) go and ask my mother if I should actually order pizza, as she said that she'd talk to me about it an hour ago, and I am sure to be yelled at if I was meant to order pizza (because I'm an adult now, and adults do these things!).
Responsibility, the fact that now if I do something illegal, I will get thrown into big person jail, paying for everything, dealing with USELESS bureaucracy. It's all part of being an adult.
Do you want to know the worst part though?
I always think to myself 'this is what it must mean to be an adult', when I look at the world, and realise that it really does suck, there's no universal justice system that means good things will happen to good people, and the bad guy will always lose, that people hurt other people, and that your internet connection will always be just that little bit too slow. It's cruel really, all of those hollywood movies, showing the happy ending.
The depressing French movies have the right idea.
Don't be overwhelmed by my optimism.
I was having a conversation with a friend who is still in school. This friend confessed to me that he did not want to leave school, because everything was provided for, there was no undue expectations. I disagreed with that, because I cherish my independence and freedom. However there is something getting in the way of me enjoying life as an adult. Everybody else messing things up.
As an adult, it means I have to pay for my own stuff. this isn't so much a problem because I have a job which, while it doesn't pay particularly well, gives me enough money. Budgeting, I find preversely, nearly masochistically enjoyable as I find a feeling of satisfaction, but the required interaction with the rest of the world to handle this money is quite impossible.
Today I tried to start up an account online in which to create a fund for my car's service, registration and insurance, of which I must pay a significant amount, now that I am an adult (and licensed, and in possession of a car...). There was a technical error, and I very basically wound up twice in the space of an hour on the phone to the delightful technical support people who were unable to resolve my problem. I found myself in a terrible mood, having recided countless of times, my name, date of birth, postal code, and the answer to my security question. And it got me nowhere. As I type, my account still does not work.
Going to University is an exciting new beginning, but when I was bitching to my friend that my application for a diploma of languages wasn't processed until well, today, when all other subject registrations were two weeks ago, he replied that as an adult, I'm meant to find all this sort of information out by myself. While I actually argue that the system of my university is actually archaic and in desperate need of an update, as there is technology available to make the administration more user-friendly (and I'll be brutal, better at spoonfeeding me the information I need), the basic fact is too bad, even if I am right. I'm but a measly student, and they are the all-powerful administration, and they lord all the power over me. I can all but hear the manic cackles of glee from them as they observe my pain and rage.
I'll stop this soon, as I have to (maturely) go and ask my mother if I should actually order pizza, as she said that she'd talk to me about it an hour ago, and I am sure to be yelled at if I was meant to order pizza (because I'm an adult now, and adults do these things!).
Responsibility, the fact that now if I do something illegal, I will get thrown into big person jail, paying for everything, dealing with USELESS bureaucracy. It's all part of being an adult.
Do you want to know the worst part though?
I always think to myself 'this is what it must mean to be an adult', when I look at the world, and realise that it really does suck, there's no universal justice system that means good things will happen to good people, and the bad guy will always lose, that people hurt other people, and that your internet connection will always be just that little bit too slow. It's cruel really, all of those hollywood movies, showing the happy ending.
The depressing French movies have the right idea.
Don't be overwhelmed by my optimism.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The rantings of an obviously single person
I was going to write a post about how being all grown up (kind of) is a hideously scary and frustrating event, particularly because bank accounts don't allow me to highlight different sums in different colours so I know which money is designated to which spend (I'm a visual person in case you didn't pick up), but I was interrupted by the arrival of my least favourite, yes, even ahead of the much-detested Christmas, 'holiday'.
Valentine's Day.
I realise that by writing this, I am acknowledging its existence and thus validating it in some way, going much along the same logic of my dear friend one night when I asked her if she was going to someone's birthday party, and she responded emphatically, 'NO! because then I'd have to get him a present, which acknowledges his existence, which then validates him as a human being'.
I suppose it's painfully obvious to all that no, I do not have SO (Significant Other), or even an IO (Insignificant Other). I have instead, my mum and godmother coming over tonight, where we shall binge on chocolates (yay!) throw truisms around (eg 'men are all dirty old men if they go after a younger partner, but women are cougars. hell yeah'), and watch boston legal (double yay!!). But before tonight approaches, I would like to share my personal thoughts on this matter with you all, dear readers.
The main objection which I raise to this god-forsaken holiday is clearly that prevelant within it is the colour pink. And I hate pink.
