tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50608235469907603062024-03-14T08:09:06.545+10:00Brainsparks and LightsoffTash, eventual writer, tiny and insane.
We'll get along just fine.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-88727201091401658582011-08-08T23:17:00.001+10:002011-08-08T23:17:29.772+10:00ThingsIn one of those moods where I feel I can't do anything right.<br />I'm too loud, too crazy, too intense. Too much of what people don't want, too little of what they do want.<br /><i>Remember when you were quiet and demure?</i><br />I remember that. I think music, high school and my mother conspired to change that. <br /><i>Remember just acting how people wanted you to?</i><br />I do. It was hell, but somehow slightly more desirable to feeling like I'm less of a person for being myself. Like that I am tolerated, not accepted. <br /><br />It's one of those days where giving up is on my priority list, where my aim is to roll up in the foetal position and do little else but sleep and listen to music. <br /><br />Having my motives questioned is getting to me. I don't like people assuming I am doing things solely because I want to disrupt or cause attention. More often than not I do it because it would make me happy. In fact, the less attention I am paid all at once, the happier I am. I can't function too well when thrust in front of people and ordered to speak. I will write for you and flee.<br /><br />I wish, though, that people could just give me one fixed point by which they'll measure me. Not ask me if I'm okay because I'm quiet then get aggravated when I talk. I'm over the majority of everything and I want to run back to childhood, the blissful state where I didn't know people had active opinions about me, so I did what I want no questions asked. I miss living like that. <br /><br />WHOA LET'S BE ALL WEIRD TONIGHT. Goodnight todos. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-71626284601339585312011-08-03T18:42:00.001+10:002011-08-03T18:45:29.066+10:0025 questions that you never actually asked me.Oh hai.<br />
So, yes. I'm really becoming terrible at updating this blog. I don't have much else to say except for the more-frequent-than-ever-rant - which, after I do this (needs time to fester a bit more), I'll actually post - and frankly, you guys deserve better than that.<br />
But on the off chance you completely miss me (snort), <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://tashinayear.blogspot.com/">I live over here now, at my new sort of bookish blog</a></span>. (Go on! Click the enticing large font! I dare you!)<br />
Also, Maija and I are starting up a bridal blog. Heads up for that.<br />
<br />
Anywho! Meme post to get my writing shenanigans underway!<br />
<br />
<b>1) Post 15 facts about yourself.</b><br />
I currently have no favourite band. My favourite TV show is Offspring (to which my Twitter followers reply, "OH WOW SUCH A SECRET THERE"). I am very much obsessed with the song 'All Hell' by The Cat Empire and long to play it on piano. I don't know how to play the piano. I have two golden retrievers who, while irritating from time to time, are lovely. I work in a deli (still, and much to my distress). I am very bad at cleaning. I also am very bad at turning on lights when it gets dark if I've been sitting in the same position since it was light. According to psychological test studies, I am neither Anglo-Saxon nor Hispanic. I own a pair of socks with cow heads on them and grip on the soles. I can knit, but not purl. I have chosen my children's names because I'm just creepy. I plan on owning a Border Collie named Fernando at some stage. I love to draw, particularly faces and fashion illustration, but I've never sat still long enough to complete a realistic portrait. I get sweet kicks out of writing fan-fics that I'll never share with anyone.<br />
<b>2) Write about the best friends you’ve had over the years.</b><br />
My best friend in Sydney was named Alyssa. Her family was from the Philippines, and I remember when she went to visit them. Neither of us knew where the Philippines actually was, so we assumed it was somewhere like Western Australia. She loved to write, like me, and to draw. We used to write stories about our adventures on safari and whatnot. (We would have been four or five.)<br />
Then I moved to Wollongbar. Roanna and Liana came along. Liana lives at this blog. We were rather strange, I remember. Roanna moved to Cootamundra in Year 2, and Katrina came along. Year 3, Gemma came along. Liana loved Leonardo DiCaprio. I loved one of my brother's friends. I have no idea who Gemma and Katrina loved.<br />
High school happened, and Kathryn came along. Liana and I didn't really keep in contact, but Gemma, Trina and I did. Not much to really tell - after all, you've heard about Kathryn, and you've heard about Gemma and Katrina.<br />
Now uni's happened, and I've pretty much whittled it down to Trina. YOU'VE STAYED SINCE YEAR 2. AREN'T YOU SKILLED, TRINA. I have a variety of guy friends - I'd go to Josh for most anything, purely because I know he'd not judge one iota and also always listens to opposing opinions, a trait I aim to cultivate in myself. I have a bunch of pals that are people I'd go to for different things, but I just know I can count on Trina and Joshua the most out of my pallies.<br />
<b>3) If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you want to do?</b><br />
I'd love to spend the day at the beach, wear a pair of Louboutins, dance at Southbank and sing to God.<br />
<b>4) Write about a period of time in your life where things seemed to be constantly going good.</b><br />
Ah, unimaversity. Got an internship. Got a job. Semi-got a degree. Brisbane was excellent, I was seeing my lovely friends, and I just loved being there.<br />
<b>5) Write about a period of time in your life where things were not so good.</b><br />
Ah, high school. Oh, everyone who says high school is the greatest time ever - I sincerely worry about the quality of your life after those horrible years.<br />
<b>6) When was the last time you cried? </b><br />
Last week.<br />
<b>7) Upload a recent picture of you.</b><br />
'Recent' meaning 'A Couple of Months Ago Shush I'm Lazy':<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UrI6oiC5mVk/TjkFbCID1iI/AAAAAAAAAF0/KekPU_R4unE/s1600/251288_120704781347449_100002237842487_175342_3467074_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UrI6oiC5mVk/TjkFbCID1iI/AAAAAAAAAF0/KekPU_R4unE/s320/251288_120704781347449_100002237842487_175342_3467074_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hobo gloves, nerdy glasses.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>8) How do you feel today?</b><br />
A combination of tired, completely over my job, and a little bit sad. Melancholy Tash is Melancholy.<br />
<b>9) What’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you?</b><br />
"Oh my gosh. I love your eyes. They look like beads." - random customer at work, who was studying art and apparently had a fascination with eyes, according to her friend.<br />
<b>10) What’s the meanest thing anyone has ever said to you?</b><br />
"... I guess you're pretty. You're just not as pretty as, say, Trina." Probably not mean but my gosh, it stung and I still remember it nearly two years later. #hangingontothepast<br />
<b>11) Write about the best day of your life.</b><br />
Probably trip to Melbourne, getting to see Dali. Life dream was realised.<br />
<b>12) Write about the worst day of your life.</b><br />
A day involving tears, vomiting, stress, screaming in pain and a whole lot of hugs. And many, many, panic attacks.<br />
<b>13) What are your plans for the future? Far and near.</b><br />
I plan on returning to Brisbane and continuing my degree, while writing. Trina and I are housesharing, and we will make cakes. I think Glen's coming at this stage, too.<br />
I hope to get married, and have some wildly funky children.<br />
I want to have a bookstore.<br />
I want to travel and visit Shakespeare's grave, and Neruda's grave, and throw some tomatoes in Spain.<br />
I will write for the Sydney Morning Herald, a bridal magazine of some description, and edit one of these.<br />
<b>14) Post your favorite book, favorite movie, favorite band, and favorite food.</b><br />
Book: Too, too many. Possibly HP&OotP. Possibly Letter Perfect. Possibly Atonement.<br />
Movie: Moulin Rouge, Love Actually and Pride and Prejudice. These cannot be separated.<br />
Band: None. I... I said that. Coldplay <i>was</i> it, but they're relegated to the Corner of Shame until they give me a new album.<br />
Food: Chicken schnitzel and mash potato, with cheese empanadas. Ooh and cheesecake.<br />
<b>15) Write about something you worry about a lot.</b><br />
... what <i>don't </i>I worry about a lot?<br />
<b>16) Upload a picture of your room and talk about your room.</b><br />
No. It is messy. That is all.<br />
<b>17) Bullet your day.</b><br />
Shoot it? *considers the implications of destroying the space-time continuum*<br />
<b>18) Post one confession/secret.</b><br />
I am currently obsessing over a guy who couldn't care less about me.<br />
<b>19) Write about your last birthday and how you plan to spend your upcoming birthday.</b><br />
I went to Brisbane and hung around the city, finding clues and attacking people. I don't have plans for this coming one, but I am going to con Trina in helping make me an epic cake that we'll take to Southbank and eat with spoons.<br />
<b>20) What did you eat today?</b><br />
Cheese on toast, and eggs on toast. Also, 4 Wicked Fizz lollies and a few spoonfuls of Nutella.<br />
<b>21) How has your life changed over the past year?</b><br />
I'm back here, and I'm twenty million times more cynical about men than I was last year.<br />
<b>22) What made you smile the most today?</b><br />
Frezned's video about eyes.<br />
<b>23) Describe what you spend most of your time on.</b><br />
Writing and reading.<br />
<b>24) How was your week been?</b><br />
An absolute pain in the butt that I'd shoot if I could, qualms about the space-time continuum aside.<br />
<b>25) Write a letter to someone you miss. </b><br />
I miss very few people right now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-20672926230846993502011-06-14T18:33:00.000+10:002011-06-14T18:33:47.236+10:0030 Days of Music, which I have cleverly condensed into one post. Because I'm fearless like that.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yeah, I know. You're complaining. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><em>"Another</em> music post, Tash?"</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Hey. Be glad. Thanks to my incredible self-control yesterday (or, more accurately, my evening involving a lot of music rather than relationship counselling - which begs the question, <em>why?</em> I have never been in a relationship. I am not the person to counsel you), you got spared last night's diatribe regarding men.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Which would have been vastly hilarious, but in a laughing-at-me-not-with-me manner.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So this is that 30 Days of Music thing that's currently making the rounds on Facebook. At least, it's currently making the rounds with five people I know, and has finished with <a href="http://unqualifiednarrations.blogspot.com/">Nate</a> and <a href="http://girlofdecember.blogspot.com/">Maija</a>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Also Courtney, but as far as I know, Courtney is limited to Facebook.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Why do I tell you these things?</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Getting to the point would be ideal.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Away we go.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>1. Your favourite song.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePNRTnR3GbY">You Be the Anchor That Keeps My Feet On the Ground, I'll Be the Wings That Keep Your Heart In the Clouds</a></span>, <em>Mayday Parade</em></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Introduced to me by my brother's friend Tim on a New Year's Morn, this song has been on my love list for a v. v. long time. Usually I fall in love with songs and then quickly get over them, and they start gathering cyber-dust and feeling unloved and then when I <em>do</em> listen to them, I skip after 30 seconds.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's a terrible cycle, yet Mayday Parade has not fallen victim to it.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(Incidentally, I'm currently putting Mumford and Sons' The Cave through this vicious cycle.)</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So I suppose it, for now, fulfils the role of being my favourite song.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Also, it's pretty. Which is most definitely a proper musical term.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>2. Your least favourite song.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Where to begin. Oh, <em>where</em> to begin.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm sure everyone's done Justin Beiber and Miley Cyrus and Rebecca Black. It pretty much goes against human nature <em>not</em> to. I am itching to, but instead, you can have this one.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qm8PH4xAss">In Da Club</a></span>, <em>50 Cent.</em></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There is so much wrong with this song. So very much. Firstly, the title. <em>It's one more letter, Mr Fifty-Cent-Sir</em>, how hard is it to write 'the'? Not very! NOT VERY AT ALL.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Secondly, this verse epitomises everything that is wrong with not only this song, but society in general.</span></div><blockquote style="border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 5px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><em><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub </div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Look mami I got the X if you into taking drugs </div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm into having sex, I ain't into making love </div>So come give me a hug if you into to getting rubbed </em></span></blockquote><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">50 Cent (and what sort of a rap name is that, anyway?) - you are made of fail.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>3. A song that makes you happy.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qF_qbaWt3Q">Waiting for the End</a></span>, <em>Linkin Park</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yeah, all you Linkin Park hardcore fans, I do have their original stuff. And I do eschew their new stuff because it's Twilight-fail. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">However, this song makes me very happy.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don't know why, I cannot explain it, but it's dancy and beautiful and made of awesome.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>4. A song that makes you sad.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_JLkIOnq04&feature=related">Time to Say Goodbye</a></span>, <em>Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman</em>. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Before you start hurling the rocks, hurling the spears, and throwing tomatoes unceremoniously in my direction, I am very much aware that this is a lovely song and it's beautiful and that everyone should adore it no matter what.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But you know what? It always, no matter what, makes me cry.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Laugh all you want, but that's what happens.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>5. A song that reminds you of someone.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDA33hGFNgQ">Strangers in the Night</a>, <em>Frank Sinatra</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My grandfather is an excellent man. He knows more English than I do. (This is saying a lot, considering he only ventured in this country's general direction in what would be 1986.) And as a result, he often enjoys putting new spins on songs. He can commonly be found singing such classics as <em>Everybody Loves My Body</em> (and yes, he is a 70 year old man), <em>Tengo-tengo-tengo-tu-no-tienes-nada</em>, and variations on <em>Strangers in the Night</em>. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Over the course of my life, I have heard:</span></div><ul style="list-style-type: square; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 25px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 0px;"><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Empanadas in the night</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Chorizos in the night</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Vino in the night</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Carne in the night</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Tortillas in the night, and</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Palta in the night.</span></li>
