30 Days of Music, which I have cleverly condensed into one post. Because I'm fearless like that.

Yeah, I know. You're complaining. 

"Another music post, Tash?"

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, why? I have never been in a relationship. I am not the person to counsel you), you got spared last night's diatribe regarding men.

Which would have been vastly hilarious, but in a laughing-at-me-not-with-me manner.

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 Nate and Maija.

Also Courtney, but as far as I know, Courtney is limited to Facebook.

Why do I tell you these things?

Getting to the point would be ideal.

Away we go.

1. Your favourite song.

You Be the Anchor That Keeps My Feet On the Ground, I'll Be the Wings That Keep Your Heart In the Clouds, Mayday Parade

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 do listen to them, I skip after 30 seconds.

It's a terrible cycle, yet Mayday Parade has not fallen victim to it.

(Incidentally, I'm currently putting Mumford and Sons' The Cave through this vicious cycle.)

So I suppose it, for now, fulfils the role of being my favourite song.

Also, it's pretty. Which is most definitely a proper musical term.

2. Your least favourite song.

Where to begin. Oh, where to begin.

I'm sure everyone's done Justin Beiber and Miley Cyrus and Rebecca Black. It pretty much goes against human nature not to. I am itching to, but instead, you can have this one.

In Da Club, 50 Cent.

There is so much wrong with this song. So very much. Firstly, the title. It's one more letter, Mr Fifty-Cent-Sir, how hard is it to write 'the'? Not very! NOT VERY AT ALL.

Secondly, this verse epitomises everything that is wrong with not only this song, but society in general.

You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub 

Look mami I got the X if you into taking drugs 

I'm into having sex, I ain't into making love 

So come give me a hug if you into to getting rubbed 

50 Cent (and what sort of a rap name is that, anyway?) - you are made of fail.

3. A song that makes you happy.

Waiting for the End, Linkin Park.

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. 

However, this song makes me very happy.

I don't know why, I cannot explain it, but it's dancy and beautiful and made of awesome.

4. A song that makes you sad.

Time to Say Goodbye, Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. 

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.

But you know what? It always, no matter what, makes me cry.

Laugh all you want, but that's what happens.

5. A song that reminds you of someone.

Strangers in the Night, Frank Sinatra.

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 Everybody Loves My Body (and yes, he is a 70 year old man), Tengo-tengo-tengo-tu-no-tienes-nada, and variations on Strangers in the Night. 

Over the course of my life, I have heard:

• Empanadas in the night
• Chorizos in the night
• Vino in the night
• Carne in the night
• Tortillas in the night, and
• Palta in the night.

All food, and all sung by my grandfather. He appears to only know a few lines:

Chorizos in the night... exchanging glances, lovers at first sight...

And we get that over. And over. And over.

Still love the man though.

6.  A song that reminds you of somewhere.

Damned If I Do You, Damned If I Don't, All Time Low.

This isn't a terribly exciting location. In fact, it's one of the most boring places I've ever been to.

The Pacific Highway, that boring stretch of no-man's land between Tweed and Byron, somewhere that I cannot exactly pinpoint.

But oh my gosh, it's a lame point of land.

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.

Kudos, All Time Low, yet I'm sorry I associate you with such a mundane area of the Northern Rivers.

7. A song that reminds you of a certain event.

Baila Caporal, Illapu.

Hellooo, Chile Day.

Chilean Independence Day is an odd thing.

For one thing, we celebrate it in Australia. We appear to put more emphasis on it than we do Australia Day.

[Yeah, yeah, get back to your own country, etc. My relatives at least came to this country without shackles around their ankles.]

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.)

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 need to celebrate Chilean Day sometime. 

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.

8. A song you know all the words to.

Tales of Girls, Boys and Marsupials, The Wombats.

Yeah, I pretty much put this song on here for lols.

9. A song you can dance to.

Dragostea Din Tei, O-ZONE.

Please, someone. Tell me I'm not the only person outside of Europe to own this song. 

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.) 

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.

And then, of course, you will end up dancing like Elijah Wood every time this song comes on... oh wait, that's just me.

10. A song that you can fall asleep to.

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.

Across the Universe, Jim Sturgess.

Hurl rocks at me. I do love the Beatles' version of this. It is impossible not to. But this version is still amazing and beautiful and is lovely music to curl up and snooze to.

Also, omnomnom Jim Sturgess.

11. A song from your favourite band.

Don Quixote, Coldplay.

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 -- calm, Tash, calm), my love for you still lives on.

Though if you can release a new album sometime soon, I'd like it a lot. Just sayin'.

12. A song from a band you hate.

Big Jet Plane, Angus and Julia Stone.

Who allowed you to make music, Angus and Julia Stone? Who deemed it okay? AND WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ON TRIPLE J?

13. A song that is a guilty pleasure.

I'd Do Anything, Simple Plan.