My secondary objection is that there is some supposition that on Valentine's Day, you must be extra-specially nice to your loved one, shower them with gifts and candy and sweet nothings...you get the idea. This is all fine, I am definitely not averse to being showered with gifts and candy - it's kinda like what happens on my birthday (although I hate them too). What I really dislike, is that it sort of sends that message that this is the one day of the year that you are meant to be attentive to your SO/IO, and the rest of the days of the year, you can just sort of ignore them because you have fulfilled the Valentine's Day obligation.
Screw Valentine's Day (god I was censoring myself on that first day), if I'm with somebody, it's because they make me feel special every day of the goddamn year. They tell me that my eyes friggin sparkle with the beauty of a thousand moons. They laboriously translate epic love poems into Klingon and recite them to me so that I can laugh at the stupidity of it.
It looks like at the core I actually am a romantic. How sickeningly disappointing.
Moving past this hideous revelation about my character, I guess the point I am ultimately trying to make, is that if one were to actually give Valentine's Day the (of course) metaphorical finger, and then all the couples of the world could appreciate each other on every other bloody day of the year, I think that would actually make the divorce rates of the world a little lower, at the very least.
That, and us single, misanthropic, near-nihilists, don't have to have the fact of our oneness reinforced at every. single. turn.
This being said, quick shout-out to The Husband, whom I forced to mail me a card. I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of my lovely postie in the hope that it comes today.
Valentine's Day.
I realise that by writing this, I am acknowledging its existence and thus validating it in some way, going much along the same logic of my dear friend one night when I asked her if she was going to someone's birthday party, and she responded emphatically, 'NO! because then I'd have to get him a present, which acknowledges his existence, which then validates him as a human being'.
I suppose it's painfully obvious to all that no, I do not have SO (Significant Other), or even an IO (Insignificant Other). I have instead, my mum and godmother coming over tonight, where we shall binge on chocolates (yay!) throw truisms around (eg 'men are all dirty old men if they go after a younger partner, but women are cougars. hell yeah'), and watch boston legal (double yay!!). But before tonight approaches, I would like to share my personal thoughts on this matter with you all, dear readers.
The main objection which I raise to this god-forsaken holiday is clearly that prevelant within it is the colour pink. And I hate pink.
My secondary objection is that there is some supposition that on Valentine's Day, you must be extra-specially nice to your loved one, shower them with gifts and candy and sweet nothings...you get the idea. This is all fine, I am definitely not averse to being showered with gifts and candy - it's kinda like what happens on my birthday (although I hate them too). What I really dislike, is that it sort of sends that message that this is the one day of the year that you are meant to be attentive to your SO/IO, and the rest of the days of the year, you can just sort of ignore them because you have fulfilled the Valentine's Day obligation.
Screw Valentine's Day (god I was censoring myself on that first day), if I'm with somebody, it's because they make me feel special every day of the goddamn year. They tell me that my eyes friggin sparkle with the beauty of a thousand moons. They laboriously translate epic love poems into Klingon and recite them to me so that I can laugh at the stupidity of it.
It looks like at the core I actually am a romantic. How sickeningly disappointing.
Moving past this hideous revelation about my character, I guess the point I am ultimately trying to make, is that if one were to actually give Valentine's Day the (of course) metaphorical finger, and then all the couples of the world could appreciate each other on every other bloody day of the year, I think that would actually make the divorce rates of the world a little lower, at the very least.
That, and us single, misanthropic, near-nihilists, don't have to have the fact of our oneness reinforced at every. single. turn.
This being said, quick shout-out to The Husband, whom I forced to mail me a card. I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of my lovely postie in the hope that it comes today.
Monday, February 7, 2011
There's a void in my life, which needs filling (that's what she said)
I don't know, I feel like I'm missing something lately.
I've started work in a cafe. It primarily involves interacting with people, something which I have come to realise I am extremely good at, which is ironic, as interacting with people is something I almost cannot abide. I changed career preferences because of it.
Today a whole group of mothers came in with their small children. It was like nails on a blackboard to me. The children set up camp in the middle of the walkway between tables, and interacting with high pitched noises that I assume were the normal register for highly excited younglings. The women themselves sort of ignored me every time I brought a plate of food or took a plate away. It was something that I found disturbing, as my personal philosophy has always been 'be nice to the waiter, it could be you'.