</ul><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All food, and all sung by my grandfather. He appears to only know a few lines:</span></div><blockquote style="border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 5px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><em>Chorizos in the night... exchanging glances, lovers at first sight</em>...</span></blockquote><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And we get that over. And over. And over.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Still love the man though.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>6. A song that reminds you of somewhere.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUsqP_R9nCA">Damned If I Do You, Damned If I Don't</a>, <em>All Time Low</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This isn't a terribly exciting location. In fact, it's one of the most boring places I've ever been to.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Pacific Highway, that boring stretch of no-man's land between Tweed and Byron, somewhere that I cannot exactly pinpoint.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But oh my gosh, it's a lame point of land.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, I was listening to this song as I was fleeing Brisbane last year, and around that darn stupid stretch of land that I still don't know what it is (surely it has a name?), this song was on. It made me vaguely happy, when I was massive-freaked and didn't think happiness could actually come.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Kudos, All Time Low, yet I'm sorry I associate you with such a mundane area of the Northern Rivers.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>7. A song that reminds you of a certain event.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KrsaIGXIpc">Baila Caporal</a>, <em>Illapu</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><em>Hellooo, </em>Chile Day.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Chilean Independence Day is an odd thing.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For one thing, we celebrate it in Australia. We appear to put more emphasis on it than we do Australia Day.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">[Yeah, yeah, get back to your own country, etc. My relatives at least came to this country without shackles around their ankles.]</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, Chilean Day is essentially an excuse for my grandmother to hold a party and bust out all her decorations. She has a whole pile of Chilean flags in a box, and blue, white and red streamers on standby. The house gets turned into a dancehall. Of course, we have to look patriotic. Patriotism apparently means that Daniela and I put on jeans, white shirts, and red scarves, so for a day we pretend we're twins and that we totally didn't co-ordinate our outfits. (Which we did two years ago, texting each other madly so we didn't have to show up wearing peasant skirts and caked-on makeup.)</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And there is much food. Generally, we eat churrascos, chorizos, and empanadas. Pebre, too. Oh gosh, it is the greatest day ever. And we get tasty dessert. And calzones rotos. Oh, you <em>need</em> to celebrate Chilean Day sometime. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I mean, there's a lot of political stuff behind it, but when you're getting dragged into a circle of people waving handkerchiefs around, just because you've picked up a serviette to give to your cousin who has dropped Coke everywhere, the politics cease to matter.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>8. A song you know all the words to.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M8Kv0uNOm2c">Tales of Girls, Boys and Marsupials</a>, <em>The Wombats.</em></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yeah, I pretty much put this song on here for lols.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>9. A song you can dance to.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRx5PrAlUdY">Dragostea Din Tei</a>, <em>O-ZONE</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Please, someone. Tell me I'm not the only person outside of Europe to own this song. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Because it's amazing. I don't know what it says, but watch the video. It's just amazing. And the comments that used to be there were hilarious. ("THEY DO TOO HAVE GIRLFRIENDS JUST BECAUSE THEY'RE HUGGING EACH OTHER DOESN'T MEAN THEY'RE GAY THEY'RE JUST IN EUROPE". Whoa, simmer down, YouTube.) </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And once you've watched them dancing on plane wings, go and watch Elijah Wood dancing to it, courtesy of Yo Gabba Gabba and some editing. Best giggles you'll see for a while.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And then, of course, you will end up dancing like Elijah Wood every time this song comes on... oh wait, that's just me.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>10. A song that you can fall asleep to.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The further I go along, the more I feel I've done this. But I think I'm just recalling my answers whenever I saw someone post about this meme.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVjA01tmtEs">Across the Universe</a>, <em>Jim Sturgess</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Hurl rocks at me. I do love the Beatles' version of this. It is impossible <em>not </em>to. But this version is still amazing and beautiful and is lovely music to curl up and snooze to.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Also, omnomnom Jim Sturgess.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>11. A song from your favourite band.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_U6S6Z6APw">Don Quixote</a>, <em>Coldplay</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I still love you, Coldplay. Even though you're being utterly heinous and not releasing a new album (which you promised me would be out at the end of last year, you -- <em>calm, Tash, calm</em>), my love for you still lives on.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Though if you can release a new album sometime soon, I'd like it a lot. Just sayin'.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>12. A song from a band you hate.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFTvbcNhEgc">Big Jet Plane</a>, <em>Angus and Julia Stone</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Who allowed you to make music, Angus and Julia Stone? Who deemed it okay? AND WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ON TRIPLE J?</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>13. A song that is a guilty pleasure.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2M7zo8ZziE">I'd Do Anything</a>, <em>Simple Plan</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Um... please don't kill me. After the post a few months ago, my Simple Plan love has come back with a vengeance.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>14. A song no one would expect you to love.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHpeZvmrU-w">Heart That's Pounding</a>, <em>Sally Seltmann.</em></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Usually, I cannot stand songs like this. It's all to do with Clare Bowditch and Florence and the Machine. I cannot stand either of those artists, and it makes me very sad when they come up on Triple J. Which they do with unnerving frequency. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Let me tell you, when I heard Clare Bowditch cover <em>Fall at Your Feet</em>, a very large part of me died inside. I think it was the rest of my hope. (And I'm not linking you to that, because I don't want you to die either.)</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, this song was featured on Offspring. (Offspring is my new love; for those in America, it is an epic TV show which is made of win. Clegg, the head obstetrician, is just amazing. So socially awkward it makes me seem like Ita Buttrose by comparison.) And it came on every time Nina and Chris were having lovely nawwww-worthy moments. So, because I'm like every single female who has invested emotion into Pride and Prejudice, I invested emotion into Nina and Chris, and I now have an emotional attachment to this song.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Go figure.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>15. A song that describes you.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Um... what?</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oh gosh.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I suppose only <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxVACta6dbA">Lifeline</a>, by <em>Papa Roach</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It doesn't describe me, but what I've been feeling for the majority of this year.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>16. A song you used to love but now hate.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Another embarrassing gem from the vaults of my youth.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3dTkv60h-A">Crush (1980 Me)</a>, <em>Darren Hayes</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm pretty sure that's a 'nuff said' response.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>17. A song that you hear often on the radio.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RF0HhrwIwp0">Sex on Fire</a>, <em>Kings of Leon</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Because when you listen to community radio which broadcasts to a very small area of the Northern Rivers (you know it's small when 'Wollongbar' is included in their town shoutouts. Heck, when 'New Italy' is included), they're at least a year behind every other radio station in terms of new music.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, we're even a year behind Nova.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>18. A song that you wish you heard on the radio.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvHQHdyCP2U">Hearts</a>, <em>Alex Day</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Come on, wouldn't the world be a better place if Alex Day was on the radio? Why can't there be a radio station devoted to YouTube artists so I don't go over my downloads? Then we'd have Chameleon Circuit on the radio. And that would just be, to quote Joshua, kriffing awesome.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>19. A song from your favourite album.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oogso0FtISw">Swallowed in the Sea</a>, <em>Coldplay</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Because Coldplay are lovely, and because this is an excellent album. I still don't quite get why this is my favourite, but there's something very beautiful and soothing about it.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>20. A song you listen to when you're angry.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYU-8IFcDPw">Faint</a>, <em>Linkin Park</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I pretty much listen to this song all the time, but it comes up a whole lot more when I'm deathraging. Hey, if Chester's screaming, I can sit there quietly reading and getting over my stuff that way.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>21. A song you listen to when you're happy.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkYko5OCnA4">Drink Up Me Hearties, Yo Ho</a>, <em>Hans Zimmer</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When you're happy, and you get to listen to a song which has forever epitomised piracy for me? Well, maybe it's just me, but I always begin to imagine I am a pirate. (Which was why I was regarded as special in preschool.) And if your fellow pirate includes Johnny Depp, I must say that's something that'll make me especially happy.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>22. A song you listen to when you're sad.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03p6KbHLP-E">Los Momentos</a>, <em>Eduardo Gatti</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It hasn't really got anything to do with my sadness, but it's slow and relaxing. When I'm sad, that's generally what I'll go for, and there's something soothing about Chilean Spanish.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>23. A song you want played at your wedding. </strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gG33Vn9X320">Thank You (For Loving Me at My Worst)</a>, <em>The Whitlams</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This song has one verse to do with romantic love between a couple, as far as I can tell, and the rest appear to be about Tim Freedman's relationship with one stellar audience. With all the usual songs out there being typico wedding songs, I have decided I want this. Just to be different, and because if I let my family have a say, I'll end up with Steve Earle (shudder) or a song about dancing like a gorilla (which actually exists).</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>24. A song you want played at your funeral.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoDxF3ZioEE">Bolero</a>, <em>Craig Armstrong</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And you had all better learn how to walk in time, because if you screw up moving my casket out of the church in time to this beat, I will come down from heaven with my jetpack and cry at you all.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Kidding.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Or am I?</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>25. A song that makes you laugh.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYHD5ExD_MY">Stuntman</a>, <em>Tripod</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm sure they have funnier ones out there, but this will forever be my favourite. Mainly because of the original video, where Yon gets mowed over by a bus.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And they used a dummy. Of a woman.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>26. A song you can play on an instrument.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KkWGy7W3_o">Clocks</a>, <em>Coldplay.</em></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I say 'can play on an instrument', I mean on piano, and I mean very poorly.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>27. A song you wish you could play.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSsB74HG7jo">Such Great Heights</a>, <em>Ben Folds (though originally done by the Postal Service).</em></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Watch how those fingers fly over those keys, and watch my self-esteem slowly die.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>28. A song that makes you feel guilty.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I really don't know.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Uhm.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">... get back to me on that one.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>29. A song from your childhood.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJAorQM7sL8">Cigarettes Will Kill You</a>, <em>Ben Lee</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Before Ben Lee embraced the power of Zen and became all lovey-dovey and for the power of the people and we're-all-in-this-togethery, he was somewhat disgruntled. I preferred him that way, because his music was far better.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, as a child, I did not have the powers of deduction to realise that Ben Lee was cranky. Instead, I was more focused on the title. My dad was attempting to explain how language works, and oddly enough, it made sense.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Which probably was the third moment I consciously decided words were AWESOME, and that I really needed to get into that whole business of words.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>30. Your favourite song at this time last year.</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vR5wKLfzGHo">Here Comes My Baby</a>, <em>Sons of Admirals</em>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This is further excellence from YouTube. Originally by Cat Stevens (excellent then), four YouTubers decided "Hey, let's get together and make a band, yo" and they released this, as well as a brilliant cover of <em>Believe in Yourself</em> (otherwise known as the Arthur theme song, which was originally done by Ziggy Marley. So there's some trivia for you).</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All of us watching this video, courtesy of Gemma, simultaneously gasped at Charlie's two-timing shenanigans and shouted "WELL CHARLIE, EXPLAIN YOURSELF". </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm getting kind of besotted by these memes, aren't I?</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ah well, buenos noches.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-20369812347908790422011-06-10T22:45:00.000+10:002011-06-10T22:45:03.370+10:00Thoughts, again.So I've not blogged on here for a while.<br />
<i>Sorry, todos.</i><br />
I could say that I'm working on something fabulous. -Unfortunately, that's a lie. And the only other thing I'm really working on is a dodgy fan-fic, an attempt to sort out where my novel will be going (because I'm never going to complete a NaNoWriMo unless I do that), and another blog where I'm just rambling about books for a long long time.<br />
I could say that I'm really busy as of late. -Unfortunately, retail has dropped significantly, so my extravagant hours are moot.<br />
<br />
So I'm just going to tell the truth.<br />
I don't know what to say.<br />
<br />
Lately, I'm in a bit of a funk. It's an irritating funk, because it's hashtag-firstworldproblems all over. My biggest problem is that I'm living with my parents (age 19) and seem to completely freak guys out?<br />
I still get food and I don't get beaten every day.<br />
Yet it's something that bothers me - more the latter than the former, because I know that the living with parents stint will finish in a few months (we hope). But gah, why on earth do I freak out guys all the time?<br />
<br />
Chronically unloveable, is what flickers through my mind every time I try and think of good qualities for myself.<br />
Always a fail.<br />
Never going to be worth it.<br />
<br />
The last time I liked a guy, I was sort of smitten. Okay, very smitten. I tried pursuing, which didn't work out too well. I backed off, which worked for a little while, then --<br />
Oh, then. Then he got with someone else.<br />
Now married.<br />
This is the low point of my 'love life', non-existent as it were. Unfortunately, it also exists as the high point.<br />
<br />
The guys I like don't ever choose to like me back.<br />
The guys who do like me, I am never attracted to. I can see them as friends, but as anything more? My head puts a large big cross over it and says, "Don't. Even. Go. There."<br />
<br />
And maybe it's not just me.<br />
But it sure as heck feels like it, and even though I'm only 19 and everyone apparently gets like this at some stage, I don't care.<br />
I just want some form of love, from a man in this universe, in this world.<br />
<br />
You know what? I'm really, really, so much fun when I get in these moods.<br />
It's good I'm going to hit publish on this post.<br />
Rawr.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-7593812701023766832011-05-10T20:28:00.002+10:002011-05-10T20:31:28.023+10:00I'm leaning over the balcony at Nana's, calculating how accurately I could spit into the bin three levels below on the footpath. You know. For science.<br />
On Nana's balcony, there is mesh, and according to the adults, this is because of me. It is my fault there is mesh covering what could be footholes (and better aim at the bin). "Ay, Carmen, you were una diablilla," Nana always moans, flapping her hands around her face to stop herself from swooning at the very thought of my idiocy. "You used to climb up and up and up -"<br />
"Who cares?" Tata grouses. "At least she showed ingenuity, wanting to get away from you."<br />
Nana carefully ignores him all the time. "And then, <i>then</i>, you went through your 'depression' -" (she says it with quotation marks) "- and I was so worried you would jump, and I was extra glad I put the mesh on."<br />
The mesh was probably black when we got it, and after fifteen years of it being firmly in place, it has been covered with glitter paint, sticky tape and a few teeth marks from a young Trinidad. I toe it with a scuffed Converse; it barely budges.<br />