Um... please don't kill me. After the post a few months ago, my Simple Plan love has come back with a vengeance.

14. A song no one would expect you to love.

Heart That's Pounding, Sally Seltmann.

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. 

Let me tell you, when I heard Clare Bowditch cover Fall at Your Feet, 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.)

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.

Go figure.

15. A song that describes you.

Um... what?

Oh gosh.

I suppose only Lifeline, by Papa Roach.

It doesn't describe me, but what I've been feeling for the majority of this year.

16. A song you used to love but now hate.

Another embarrassing gem from the vaults of my youth.

Crush (1980 Me), Darren Hayes.

I'm pretty sure that's a 'nuff said' response.

17. A song that you hear often on the radio.

Sex on Fire, Kings of Leon.

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.

Yes, we're even a year behind Nova.

18. A song that you wish you heard on the radio.

Hearts, Alex Day.

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.

19. A song from your favourite album.

Swallowed in the Sea, Coldplay.

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.

20. A song you listen to when you're angry.

Faint, Linkin Park.

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.

21. A song you listen to when you're happy.

Drink Up Me Hearties, Yo Ho, Hans Zimmer.

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.

22. A song you listen to when you're sad.

Los Momentos, Eduardo Gatti.

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.

23. A song you want played at your wedding. 

Thank You (For Loving Me at My Worst), The Whitlams.

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).

24. A song you want played at your funeral.

Bolero, Craig Armstrong.

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.

Kidding.

Or am I?

25. A song that makes you laugh.

Stuntman, Tripod.

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.

And they used a dummy. Of a woman.

26. A song you can play on an instrument.

Clocks, Coldplay.

When I say 'can play on an instrument', I mean on piano, and I mean very poorly.

27. A song you wish you could play.

Such Great Heights, Ben Folds (though originally done by the Postal Service).

Watch how those fingers fly over those keys, and watch my self-esteem slowly die.

28. A song that makes you feel guilty.

I really don't know.

Uhm.

... get back to me on that one.

29. A song from your childhood.

Cigarettes Will Kill You, Ben Lee.

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.

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.

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.

30. Your favourite song at this time last year.

Here Comes My Baby, Sons of Admirals.

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 Believe in Yourself (otherwise known as the Arthur theme song, which was originally done by Ziggy Marley. So there's some trivia for you).

All of us watching this video, courtesy of Gemma, simultaneously gasped at Charlie's two-timing shenanigans and shouted "WELL CHARLIE, EXPLAIN YOURSELF".  

I'm getting kind of besotted by these memes, aren't I?

Ah well, buenos noches.

Embarrassing musical choices

I 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.
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.
That band was Simple Plan.

Yeah. This is Simple Plan.
I had this picture on my wall.
I used to try hugging it.
And you thought I was weird now.

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 it. I didn't understand the arguments people thrust at me. "But," I remember one person saying, "they're Canadian."
I didn't care. I loved Canada for this reason. I learned flipping FRENCH 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 Welcome To My Life into my 13-year-old eardrums.
With regret, there often comes that feeling of "Surely I wasn't that obsessed, right?"
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.
In Canada.
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:

Yeah. This guy.

Meanwhile, my best friend at the time was going to marry David Desrosiers:

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.
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.

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.
Or perhaps, it's if I must regret liking a band, Simple Plan seems a pretty apt choice to regret.

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:

David Lubega (born April 13, 1975), also known as Lou Bega, is a German musician of Italianand Ugandan descent, and is famous for his song "Mambo No. 5". This song is a remake of the Perez Prado instrumental from 1949. Bega added his own words to the song and sampled the original version extensively.

I now want Lubega as my surname.

...and oh dear, I'm listening to Perfect. 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!
(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!")
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'm Sorry I Can't Be Perfect on my wall... actually, scratch that, I may have done.
And Addicted. 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.
Now it's Shut Up. 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.
...what's happening?
I am now quietly urging Sebastien Lefebvre's Myspace page to load his cover of Ke$ha's Tik Tok (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.

Well, there we go. I finally closed YouTube, the Myspaces, and even the Twitter-stalks I ended up doing.

Perhaps it's not regret.
But that's there's a whole lot of memories that music contains, shameful yet colourfully so.
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.
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 sooo hot with his piercing on the bridge of his nose) has vanished into the wild, and your incessant emails to it as well.

Have a lovely Sunday, readers, whatever you get up to.
(There's a reason I've not provided links to videos or anything. I'm not wishing my emo-year-8-ness on you.)

NOTE:
Does anyone remember Lee Harding, finalist on Australian Idol?

Pretty sure he came third.

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.
Go Chileans!
That, right there, is another memory box. It also includes shame, but heaps of happiness at the same time.
Wasabiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
And in the years after Idol, he hugely changed. Far out, he started... well, this video shows the difference. And this:

...what happened to the Lee of old?!