That being said, I did enjoy having the (apparently) millionaire come in. I denied him toast. It was a good moment (I actually gave him toast in the end, but the story has less impact if I tell it that way).
Humanity in general, I find fascinating, but draining. Perhaps work in this cafe is a preclude to anthropology.
But I digress ever so slightly. I'm 18, have my license, have finished school, have a job (not a high paying one, in fact I'd probably be better off sitting at home in my undies in front of a moniter playing the stock market like the fiendish businesswoman that we all know I secretly am, AND I wouldn't have to put on pants), and yet I feel that I'm simply marking time. I feel like there's something important I have to do, and it's simply slipping away from me because I can't see it. I wish I knew what it was. The blind man who is 93 years old who comes into the cafe every day has it down pat. He was born blind, and even managed to work in the army. There's something pretty spectacular about that.
If my life were a movie, I'd have an veritable army of supporting characters to dissect my life with. That being said I do have The Husband who is a damn good therapist. AND he's apparently going to buy me $100 worth of crunchies for getting over a certain number in my end of year results. What more could I ask for?
Several things. An Audi, a Ferrari, a Jag (oh how I love Jags), Jeremy Clarkson, my own jet...you get the materialistic picture.
I will end today on a quote. 'I asked God for a bike, but I know he doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness instead.' It is strangely philosophical, no?
I've started work in a cafe. It primarily involves interacting with people, something which I have come to realise I am extremely good at, which is ironic, as interacting with people is something I almost cannot abide. I changed career preferences because of it.
Today a whole group of mothers came in with their small children. It was like nails on a blackboard to me. The children set up camp in the middle of the walkway between tables, and interacting with high pitched noises that I assume were the normal register for highly excited younglings. The women themselves sort of ignored me every time I brought a plate of food or took a plate away. It was something that I found disturbing, as my personal philosophy has always been 'be nice to the waiter, it could be you'.
That being said, I did enjoy having the (apparently) millionaire come in. I denied him toast. It was a good moment (I actually gave him toast in the end, but the story has less impact if I tell it that way).
Humanity in general, I find fascinating, but draining. Perhaps work in this cafe is a preclude to anthropology.
But I digress ever so slightly. I'm 18, have my license, have finished school, have a job (not a high paying one, in fact I'd probably be better off sitting at home in my undies in front of a moniter playing the stock market like the fiendish businesswoman that we all know I secretly am, AND I wouldn't have to put on pants), and yet I feel that I'm simply marking time. I feel like there's something important I have to do, and it's simply slipping away from me because I can't see it. I wish I knew what it was. The blind man who is 93 years old who comes into the cafe every day has it down pat. He was born blind, and even managed to work in the army. There's something pretty spectacular about that.
If my life were a movie, I'd have an veritable army of supporting characters to dissect my life with. That being said I do have The Husband who is a damn good therapist. AND he's apparently going to buy me $100 worth of crunchies for getting over a certain number in my end of year results. What more could I ask for?
Several things. An Audi, a Ferrari, a Jag (oh how I love Jags), Jeremy Clarkson, my own jet...you get the materialistic picture.
I will end today on a quote. 'I asked God for a bike, but I know he doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness instead.' It is strangely philosophical, no?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The internet has ruined everything
'All I need is a sheet of paper and something to write with, and then I can turn the whole world upside down.' - Nietzsche.
I need to read Nietzsche, as I love so many of his philosophies (screw Jung and Freud and their insights into people).
This is an outdated quote and requires updating. What is this old-fashioned pen-and-paper nonsense? In today's society whatever profound things written by the movers and shakers of the world are only going to affect (not effect) society if they are typed on a computer with an internet connection, and then posted on the internet! This is where tonight's title springs from, as indeed, the internet as ruined many a wonderful thing such as a Nietzsche quote by making it obsolete. Even if in principle it still stands (which it doesn't, really), the practicalities make it pointless. And it's so idealistic...
So perhaps instead of 'All I need is a sheet of paper and something to write with, and then I can turn the whole world upside down', perhaps it should be:
'All I need is a working computer with access to the internet, and then I can turn the whole blogosphere upside down'.
It doesn't quite have the same ring to it. The internet has ruined it!!
To think I nearly wrote tonight about the women who don't appear to wear pants in the original Star Trek.
Be good and study hard kiddies!
I need to read Nietzsche, as I love so many of his philosophies (screw Jung and Freud and their insights into people).