"What are you doing?" Lorena appears at my side, suitably patriotic in her blue spotted dress and red headband. "You're jumping?"<br />
"I'm spitting. Vast difference." In contrast, I do not look patriotic. I am wearing the colours, but I am not nearly feminine enough to pass for a Chilean lady. "Do you think I can hit the bin?"<br />
She peers over the water-stained white bricks. "Yeah, but I'd say you'd have to go a bit to the side. Wind factor and all."<br />
Lorena may look patriotic, but she is less of a lady than I am.<br />
<br />
Nana's balcony is also covered with plants, some exploding into bloom and some, like the tomatoes, creeping slyly across the cement floor with curling tendrils. It takes Nana approximately twenty minutes from noticing our absence to find us huddled under the leaves and flowers.<br />
Today, five minutes. Lorena is particularly allergic to some orange flower that's dangling on her nose.<br />
"Why are you two always out here?"<br />
We shrug.<br />
"Carmen, I need to introduce you to someone." She waggles her eyebrows at me. "Come on."<br />
The eyebrow waggling concerns me. I make to grab Lorena, but her hand is now covered in slightly wet snot.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>One day I'm going to finish and edit and fix and make you better.</i><br />
<i>For now my excitement to write has diminished and instead, I leave you with Fishies.</i><br />
<i>Whoadittyditty.</i><br />
<i><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="269" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/BGaRh71xQOY" width="420"></iframe></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-10041457479818149152011-05-08T13:41:00.002+10:002011-05-09T22:44:54.380+10:00Things and longings and buses.Sitting on a bus, leaving my lovely Brisbane, I'm feeling nostalgic.<br />It's odd for me.<br />I very rarely felt nostalgic last year when I left - perhaps because I knew I'd be back a week later.<br />This time, I don't really know, and it makes me pretty darn sad. I would like to leave, leave my work and find a job, just move to Brisbane again and forget about this stint at home. Just experiencing the loveliness of saying I quit to IGA would be more than enough.<br />But I can't, and I am rather irritated by that.<br /><br />I was up in Brisbane last night, participating in a quasi Amazing Race. I have an excellent friend, Joshua. He made it work. And Glen and I got in teams and raced around the city, Glen busting out the awkward turtle whenever he found the slightest opportunity. Which there were hundreds, I quickly learned. <br /><br />I regret not wearing heels. When you consider the night, it would have been darn painful, but the Cons were as horrible to run in as a glass slipper studded in thorns would have been. <br /><br />I don't know. The night itself was amazing, but moving further and further away from the night and the places I ran, I'm getting less euphoric and more melancholy. What am I doing now? I'm listening to PotC soundtrack, on a bus. I'm fighting the urge to GTA the bus and turn back to Brisbane. I'm stupidly overthinking events that I wish so very very much would happen, but never will because whenever I wish incessantly it doesn't usually happen as I dream. And once I would like it to. Just to see what it's like when you hold at dreams and get them in your hands and inhale their magic, their faint cotton-candy scent, and just look at them. If my dreams were a colour, they'd be red. Bright red, deep red, scarlet, vibrant, passionate, slightly too bright to go with anything else but clashing in brilliant form. <br /><br />It's pathetic I'm going on like this; my life is far from hard. But I don't know, I just want a dream to come to light.<br /><br />Just, once, I'd like to know what love in its romanticised sense is like. Just so I know.<br /><br />The true purpose of this post was really to wax lyrical about shenanigans. Constant listening to Ben Folds changed that.<br /><br />I apologise for a horrifically ridiculous post, dear 7 followers.<br /><br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Somewhere%20around%20the%20Gold%20Coast.&z=10'>Somewhere around the Gold Coast.</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-86015376145341233572011-04-24T19:40:00.003+10:002011-04-24T19:42:36.667+10:00WordsPosting has become scarce lately, primarily because my love for words is hidden.<br />
It's not diminished - I'm drinking words in, grasping onto them like they're my final meal before a forty-year fast. But I'm not to create them.<br />
My mind is asking for a sabbatical. For me not to be in a world where I pour out the words and finish, feeling exhausted. Instead, I have been relishing listening to words. Hearing the accents, hearing poetry, hearing rhythms that exist in sentences and in paragraphs and that flow on to make me feel content. Those rhythms and nuances serve to remind me that there is more out there, and while it may make you scoff (because people don't usually find these reminders in sentences), it's what I do.<br />
I find words.<br />
I love these words.<br />
<br />
When I returned home this year, I decided I would write that novel, the one I'd discarded when NaNoWriMo hit me like a bullet and I couldn't write. That, I think, is where I gave up. I couldn't write. I couldn't finish the assignment. I had no inspiration, and I thought at home the inspiration might begin again.<br />
It hasn't, but in my head my characters are having an extended nap. Carmen is lying, in an uncoordinated and frankly strange-looking position across a bed; Cristian is seated next to her on the floor, asleep and head tilting back onto the mattress. And I have no doubt in my mind that these characters will wake up. One day I'll write those words. Maybe this November, I will write that novel. But for now, I'm learning again.<br />
<br />
When I did my HSC, I pushed books aside. I loved them, but I worked in a bookstore, where Twilight ran rampant on the shirts of twelve year olds and in the headspaces of those who thought Wuthering Heights had been written because of Twilight.<br />
<br />
And really, no, I'm not kidding about that, I did have someone say that to me and my only response was a facepalm.<br />
<br />
I digress; that bookstore was excellent besides the Twilight fanaticism. But thanks to the idiocy of Meyer, all I see now are vampire books. And escapism for me was not to be with vampires on pages, swooning in a pale, lacklustre imitation of Dracula. I found it in DVDs, movies. Scrubs became my escape; if I'm honest, Scrubs kept that stupid HSC year in perspective.<br />
Eight exams, and millions of people around the world were dying from illnesses? I had it fairly good. From Scrubs, I learnt that words were not just what I spat out onto a page, or hurled across the room to communicate with someone, but they were just as important in what they missed. That pause, that thought. The moment where I can describe a room, but not one aspect - where I can tell my reader that it's their job to piece in the gaps, because it's not my novel once it's in their hands. And it's odd, because in television you're shown the surrounds. But from what they didn't say, from watching a character do something rather than giving it anecdotally?<br />
Somehow that made a difference.<br />
<br />
This year, I have fallen in love with remakes and with Offspring.<br />
Offspring, primarily because I sit there totally in awe at Nina's headspace and how it's so similar to my own.<br />
Remakes, because it's all about perception. Joe Wright's Pride and Prejudice compared to that 1995 BBC one that everyone adores but I can't stand because Colin Firth makes me want to snarl; the newest Emma compared to that one with Gwyneth Paltrow. They all have their merits in some way, but I'm learning that I'll never appease everyone. But, and this builds on something I learned last year, if I write to appease myself, and make myself happy, that shines through.<br />
When I had a consult with my tutor, Trent, about my first story in Short Story Intro, he said that the reason he loved it wasn't because it was about something complex, something that needed to be said to change the world. He loved it, because he said I wrote what I knew and what I wanted to write. And I can't write unless I feel the urge, unless the story takes hold of me and directs me. I wrote 2000 words before I got those words.<br />
<br />
If I ever find that, I will post it.<br />
I have a draft of it, but my old computer has died.<br />
Likelihood is, I won't have it on there anymore.<br />
When I find it, I will post it, because I doubt it'll be published.<br />
<br />
One day, I'll get to my words again.<br />
For now, I will absorb lyrics.<br />
<br />
<b>mood - </b>contemplative. Confused. Slightly nervous, but an anticipatory nervous.<br />
<b>listening to - </b>Heart That's Pounding, by Sally Seltmann. I usually don't like music like this, but I am charmed by the beauty of this one, and to steal what I said to Glen, it has crept under my skin and has set up comfortable residence there.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dHpeZvmrU-w" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><br />
<b>what i am reading - </b>I am reading 2 Corinthians, Neruda, and Mother Tongue. For light reading, I've got Cathy Marie Hake sitting next to my bedside. I may pick up on Song of Solomon tonight. Who knows.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Happy Easter, all of you.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pqhobbit.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/love-cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://pqhobbit.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/love-cross.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://pqhobbit.wordpress.com/category/spiritual-life/<br />
Thank you.<br />
The image makes me sing. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-17144195365960278362011-03-17T12:46:00.000+10:002011-03-17T12:46:07.619+10:00Christmas Hurrah!<i>I wrote this at Christmas time, clearly. Reading through draft posts, I stumbled across it and decided it deserved to see the light of day.</i><br />
<i>However, I can't remember the rest of the day.</i><br />
So, Australia. Christmas has come swiftly onwards. I, for one, wasn't prepared, but it was lovely anyway.<br />
After a decidedly strange Christmas Eve, my family awoke this morning to the sounds of my father dear excitedly pronouncing that it was indeed morning.<br />
And the festivities began...<br />
<br />
9am - My father is racing around the house being loud. After recently dislocating his elbow, I think he feels he must compensate for this. His noise is doubly loud.<br />
I wander into the kitchen and find my mother, who is making breakfast. Dad has made a festive fruit platter for us to share. My brother, down for three days, looks disgusted at the concept of being shuttled into a Santa hat, but quietly informs me that he has put a Rhinocort box in the hat so he can pretend it's a sorcerer's hat.<br />
<br />
9.30 - We sit down for breakfast. Chris is humming the theme tune to the Sorcerer's Apprentice and is attempting to levitate the butter, located out of arm's reach. Dad and I are eyeing him, then staring at each other, in concern. Chris gives up, adjusts his hat, and begins using the Force to summon the butter.<br />
<br />
10.00 - Dad dances over to the lounge and the present swapping begins. Chris excitedly hands out his presents. He says, apologetically, that he looked all over Brisbane for Season 6 of The Office but couldn't find it, so he will buy me another present.<br />
I'd forgotten to tell him it wasn't available in Australia, and instead quickly pass him the pregnancy pillow I got him. He cradles it to himself.<br />
<br />
10.30 - Dad is handing out the presents, whilst air-guitaring to the Neil Diamond Hot August Night CD he received from me. Mum is leafing through the cookbook I got her, while Chris sits under a mountain of clothes and pillows. Dad excitedly hands me another present. It is a Spanish copy of The Shadow of the Wind. I pretty much die of happiness on the spot. Dad hands me a bag. Inside is a pair of 13cm high stilettos. Tugging them on in fits of glee, I stumble over to give Dad his present.<br />
<br />
11.30 - Mum, Chris and I are quietly sitting on the lounge. Dad is opening ten or so presents. He hands us cards, where he tells us he sponsored children in our names over in Africa. Which is decidedly epic, methinks.<br />
<br />
12.00 - We realise that in three hours, my grandparents will arrive. I have been placed in charge of presentation, a thing my mother doesn't particularly enjoy doing with food. I become a veritable Bridezilla, according to Chris. As I polish cutlery and fold napkins, Chris loudly declares that he is having nothing to do with my wedding ("but you're going to the convent anyway") and that I will be locked away when he is getting married.<br />
<br />
12.30 - Dad has opened a bottle of Moet.<br />
<br />
1.00 - Dad has finished the bottle of Moet. He opens another.<br />
<br />
1.30 - I continue fixing the table. Chris, meanwhile, contemplates naps. He instead assists Mum with some food prep. Dad is getting giggly.<br />
<br />
2.00 - Chris succumbs to sleep, and the table is nearly finished. I take a photo. Dad photobombs it. Mum tries getting an increasingly giggly Dad to help her cook things. Dad seems more fixated on attempting to hack my phone to text Glen. As a result, he locks my phone for 15 minutes. Bored now, he proceeds to follow me around the house, flicking me.<br />
<br />
2.30 - I get dressed. Mum forbids Dad from opening more champagne until my grandparents arrive, and instead instructs him to vacuum.<br />
<br />
3.00 - Chris awakens, and Dad mutters darkly as he goes to change his shoes. My father was wearing thongs with jeans, and normally he recoils in horror at such things. Mum and I exchange looks as he makes noises much like my 10 year old cousin made, circa age 3.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-7290526049791887162011-03-17T11:57:00.000+10:002011-03-17T11:57:17.692+10:00AngerSomething I really detest?<br />
Trust being betrayed.<br />
Thinking that someone has your back, and really? They're conspiring to stab you there.<br />
When I get mad, I do it in style, though the rage I have felt since last night has been pure and unadultered. It has caused me to act in a way I never do, and I am rather ashamed of the verbal abuse I hurled at the person who has made me feel that way.<br />
But honestly? I can't think of why they'd do this to me.<br />
I can't think why someone, who has spent months telling me one thing, suddenly acts differently.<br />
I can't think why people don't seem to get that when I say No, I mean No. It's not a case of if you pester you'll get your way. Frankly, it's the opposite. I don't understand why it's so hard to just be the man you claim to be, and act in a way that's respectful to all parties involved.<br />
<br />
Rant is over.<br />
The rage, unfortunately, is not. I'm still glaring at the screen and scowling at the world.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-40461757498018136282011-03-14T20:26:00.000+10:002011-03-14T20:26:43.022+10:00Songs and things that make me happy.<div style="text-align: center;">Inspired by Liana's blog (many more followers than my own, but theft from widely read people is fun), I do another music post.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Liana says this was a Tumblr post, but like her, I thieve for Blogger.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>1. A Song From My Childhood</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ag8XcMG1EX4?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe></div>My father is awesome. When most children were listening to pop bands and whatever kiddy-pop band was currently on the scene, I was listening to Crowded House. I was listening to Ben Lee. I was listening to The Mavis's. The Beatles. Coldplay.<br />
This song, however, was my favourite. It was soothing and I remember playing my archaic tape of Woodface on an archaic tape deck. I hear this song and I can see the North Ryde home, with my bedroom window facing the backyard. We had a swingset, a treehouse. I loved that place, and this song encompasses that portion of my childhood.<br />
<br />
<b>2. A Song That Reminds Me of My Dad</b><br />
I'm posting two songs, because I simply can't choose.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/47I8zsZyo6Q?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>El Mayor, Silvio Rodriguez</u></div>El Mayor, by Silvio (you don't call him by his full name in my family. You call him Silvio), always has been able to remind me of my dad.<br />
Waiting for the QUT Shuttle Bus, this song started playing. And I was massively homesick. Took pretty much all my self control not to weep on the spot. Instead, I texted Papi and told him.<br />
According to my mother, he nearly cried.<br />
