#73: Tests and Tribulations

So it's been a while.

However, I couldn't stay away for any longer as I feel the overwhelming need to vent to you all. I am going to follow a tangent that is somewhat out of the ordinary. To the average teenager, the fact that an obstacle in life is actually a breeze would be an absolute gift, however I find myself fairly outraged about the HPT examination sat to progress from my P1 to P2 license.

Basically, this test seemed to be created by a 5-year-old. The person is shown a series of clips, viewing the road through the windscreen as if sitting in the driver's seat. You touch the screen if you think an action should be taken, such as slowing down or making a right-hand turn at an intersection (actually, those are the only two things they ask you to do). The practicality of this computer-based text is almost nil, as the person sitting the test can easily pass it by pressing the screen immediately for the ones where deceleration is needed and not pressing the screen at all when deciding the best time to begin making a right-hand turn. The stigma around red-p-platers seems to disappear once you move on to greens, a sense of maturity and respectability follows you as you overtake an unplated car rather than disdain and disgust. Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy that I can now load up my car with a lot more drunkards past the 23rd hour, but I think society needs to take a good look at itself when it demeans reds when greens are so easy to obtain.

The idiot behind the wheel is still the same, doesn't matter if they're covered by red or green.



Lovemeg

#72: Tedious Ramblings

So I have a dilemma.

I find that even when I get a full night of sleep, I'm still extremely lethargic. A few times today I've stood up and felt like I was going to topple over again due to lightheadedness, which I knew isn't due to a lack of blood sugar because I eat like a diabetic now because of Joel (Mmm so much junkfood in his cupboard, which now everyone has the pin code too). Oh well, I'll try again tonight to go to bed early, but I think I'll find that I still won't be able to have one of those TV wake-ups (You know, the whole stretch-up-high-and-big-yawn,-jump-right-out-of-bed days). I think it may possibly be the coldness of Bathurst getting to me. I am slowly acclimatising to the temperature here, however I think I might possibly keel over and die when the snow comes.

Oh, and I think you should all visit http://peaspodcast.blogspot.com/ if you haven't already.



Lovemeg

#71: Apologies

So I deleted the last post.

Apologies to all of those who I hurt.



Lovemeg

#70: Broken Promises

So basically, I fail.

I made all these promises to myself the other week. I was going to wake up early and finish my assignments off so I wouldn't be in a mad rush like I was at the end of last term. But, somehow, I find myself with a tonne of work that still has to be completed for next week. I know that my best work is produced when I'm under pressure, however the looming ghoul of exams is starting to send chills down my spine.

Hold on.



Lovemeg

#69: Good News Week

So the news that I've been promising you all is finally here.

Elise and I have decided to combine our powers into one to save the planet! Well, actually, just to create a random podcast that doesn't particularly centre on anything. Due to the difficulty we are having with hosting websites, the official site is still not up, however I can provide you with a direct link to the sound file. The podcast will be uploaded to iTunes within the next few days, so sit tight.

Episode One - Tangents

Happy listening.



Lovemeg

#68: Hit the Nail on the Head

So this song basically sums up my life right now.

Plus I love Sparkadia. Someone buy me their album.





Seriously.



Lovemeg

#67: Forget Me Not

So basically I'm the worst blogger in the world.

A fair bit has happened in the last few weeks, however I'm not going to post about them because I wouldn't be doing the events complete justice. Instead, I'm going to post the article I wrote for the Uni magazine yesterday. I promise from now on I will post every day, even if it's just a sentence...

What’s on the Box?

“Quitting is hard. Not quitting is harder”

Well, der. If you’re stupid enough to smoke a pack-a-day, of course your rotten lungs are going to find it hard to quit. And that’s exactly what I don’t want to see while I’m eating.