This is an outdated quote and requires updating. What is this old-fashioned pen-and-paper nonsense? In today's society whatever profound things written by the movers and shakers of the world are only going to affect (not effect) society if they are typed on a computer with an internet connection, and then posted on the internet! This is where tonight's title springs from, as indeed, the internet as ruined many a wonderful thing such as a Nietzsche quote by making it obsolete. Even if in principle it still stands (which it doesn't, really), the practicalities make it pointless. And it's so idealistic...
So perhaps instead of 'All I need is a sheet of paper and something to write with, and then I can turn the whole world upside down', perhaps it should be:
'All I need is a working computer with access to the internet, and then I can turn the whole blogosphere upside down'.
It doesn't quite have the same ring to it. The internet has ruined it!!
To think I nearly wrote tonight about the women who don't appear to wear pants in the original Star Trek.
Be good and study hard kiddies!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Why a girl's best friend is...well, her best friend.
I was talking to mother tonight as we went for our walk (to promote lessening of body mass) about friends. Then I came home and thought it was high time I considered the things I have learned from my friends.
Number one: If your friend/s do not take a shine to somebody, there is a good reason for this. Listen. Learn. These people are your friends for a reason. If they don't like somebody, it's inevitably because I've managed to miss something. I like to think that I can pick up the subtle signals that somebody is a raving psychopath, but my own bias tends to often colour my view (well, more like occasionally seeing as I'm obviously perfect most of the time...riiiiight), so that I stop myself from seeing certain unfavourable characteristics in a person (eg, those of a psychopath, although thankfully I haven't actually encountered any of those...yet).
Number 2: When your friend/facebook husband says to you "what subjects are you going to do for uni, I'd like to timetable for you", you bloody well jump at that offer. My fb husband is a wonderful, wonderful person who has the organisational skills of a vulcan (heyo, Stark Trek reference), and is able to navigate the university bureaucracy with a skill that is unmatched by any living human. This is particularly helpful when timetabling and subject selection is an absolute bitch. Didn't I feel pretty impressive when I went to the advice day and heard people all around me bitching about what subjects they wanted to do and the difficulties of timetabling. Although less organisationally satisfying were his words of "I expect this enthusiasm to dissipate somewhere between second semester and second year". They're probably true though.
Number three: Sometimes, your friends know you better than you know yourself. It can range from when you're talking to them at 9.30pm, the night before your final biology exam and you say "I'll just read over my notes once more before I go to bed", to which the response is simply "Princess...". It can be simply a "You know you want to sleep with him, don't deny it", or even one look at you when you say hello to them for them to ask "What's wrong?" and you didn't even realise something was wrong in the first place.
That being said, there are those times when your friends aren't right (see how I euphemistically said 'aren't righht', instead of 'downright wrong'?). There are cases when you do know best goddamnit! And even when you actually know better rather than being stubborn, which is what I am guilty of (there! I admitted it!! happy?).
One thing I do know though, is that my friends will always have my back.
Awwwwww
Number one: If your friend/s do not take a shine to somebody, there is a good reason for this. Listen. Learn. These people are your friends for a reason. If they don't like somebody, it's inevitably because I've managed to miss something. I like to think that I can pick up the subtle signals that somebody is a raving psychopath, but my own bias tends to often colour my view (well, more like occasionally seeing as I'm obviously perfect most of the time...riiiiight), so that I stop myself from seeing certain unfavourable characteristics in a person (eg, those of a psychopath, although thankfully I haven't actually encountered any of those...yet).
Number 2: When your friend/facebook husband says to you "what subjects are you going to do for uni, I'd like to timetable for you", you bloody well jump at that offer. My fb husband is a wonderful, wonderful person who has the organisational skills of a vulcan (heyo, Stark Trek reference), and is able to navigate the university bureaucracy with a skill that is unmatched by any living human. This is particularly helpful when timetabling and subject selection is an absolute bitch. Didn't I feel pretty impressive when I went to the advice day and heard people all around me bitching about what subjects they wanted to do and the difficulties of timetabling. Although less organisationally satisfying were his words of "I expect this enthusiasm to dissipate somewhere between second semester and second year". They're probably true though.