Anywho, sentimentality aside, this song has also been a massive part of my childhood. My dad pulls out his guitar and plays this with ease.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/03p6KbHLP-E?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Los Momentos, Eduardo Gatti</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Apparently this is the unofficial Chilean national anthem. Accompanied many a car trip to school. I actually know the words now, not just the sounds, thanks to Papi.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>3. A Song That Calms Me Down</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2o5_WPB0d_4?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Alex Day, Holding On</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Recent addition to the calm playlist. Apparently this is the most-played on said playlist. Simple, soft, lovely.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>4. A Song That Reminds Me of a Best Friend</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/hTMrlHHVx8A?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>30 Seconds to Mars, Kings & Queens</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">SCENE: Car trip.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Eagle call plays.</div><div style="text-align: left;">ME: OH MY GOSH THIRTY SECONDS TO MARS TURN IT UP</div><div style="text-align: left;">Cue Joe, Stanfield and Nate peering at me in a mixture of horror and... no wait, just horror.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>5. A Song That Reminds Me of the Past Summer</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/RxL9Hod_qCY?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Passion Pit, Little Secrets</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Living with Chris.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Listening to Triple J Hottest 100.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Australia Day.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Swimming.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Next day, going on a train, listening to this, imagining awesomes.</div><div style="text-align: left;">[Sorry about this vid. The official one can't be embedded.]</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>6. A Song By A Favourite Band</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Y_U6S6Z6APw?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Coldplay, Don Quixote</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't know if this will feature on the new album, but I love it anyway. Splendid.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>7. A Song From The Soundtrack of My Favourite Movie</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/RA_vxjTdw7A?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Craig Armstrong, Bolero</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Craig Armstrong was the composer for Love Actually. Richard Curtis said he got him to write songs against his usual form, and thus resulted happy ditties.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I imagine this to be Craig Armstrong in reality, though I don't really know.</div><div style="text-align: left;">This song will play at my funeral.</div><div style="text-align: left;">... yeah, I planned my funeral.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>8. My Favourite Song</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">It frequently varies. As of late?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/6hoGKIFBWbM?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Hellogoodbye, All Time Lows</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's dancy.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It's fantastic.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Hellogoodbye.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Something about this song makes me want to dance, and want to sing, and to prance around with a massive beam on my face.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Songs, as they were, lessening nerves.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Goodnight.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-87791188720285624102011-03-13T18:01:00.000+10:002011-03-13T18:01:42.175+10:00Let's, you know, get set up.I'm not sure how often others deal with this, but as of late I've had that talk.<br />
You know.<br />
<i>That </i>talk.<br />
Not the exceedingly awkward talk I got when I hit 11 and had to sit with my mother for an extremely brusque talk of Things You'll Just Have To Get Used To Oh Stop Looking So Horrified It's Called Life. The talk that goes a little like this:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Friend: So, I met this guy the other day.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Me: Cool. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Friend: He's really nice.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Me: That's good.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Friend: Christian, really respectful. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Me: Uh-huh.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Friend: You'd like him.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Me: I'm sure I would.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Friend: I can introduce you both.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Me: This conversation has taken an odd turn.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Friend: Well, you two would be really good together.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Me: ...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The set-up.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, the set up.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's happened quite a few times to me. More often than not, I've been unaware of it actually happening. I've had conversations with people where they say, "You've never responded to the guys I've tried setting you up with."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, when I blink at them in confusion and say, "Who the flip are you talking about?" the entire shenanigans are exposed. And most of them? Have happened to become friends instead. One of my best friends is a result of a failed set up, and I'm most glad for that. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">However, the other problem with a set-up?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The virtues of the other person, extolled to such a degree that instantly, the inferiority complex begins to stomp excitedly on my head.</span><br />
<i>Oh, he's great. Solid guy, solid morals. Definitely's a man. </i>(Defined how, I'm not sure.) He lives on a pedestal built on the moral high ground, surrounded by gold, being waited on hand and foot by a few thousand cherubim. Of course such a man doesn't exist - not that I'm aware of - yet, my gosh, this description props up so frequently that it's mad. Meanwhile, I - on the other end of whatever chat function I'm using, be it Skype or simply texting - am sitting there, going, "Okay. In rebuttal, my qualities... um... I can recite Moulin Rouge beginning to end? No, that's not going to impress anyone. I enjoy theorising about Harry Potter? I highly doubt this guy would find this a great feat."<br />
Then I end up sitting in the corner, clutching Stanley or Bellatrix close to me, whimpering, "I am awesome. I really am. Even if I have no way to back that up, I'm totally awesome! MY GOSH WHAT NOW YOU TELL ME HE'S A WORLD CHAMPION WATER SKIER AND HAS A BANK ACCOUNT IN UGANDA WHAT?"<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I have no qualms about being set up. It's fun. I get to meet people, get to potentially make friends. If not, we move on.<br />
One day, though, I'd really like to listen in as someone's describing me.<br />
"My friend Tash? Complete nutjob. Reads way too much, has been known to climb into trolleys on balconies and will wear heels, completely eschewing any sanity. Also, she's obsessed with wedding dresses. Yeah. Wedding dresses."<br />
Something like that, I imagine.<br />
<br />
Short but sweet. My thoughts have been derailed.<br />
Hurrah!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-50583671498956326582011-02-28T10:38:00.000+10:002011-02-28T10:38:00.045+10:00Changing Times<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Tuscany was practically begging me for a walk. She was sitting, eyes mournful, at the back door, gazing at me with every step.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">I succumbed to those eyes, and she and I set off.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">I had five dollars in my hand, and I had a plan. I needed mints, that much was certain, but I was aching for chips. It’d be enough if I bought them at the corner shop. Who knows, I thought, I could even buy some warheads.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Tuscany pranced along the road and I practised my gymnastics trying to remain balanced on the gutter. We walked along, past the paddocks that had become a bypass. Alongside the newly-made hills, sprouting off tentative but vigorously green sprouts of grass, set against a Tiffany-blue sky with patchy clouds seeming to mar the perfection. Tuscany snuffled at the dead butterfly on the loose, shiny black bitumen. She paused at a crack in the seam where two gutters met. She ate a dandelion, and pottered along looking pleased with her efforts.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">We were reaching the store and Tuscany began veering towards it, her nose glued to the ground. Even with shoes on, I could tell that the pavement was hot. It steamed up along my legs, along my face, around my glasses which were smeared with fingerprints.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">And as we neared the store, something didn't seem right.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Tuscany didn’t notice my faltering steps – or, if she did, she paid it no mind. She marched straight to the pole where she usually waited while I shopped for the two of us. I dropped her leash, and looked in the dirty windows.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">The shop was bare.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Instead of rows and rows of sweets and chocolate, hidden behind a gleaming glass counter and cupped gently in flimsy packaging cases, there were grimy shelves and unpolished glass. There wasn’t the bucket of lollipops that Gemma and I would scrounge through after primary school, counting ten cent pieces slowly. There was a small cupboard, door unscrewed but rusting hinges left wonkily to age more. The magazine stand was gone; the candy-striped ice cream fridge was absent (only brown water-stains indicated its past place). </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">I brushed my hair from my face, and Tuscany looked up at me at last. She nestled into my legs and thumped her tail once, twice, on the ground. I let one hand drop to her head, my eyes returning again to the store. No Coca-Cola and Norco fridges standing side by side, boasting 375mL soft drinks and two-litre milks in tetra cases. No chips, with the prices carefully inscribed on shiny white cardboard in permanent marker and more rhombus-shaped than rectangular. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Tuscany impatiently barked, though softly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">“Okay,” I said quietly, “let’s go.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>We walked only a few metres further to the adjacent petrol station. Tuscany settled outside, not moving while I tied her leash to the gas cylinder cage. I went inside to the mints.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">“How much are Eclipse mints?” I asked, handing over a peppermint case.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">The woman behind the counter scanned the emerald-green tin and said, giving me back the mints, “Three twenty-five.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">I nodded my thank you, and went to the ice cream fridge, a luridly promotional Streets case, wondering what I could choose. The petrol station was not kind with information, and in the end I handed over two sweaty coins and thanked the woman.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Tuscany looked expectantly at me as I exited, and I peeled the plastic off the tin case. One green-and-white lolly dropped to the floor and her tail wagged as she ate it. I unravelled her leash and we began the journey home.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Past the corner shop, where the plastic seats and red and yellow umbrella were conspicuously absent, and past the house next door. Its picket fence was cracked and stained with red dirt. A car, rusting at the taillights, sat in a dirty driveway. Branches on trees that I never learned the name of hung low, brushing into my face.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Our neighbour across the road turned into our street, and tooted his horn and waggled his fingers at me. I waved back.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Tuscany and I went back home.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">I felt oddly resentful of the now-flowering frangipani tree in the backyard.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-6367609871406940162011-02-17T11:03:00.001+10:002011-02-17T11:03:22.387+10:00At WorkWhen the alarm sounds this morning, I barely twitch an eyelid. Still trying to shrug off the effects of a near-comatose sleep, I get ready on autopilot. You know the drill - I've nearly perfected it after 11 years of going to school.<br />
<br />
<i>shower</i><br />
<i>dig around for shirt</i><br />
<i>get dressed</i><br />
<i>put foot into wrong shoe</i><br />
<i>put foot into right shoe</i><br />
<i>take off shoe</i><br />
<i>put on sock</i><br />
<i>put on shoe again</i><br />
<i>scurry out door</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Every day at work, I do the same thing. This, now, I also do on autopilot.<br />
<br />
<i>bags off</i><br />
<i>light on</i><br />
<i>apron tied</i><br />
<i>cap adjusted</i><br />
<i>slice hams</i><br />
<i>check time</i><br />
<i>slice extra silverside</i><br />
<i>slice those random meats that are fairly popular</i><br />
<i>check time - </i><i>its eight o'clock</i><br />
<i>slice random meats that no one likes</i><br />
<i>wash up</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
It takes an hour or so to get the first part of the case ready. During this first hour, my end of the shop is busy. Kim and Nathan are getting bakery stuff ready. Nathan and I take turns with who is more talkative. Today, it's Nathan's day, because he's had more sleep than me.<br />
<br />
The chickens are disgusting, and always will be disgusting.<br />
<br />
<i>reach into box</i><br />
<i>pull out chicken</i><br />
<i>wince</i><br />
<i>sprinkle seasoning liberally </i><br />
<i>impale on racks</i><br />
<i>repeat</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
And once I've made a considerable mess of my apron, I slam the door shut and push my chicken trolley back to the coolroom.<br />
<br />
Gino comes in about now. Gino reminds me a lot of my father, because he's a troublemaker and has the same calibre of jokes.<br />
Gino picks up a broom and brandishes it at me. "Uh oh," he says, "Kim's left her broom behind."<br />
I peer at him.<br />
"How's she gonna get home? She'll need her broom!" Gino beams at me.<br />
"You're terrible," I say, a laugh traipsing through my words.<br />
"Hey Kim," Gino shouts, pushing his grocery trolley down the aisles to find her, "I just called you a witch!"<br />
I can only assume Kim's reply is of the non-verbal, one-fingered, variety.<br />
<br />
Gino helps out in the deli as I get the case ready. If there are more than two people, Gino will rush over excitedly and grab pies and meats for customers. Gino has more enthusiasm than me, presumably because he has an extra hour's sleep.<br />
"What can I get you, my friend?" he asks, rubbing open a plastic bag.<br />
I, meanwhile, am at the pie case. There's one customer who comes in and he has one of those smiles that I'm forced to smile back at. He will come to my deli case three times in the one day and smile whilst getting goods.<br />
I know the drill.<br />
<br />
<i>can i have a plain pie please</i><br />
<i>sure</i><br />
<i>-smile-</i><br />
<i>can i have a medium tub of</i><br />
<i>-smile-</i><br />
<i>creamy shell pasta</i><br />
<i>sure</i><br />
<i>-smile-</i><br />
<i>sorry to bother you again</i><br />
<i>-smile-</i><br />
<i>but can i grab some shaved ham, just a couple of dollars worth</i><br />
<i>no problem</i><br />
<i>-smile-</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
I expect this daily, much like I expect the man who orders a medium tub of tabouleh to come in. He doesn't today. This saddens me.<br />
<br />
The chicken oven clangs with an irritating buzz.<br />
I pull the chickens out, carry them to the bain marie, and flee to my break.<br />
In my break, I attempt to solve a murder.<br />
<br />
As I come back, I overhear Kim and Gino.<br />
"I'm leaving earlier than you today," Gino says. I hear a clunk, and assume Gino's stacking the tinned fruit.<br />
"Why?" Kim asks.<br />
I can still hear them as I go to serve a customer for Kim.<br />
"I've gotta go to the doctor's. Skin cancer or something - "<br />
"Cancer?" Kim's voice becomes higher pitched. "You got <i>cancer</i>?"<br />
"No, no," Gino laughs. "Check-up."<br />
Kim says, disgruntled, "You could've <i>said</i> that to begin with."<br />
Gino just laughs some more.<br />
<br />
And then 11 o'clock comes, and I am cleaning a slicer.<br />
Sam enters, and bids me adieu.<br />
I walk home, in the rain and in the wind.<br />
With an umbrella,<br />
listening to music,<br />
and solving the murder I couldn't solve before.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-38905607669258753012011-01-27T08:53:00.001+10:002011-01-28T10:26:19.632+10:00Posts of an unspecified nature.<b>Currently, I'm</b> sitting in a very awkward position, soaking up Internet like it's water I've been denied for months. I can see one leg (the other is tucked beneath me) and on this leg there are two random bruises.<br />
Random bruising is what always happens to me, but every time without fail I will march up to a family member, point at the offending bruise and ask them if (a) they noticed, and (b) if they had any idea where it came from.<br />
According to my father this is coming from my Ab Circle Pro. Laugh at me if you will for buying into daytime infomercials, but I got a workout dragging that darn thing home on a visit here last year.<br />
<br />
<b>Currently, I'm</b> reading through Harry Potter again. As I mentioned before, I'm going through the Top 50 of Angus and Robertson's 2011 Top 100 Books, as voted by the country. Anyway, I couldn't bring myself to read Twilight. I pulled it out from my bookshelf (had to hunt for it too, as I'd hidden it way behind all my other books in humiliation) and went to sit with Chris, who was playing Diablo II, to read it.<br />
Upshot was, we initially started reading amusing parts of the novel, then I moved on to describing wedding dresses and designing Trina's wedding dress.<br />
Harry Potter, though, is AWESOME. I forgot how quick it was to get through the first few, and I reckon I'll definitely be able to do 1 a day for a week and get them all done. When I rifled through my bookshelf for my battered copy of Philosopher's Stone (no sorcerers here), I realised I'd begun reading it again up in Brisbane. Don't know why I'd not finished it, either. I was rather disgusted with myself and got through 100 pages last night.<br />
<br />
<b>Currently, I'm</b> reading the Bible in a year. It's something I've always resolved to do, and I'm also of a mind to improve relations with that lovely Man, Jesus. I kinda neglected this relationship and instead walked on down a different path, relying on my own idiotic form of 'wisdom' to get me by. Long story short, I began flailing, and was called upon to do some pretty hard stuff to get back to Him. Probably the hardest thing I've ever <i>had </i>to do was what he asked of me - and that also involved moving back here, to where I've realised is a stable church community. As I'm fairly fail with remembering to do readings on a daily basis, I'm following the <a href="http://odb.org/">Our Daily Bread</a> devotional's timetable. And when I forget to do this, I get to read lovely chunks and catch up on days gone past.<br />
<br />