The increasing amount of gory ads during “dinner time”, including gangrene-ridden feet, weeping mouth cancer and the afore mentioned blackened lungs, is really impacting on my quality time in front of the idiot box. The notion of “shock” ads is certainly an interesting one, generally showing the actors lying in a surgery, looking forlorn with a greenish overlay utilised to provoke emotions of helplessness. Their eyes, glistening with Vaseline, look deep into the camera and plead with you to quit the cigs. If the people of the world stopped smoking, these ads would be banished. But now it’s not just lung cancer that draws attention. The sponge dripping with black dye that was on high rotation a couple of years back has been overtaken by Sally and her malignant mole. Like a huge, white blob residing under the skin, the skin cancer has taken over the rest of her body. Cancerous cells have spread to the ends of every limb. Her back is split open, blood and guts spewing out all over the operating theatre. Mmm. Appetising.

Flick to Channel 7 and 9. Today Tonight and A Current Affair cop a lot of flak for their lack of quality journalism, however you have to acknowledge the hard work of the Corren and Grimshaw teams to come up with such gripping gore stories every week. You change the channel over and suddenly- MISHAPEN BOOB JOB or CHEMICAL FACE PEEL GONE WRONG or BABY WITHOUT A FACE… Que the reappearance of the food I only just swallowed. Just when you think there is no where else for these tabloids to go, they find someone else with a gruesome story: a tale of twisted limbs, brutal attacks or birth defects. My patience grows thinner and thinner.

Flick to Channel 10. Surely there’s something stomachable on there. Seriously. Trusty old soapies won’t bring up any subject matter dangerous to my gag-reflex. After being an avid watcher of Neighbours during my junior high school years, I decided to sit down the other evening and see if I could pick up on the story lines following a lengthy hiatus. Not long into the show, I realised that this would be impossible. The influx of new characters has transformed Ramsay Street into Slutville. Imogen Bailey? Really? Why the heck is a person with a reputation like hers even allowed to be shown during prime time? It is also not humanly possible to gather that many blonde women in one place, and there is nothing worse than 20-year-olds pretending to be hormonal, sexually-charged teenagers, decked out in Cotton On prints and last year’s hairstyles. Gag me with a spoon.

Overall, television programming during the time you sit down to eat dinner is ridiculous. Sure, ABC news is probably the most sensible option, but after watching commercial news at 6, I just need some soft, light-hearted, bloodless viewing. And I definitely can’t turn to SBS for that, where every story contains a factor of death or destruction. Here is my predicament… But it gets worse…

So, will Big Brother be the saviour of dinner time TV?

I don’t think so!



Lovemeg

#66: Puffy Eyes over the Long Weekend

So I'm sick.

I had avoided it for so long. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could dodge the viral bullets being sprayed towards me by my dormies, but apparently my armour wasn't strong enough. Yes, I have the common cold. However, how much of a pain in the backside can it be? You know, it's just a scratchy throat, a blocked nose and extremely warm eye temperature... Ugh.

I pushed through 10 hours of work on ANZAC day. Think of the money. Think of the money.



Lovemeg

#65: Finding my Footing

So I just went down to dining hall.

I'm looking for a job in Bathurst because this situation is really getting me down. Exhaustion is not strong enough a word to describe the state of consciousness I am currently experiencing. The late nights, the stress of not having time to finish work, the lack of food and water intake; I just can't do it anymore. Plus my marks won't be high enough to keep this scholarship if I don't have time to finish assignments.

So dining hall seemed like a great choice. Short shifts, many vacancies, set hours that don't interfere with night life, and no holiday work. The problem with Uni students in Bathurst is that no businesses want us because they know we got back to our home towns every holidays. However, dining hall wouldn't need me during the holidays. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Oh, and as I was filling out my application form, that girl walked by.

I almost fainted in embarrassment.



Lovemeg

#64: Lucky Number

So I don't know how many of you know this, but my lucky number is 64.

I haven't had time to write in here very often due to the hoards of homework I am acquiring. However, I have a big rant blog coming. Oh, and also BIG news.

Stay tuned.



Lovemeg

#63: Operator Operator Please

So I'm not ashamed.

All will be revealed as you read on, if it hasn't already been unveiled by my chosen title. I feel I shouldn't have to justify my actions to any of you. I like Operator Please, and I'm proud of it. Sure, Ping Pong is possibly the most idiotic song ever written but their unreleased singles are very accomplished.