The music from that band (Rock City) is pretty good, actually. I'm not going to shun it.
EVEN LATER NOTE: Okay, I'll admit it. I went on to YouTube today and watched Shut Up. Don't spear me!

Holding On/My Uncreativity

This is my new favourite song.

So essentially, my day has consisted of not too much. Little overthinking today, excessive happiness, and inhabiting the world of Day. I love this song, and I [sob] can't get it. Lack of money is aggravating me.

Anyway, as I am quite uncreative tonight, I'm going to just post the lyrics of the linked song, Holding On.

A million and one thousand things are screaming in my head
And I can't seem to forget, can't stop thinking about you
I could ride across the sky in a bicycle built for two
Could you teach me how to ride, like you taught me how to feel alive?

And not a single day goes by when I don't wish for you
To watch me pause to find the words to steal your heart away
But I'll play every word back round and round to try and find
A clue you might have left behind to say you feel the same

And even if I know
I'll never be your Leo
I'll keep holding on

A hundred and three thousand ghosts are laughing in my dreams
My eyes are failing me, everywhere I look I see you
I could bake a chocolate cake for you with tiers up to the moon
Could you show me how it's done, like you showed me how to fall in love?

You'll never see that I'm the one who never left you
When you needed me to cry to 'cos your heart got broke again
So I'll play until the strings on my guitar give out,
And I'll be aching from the pain of trying to pretend

And even if I know
I'll never be your Leo
I'll keep holding on

I'd like to say that this is hugely meaningful to me, but honestly, it's not. I just am in awe at how the lyrics and the music are twined together to produce such a beautiful song, and thus... yeah.

G'night.

Songs to knit to

So I have embraced my inner nana, and have decided to knit. Besides bringing back memories of Year 9 Textiles where Emily and I would converse, and slowly realise everyone had some weird interest in our conversations (which generally ranged from tigers to drawing to, possibly, Oprah's shenanigans), it also brings back memories of being scolded by my own nana for failing so badly at knitting so badly:

Me: Nana, I made a mistake...

[It isn't a mistake. Unless it's a mistake like accidentally driving a car into a river after falling asleep at the wheel is.]

Nana: Ay, carumba, nieta, what have you done?!

Me: Well, I don't know. It started wrapping around and now it won't get off.

Nana: WHY DID YOU DO IT?!

Me: [frozen in fear]

Nana: Ya. Nada mas para ti.

Me: No more knitting?

Nana: Not unless I am... como se llama? With you.

So knitting for me, by myself, is a big step. Emily came over to refresh my memory, and she was a far nicer tutor than my nana. Maybe it’s Chilean grandmothers versus nice, English-heritaged Emilies, but she sat patiently and didn’t even scowl when I somehow dropped a stitch.

Now I am a knitting machine.

I am contemplating making this scarf a bit taller than myself (well, 30cm taller than myself, shush) so when I wrap it around my neck it comes to mid thigh. Or something.

Anyway, for good rhythm in the art of knitting, I recommend listening to Take on Me, that iconic tune by a-ha, because as he hits that high note, you begin feeling something. A sort of, I can accomplish anything. Talking to that guy who I may or may not be crushing on? A breeze. Finding a job? Equally breezy. Knitting? Heck yes, because as Morten Harket stretches out that note, you can knit for all mankind. That plinky-synth section? Loop, tie, next.

Also good is Da Ya Think I’m Sexy, by N-Trance. I can’t do the Rod Stewart one, cause it’s traumatic. Sorry, Rod, but I don’t think you’re sexy, so it makes it a little difficult to listen to without shuddering. But the beat of N-Trance’s one, well, I DO THINK YOU’RE SEXY AND YOU ARE HELPING ME KNIT ONE SEXY, WHITE, LACY SCARF.

Saucy? Yes. Yes it is.

Maybe Love Shack? That actually gets me dancing. And it gets an awesome momentum going on the stitches. Especially when the guy who looks like my ex-librarian in primary school talks about his Chrysler seating twenty… well, really, if you can’t knit to that, I don’t know what you can knit to.

Catch My Disease, well, bam on, Ben Lee. Plink on that xylophone. Do your groove, Ben Lee. I’m knitting. And that is the way I like it.

Coffeepots of Doom.

I suppose there’s a good thing about having a mother in the food industry – not only is there ample food in the kitchen when I decide to return home (avoiding my brother’s smoke-infused daal is always a good thing), but when I also decide that I should be barista trained, she is there.

My mother teaches hospitality at a school, and while I’m still wondering why I’m awake at 9am, it does make for easy training when one is broke.

So this morning has consisted of:

7am – flee the vicinity of my house to the warm car. Proceed to howl in pain when my mother rolls down windows as we zoom along the highway.