Number three: Sometimes, your friends know you better than you know yourself. It can range from when you're talking to them at 9.30pm, the night before your final biology exam and you say "I'll just read over my notes once more before I go to bed", to which the response is simply "Princess...". It can be simply a "You know you want to sleep with him, don't deny it", or even one look at you when you say hello to them for them to ask "What's wrong?" and you didn't even realise something was wrong in the first place.
That being said, there are those times when your friends aren't right (see how I euphemistically said 'aren't righht', instead of 'downright wrong'?). There are cases when you do know best goddamnit! And even when you actually know better rather than being stubborn, which is what I am guilty of (there! I admitted it!! happy?).
One thing I do know though, is that my friends will always have my back.
Awwwwww
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The joys of university bureaucracy (sarcasm alert)
So I'm enrolling. Lucky me.
It was exciting for about two seconds. Then it just got annoying. I have been warned about the horrors of the university, however the glory of it is impossible to grasp until you actually are in the position of having to actually do this yourself.
I actually wonder how this was designed.
I mean, I dislike the way that to actually get the subjects that I want into my timetable to get the majors that I want, I have to ditch subjects that I really really would love to do.
But the big thing that I find impossible to deal with, is that the website is so user-unfriendly that I simply cannot believe this was created easily. I was talking to my elder sister today, who said that the university arts faculty attempts to determine the way in which they can best torment the students, and I think the first encounter we as students get, is the delightful enrollment system.
I may not know a lot about creating an enrollment site, but wouldn't it actually be easier to create a simple enrollment list? The energy used to create something as ridiculously impossible as this would honestly be more than creating something that is simple, practical, and straightforward.
Or, maybe academics find it amusing to create something as difficult as possible.
And I've been warned that the worst is yet to come. Joy of joys.
It was exciting for about two seconds. Then it just got annoying. I have been warned about the horrors of the university, however the glory of it is impossible to grasp until you actually are in the position of having to actually do this yourself.
I actually wonder how this was designed.
I mean, I dislike the way that to actually get the subjects that I want into my timetable to get the majors that I want, I have to ditch subjects that I really really would love to do.
But the big thing that I find impossible to deal with, is that the website is so user-unfriendly that I simply cannot believe this was created easily. I was talking to my elder sister today, who said that the university arts faculty attempts to determine the way in which they can best torment the students, and I think the first encounter we as students get, is the delightful enrollment system.
I may not know a lot about creating an enrollment site, but wouldn't it actually be easier to create a simple enrollment list? The energy used to create something as ridiculously impossible as this would honestly be more than creating something that is simple, practical, and straightforward.
Or, maybe academics find it amusing to create something as difficult as possible.
And I've been warned that the worst is yet to come. Joy of joys.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
I am not motivated enough to come up with a title
I wonder if conversations can change your life?
Not a particularly definitive way to start a blog entry, but I'm feeling reflective today. I was all set to post about my antics in a shoe store where the poor salesman didn't quite grasp that I don't run...ever (although I may have misrepresented myself by being in the store to begin with), then some assorted conversations that I have had over the past few days preyed on my mind to the point where they have formed a coherent idea for a post.
What is within a conversation? I guess on its most superficial level, a conversation is the exchange of words between two or more people, revolving around an idea, or ideas. It is communication.
Is there anything beneath my definition? I honestly don't know. But I know that one conversation I have had in recent days in particular, is sticking in my mind.
I was sitting by the river, eating chips (and being eaten by mosquitoes) at night, looking across the city and the city lights (contemplating in some part of my mind how damn beautiful I actually find the city), and talking to somebody whom I consider to be one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. In fact, I sent that person a text after I got home that night telling them that through knowing them (and through my conversations with them) I think I am a better person, because of the way in which she challenges me through our conversations.
The large majority of our conversations turn into debates, where (invariably) I will make a claim, and she will proceed to tear it apart. I said as much to her, and she suggested a system were if I make a claim not properly considered she can simply say 'invalid claim, please try again', but I wouldn't take her up on that unless I were mentally drained beyond the point of coherency, because I enjoy it too much. Anyway, I'll stop going into this one specific case, as she reads my blog, and I don't want to embarrass her, but I think I should simply say when she moves away, words (heh geddit, conversations, words?) simply will never be sufficient to describe how very terribly I will miss her, and our conversations.
To jump to another example, a conversation I had with somebody on Friday night. It was perhaps not as self-challenging as my previous example, however it certainly made me think.