So off to the Metro we went. I haven't gone to anything with Elise in a while so it was great to catch up. After a long drive of gossip and psychology, we arrived to a throng of fluoro t-shirts and three-quarter tights, a crowd of people (especially girls) who were all shorter than me. I don't know if this image was a breath of fresh air or somewhat of an embarrassment. Elise and I complained all night about our clearly apparent maturity over the children that surrounded us, a comment on our cynicism of anything and everything. It was impossible to not feel a little marginalised for being old, rather than being intimidated at all-ages gig when I was younger; an interesting swap in roles. I made myself concentrate on what I had been waiting patiently for for a couple of weeks: Flamingo Crash and Sarah.

Flamingo Crash have been on the top of my iTunes list for a while now, but I have always been too young to go see them, hence the irony of seeing them now when I am of age at an all-ages gig. Minus a guitarist from their last EP, the 4-piece broke out on to stage imbued with an energy that flooded the audience. It was easy to tell that the majority of the audience had never even heard of this band, but it was good to see everyone getting into it. The lead singer seemed like one of those class clowns that is just there to entertain, introducing his band members as Michael J Fox and Velma from Scooby Doo (which were surprisingly accurate descriptions). I take great enjoyment watching the faces of drummers, who seem to be the musician in every band who is forced to concentrate the most. The FC drummer was hilarious, constantly screwing up his face to make fish-lips. The keyboardist Cate was definitely the most talented musician on stage (or maybe I just have something for keyboardists) and the guitarist's smile lit up the room. Yes?Yes?Yes? was a big highlight for me, as well as Shoot the Lights Out, of course, however I was disappointed they didn't play anything from their Animal/Animal Economy EP, namely Vamp at the Wax Party. It wasn't to be. The lead singer has such a resonant voice, complimenting the avant-guard style of lyricism, and I felt a constant connection between him and his audience. Praise Flamingo!

I had high expectations of Little Red after hearing about their sound from Olivia. I'm still unsure as to whether I like them or not. They walked on to stage rather nonchalantly, and that really set the mood for their set. It looked as if they had waltzed straight out of St Aloysius College choir, armed themselves with putrid tinned beer (VB at that). I had never seen skinny jeans fit around a man's waist before, but this wasn't the only first. I don't know what the trend is with bands these days who swap their singers around, and I'm usually a big fan of this, however I found there were sometimes too many harmonies and too many changes in pace for this band. There were two really good singers, one being the rhythm guitarist who never took the main part in a song, and a bluey who was great at pulling the bad smell face. The drummer looked like a little brother, vying for the audience's attention, never faltering in his cheerful smile. There was also just a guy wandering around a stage with a tambourine: he couldn't really sing that well, he didn't acknowledge the audience at all and looked at least 5 years older than everyone else. Overall, I think the image that is burned into my retina that taints their musicianship in my mind is of the entire band turning their backs at the end of every song, mostly even before they had finished.

After being disappointed at Big Day Out, I was hoping that the band would lift their game in light of their name on the headline. And this certainly came through. The band was up to their usual mischief, dancing and jumping around, still covering Devo's Whip It as they have for a while now. Amandah was wearing some horrible stockings that didn't compliment her physique, but she was much more modest on this occasion than she has been in the past. Taylor and Timmy looked cute as usual, but they are still too timid for me to take them seriously. Ashley seemed much more in the moment, interacting with the other members without the arrogant hair flicks. But I am unable to really comment on the other members very much, as my eyes were firmly locked on Sarah. The longer hair, the oversized t-shirt, the Pure Blonde. Everything. But she was rather drunk, and there was one song (Ghost I think), where she went totally off-beat but I may have been the only one that noticed seeing as I can usually differentiate every instrument through the blast of noise.

But the absolutely highlight of the night was meeting Thom Yorke. Well, not really. One of their roadies looked exactly like him, slinking around the back of the stage as we called out "THOM YORKE! OK COMPUTER! THE ERASER!" at him. Apparently Sarah had told him the exact same thing just before they went on stage according to a MySpace message I received from her a day later. No one else in the mosh pit seemed to know what we were going on about, but I'll blame that on their median age.