<b>Currently, I'm</b> revelling in the sunshine that's arrived here. Obviously, Australia's been plagued by rains. Something to do with El Ni<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;">ño, most everything to do with Tash Forgot To Pay Attention In Both Geography And Science. The sunshine is stunning. Downside is my dogs are now a pinkish red due to sunburn and my mother getting them sheared in late January, rather than November.</em></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;">But oh, this is amazing. It's the weather that this summer should have been all along. I remember when I moved here as a kid - our first summer was pouring rain the whole time. Yesterday and today, though, have both been hot enough to put on air conditioning. </em></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</em></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><b>Currently, I'm</b> obsessed with food styling and photography. I'm an amateur, but I'm also very happy to keep learning. My mother is not as happy, and suggests with much grumpiness that I should go off and learn to be a pastry chef.</em></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;">I never had a good camera, and my lovely iPhone is making photography fun. To finish off this post, I'll upload some photos I've taken.</em></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;">Actually, I'll make a new post for them. Gotta call some people for my brother.</em></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-86101980161850785882011-01-17T18:48:00.000+10:002011-01-17T18:48:19.054+10:00Hurrah!Ah, today.<br />
Today was a grand day indeed.<br />
<br />
Mondays usually begin with an alarm ripping through my sleep-cocoon at 6.30, and me blearily emerging with a variety of mutterings in my head - generally of an unsavoury variety.<br />
Then I sloth my way down to IGA, where I get a deli case ready in four hours, then I sloth my way back home and try NOT to sleep.<br />
Today was very different.<br />
I woke up at 9am, pranced around the house like a loon, got a phone call from the illustrious Joshua (!) and scampered off to work, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.<br />
<i>Why the change?</i> you ask with an indulging smile, handing me a cookie.<br />
Well, it's because today I was becoming a checkout chick of IGA rather than Deli Master (Mistress? Sounds kinda... suss) of Doom or Something. Ah, checkoutry. It's a gentle art, and surprisingly I didn't mess up <i>too</i> much. By that, I mean very little. Though I still stared longingly at my deli, I quite enjoyed working on checkouts. Learning new stuff is pretty fun and it makes work quite a bit of fun.<br />
<br />
Hang on, Coldplay on TV. Must find out why.<br />
<br />
Dad changed the channel. Will never find out why.<br />
<br />
Anyway, tomorrow I get back on the checkouts by myself. BY. MY. SELF. They did this second day of deli to me and I vaguely did okay, so we'll hope for the best here.<br />
<br />
Part two, phone calls.<br />
<br />
Joshua rang today, after returning to Australia two nights ago. It was awesome to hear his voice - I'd missed him terribly, but of course after returning home I'd sort of resigned myself to my pre-Brisbane life. The whole lack of social life, few interactions with those I care about, that sort of thing. In the Northern Rivers, I'm absorbed into my family and I find myself telling my deepest secrets to two dogs (one of whom resembles - well, I'm not really sure what. She has a patch of shaved fur on her back). But this morning, Joshua rang as I was sitting on my bed reading.<br />
After Sirius decided to destroy Bellatrix's music files (cousinly rivalry, methinks), I lost my usual ringtone. So rather than Such Great Heights playing, I was greeted by that generic iPhone ringtone and instantly thought, "...WHA?! Why is Trina's phone ringing in my - oh right."<br />
I have missed hearing the voices of my friends something chronic. Dear pally pals, I love you dearly.<br />
<br />
Part three, I think?<br />
I have a second job. In a bookstore.<br />
Yes, you may all gape.<br />
I got this job based on my nerdness, by which I mean my new boss and I had awesome book discussions and I told her I'm YouTube mad, know a wee bit about Dr Who (which I'm intending on making a whole lot), am a self confessed Potter nerd (see phone/computer names) and am completely obsessed with historical dramas on the ABC.<br />
Seeing as it's an ABC store, I think my nerdness came in handy.<br />
Anyway, I start Saturday. Any good wishes are appreciated; your bad ones may be swallowed along with some pie.<br />
<br />
And part 4.<br />
Trina is leaving for Sydney in a few weeks. I'm v. sad about this, as are all our friends. So faretheewell parties are being held, where we'll gallivant like loons and eat cake and see people! I'm excited for the party. If we could have this party without Trina leaving, it'd be great. Unfortunately we cannot. I'm thinking of finding Trina a giftygift for her farewell, but I'll not mention it here because I'm not really sure if Trina does read this blog, or any other blog, and I'm not taking my chances.<br />
<br />
I have a sulky puppy (actually, a 11 year old dog, but whatever) outside barking crossly. To investigate.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-68204147374443819202011-01-14T19:50:00.000+10:002011-01-14T19:50:18.515+10:00Books ahoy!Last Monday, Daniela and I went to Brisbane.<br />
It was pretty spectacular. It was before the flooding hit, when I was forced to do an exam at the horrible hour of 8.30am. Daniela, Chris, Tata and I were up at the crack of dawn to drive to Brisbane; as a result, Daniela and I felt it only just if we were to gallivant around the city.<br />
Which we did, with much glee.<br />
Daniela last was in Brisbane about 3 years ago. Her parents took her to see Phantom of the Opera, and so her gallivanting was limited to a Southbank hotel and QPAC. I thought it'd be good to show her the city, even though as a city it's kinda limited to Queen St and a couple of straggly streets beyond.<br />
<br />
With that, we started at the library.<br />
The good thing about Daniela is she's pretty much as book crazy as me. The two of us happy-fizzle over books, and when there are gazillions of books on gazillions of levels all in the one building, it's an overload of awesome.<br />
Daniela was particularly impressed with the Brisbane library. She's mainly grown up with the Northern Rivers' collection of libraries. All those not familiar with such libraries, I present the following:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>The Battle of the Libraries</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Northern Rivers vs. Brisbane</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Duhn duhn duhn...</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Firstly, Alstonville. Alstonville's library is located in the Leisure Centre:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOAzRKM_I/AAAAAAAAADo/X0EtpCLm5DM/s1600/AlstonvilleLib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOAzRKM_I/AAAAAAAAADo/X0EtpCLm5DM/s1600/AlstonvilleLib.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stolen, courteously, from the RTRL website.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> The Leisure Centre is primarily composed of sports facilities, however. I used to play futsal here (yes, I know. The concept of me playing sport is hilarious).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOCeo56NI/AAAAAAAAADs/2dKuQevoqK8/s1600/AlstonvilleLib1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOCeo56NI/AAAAAAAAADs/2dKuQevoqK8/s320/AlstonvilleLib1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This, however, is one of the dance rooms. I attended a CWA<br />
thingo here. Which was essentially old rural women<br />
giving children awards for making nice posters about Belgium.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The library itself is tiny. You can't find a picture of it.<div><br />
</div><div>Next, Ballina, my preferred library.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOEVewltI/AAAAAAAAADw/VVQTbqUTyhU/s1600/BallinaLib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOEVewltI/AAAAAAAAADw/VVQTbqUTyhU/s320/BallinaLib.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stolen from a tourism site.<br />
I send my love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Ballina's a bit nicer. There's a far wider range and plenty of nommy DVDs (including the Office. Huzzah!). Still...<br />
<br />
Finally, Lismore.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOJn_FB9I/AAAAAAAAAD0/k6x_qoCg61w/s1600/BrisLib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOQN37MMI/AAAAAAAAAEA/FpAPx3Yv-ys/s1600/LisLib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOQN37MMI/AAAAAAAAAEA/FpAPx3Yv-ys/s1600/LisLib.jpg" /></a></div>The outside of the Lismore library is truly creepy, so I'm sparing you that. It's like an old church. But haunted. And creepy. Pretty much, it epitomises Lismore. Also has the prerequisite black Gothic fence, untrimmed bushes and graffiti from the Lismore teens who, as I've mentioned previously, use flood waters to surf in.<br />
(I mentioned this to my mother today, who I've been chatting about the floods with since she came home today. She laughed at the memories of those teens, and nodded wistfully.) Inside, the library is a muted yellow, but is combined with green in the horrific patriotic palette that Lismore seems to cling to like its that raft from Titanic.<br />
<br />
Also, I've just remembered, Lismore is also known for having frothy water features, from those rascally Lismore teens who wake up early to sprinkle detergent in all of the roundabouts. Why roundabouts even <i>need </i>a jazzy waterfall, I don't know.<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to books. Lismore's range is pretty good. 2 floors - one of fiction, one of non.<br />
<br />
But it all pales in comparison to Brisbane. The outside:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOJn_FB9I/AAAAAAAAAD0/k6x_qoCg61w/s1600/BrisLib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOJn_FB9I/AAAAAAAAAD0/k6x_qoCg61w/s320/BrisLib.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not the skyscraper, of course, though that would be truly fantastic. I wouldn't leave there at all. I'd become homeless and live in Redacliffe Place if that were the library. But the coloured blocks are the library. Already, the library seems more interesting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAONO75spI/AAAAAAAAAD4/VTBedoOydNg/s1600/BrisLib1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAONO75spI/AAAAAAAAAD4/VTBedoOydNg/s320/BrisLib1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Inside, the beauty is just awesome. It's all glass and escalators and wooden floors. Can't really see it here, but each of the shelves has neon lights at the end - pink in the non-fiction, yellow in adult fiction, and so on. So you don't get lost! Huzzah! Lots of computers, and you check out your books yourself. Also, you put your books into the chute and the chute takes them on a conveyer belt. It's... just amazing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOPGQXiBI/AAAAAAAAAD8/K60s39BKHoU/s1600/BrisLib2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TTAOPGQXiBI/AAAAAAAAAD8/K60s39BKHoU/s320/BrisLib2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">And then if you're lucky enough, you can scab one of these comfy seats. (If you plan on doing so, make sure you're in the YA section. Far more seats, and you also can watch people lose at X-Box if you're lucky.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hence why Daniela and I are far more besotted with Brisbane Square Library.</div><div style="text-align: left;">After we went and hunted lunch, I stopped at the newsagency. There, my dear beloved readers whom I adore, I found this magazine.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Discerning Bride.</div><div style="text-align: left;">And upon flicking eagerly to the contributor's panel, I found my name.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Natasha Pavez</i>.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am in print.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Daniela and I squealed for a while, paid for it, then squealed all the way to Dymocks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Daniela was also in love with Dymocks. Two storeys of pure awesome, tis Dymocks, and Daniela pretty much wanted to spend most of her day there. But I carefully nudged her to Borders. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Borders is now her favourite place in Brisbane. You can tell we're related. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But after seeing all these books, Daniela and I decided a challenge had to be made. </div><div style="text-align: left;">We're reading the top 50 of Angus and Robertson's Top 100 Books of 2010, and seeing how we go.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Because I'm a pain in the butt, the list is as follows:</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><ol><li><u>The Twilight Saga, Stephenie Meyer.</u> This shouldn't even be called a saga, let alone make this list. Daniela and I decided that we're only going to put ourselves through the horror that is Twilight. We can't force ourselves through the other three.</li>
<li><u>The Harry Potter Series, JK Rowling.</u> See?! THIS SHOULD BE NUMBER ONE. I'm not going to rant about why Harry Potter pwns Twilight (mainly because it's downright obvious) but I seethe at the Australian population. I really do. Daniela and I are going through all of these because, as Harry Potter nerds, we have to read all the books again before Deathly Hallows Part 2 comes out. And then have a movie night.</li>
<li><u>The Millenium Trilogy, Stieg Larsson.</u> The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl With the Motorbike, The Girl Who Hacks Into Swedish Computers And Solves Cases About Stuff. Clearly, I've read these books. </li>
<li><u>To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee.</u> Daniela is distressed, because she had to read this about 3 months ago at school. I last read it in year 8, so I'm a bit more okay with it. "But I hate Scout," Daniela said to me. "Can't we just get rid of Scout? Why doesn't Jem narrate?" All valid points.</li>
<li><u>The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold.</u> Another book Daniela and I vehemently oppose - Daniela because it's plain boring, me because I can't stand her writing style. And yes, Daniela's right, it's boring.</li>
<li><u>Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen.</u> Oh heck yes. 'Nuff said.</li>
<li><u>My Sister's Keeper, Jodi Picoult.</u> Very happy to read this. I absolutely adore this book.</li>
<li><u>The Sookie Stackhouse Collection, Charlaine Harris.</u> Essentially its vampires swanning around being smexy and sexy and all things in between, while pwning Twilight vampires because they actually drink blood. But I'm not complimenting this series. I think it's ridiculous, so I'm reading book one. Daniela's a bit more accepting, and says she will read two. </li>
<li><u>The Time Traveller's Wife, Audrey Niffenegger.</u> Aside from the whole BUT IF HE'S TIME TRAVELLING HOW HE IN TWO PLACES AT ONCE?! dilemma, it's a nice book. </li>
<li><u>The Book Thief, Markus Zusak.</u> Spear me now, but I have never been a fan of this book. I know everyone adores it and calls Zusak a genius, but my personal opinion is that it seems very rushed, and Death is not as developed as he should be. Also, Nazi Germany is beginning to become that awful place that all writers must refer to at some point (or WW2 in general), much like Australia or the English countryside was during colonial writing.</li>
<li><u>Lunch in Paris, Elizabeth Bard.</u></li>
<li><u>The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini.</u> Good book. Melikes.</li>
<li><u>Memoirs of A Geisha, Arthur Golden.</u> Will be good to revisit this book, it's another I haven't read in about 5 years.</li>
<li><u>61 Hours, Lee Child.</u> Not a huge fan of crime, but Lee Child used to sell like crazy at the bookstore. </li>
<li><u>Dragon Haven, Robin Hobb.</u></li>
<li><u>Vampire Academy Series, Richelle Mead.</u><i> Oh my gosh heck yes</i>. I love this series. The only vampire series I really like, actually.</li>
<li><u>The Silent Sea, Clive Cussler.</u> </li>
<li><u>Mao's Last Dancer, Li Cunxin.</u> I'm ashamed I haven't read this yet. </li>
<li><u>The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien.</u> The most I know? "You have my sword." "And my bow." "And my axe." "And my vuvuzela." And, of course, THEY'RE TAKING THE HOBBITS TO ISENGARD-GARD-GARD-GARD-GARD...</li>
<li><u>Tuscan Rose, Belinda Alexandra.</u></li>
<li><u>The Power of One, Bryce Courtenay.</u></li>
<li><u>The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks.</u> This is the only novel where I actually prefer the movie. Sorry, Mr Sparks Sir. </li>
<li><u>The Pacific, Hugh Ambrose.</u></li>
<li><u>Ransom, David Malouf.</u></li>
<li><u>Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte.</u> I love love love love this book. It is win in all ways. I shall be reading the copy that Lemmy gave me! </li>
<li><u>Dear John, Nicholas Sparks.</u> I do love this book too. Fantastically done.</li>
<li><u>Magician, Raymond E. Feist.</u></li>
<li><u>The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger.</u> Haven't read this in quite some time either, so I'm looking forward to it.</li>
<li><u>House Rules, Jodi Picoult.</u> My favourite of her novels. Huzzah!</li>
<li><u>Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte.</u> To sum up the novel using another blogger's description: Heathcliff is a douche. All I'm going to be doing while reading this is going CURSE YOU ROMANTIC THEORY.</li>
<li><u>A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini.</u> I adore this book as well, and I much prefer it to the Kite Runner. </li>
<li><u>Marley and Me, John Grogan.</u> Really, I'm wondering if the hype was worth it. It is about a puppy though...</li>
<li><u>Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls, Steve Hockensmith.</u> The original P&P&Z was fantastic. Eager to see this one.</li>
<li><u>Breath, Tim Winton.</u> I cannot stand Tim Winton, cannot see how he is perceived as a glorious writer who deserves fame and wreaths laid at his door. In the two novels I have read of his, he has not used punctuation and is extremely sexist (not to mention boring as all heck). This is going to be painful.</li>
<li><u>The Bronze Horseman, Paullina Simons.</u> The only one I enjoyed of hers - well, this trilogy, anyway.</li>
<li><u>Cloudstreet, Tim Winton.</u> See #34.</li>
<li><u>The People's Train, Thomas Keneally.</u></li>
<li><u>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll.</u> I wonder how it'll be reading it now - when I actually know it's a drug trip? I last read this as a kid - would've been 8 or so.</li>
<li><u>Truth, Peter Temple.</u></li>
<li><u>Little Women, Louisa May Alcott.</u> Haven't read this before, either.</li>
<li><u>Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert.</u> Many negative reviews about this book's message, but I don't have an opinion. Will read it and see.</li>