First of all, it nearly destroyed my love of Frasier, a show which practically defined my childhood (screw Playschool). Then, it got me thinking about the female stereotype in relation to sex. More specifically, why there are male roles such as Hank Moody in Californication, and they are accepted as just generally having a hyperactive sex drive, whereas a female in a similar sexually promiscuous role would be assumed to have 'baggage', causing her hypersexuality. Anyway, this particular conversation also got me thinking (and got me interested). I like conversations that get me thinking (and laughing, but they rarely overlap).
And finally, to finish this thought, I find it rather depressing when I have one good conversation with a person, and then I don't again, for whatever reason. That's just teasing me.
Not a particularly definitive way to start a blog entry, but I'm feeling reflective today. I was all set to post about my antics in a shoe store where the poor salesman didn't quite grasp that I don't run...ever (although I may have misrepresented myself by being in the store to begin with), then some assorted conversations that I have had over the past few days preyed on my mind to the point where they have formed a coherent idea for a post.
What is within a conversation? I guess on its most superficial level, a conversation is the exchange of words between two or more people, revolving around an idea, or ideas. It is communication.
Is there anything beneath my definition? I honestly don't know. But I know that one conversation I have had in recent days in particular, is sticking in my mind.
I was sitting by the river, eating chips (and being eaten by mosquitoes) at night, looking across the city and the city lights (contemplating in some part of my mind how damn beautiful I actually find the city), and talking to somebody whom I consider to be one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. In fact, I sent that person a text after I got home that night telling them that through knowing them (and through my conversations with them) I think I am a better person, because of the way in which she challenges me through our conversations.
The large majority of our conversations turn into debates, where (invariably) I will make a claim, and she will proceed to tear it apart. I said as much to her, and she suggested a system were if I make a claim not properly considered she can simply say 'invalid claim, please try again', but I wouldn't take her up on that unless I were mentally drained beyond the point of coherency, because I enjoy it too much. Anyway, I'll stop going into this one specific case, as she reads my blog, and I don't want to embarrass her, but I think I should simply say when she moves away, words (heh geddit, conversations, words?) simply will never be sufficient to describe how very terribly I will miss her, and our conversations.
To jump to another example, a conversation I had with somebody on Friday night. It was perhaps not as self-challenging as my previous example, however it certainly made me think.
First of all, it nearly destroyed my love of Frasier, a show which practically defined my childhood (screw Playschool). Then, it got me thinking about the female stereotype in relation to sex. More specifically, why there are male roles such as Hank Moody in Californication, and they are accepted as just generally having a hyperactive sex drive, whereas a female in a similar sexually promiscuous role would be assumed to have 'baggage', causing her hypersexuality. Anyway, this particular conversation also got me thinking (and got me interested). I like conversations that get me thinking (and laughing, but they rarely overlap).
And finally, to finish this thought, I find it rather depressing when I have one good conversation with a person, and then I don't again, for whatever reason. That's just teasing me.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Those people you love to hate
My least favourite type of people, moreso than the ones who i just outright hate, are those who have that quality that redeems them, just when you are ready to kill them.
I will probably reverse that decision at some point in the future, because I do hate stupid people, with a fire that rages within me. However, the person-who-you-are-ready-to-kill-then-goes-and-does-something-not-hate-inducing, is probably the type of person who frustrates me most.
The reasons are thus:
First of all, you never know if they are going to inspire the killer within you, or be tolerable. I am a pedant, in that I like to be aware of what your outing will be like. As someone who is not a major fan of humanity in general, if I choose to meet up with somebody, it is generally because I enjoy their company. The PWYARTKTGADSNOI, as they shall now be called, does not inspire the desire to meet up for a good time, as one never knows what the time will be like with them.
With me so far?
Not only this, but the PWYARTKTGADSNOI is never fully categorised. As someone who loves to categorise, this is really frustrating. I can't decide if i like this person, or not.
I hate to cut this carefully thought out blogpost short, but I'm re-watching 'Easy A', and it's highly distracting.
Make up your own conclusions about people who you don't know if you like or dislike, and if they have a redeemable feature, or if it's just your own conscience trying to stop you from hating too many people.
I will probably reverse that decision at some point in the future, because I do hate stupid people, with a fire that rages within me. However, the person-who-you-are-ready-to-kill-then-goes-and-does-something-not-hate-inducing, is probably the type of person who frustrates me most.