Two thumbs up.



Lovemeg

#62: Grease Lightning

So fast food is shit. Literally.

There are many comparisons between fast food and human excretion. You may wonder why I am drawing such a line. Yes, this is scare tactics. Deep fried, greasy food goes through various processes, hence why it is referred to as processed food. The food we eat also goes through various digestive processes as it passes through the body, thus it would too be considered as a processed food. In conclusion, all people who serve fast food are no better than those who scoop up elephant droppings at the zoo.

Dedicated to all the long-fake-nailed, glitter-eyeshadow-wearing counter bitches around the world.



Lovemeg

#61: The Life Plan

So I feel like there's a lot to cover.

I was reading a source brought to my attention by my Journalism Principles lecturer. I find it rather amusing that this speech was given by a guy to UTS students and is about my subject co-ordinator. Such a small world.

Excerpt from a talk to UTS Journalism Students by Ross Gittins, Economics Editor, The Sydney Morning Herald. March 10, 2008.

"I want to tell you two stories I think are relevant to our purposes. The first concerns a question asked at almost every interview of people seeking a job in journalism: why do you want to be a journalist? Most people’s answer is ‘because I love to write’ or ‘because I love working with people’. Wrong answer. Journalists hear those answers all the time, but they’re cynical people and they hate it when you say that. Let me tell you the perfect answer: I want to be a journalist because I’m a stickybeak and a gossip. Can you think why that’s the perfect answer? Because that’s what journalists are and what they do. The media only ever hire trainee journalists for one reason: to be reporters. And reporters are people who get their kicks finding out really interesting things about other people and then broadcasting those things to the world. The human species has been interested in stories and gossip since we lived in caves. And ‘news’ is just a modern, mechanised, commercialised form of gossip - whether it’s gossip about a bank robbery, a cricket match, the economy, BHP’s plan to takeover Rio Tinto or the latest adventures of Paris Hilton.

The second story comes from a guy who worked on the Herald for a long time and now teaches journalism at Charles Sturt University in Bathurst, Chris McGillion. One day he asked the woman in charge of all the recruiting of journalists for News Limited what kind of person they were looking for. She replied, someone who knows when the second world war ended. What did she mean by that? Someone with good general knowledge. Someone who knows a bit about a lot of subjects. Someone who knows a bit of history, someone who knows ‘the story so far’ - that is, someone who’s taken the trouble to find out about what happened in Australia and the world before they were old enough to start taking an interest - the story so far.

Journalists are curious people, people with a thirst to find out about things, people with broad interests and broad knowledge. A good candidate for serious (or hard) journalism would be interested in and know a fair bit about history, politics, current affairs. Someone who’s already a voracious consumer of the news media. But these days newspapers and commercial current affairs programs also contain a lot of lifestyle sections. So we also need candidates who know a lot about the subject matter of soft journalism: fashion, restaurants, music and CDs, dance clubs, television, films and DVDs. In fact, all of those things come under the heading of fashion, of knowing what’s hip. Increasingly, the media is in the fashion business - telling people what’s the latest in every leisure area."

I knew it. I knew I was a huge gossip for a reason.

The last part of this excerpt really grabbed me. The whole concept of being worldly knowledgeable is definitely not new to me, but it suddenly dawned on me how in with it I really have to be. I have to know about everything that's fashionable in all sectors of public life.

So I declare a moratorium on laziness and intend to learn about all of these areas. I've set up a new blog to report on all the different topics outlined, discussing something new that I discover each week.

New blog with new found motivation. Done.

Praise Gordon Ramsay.



Lovemeg

#60: Embarrassment

So I am never posting an unedited blog ever again.

That thing (for lack of a more powerful word) was atrocious on second reading, and I feel the need to apologise to all of you for making you sit through it. I apologise profusely.

Now I feel dirty after reading that.



Lovemeg

#59: Dear Diary

So various occurrences have occurred recently during my life.

I am currently in my first week of mid-semester break, enjoying a goon-free existence. I miss my dormies already, showing how much they have become apart of my life. However, it has been good catching up with old mates and catching up with the goings-on and gossip and such.