7.30am – stalk Woolworths, hunting down my mother. For reasons unbeknownst to me, she is in the cooler section, wearing a t-shirt. I am the idiot who is shivering in the bakery section (the most heat) whilst wearing a jacket, a scarf, a cardigan, and jeans. Oh, and a beanie.

At least I look stylish.

8.15am – drag various shopping items inside. Attempt to plug Ethernet cables (or, as my mother calls them, “those big long blue cords that stick into the side of your laptop”) into Lupin to get internet. Lupin is up for helping me, but today is where I curse schools having secure net.

8.30am – my father calls. I inform him that my mother does not want to speak to him, and instead, he should drive the hour from Ballina to Lismore to help me. He laughs. He hangs up. I feel shunned.

8.35am – my mother hands me an apron, and tells me to start attempting to make coffees. I instead try tying my hair and the apron so I look as ‘industry’, as it were, as possible. My mother notes this with a hint of sarcasm. “You look quite the part, Tash.” I choose to take the moral high ground and accept her compliments, as barbed as they are.

8.40am – my mother teaches me the gentle art of coffee making. And it is quite easy… though she hasn’t let me start making them with milk. Plus side? Not burned.

8:50am – I escape back here.

8.55am – my mother returns. Proud of my efforts, she rewards me with internet.

NO BOREDOM! HUZZAH!

9.01am – sadly return to Lupin. Unfortunately, in my haste, and my mother’s haste to conduct homeroom, I do not have a password. Hacking would take far longer than it would to simply wait 10 minutes and ask her, unless – no. It’s not the same as last time I visited. I rue having a father who is an IT man and understands his daughter has a weird ability to remember passwords. But wait! She returns! And taps in a password, denies me a lamington (for 10 minutes) and leaves.

I love my mama.

Yet I don’t love the school network. WHAT IS THIS?! WHY THE BLATANT LACK OF CONNECTION?!

I assume that the school wireless will connect come 9.15, when classes begin. Or whenever they begin.

Hang on, why am I still wearing an apron?

9.39am – I am summoned from the heat of the storeroom to continue making coffees. Unfortunately, classes have now begun in the textiles room. The milk-frother thingo is emitting a loud, high-pitched squeal which my mother is periodically shouting at me to, “Make stop”. Apparently this is an unnatural sound, but the whine is unstoppable unless you turn the frother off. Which then leaves me standing stupidly at a coffee machine, holding a jug of lukewarm milk.

So logic dictates that the machine must whine for the desired result. I emphatically turn the machine back on, and my mother appears at my side in almost a whirl. “I told you to stop that noise!”

I can’t stop, I inform her. Unless a lack of coffee is what she wants?

She does not. She tugs the jug from my limp hands and thrusts the frother into it.

The machine whines.

Apparently, when my mother tries it, the machine must be broken or having an off day.

9.43am – the other teacher who lives in the food rooms leans against the doorway and asks, above the machine’s petulant squealing, how I’m going. I reply honestly. “I don’t know if I’m failing or not.” The woman seems to regard this as me jokingly referring to my mother testing me. She is apparently unaware that I use fail to describe many social situations.

Fail – to err.

Fail – to completely suck at something.

Fail – to be the epitome of the above descriptions.

I am erring in the art of milk frothing, and I therefore suck at making coffees, and as a result, I am a fail in the barista world.

9.47am – for some reason, I feel like I’ve been eating Jaffas. Not the case. I have sculled a hot chocolate, though, and feel woozy.

The textiles students next door have an iPod playing. I’m trying to work out, by their playlist, if the owner is one of those people who tries to get all music that seems vaguely ‘cool’ but isn’t so out of everyone’s knowledge sphere that they’re perceived as a musical pariah, so as to seem ‘cool’ by association. By the inclusion of Kate Miller-Heidke, and The Kooks’ Naive, I believe this to be the case. If Vampire Weekend makes an appearance, we have stumbled across one of those who is increasingly populating the world.

I am filled with disgust.

Mainly because, in regards to music, I am incapable of liking a band/artist that anyone likes. Exclusions: The Beatles, Snow Patrol and Coldplay, but they receive enough flak (the Beatles amongst those my own age) that I’m comfortable liking them. Because of those described above, this is becoming difficult. I am now reduced to hunting through soundtracks, to myspace music-ing random names in the hope I’ll find awesomeness, Triple J Unearthing, and going back in time. I fear one day soon all I’ll have left to listen to is classical music. And I’m well on my way. Hans Zimmer appears many a time in my iTunes playlists, and always is met with a, “What… is… this…?”

If I can get a “What… is… this…?” from people, I deem it good enough to like, or a, “Eugh, why?!”

Notable exceptions to my rule: Justin Bieber, and Miley Cyrus. The day they appear on my playlist is the day I plunge from the Storey Bridge.

9.55am – rants.

My mother returneth! Computer for meeee!