The reasons are thus:
First of all, you never know if they are going to inspire the killer within you, or be tolerable. I am a pedant, in that I like to be aware of what your outing will be like. As someone who is not a major fan of humanity in general, if I choose to meet up with somebody, it is generally because I enjoy their company. The PWYARTKTGADSNOI, as they shall now be called, does not inspire the desire to meet up for a good time, as one never knows what the time will be like with them.
With me so far?
Not only this, but the PWYARTKTGADSNOI is never fully categorised. As someone who loves to categorise, this is really frustrating. I can't decide if i like this person, or not.
I hate to cut this carefully thought out blogpost short, but I'm re-watching 'Easy A', and it's highly distracting.
Make up your own conclusions about people who you don't know if you like or dislike, and if they have a redeemable feature, or if it's just your own conscience trying to stop you from hating too many people.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Things I highly recommend you never say to a woman (amongst other things)
A long title I know, but I just finished watching a continental film, so my mind is a bit everywhere.
So, the other night, somebody said to me, 'Michael thinks your boobs are too big'. This person has a certain knack for saying things like this, which (I'm not altogether sure, but I think he believes them to be 'great' opening lines) tend to offend. Deeply. And this particular gem got me thinking. What are the things one simply should not say to a woman? This is one of them. In fact, it goes at the top of my list.
Unless she brings it up, leave her chest alone. I personally never believed a woman could have boobs big enough to be acceptable - indeed I thought that for the majority of men, the only truly satisfactory level of boob is just around the level of walking breasts, or breasts on legs (thereby satisfying both the 'leg man' and the 'chest man'). However, with this stunning revelation, I am forced to consider that perhaps I am wrong, now you can be too chesty? Brings to mind 'this porridge is too hot...and this porridge is too cold'.
The second thing which I find particularly offensive (although this is perhaps because I hear it every single time I'm with a particular group of guys who are talking about the 'best pickup lines' is: 'does this rag smell like chloroform to you?' Just no. It's not funny, nor is it likely to make her take pity on you. Sorry.
Actually, now that I think about it, both of these lines originate from the same source. Perhaps we must consider that he is just an excellent example of what not to do. A case, even, to be studied.
Assuming he reads this, he might even be pleased to note that he is in my blog, as he has repeatedly demanded that I incorporate him into my 'next post'. So he has made it. For those of you who don't know who this is, be glad, for those of you that have an idea, you're probably right, and I hope you have enjoyed this. For those of you who are lost, I do apologise.
On to one more matter, and a comment, no, I lie, two, you lucky things, which I hope you appreciate.
There are some people who make me get up in the morning. There are some people for whom I would walk over burning hot coals for. One of these such people puts up with me on a far too regular basis, bearing with me to watch stupid, terrible movies with me, at my insistence. You can imagine that comments would accompany this.
When I told him that I had just (totally legally) downloaded Resident Evil 4: Afterlife, the response was 'oh happy day'.
When I told him that I thought we should watch Burlesque (in cinemas January 13 in case any of you were interested), and told him to look up the trailer, I received this remark a few moments later: 'Cher AND Christina Aguilera? Fabulous. I just cannot wait. Who ever thought we'd be this lucky.'
These are things which, if you have a close female friend, I recommend you do say, as they make her laugh. And I know when I find somebody who makes me laugh, I consider them a blessing.
That being said watching Le Placard, a french (duh) comedy the likes of which only the french can do, also makes me laugh. So...you're all replaceable.
Just kidding
So, the other night, somebody said to me, 'Michael thinks your boobs are too big'. This person has a certain knack for saying things like this, which (I'm not altogether sure, but I think he believes them to be 'great' opening lines) tend to offend. Deeply. And this particular gem got me thinking. What are the things one simply should not say to a woman? This is one of them. In fact, it goes at the top of my list.
Unless she brings it up, leave her chest alone. I personally never believed a woman could have boobs big enough to be acceptable - indeed I thought that for the majority of men, the only truly satisfactory level of boob is just around the level of walking breasts, or breasts on legs (thereby satisfying both the 'leg man' and the 'chest man'). However, with this stunning revelation, I am forced to consider that perhaps I am wrong, now you can be too chesty? Brings to mind 'this porridge is too hot...and this porridge is too cold'.
The second thing which I find particularly offensive (although this is perhaps because I hear it every single time I'm with a particular group of guys who are talking about the 'best pickup lines' is: 'does this rag smell like chloroform to you?' Just no. It's not funny, nor is it likely to make her take pity on you. Sorry.