<li><u>The Host, Stephenie Meyer.</u> Gouge my eyes out.</li>
<li><u>The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown.</u> Didn't mind this book. Pretty interesting read. Not too much substance or anything, but it's a good story nevertheless.</li>
<li><u>The Book of Emmett, Deborah Forster.</u></li>
<li><u>Ice Station, Matthew Reilly.</u></li>
<li><u>The Road, Cormac McCarthy.</u> Another book to see if it lives up to the hype.</li>
<li><u>The Memory Keeper's Daugher, Kim Edwards.</u></li>
<li><u>Persuasion, Jane Austen.</u> Another one I love.</li>
<li><u>Jessica, Bryce Courtenay.</u></li>
<li><u>Atonement, Ian McEwan.</u> Surprised this isn't higher up the list. Then again, this is a peoples' poll. Need to buy a new copy of this...</li>
</ol><div>I'm looking forward to going through this list, and having a structure. Also, I'm accountable to Daniela for the books I read. I'm also going to document two more novels (I have a book I'm putting it all in) - those being Forevermore, by Cathy Marie Hake, and Serendipity, also by CMH. V. excited to actually properly read them - I've not had much of a chance to do it as of yet, what with work and trying to get this house and groceries all sorted.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Hope you all have a lovely weekend, rife with many sleep ins and awesomesauce for all.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-54334293763701653102011-01-12T21:16:00.000+10:002011-01-12T21:16:35.112+10:00We begin with theft. We end with confusion.In the true spirit of uncreativeness and theft, I present to you this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TS2E1etPtQI/AAAAAAAAADk/PSDuPI4UHXQ/s1600/squid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TS2E1etPtQI/AAAAAAAAADk/PSDuPI4UHXQ/s400/squid.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>If you're a fan of the vlogbrothers' videos on ye awesome site of win and video watching, YouTube, you'll get this reference. If I try and explain it to those who aren't Nerdfighter savvy, it won't really make sense.<br />
Long story short, you should definitely check out their videos, because I said so and because all of Nerdfighteria said so and you don't want to get on the bad side of Nerdfighters because we will just shoot awesome rays at you and it will hurt.<br />
Or something.<br />
Whatever, I'm tired.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so today I have learned many things. First of which, never tell a Chilean grandmother that you don't need her help cleaning a house. Telling her husband who erroneously believes he wears the pants in the relationship to stop her from helping is also futile.<br />
I walked home from work today, longing for the minute I could lie on the couch with my new books (smexily waiting in my mailbox when I arrived), music blaring in my ears and draining my phone's battery steadily. Key in lock, shoulder to door to combat the swollen wood from all the rain, and a blur of pink trackpants and matching rubber gloves barrels towards me.<br />
"Natashita! Mi ninita <i>liiiiinnnnnda</i>, como estas? Como esta tu trabajo?"<br />
I stood there, one earphone still informing me that it's never gonna give me up (yes. I downloaded Rick Astley. What's your point?), gaping at Nana. "What are you doing here?"<br />
Nana simply picked up her bottle of bleach and aimed it towards the bench. "Cleaning, nina."<br />
"Nana, I told you it's okay. I don't need help, I can clean myself."<br />
She sort of scoffed at me there, and smiled pityingly.<br />
Not moments earlier, as I had trudged home along the wet grassy highway, I had phoned Dad with a plea to not let her do this. Dad told me to tell Tata. We both got a good laugh out of that one.<br />
So instead, it was up to me to follow Nana around the house urging her that I could actually clean.<br />
Nana replied with telling me that she had cleaned the majority of rooms in my home and while she had only cleaned the bathrooms with a 'manito de gato' (which is a term my grandfather introduced me to, meaning to clean as lightly as possible in order to mimic a cat, but to present the appearance of being clean so as to appease higher persons in the relationship, such as parents or scarily powerful wives), I could finish it off.<br />
In confusion, I went and stared at my dogs for a while, who stared back with equal confusion because Nana - who they're sort of familiar with - had technically broken in, and no amount of barking would make her leave.<br />
When I returned inside, Nana was scrubbing the rust off a cutlery holder that has been rusted for as long as I can remember. "Nina, you should clean this," she said. "If your mama won't, you need to."<br />
My nana and my mother do not get along. My nana believes my mother to be incompetent at parenting and Australian. The latter is true but no grounds for Nana's feelings towards my mother. My mother believes my nana is meddling and elitist. She has rather good points here, but Nana's also quite lovely in other ways.<br />
I stood there, mentally figuring out how to tell Nana that I was tired and needed to be left alone, when Nana propped a now gleaming cutlery holder up on the bench and asked me to phone Tata.<br />
"I'm finished," she said.<br />
"I'm going to mop," I said, excited.<br />
"Ah! We can get Tata to help you."<br />
I blinked at her. "Nana, I mop every morning at work. I know how to mop."<br />
She patted my shoulder. "I know, mi vida, but you can always learn."<br />
I phoned Tata.<br />
"You found your Nana." No questions.<br />
"She wants you to come pick her up, because she's finished cleaning."<br />
"Well, I'll come soon." Tata sounded apologetic. Maybe because that morning - and the morning before - I'd texted him to tell him Nana needn't come over and followed that with strict instructions to tell her.<br />
We bid each other adieu.<br />
<br />
Later that evening, I went to Nana's for dinner. Nana had followed me around the house as I searched for my towel, telling me that my cousin missed me tremendously. I adore Daniela, I really do.<br />
Her sisters... well.<br />
Let's just say I much prefer Daniela.<br />
So to talk to Daniela, I went there for dinner.<br />
Lesson number 2 came:<br />
Don't tell uncles anything, especially information about prior crushes that really should be forgotten.<br />
Yesterday - or was it Monday? - I found out I got into UNE's Bachelor of Communications course, which I'll study via Distance Ed. So when I bounced over to Uncle today to tell him the grand news, he eyed me suspiciously.<br />
"UNE... in Melbourne?"<br />
"UNE in Armidale. Via distance."<br />
"Oh. I know someone who's studying at UNE."<br />
"Susan studied there," I said, mentioning his cousin.<br />
He waved that away. "You know who I mean."<br />
I didn't, not until he widened his eyes at me significantly and nodded with a grin.<br />
"You're out of your mind," I said, stalking off.<br />
At dinner, Uncle repeatedly said in the same contemplative tone, "So... UNE, eh?" coupled with significant eyes. I chose to ignore him until he shouted my name.<br />
"Why'd you choose it?"<br />
"It's more related to what I want to do, and either way I had to study off campus even if I chose Monash. I went with the course I wanted."<br />
He sniggered at this. "Yeah, sure. So when are you going to London?"<br />
I shrugged. "I don't know. I want to do a bit of time at the Sunshine Coast, then go to India and do a missions trip if I can - "<br />
"India?"<br />
I nodded.<br />
"Oh. I get it." Significant eyes beamed in my direction. "You want to go to Africa, too?"<br />
I looked at my aunt, who sat next to me, blankly. She rolled her eyes. "He's trying to suggest -"<br />
Daniela and I both shouted, "OH MY GOSH."<br />
And with that we fled.<br />
<br />
Lesson number three, don't feed dogs chorizo.<br />
Actually, don't feed dogs lentejas con chorizo.<br />
Inca and Tuscany were fed my leftovers tonight, much to their delight. Unfortunately, this caused Tuscany to run crazily around the yard, barking occasionally and then attacking Inca. Inca soon realised this was a fun game, and mimicked her.<br />
I went outside to see what drugs the two had taken, and was immediately tackled by two muddy Golden Retrievers (currently, a fetching shade of volcanic-rock-dirt red). I ran back inside in fear, and was lying on the lounge when suddenly I heard the screen door slam.<br />
Instant thought?<br />
<i>There's a murderer come to get me.... FLEE.</i><br />
But no! The creepily smiling faces of aforementioned muddy Retrievers came into view, and Tuscany decided this was prime time to try lying on top of me.<br />
These dogs are not allowed inside. They are way, way too clever. I pushed Tuscany off me and this only prompted the two of them to start skidding around on the tiled floor all around the house, making all levels of noise.<br />
When I finally got Inca close enough to the door, Tuscany accidentally tripped out of it and Inca followed in disgust.<br />
<br />
Final thing I've learned, Book Depository is awesome. I now have two new books, courtesy of the Kidface Christopher - both by Cathy Marie Hake, from the Only In Gooding! series.<br />
If you're a fan of Christian historical romances, try these out. Okay, only me on this blog who likes them?<br />
Well... so's your face.<br />
So these two complete the collection - started by That Certain Spark (#4 in the series), continued by purchasing Fancy Pants (#1), then came the wonders of Book Depository with Whirlwind (#3) and finally these two, Serendipity (#5) and Forevermore (#2).<br />
I tells ya, these be epic.<br />
<br />
Now I'm off to bed with an extremely random post. Wooworktomorrowbooktofinisharghbamboom.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-38773906447483266172011-01-11T20:19:00.000+10:002011-01-11T20:19:16.145+10:00Flooding.Every person in Australia that I consistently read has updated their blog about the current flooding. Having grown up in the Northern Rivers, where Lismore consistently floods and the teens who give Lismore its name grab surfboards and go nuts in the only waves Lismoreites apparently see, I wasn't too concerned.<br />
(Okay, that sentence was too long and way too retarded, but I cannot be bothered fixing it.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, I then heard about Toowoomba.<br />
My mother called me yesterday. "Darling," she said, nervously. "Have you seen the Toowoomba floods?"<br />
I had not. Quickly, I logged onto the Sydney Morning Herald website. There I saw <a href="http://media.smh.com.au/national/selections/watch-how-flash-flood-grew-in-minutes-2127942.html?from=newsbox">this video</a> - yeah, the Lismore kids would be trying to surf down that, but at that speed... I was amazed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.smh.com.au/photogallery/environment/weather/flash-flooding-across-brisbane/20110110-19ke7.html?selectedImage=0">Brisbane is now going underwater.</a><br />
This is freaking me out slightly. My brother texted me this afternoon telling me he was now flooded in - and his friends were flooded out and have to drive down here. These photos, though... it's quite freaky.<br />
<br />
Thinking of all those who are in this situation.<br />
Not much more I can really say, but so far with 78 people missing, and 10 dead...<br />
I can't imagine being there.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-53632581488703930522011-01-09T09:33:00.001+10:002011-01-09T09:35:55.823+10:00Learn to speak, please.Inspired by the man who approached my deli counter today, I'm going to rant.<br />
<br />
The man works in a neighbouring store, and he'd just come back after a week or so on holidays. Unfortunately, he'd not considered that his stock would be frozen if he'd not thawed it the night before. So he came to where I was and asked me, and I kid you not, for "8-f***ing bucks of bacon."<br />
<br />
For the sake of the argument, because I'll be repeating the above asterisked part frequently, we shall henceforth shorten it to f-n. I am lazy today.<br />
<br />
As I was preparing his bacon, he begins telling me a story.<br />
His f-n staffy had f-n woken him up in the middle of the f-n night, and then there was an f-n <i>storm</i>, would ya believe, and the f-n rain was so f-n loud that he couldn't get back to sleep and he was f-n back at work after being on holidays and it was f-n terrible and now he was waiting for his meat to f-n thaw so he could make sandwiches and that's why he needed 8 f-n bucks of bacon.<br />
<br />
Um.<br />
Yes.<br />
I am not even exaggerating.<br />
So I merely blinked at him, and got his bacon and then $4 of ham.<br />
He thanked me.<br />
And he left, after lamenting to the counter staff his woes.<br />
<br />
My rant comes now with <i>oh my gosh, learn some English</i>. I don't care if people swear. I mean, I personally try not to swear as to me it's not classy (and there are a whole variety of other words you can use). But I'm not going to start clamping my ears down and shouting, "LA LA LA LA LA LA," at the top of my lungs because I've heard someone hurl out an expletive.<br />
However, in the instance of this colourful man, I honestly wanted to pick up said bacon and hurl it at him in disgust. Probably would have gotten me fired, and I kinda need dosh, so I restrained myself.<br />
But here is my point.<br />
Swearing in such a fashion doesn't make your story more interesting.<br />
It doesn't make it any more emphatic.<br />
You don't sound educated.<br />
You do, however, portray an extremely stereotypical version of a bogan.<br />
What's so wrong with using such words sparingly - you could have added a lot more emphasis with just one of those f-ns in just the right spot - and consciously, so you don't come across like a complete idiot?<br />
Mind you, I can't really see a point where swearing would have added appropriate emphasis. The story tells the same without any of it.<br />
<br />
Before you start hurling rocks at me sitting on what appears to be a high horse, my horse is actually a miniature pony. I used to swear like Exhibit A with the staffy. When people start wincing at you and eyeing you to see if you're being serious speaking like that, there's a small issue. I learned very quickly that it's not the right image to portray. Yeah, you might be speaking to the random girl holding fort behind the deli, but you also could be speaking to someone you may want to impress later with your suave persona and dazzling manner - be it in a job situation, friends, whatever. A small thing to keep in mind when you're speaking.<br />
<br />
And with all its complications, English is a downright awesome language. We might not be like Spanish and have <a href="http://spanish.about.com/cs/vocabulary/a/love_words_2.htm">tons of ways to say love</a>, but we do have excellent words that can be used in a variety of situations to convey at least a semblance of intelligence. I am a personal fan of <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">brouhaha</span></b>:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">brou<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">·ha</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">·ha</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">noun [usu. in sing.]</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">a noisy and overexcited critical response, display of interest, or trail of publicity: <i>24 members resigned over the brouhaha | all that election brouhaha.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ORIGIN late 19th cent.: from French, probably imitative.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rather than talking about how the rain was with a variety of words dragged from the nether regions of the slang dictionary, you could perchance use <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">loathsome</span></b>, or <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">abhorrent</span></b>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">loath</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">·some</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">adjective</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">causing hatred or disgust; repulsive: <i>this loathsome little swine.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ORIGIN Middle English: from archaic <i>loath</i> [disgust, loathing] + -some.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">ab</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">·hor</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">·rent</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">adjective</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">inspiring disgust and loathing; repugnant: <i>racial discrimination was abhorrent to us all</i>.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ORIGIN late 16th cent.: from Latin abhorrent - 'shuddering away from in horror,' from the vorb <i>abhorrerre</i>.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">And if there's ever the occasion (and you can bet I'm going to find one now), you can use the word </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="font-size: x-large;">abyssopelagic</b>, meaning <i>of or pertaining to the depth of the ocean; of the abyss; of the pelagic zone</i>.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">I found that one by Googling </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><a href="http://www.vocabula.com/vrbestwords.asp">this site</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">, and they've also provided me with another beauty, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b style="font-size: x-large;">logomachy</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">lo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">·gom</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">·achy</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">noun (pl. -chies)</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">an argument about words.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ORIGIN mid 16th cent.: from Greek <i>logomakhia, </i>from <i>logos</i> 'word' and -<i>makhia</i> 'fighting'.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">The point is, there are so many fantastic words that English has to offer, and for the most part we stick to bland and tasteless words (with a few sewer-worthy words thrown in for good measure). You don't have to be </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><a href="http://davidastle.com/blog">David Astle</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">, who is probably my favourite person out there. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">But come on, use a few stellar words that taste as delicious as Ferrero Rochers (universally awesome) once in a while, shake off that slick covering of bogan dirt, and revel in the beauty of the English language.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">It's a downright gorgeous thing to behold.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-87042927895927829392011-01-02T12:15:00.000+10:002011-01-02T12:15:14.162+10:00Oh crud, there's a mouse.I'm house-sitting for my parents for a little while, as they go gallivanting around NSW visiting various relatives and whatnot. Their house is quite nice. It's big, it's vaguely fancy, and unfortunately there are way too many cubby-holes for murderers to hide in.<br />