I usually write these blogs by splashing all the random thoughts and memories I have on to the page, then go back and edit the events into chronological or thematic order. However, I have decided to just go with the flow and write what comes to mind without additional editing. You know, just for the hell of it.

The last week of Uni was hectic. Fully hectic, brah. Amidst the rush of assignments, I found myself having minimal sleep, minimal intake of food and minimal work planning. There was a night there where I was finishing off this assignment that I severely underestimated, falling asleep on the floor due to severe exhaustion, my notes plastered to my face. However, I finished all of my assignments and think I gave a good swing at them. The Mini-Final Fling was jam-packed with interesting encounters, including Tay's delicious pancakes (leaving me wondering how she makes them the size of the pan without screwing them up), hair-straightening (yes, I decided to not be lazy), Piss-Pop drunkeness, treks to Kylie's room, dancing in GHL with those faces I'd always seen but never knew, coming out to like a thousand people, and having this guy rub his lower regions against my back in some form of dance move. Good night all in all, with only a bottle of Passion-Pop, two bottles of beer and three vodka sunrises under my belt.

I haven’t been to parties reminiscent of my high-schooling days recently, and I’m finding myself really craving a Bob get together. You know, one of those huge, roll-in-the-luscious-carpet, make-strange-cocktails, continuously-wander-around-maze-of-his-house parties. But I had to settle for a small gathering at Hayley’s, another pastime I’ve been deprived of for months. After turning up late, I arrived to an interesting welcome. I haven’t been greeted by a hoard of people for a long time, but there was a handful of hugs awaiting me at the door. I felt loved. And continued to feel so through the night. Possibly a little too much in the end. I don’t particularly feel as if I should recount every detail but here are some random occurrences from the night:

Tanya was there. I miss her so much at Uni. You really feel the time spend away from your best friend when you're in a different town. This must be what it's like to go on one of those overseas holidays away from everything that you know.

Geoff has a new squeeze. Tall. Blonde. Stubble. Sexy Sam got the tick of approval from me. And witnessing the foreplay between them as they wrestled on the carpet in the living room gave me an insight into gay male relationships.

Hayley ended up getting that job at the sex shop. I don't know why she finds it so appealing.

I witnessed Gabrielle barf pink into the toilet. That'll teach her for drinking Black Cruisers.

Camelia apparently chain smokes now, which I don’t find that surprising at all. I seem to have a tolerance to second hand smoke these days; I wonder what my lungs look like on the inside.

I never thought that the dux of a grade would drop out of Uni to join Greenpeace, but that's our Dorrell.

Tsing Tao is good Chinese Beer. And it's fun to throw. I currently have an obsession with splashing beer on people. So perhaps it's better for you to stay away from me if you see me drinking beer. It doesn't have the same effect with out drinks; only beer makes the lasting impression I intend it to have.

There was a hand down my pants at some point in the evening and it wasn't mine. I can see this experience having repercussions.

Geoff decided to punch a door, leaving this large crater, cracking the white paint and denting the wood. He always acts upon some strange emotion when he has been drinking, becoming aggressively confident in himself. I don't know whether this is a good or bad thing for him.

I can remember nachos. Well-made nachos at that.

Sleeping with Tanya and Gabrielle in a double bed was rather warm, and I discussed with my friends the positives of sleeping naked, and soon ended up in my underwear. To my surprise I was joined by Gabrielle, who then tried on my pants. I woke up the next morning still without my clothes, a single sleeping bag covering all of us, and cans of red bear surrounding the bed.

And the night wouldn't have been complete without me hurting myself. After hiding in a corner, I was thrust backwards, momentum carrying my limp body to through the air, my head slamming against Hayley's desk. But never fear, Doctor Tanya was on the case, at the scene in a jiffy with a bag of frozen peas to halt the growth of scar tissue on my skull. Unfortunately for Hayley's floor, the bag had a hole in it and frozen peas went every where. The ones that caught in my clothes appeared around the house the next morning. Don't you love finding random peas everywhere?

Should I buy the entire collection of the L Word on DVD? Hmm, but I also feel like getting Sex and the City and Outrageous Fortune too. So much TV watching.