Actually, now that I think about it, both of these lines originate from the same source. Perhaps we must consider that he is just an excellent example of what not to do. A case, even, to be studied.
Assuming he reads this, he might even be pleased to note that he is in my blog, as he has repeatedly demanded that I incorporate him into my 'next post'. So he has made it. For those of you who don't know who this is, be glad, for those of you that have an idea, you're probably right, and I hope you have enjoyed this. For those of you who are lost, I do apologise.
On to one more matter, and a comment, no, I lie, two, you lucky things, which I hope you appreciate.
There are some people who make me get up in the morning. There are some people for whom I would walk over burning hot coals for. One of these such people puts up with me on a far too regular basis, bearing with me to watch stupid, terrible movies with me, at my insistence. You can imagine that comments would accompany this.
When I told him that I had just (totally legally) downloaded Resident Evil 4: Afterlife, the response was 'oh happy day'.
When I told him that I thought we should watch Burlesque (in cinemas January 13 in case any of you were interested), and told him to look up the trailer, I received this remark a few moments later: 'Cher AND Christina Aguilera? Fabulous. I just cannot wait. Who ever thought we'd be this lucky.'
These are things which, if you have a close female friend, I recommend you do say, as they make her laugh. And I know when I find somebody who makes me laugh, I consider them a blessing.
That being said watching Le Placard, a french (duh) comedy the likes of which only the french can do, also makes me laugh. So...you're all replaceable.
Just kidding
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Blogspot is better than Tumbr
Yes, there, I've said it. Take that, tumblr people.
But I assume you'll want me to justify this radical claim. Here are some of my reasons:
First of all, the name, 'tumblr'. I mean seriously, try to say it. There are a couple of problems I have with that, without the vowel at the send, it becomes 'tumBLAGH', and that just sounds like someone's throwing up.
Second of all...(well to be honest, if you need to read past the iffy name I'm not sure what I can do to convince you), being on Tumblr makes you kinda like a whore, because you flash your newest post onto facebook with the little 'integrated into facebook' thingy that posts the first line or so of the newest post onto the facebook wallfeed, and makes you want to read it, even if you weren't intending to!!! (and if you clicked upon this article through a link i posted on facebook, it wasn't integrated into facebook, so hush)
Tumbler, sorry....Tumblr, in face, I think I may refer to it simply as Tumblagh for the rest of this article, is like those annoying hipsters who are trying sooo hard to be 'indie'. And so much of it is just re-blogged. I am not a fan of re-blogged things, although there is something rather fitting about it. The hipster is basically a recycled idea, often unoriginal in music taste or fashion sense (I read a great post about this), and this continues on to re-blogging other ideas or posts. I find it frustrating.
Anyway, I keep being distracted by Pinkie and the Brain clearly intellectual material that surpasses everything. I leave with my thoughts on Tumblagh.
Also, for those of you who read it, what does Hyperbole and a Half use? Blogspot. Yeah....
But I assume you'll want me to justify this radical claim. Here are some of my reasons:
First of all, the name, 'tumblr'. I mean seriously, try to say it. There are a couple of problems I have with that, without the vowel at the send, it becomes 'tumBLAGH', and that just sounds like someone's throwing up.
Second of all...(well to be honest, if you need to read past the iffy name I'm not sure what I can do to convince you), being on Tumblr makes you kinda like a whore, because you flash your newest post onto facebook with the little 'integrated into facebook' thingy that posts the first line or so of the newest post onto the facebook wallfeed, and makes you want to read it, even if you weren't intending to!!! (and if you clicked upon this article through a link i posted on facebook, it wasn't integrated into facebook, so hush)
Tumbler, sorry....Tumblr, in face, I think I may refer to it simply as Tumblagh for the rest of this article, is like those annoying hipsters who are trying sooo hard to be 'indie'. And so much of it is just re-blogged. I am not a fan of re-blogged things, although there is something rather fitting about it. The hipster is basically a recycled idea, often unoriginal in music taste or fashion sense (I read a great post about this), and this continues on to re-blogging other ideas or posts. I find it frustrating.
Anyway, I keep being distracted by Pinkie and the Brain clearly intellectual material that surpasses everything. I leave with my thoughts on Tumblagh.
Also, for those of you who read it, what does Hyperbole and a Half use? Blogspot. Yeah....
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