Never mind that I have two dogs who would kill if provoked (especially the one with the crazy eyes), and that the entire house is doubly security screened (as I was, and still am, a paranoid child, my parents thought it best), I still wander around the house at night, systematically closing doors and creeping into rooms to avoid being murdered.<br />
Daylight, I thought, was generally safe.<br />
Oh lies.<br />
<br />
I woke up (thank you, Glen) at 9. A reasonable sleep in compared to my now-usual 6am days.<br />
After lazing about for an hour, I cleaned, and promptly made another mess in the form of a pretty-looking strawberry shortcake. I had Pride and Prejudice on. I felt thoroughly domestic.<br />
But suddenly, the dulcet tones of Mr Darcy were drowned out by an emphatic scratching.<br />
I, of course, instantly thought Murderer!and/orDemon!. A quick Google proved me wrong. We have a mouse in the roof. Or the wall. It's scraping around somewhere. I haven't seen or heard a mouse in here since before we renovated... and when we renovated, we got beams put in that were coated in poison for such an occasion. So the mouse will eventually kick the bucket. I now, however, am paranoid that it'll burst through the ceiling like Nagini through the corpse of Bathilda Bagshot, so am hiding in the kitchen peering out occasionally at the TV.<br />
<br />
As I'm writing this, the mouse is silent. I shouted at it a couple of times to shut up, and apparently it listened.<br />
Case in point, mice understand English.<br />
Dogs understand Spanish. (Unless you're Tuscany, then you understand anything so long as there's food involved.)<br />
Even though the mouse is mute (and ergo, potentially dead) I am still a bit nervous to run to the couch and continue my viewing. It's darn frightening. Picture, if you will, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I (worst decision ever to separate the two. Curse you marketing ploys). Harry has just cursed Nagini to the netherworld, to his mind. There's some tense music, carefully typed out as such in the subtitles. AND NAGINI TEARS THROUGH THE AIR LIKE SHE RIPPED THROUGH POOR MS BAGSHOT'S PAPERY SKIN AND AIMS FOR HARRY'S FACE.<br />
Nagini was not to be slayed by a simple curse. Just like I don't think the mouse was slayed by my urges for it to shut up and it was so depressed it ate through a beam in a completely irrelevant place. We need a Neville to slash that mouse to ribbons with the sword of Gryffindor.<br />
<br />
Anyway, a quick paranoid post as I have barely posted in two months.<br />
And happy New Year, everyone! I hope you all have a blast and such. Or... had. If you're of a hemisphere not my own, I hope your hangovers are gently nursed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-65425312700057746592010-11-20T06:36:00.000+10:002010-11-20T06:36:12.677+10:00I'd like to start this post with a conversation between Chris, his friend Nik, and I. In my tired-mind, it makes sense to.<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: You have a blog?</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ME: Because this isn't the 20th time you've asked me... yes. I have a blog.</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">[CHRIS hunts down blog, craftily using Facebook.]</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: That's a strange name.</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ME: It made sense at the time.</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: Hmm. Well, I don't like blogs.</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ME: What? Why? </span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: Besides the fact I hate reading, blogs are very opinionated.</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">NIK: Well, that is the general point of a blog.</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: If I want someone to tell me their opinions, I will talk to myself in the mirror.</span></blockquote>I guess my point here is that I have opinions. Far too many, one may theorise, but they exist. Joshua told me recently that he believes this to be the case, as proven when he asked me my opinion on black ties with red polka dots and I immediately vetoed the entire concept of said tie.<br />
And my opinions may not be your opinions. That is not really my concern, as harsh as that sounds. I love your opinions, I cherish their general opinionated nature, but life is more fun when you take opposing views. (Do an essay disagreeing with the question just for the sake of it sometime. It's fun. Especially when ripping your English teacher's favourite novel to shreds... slowly yet surely...)<br />
But I assume some people value these opinions, as they continue to provide my blog with hits. Huzzah!<br />
<br />
On another note, I saw Shaun Tan last night. It probably makes more sense to put this at the beginning - it's far more interesting than a quasi-rant about my opinions, as fuelled by 5 hours sleep, an all-day high tea in support of breast cancer, and stomps around the city - but it's here. Anyway, the uni occasionally does stuff where famous authors come for a bit of a show and tell, explaining their work and whatnot. Shaun Tan is the genius behind such works as <i>The Arrival</i>, <i>The Rabbits</i>, <i>The Lost Thing </i>and <i>The Red Tree</i>; his artwork is positively astounding and he can convey so much through it.<br />
Heck yes to the humble picture book, I say.<br />
Shaun's illustration is quite surrealist, and as a bit of a surrealist fan, I was inwardly cheering when he cited the Spanish surrealist movement as being influential on his own pieces. Just looking at <i>The Lost Thing</i>, it is hugely obvious. Dali, my favourite surrealist, is apparent here to my eyes.<br />
A couple of examples of Shaun's work:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lambiek.net/artists/t/tan_shaun/tan_shaun_the-arrival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.lambiek.net/artists/t/tan_shaun/tan_shaun_the-arrival.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <i>The Arrival</i>; Shaun made up a sort of language<br />
which he said had no translation, but instead<br />
was just whatever he felt like cutting and<br />
pasting together.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.linesandcolors.com/images/2007-08/tan_402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.linesandcolors.com/images/2007-08/tan_402.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another image from <i>The Arrival</i>. The concepts,<br />
rather than the illustrations, are<br />
more surreal here.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.linesandcolors.com/images/2008-12/tan_450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.linesandcolors.com/images/2008-12/tan_450.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <i>The Lost Thing</i>, and an image of Shaun.<br />
The thing feasts on Christmas decorations.<br />
It was also influenced by a whole lot of other<br />
artists.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The amazing thing about Shaun was that he was one of those authors English teachers assure you exist - each and every tiny detail of his work had been thought out, to the very minute details. He was telling us his views on immigration stories - that they are the peoples' stories, and simply exist as a metaphor for the search for identity in life, for we're all simply immigrants to this life from wherever we've come before. We're all dealing with being tossed into a 'train', or life, to deal with our surrounds as best we can. I was gaping and nodding excitedly; my view on immigration (though it seems fail to say it now) is very similar, and with my background, it was also something that I am constantly thinking over. The point is, identity is something we all search for, no matter who we are or where we've come from, no matter age or wisdom or education or money, we still hunt for this concept of who we are.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I will be back, I am getting ready for work (10.19am now).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Back.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And I guess this is the end of the blogpost. I have a rant I want to go on, but that's another blogpost for another time.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oh wait.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Shaun Tan's brilliance lends itself to what he signed in the book:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Dear Gloria + Xavier Catholic College,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Happy Travels! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Sean</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-41492088295144141822010-11-18T21:20:00.001+10:002010-11-18T21:22:16.524+10:00Moving, ramblings, and apologies.<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Inspired by Hyperbole and a Half, I'm going to regale you with stories of moving house. In about a month, my lease here runs out, and then I'm no longer staying in Brisbane.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Nathan and Joe are much saddened by this.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Anyway, so going back to Ballina is accompanied by many things:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><ol><li>Quitting my job. Which makes me quite sad.</li>
<li>Deferring uni for a year (which I just checked on. I wasn't sure if it went through, and if it didn't, my 5 days would most certainly be up, and I'd have been turfed out of uni. But that didn't happen) and applying to go to Monash. There is no Monash campus in Ballina; I'm studying via distance ed as I have done before... but that was for high school.</li>
<li>Packing up my books and whatnot before I leave on Saturday. </li>
</ol><div>The packing up of books and whatnot is what irritates me most. Firstly, it is a horrendous effort to get a hold of boxes.</div><div>"What ho," you say, brow furrowed, "but surely your brother is Woolworths Gatekeeper of Doom?"</div><div>Indeed, my brother is one of those Woolworths Gatekeepers. However, the conversation went as follows:</div><div><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ME: Chris, can you please get me boxes from Woolies?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: Can't you get them?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ME: You work there, though.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: Get them yourself.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div>A few hours later, I texted him pretending to be Mum. This was an unwise move, as my mother is a technophobe and has only just learned how to open a text message. When I next saw Chris, the conversation ensued as so:</div><div><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ME: So, did you get those boxes Mum told you to put aside for me?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CHRIS: No, I did not get those boxes you told me to put aside for you, but Mum's aware that you kidnapped her phone now.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, I decided to go back to Brisbane and get boxes. The guy at the counter was lovely. "Sure," he said, "I'll put aside boxes for you. We're getting in a load tonight, so I'll tell Chris to keep as many aside as he can."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Chris?" </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Yeah, our produce guy. The 2IC."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Chris, at this point, was carefully stacking mangoes and glaring at me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh. Okay," I said, shifting my chocolate and mince. "Well, my name is Natasha Pavez, P-A-V-E-Z, and you can just call my brother and let him know my boxes are there, because my phone's on the fritz."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Wait, Pavez? That's the produce g -" And the guy promptly scribbled out my name, wrote in capitals PUT ASIDE BOXES FOR YOUR SISTER, CHRIS and beamed at me. "I'll let him know."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"You, sir, are fantastic."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And Chris kept up his scowling til I left the store.</span></div><div>When I saw Chris this morning, he was alternately excited because he'd just bought Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, and cranky because I was the bringer of bad news. One, that Chris had to move too, and two, that he had to put aside boxes for me at work.</div><div>He said, very sulkily, "I put them aside for you. You can go pick them up when you finish work." <i>Muttermuttermutter</i>. "I have a game to play. So I can't get them for you."</div><div>I returned after work, and guy at counter went to find me my boxes. The same guy as yesterday, so that was a bonus. He returned with a trolley.</div><div>"Um... Chris put aside a lot of boxes. I think he took 'as many as possible' literally."</div><div>The trolley, now in my living room, is a flipping jack-in-the-box of boxes. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyway, so I have started packing. I started with my beloved books, and in a Crinkle Cut Variety Multipack 20 (which, I'll assume, carries 7 packets of 20 packets of chips), I have cleared ONE SHELF.</div><div>Just one.</div><div>I want to take a photo, but Bellatrix is in NSW, so I can't.</div><div>I also have forgotten to buy packing tape. My logic wasn't too sound; it was a tossup between pizza and packing tape. I went with pizza, though I could have eaten most anything in my cupboard. I am now quite literally the proud owner of $3 and nothing more, as I donated the rest of my coinage to charity.</div><div>And in this wasteland which I call a room, I have to somehow locate my flipping HSC results. Somehow, this gets me into Monash. I think I burned my HSC results in glee. Or they were the closest thing to hand when I needed to draw. Either way, my HSC results are not in this room. </div><div>I just phoned Mum. My HSC results are something of a mystery. "Where would they be?"</div><div>"I don't know. I thought you kept them, because I'd do something stupid like burn them."</div><div>"That's true, I did say that. Call me in the morning, I'll look then."</div><div>I wager they're watching TV.</div><div>"Did you pack up your room?"</div><div>Guiltily looking at my lone Crinkle Cut Variety Multipack 20 box, I told her I did and hastily made my exit.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Now I'm the proud owner of $3.20. And... my medicine. For my bad cough. WHICH DISAPPEARED ON ITS OWN. Never am I buying medication again.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay, so in packing up my DVDs, copious numbers of magazines (I will be slaughtered when my mother sees them), and CDs, I have noticed a few things:</div><div><ol><li>Pride and Prejudice's case has vanished.</li>
<li>Dr Parnassus has vanished. Not the case, mind. Just the DVD.</li>
<li>Lo and behold! Pride and Prejudice has been found under a copy of Queensland Brides.</li>
<li>Huzzah! Dr Parnassus has been found inside Pride and Prejudice!</li>
</ol></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TOTwae38vQI/AAAAAAAAACw/5gfLAxIKgLU/s1600/frezned.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xJ8LQpVirBk/TOTwae38vQI/AAAAAAAAACw/5gfLAxIKgLU/s400/frezned.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>Actually, another problem, prompted by my seeing Crowded House's Woodface (best. album. evs, I might add). Why on earth does Sirius not read it? It makes no sense. Apple, I demand an explanation. You also didn't allow Sirius to read Linkin Park's iconic Meteora, the last album they did before they became sensitive Twifails.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay, back to packing.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The DVDs and CDs and copious amounts of magazines got packed in a Corn Flakes box, which is upside down.</div><div>However, Kelloggs manufacture their boxes with a gaping hole, which is okay for Corn Flakes, but not so okay for Scrubs, Vogue, and a huge Spanish dictionary.</div><div>I cannot be bothered repacking this box, so I will leave this for when I return and I am inevitably scolded.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay, attempting to carry that box did not work.</div><div>The hole ripped open and I got a Spanish dictionary to the toe.</div><div>This isn't a meagre paperback dictionary, either, like my French one. This one is like <a href="http://www.borders.com.au/book/spanish-dictionary/27425/">this</a>. No, I didn't pay $93.95 for a dictionary, I got mine in Melbourne for $30 because I went down a creepy-looking side street and found a v. tiny bookstore. </div><div>Either way, it hurt.</div><div>To repack that box in NOT a Kelloggs box.</div><div>I should ask Chris to buy me packing tape.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Wow, he said yes.</div><div><br />
</div><div>In an attempt to pick up the other box, it tore as well. This is where working in a bookstore had its benefits; the boxes were DESIGNED to carry about 50 books at once, generally hardcover. (By the way, until you've lifted a box of Dan Brown's latest bestseller, retailing at $60 or the low low price of $54.95, you have not lifted a box.)</div><div>Maybe I'll just pack my suitcase, because that physically cannot tear.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Packing my suitcase is kinda boring and also very demoralising. I am sitting here, scowling at various items in my room.</div><div><i>Sims 3</i>, if I hadn't have bought you, maybe I could have bought packing tape.</div><div><i>Ticket to go home</i>, if I hadn't bought you, I could have bought packing tape.</div><div><i>DKNY Be Delicious perfume</i>, if Papi hadn't bought you, maybe he could have bought me packing tape.</div><div>See, the thing with Chris is, he may SAY he'll buy packing tape, and he will do that. The question is <i>when</i>. And it is a sad sad day when I can't even afford $4.50, because I need $1.70 to get to Roma Street on Saturday to catch a bus home and th -</div><div><i>If I hadn't have bought that muffin I could have bought packing tape. CURSE YOU $4.50 muffin!</i></div><div>Anyway, and then I've got to start a new job somewhere (which apparently is at the pub in Alstonville), and then I will have funds.</div><div><i>Young Victoria DVD, </i>even though you are in Wollongbar, if I hadn't bought you we would have been solid (though I would have been sad come hometime).</div><div><br />
</div><div>So I danced around my room for a while to Eddplant and Dashboard Confessional; I now have posted a horrendously emo Twitter post. Life in Technicolor begins with the music from The Escapist, which is a song hidden at the end of Death and All His Friends (hi, yes, I listen to Coldplay, what's your point? That I know way too much about it? Shush). </div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>and</i></div><div><i>in the end</i></div><div><i>we lie awake</i></div><div><i>and we dream of making our escape.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>and </i></div><div><i> in the end </i></div><div><i> we lie awake</i></div><div><i> <b>and we dream of making our escape.</b></i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>The song only has that as its lyrics, one verse repeated twice, yet I honestly love it more than I love Swallowed in the Sea. And it sets me off. I don't know why, but it makes me wonder what happened to me. Why I feel like I need to flee home, and why I'm spending the year in Wollongbar again. I mean, yeah, I know above all that this is the right choice for now - I kind of need to learn to drive, for starters, and I can do that far easier down home. I also need to save money, as I spent my Year 12 blowing it in huge hits when I thought $50 was cheap. (Goodbye, money, I'm sure the Sunshine Coast and Melbourne economies adored you.) I want to get back in the headspace of Year 12, not where I was a nutjob but where I craved writing, where I craved books, and where my tongue danced around Spanish and English in this strange language that my Tata and I speak in (my cousins also speak it, but less sarcastic and less rantily about authors). I want to also regain my sense of adventure. By year 12, I was in desperate need for adventure. I think I needed it, but also needed to be connected to home, hence why I fled to Brisbane. Next on my agenda, after however long I'm at home, I think I might go to Melbourne. Get my RSA and RCG for Victoria and just amble on down there, and see how I go. Maybe Sydney.</div><div>The advantage of Distance Ed means I'm pretty much open with possibilities as to where I can go.</div><div>I'm being coaxed by Glen to go to the Sunshine Coast; the only disadvantage of doing that right now is lack of transport. Not saying Wollongbar's got transport, by any means, but that at least there I have a Tata who drives me anywhere, given I beg nicely and pay him at the end of the week (he doesn't like being paid however). Brisbane's transport is quite brilliant, Melbourne's is fantastic, and Sydney's? I'm not too sure, but I do know it's flipping expensive. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay, quick diversion.</div><div>On Alex Day's channel, I saw a video about dreamlines, where Master Day writes down his dreams for the next 3 months and then, at the end, comments on how he did, etcetera so on so forth. I myself have decided to do this, as I'm on holidays now. Yay!</div><div>My list, which is currently at home, is:</div><div><ul><li>Do 40 hours of driving. At the speed I am allowed to travel in NSW (QLD doesn't have these laws, but in NSW I'm restricted to 80km/hr), this should be a breeze. I can apparently get 120 hours in 6 months, according to my father, if he takes me driving daily. THEN I GET MY Ps.</li>
<li>Write at least 40,000 words in my novel. Really, not much to do. I'm taking it slowly, as NaNoWriMo failed with stresses and angst and me really just not feeling like writing. </li>
<li>Get a job, which may have happened.</li>
<li>Get accepted to Monash, which may happen.</li>
<li>Get published again (and the bridal stuff doesn't count in this total, as I've known it was going to happen). A nice side dream would be payment for being published, but we can dream.</li>
</ul><div>So in three months, I shall review this and see how I've gone. If the novel's done, we can safely assume the goal for 6 months' time will be to get an agent, and get it sent off to be edited/published/whatever.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>And that, because I am all levels of procrastinatey right now and really need to turn off the computer, is my apology for abandoning you guys for so long. I apologise profusely, really. I attempted to write, and just could never get anywhere... but I think tonight God's unlocked it again in me.</div><div>Ah, craft and arts and things of the heart. Darn confusing, is what they are. </div><div>But oh so worth it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-75276786433366148382010-10-11T02:05:00.000+10:002010-10-11T02:05:38.187+10:00"Who is this Criminal Mastermind? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in their Wizard's Robes?"Stalking Joshua's Facebook page (well, if you must know, I was actually sending him a link to a tee), I came across this link, <a href="http://www.darksites.com/evilplan.php">Darksites.com Evil Guide Plan</a>.<br />
I'm not sure about the rest of the site. But this made me laugh. Purely because of my plan, and also because this is so quintessentially Joshua that there is nothing else can I do.<br />
<br />
So, if I were to Dr Horrible my life, it would go as thus:<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote><i>Your objective is simple: world domination.</i></blockquote><blockquote><i>Your motive is a little bit more complex: love (yes, it works)</i></blockquote><blockquote><b>Stage One</b></blockquote><blockquote>To begin your plan, you must first seduce a rich and powerful CEO. This will cause the world to sit up and take notice, amazed by your arrival. <i>Who is this Criminal Mastermind? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in their Wizard's Robes?</i></blockquote><blockquote><b>Stage Two</b></blockquote><blockquote>Next, you must vaporize the White House. This will all be done from a floating fortress, a mysterious place of unrivaled dark glory. Upon seeing this, the world will tremble, as countless hordes of ninjas hasten to do your every bidding.</blockquote><blockquote><b>Stage Three</b></blockquote><blockquote>Finally, you must send forth your needlessly big weather machine, bringing about an end to sanity. Your name shall become synonymous with this insanity, and no man will ever again dare point and laugh. Everyone will bow before your dashing good looks, and the world will have no choice but to give you control of the planet.</blockquote>As you can see, I had a fair bit of fun with this. Links provided above.<br />
Gah, I've become such a YouTube vlog-supporter that all I want to say is doobly-doo.<br />
BLOGGER! MAKE A DOOBLY-DOO!<br />
<br />
Anyway, 2am, should probably go to sleep... work tomorrow, que funsehs.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-42552349079701998702010-10-09T20:28:00.002+10:002010-10-11T02:12:17.741+10:00Embarrassing musical choicesI am generally not the best when it comes to choosing music. For the most part, I don't really care if others hate the music I listen to - in fact, the more it's loved, or well known, I somehow am more attracted to it. Perhaps its the underdog syndrome. But whatever.<br />
The point is, I was on YouTube (and seriously, YouTube just whittles away hours of my life. I started watching Glee videos and ended up on, dare I say it, Backstreet Boys). It was quite a lot of fun, really. I was revisiting the bands of my youth. The usual suspects - Backstreet Boys, as mentioned above, though I wasn't a real fan; Britney Spears, whom I also wasn't a fan of; Spice Girls, also not a fan; AQUA, unashamedly a fan, though of their lesser known hits; and Lou Bega, until I hit 10 and realised how sexist the man's lyrics are - were on my list, and then I came across a band whom I loved for probably at least a year. For all of my emo phase, anyway.<br />
That band was Simple Plan.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://designermagazine.tripod.com/SimplePlan20052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://designermagazine.tripod.com/SimplePlan20052.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah. This is Simple Plan.<br />
I had this picture on my wall.<br />
I used to try hugging it.<br />
And you thought I was weird now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now I know, I know. Simple Plan had a heyday. They had sell-out concerts, they had a couple of number one hits, and for the emo-girl like me - dressed entirely in black, dyed black hair, wearing Converses and scowling at the world whilst thinking No One Understands Me - Simple Plan was <i>it</i>. I didn't understand the arguments people thrust at me. "But," I remember one person saying, "they're <i>Canadian</i>."<br />
I didn't care. I loved Canada for this reason. I learned flipping <i>FRENCH</i> for this reason. (Though my other choice was Indonesian; it was an easy pick.) And so, I bought all of Simple Plan's albums (see: 2) and listened to them, carrying an archaic Discman around through Sydney (before iPods, kids) and blasting such dulcet tunes as <i>Welcome To My Life</i> into my 13-year-old eardrums.<br />
With regret, there often comes that feeling of "Surely I wasn't <i>that</i> obsessed, right?"<br />
Oh yes. Oh yes I was. You can ask anyone who knew me during this dark period in my life and they will attest to the fact that I was obsessed like my Nana is obsessed with finding me a husband, or like my parents are obsessed with me marrying this guy we all know. I carried around books with Simple Plan plastered on the covers, I wept when I was forbidden from going to their Brisbane concert, and I wrote fan-fics surrounding my exciting adventures were I to suddenly develop a reasonable musical talent and meet the band.<br />
In Canada.<br />
And I - at least, my 18 year old hindsight and poorly-stored memories attest to this fact - honestly believed that I was going to marry Pierre Bouvier:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rankopedia.com/CandidatePix/3997.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.rankopedia.com/CandidatePix/3997.gif" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah. This guy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Meanwhile, my best friend at the time was going to marry David Desrosiers:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://david.d.a.pic.centerblog.net/4urhiiw3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://david.d.a.pic.centerblog.net/4urhiiw3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Anyway, I'm cringing in shame at this time in my life, and one day I'm going to find an emo photo of myself and post it here so you all can understand my shame.<br />
The point is, this band was responsible for a very shameful time in my life, and I'm pretty sure they are the only band I am fully embarrassed about liking. I still listen to the Used (though very infrequently; they're a little bit... insane), to Blink 182 (wins), to most of the bands I adored at this time. Except Simple Plan. My brother and I went on a rampage when I realised my failing and snapped my two albums, one single, in 4 neat pieces.<br />
<br />
If there's a moral to this tale, inform me of it. Don't like bands when you're in a very impressionable emo phase is the only one I'm getting.<br />
Or perhaps, it's if I must regret liking a band, Simple Plan seems a pretty apt choice to regret.<br />
<br />
Interesting side note - in my Googling of Lou Bega, I found out something epic and rad. His name isn't actually, Lou Bega. In fact, Wikipedia has this to say:<br />
<blockquote><i>David Lubega (born April 13, 1975), also known as Lou Bega, is a </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i>German</i></span><i> </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i>musician</i></span><i> of </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i>Italian</i></span><i>and </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i>Ugandan</i></span><i> descent, and is famous for his song "</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i>Mambo No. 5</i></span><i>". This song is a remake of the </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i>Perez Prado</i></span><i> instrumental from 1949. Bega added his own words to the song and </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i>sampled</i></span><i> the original version extensively.</i></blockquote>I now want Lubega as my surname.<br />
<br />
...and oh dear, I'm listening to <i>Perfect. </i>Curse you, YouTube automatic shuffle! I USE THAT FOR ALEX DAY! Why are you on a roof, Pierre and co? Why are you on a roof? That's very dangerous!<br />
(A clear indication I am getting old before my time, for when I was younger, I only thought, "Oh my gosh! They are so rebellious and so brave! They are so cute with their nose piercings and pop-punk uniforms!")<br />
Also, I wish my parents let me draw on my walls. My room would've looked awesome. I wouldn't have emo-ishly written, <i>I'm Sorry I Can't Be Perfect</i> on my wall... actually, scratch that, I may have done.<br />
And <i>Addicted</i>. You'd think I'd turn this shuffle off, wouldn't you? But I now have to watch these. It's like a curse I'm under. Actually, 13-year-old-me, maybe you'll be able to tell me - why the heck did you wear sweatbands/cuffs with studs? And horribly baggy pants? I wonder what you'd think of my fashion tastes now. Also, 13-year-old-me, the original doesn't say "I'd run a thousand miles to get you", but... yeah, you know, okay. I'm horrified I still know the lyrics.<br />
Now it's <i>Shut Up</i>. Far out, this brings back memories. Year 8, when I thought I knew all about life. A heinous lie. I also unwillingly started singing along (keep that on the low-down). This video is so lame, it's kinda cute.<br />
...what's happening?<br />
I am now quietly urging Sebastien Lefebvre's Myspace page to load his cover of Ke$ha's <i>Tik Tok</i> (those three words hurt to spell). I like his voice, I'll say that. I just think my ears are bleeding from the song itself.<br />
<br />
Well, there we go. I finally closed YouTube, the Myspaces, and even the Twitter-stalks I ended up doing.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it's not regret.<br />
But that's there's a whole lot of memories that music contains, shameful yet colourfully so.<br />
After all, to quote The Cat Empire - music is the language of us all. And for me, language is more important than most things, a grasp on words, and if my words contain my thoughts, my desires, and my past, my musical choices do too.<br />
But no, Simple Plan, I'm not joining the fan club again. Nor the mailing list. My email address back then (fairly sure it was something like simpleplanloverxx@girlfriend.com.au, or possibly ilovepierrexx@girlfriend.com.au. I think I even had one named after Branden Steineckert of The Used and now Rancid fame, because I thought he was <i>sooo</i> hot with his piercing on the bridge of his nose) has vanished into the wild, and your incessant emails to it as well.<br />
<br />
Have a lovely Sunday, readers, whatever you get up to.<br />
(There's a reason I've not provided links to videos or anything. I'm not wishing my emo-year-8-ness on you.)<br />
<br />
NOTE:<br />
Does anyone remember <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Harding_(singer)">Lee Harding</a>, finalist on Australian Idol?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://graphics.sonybmg.com.au/gallery/medium/LeeHarding63099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://graphics.sonybmg.com.au/gallery/medium/LeeHarding63099.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty sure he came third.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I just looked over at my digital clock, and there's a sticker of him on it. I also have a letter, a photo, and a tee. I also recall talking to him on the phone, dead tired and also hugely embarrassed. Oh wow, I have an awesome family. They engineered that, because they win. Even if now, I don't listen to Lee and he's probably designing comics again, it's lovely to think that a quasi-Nana went to an Australian Idol show to get Lee on the phone for me, her emo quasi-granddaughter.<br />
Go Chileans!<br />
That, right there, is another memory box. It also includes shame, but heaps of happiness at the same time.<br />
<i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRPFJx51_3M">Wasabiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii</a></i>.<br />
And in the years after Idol, he hugely changed. Far out, he started... well, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJmWLbJI60s">this video</a> shows the difference. And this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://resources2.news.com.au/images/2007/09/12/va1237266752474/Paul-Morrison-5653080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://resources2.news.com.au/images/2007/09/12/va1237266752474/Paul-Morrison-5653080.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...what happened to the Lee of old?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The music from that band (Rock City) is pretty good, actually. I'm not going to shun it.<br />
EVEN LATER NOTE: Okay, I'll admit it. I went on to YouTube today and watched <i>Shut Up</i>. Don't spear me!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060823546990760306.post-84095836516839298422010-10-09T11:05:00.000+10:002010-10-09T11:05:50.906+10:00Pretty much...... I am in love with this sentiment, this picture, and every connotation surrounding it.<br />
I am in love with the Man they refer to, as well.<br />
If you knew Him, you'd understand what I mean. It's pretty much impossible not to love Him once you meet him and get to know Him.<br />
And guess what?<br />
I get to continue getting to know Him for the rest of my days.<br />
<i>Booyars.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://whi.s3.prod.lg1x8.simplecdn.net/images/4018011/OQAAALVtjygxhxPeBnKaSWtLT33s-c3JYL0TTw5abb12gfOIVrRIcQbFwgTzRfxs78WnZcEWQSoYtxi3An6ugIWamQgAm1T1UBnW63L6BCblhLd81vJe2Cise1Az_large.jpg?1285194209" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://whi.s3.prod.lg1x8.simplecdn.net/images/4018011/OQAAALVtjygxhxPeBnKaSWtLT33s-c3JYL0TTw5abb12gfOIVrRIcQbFwgTzRfxs78WnZcEWQSoYtxi3An6ugIWamQgAm1T1UBnW63L6BCblhLd81vJe2Cise1Az_large.jpg?1285194209" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know some of my readers aren't religious/spiritual in any way. This post isn't an invitation to start up the <i>You're so lame you Christian</i> comment attack; it's just what I feel right now, and I'm not going to respond if you are to write such things. Acceptance, people, is always nice, and I have far better things to do with my time than to argue facts with people who won't listen anyway.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And yessum. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have assignments to do. It is 11.05 and I am not out of my bed. *blushes* </div><i><br />
</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0