Elise and myself are going to the local Operator Please gig next week. I know I personally cop a lot of flack for supporting them, but youth-driven, piano pop really pushes my buttons. Is that OK with you? Is it? Perhaps it stems from my own desire to be a famous musician and can picture the music I create sounding something like OP. Oh well, Flamingo Crash and Little Red are supporting so I believe it will be a very well-rounded gig.

I attended a humanities class at UTS last Friday with Maryanna. Why, I hear you ask. Because I can. Maryanna’s Uni buddies even questioned my objectives, however I gave them the same answer I will give you now: I need closure. I need to know I’ve made the right choice by attending a rural University. I need to know I’m not missing out on some metropolitan vibe emitted by the long-standing and reputable structures in the city. And apparently, I’m not missing anything. I shall discuss my findings in another blog after I visit Sydney Uni later this week.

I really need to run more. I feel so lethargic without daily exercise. I also miss my running buddies and all the inside jokes we had, all the practical jokes we played

Y'all should try chewing on some peppermint-flavoured gum with peach-flavoured ice tea. The sensation definitely sums up my past 2 weeks.

In a round about way.



Lovemeg

#58: Long Time Coming

So I haven't been here in a long time.

Sorry for the lack of bloggage, my adoring fans. A lot has happened in the past few weeks.

A promise of a new installment is on the cards for tomorrow.

Until then.



Lovemeg

#57: Three Hours isn't a Cure

So I really don't know which people I should associate with and which I shouldn't.

I thought that coming to University, the majority of people would be like me when it came to essays: simple to follow structure, correct referencing, accurate grammar and spelling, sophisticated sentences, and not a conjunction in sight. However, this belief seems to continue to fail. After swapping some of my essays with some of my other dormies, it is hard for my to grasp how these people survived the HSC. I suppose all of you who go to a City University who began their course knowing that everyone else around them would have had to got above a certain UAI to be even sitting in that lecture theatre, unlike myself who is surrounded by a rough bunch of kids.

On the other hand, there are various people in my course who are above average intelligence, and I seem to not live near any of them. It pains me to think that even though I completed much of the work for the group presentation we had today, and had clearly set out the workload of the other three people in my group, I still was left picking up the pieces off the floor. Our group sucked big time today. It was the presentation that went along with our Lip Sync, and even though I did all of the paper work concerning our research, costuming, stage directions, inspiration, initial ideas and references, and the skeleton for the power-point, I was left to finish off half of the speech and the entire cover sheet which had been assigned to other group members to share the workload. Then, instead of reading the notes and then expanding on them, I found myself standing in front of the tutorial with a bunch of readers. I'm seriously considering putting in a work discrepancy form. But something is stopping me.

Pride should go jump.



Lovemeg

#56: Familiar Faces

So I have come to another conclusion about life.

There are many people you might see wandering around, who you know from your past, you might have even had a pretty good friendship at one point, but you pretend you don't know them as you walk by to avoid awkward conversation with them. These people you have usually only met once, or were friends with when you were really little. You form an unusual bond with them during the time it takes for you to cross paths once you've spotted them. You may smile or slightly raise your hand to wave at them, but recoil once you see their eyeline travel past yours, bowing your head and hurriedly scuttling past. Sometimes both parties might show an awkward curl of the lip, thinking to themselves "Where do I know that person from?" as bodies pass.

However, there are some people who confidently and strongly say "Hello" or the like, even if they continue to walk without even slowing down. Even though the moment is brief, you have still been recognised as a human being.

I am that person.



Lovemeg

#55: Punk is a bit Daft

So Around the World by Daft Punk is playing again for the 20th time today.

There is so many times you can listen to certain songs. Some people say that every song has this quality, but I tend to disagree on this issue. Not all tunes have a play-by date. Brent is attempting to mix One More Time with it, and because I am well versed in the editing process (of movies and songs), I can sense his painstaking process.

I'm attempting to get an early night, lying in my bed with the lights off at 9.30. However, with this racket, I've decided to continue with my politics essay. It's hard to craft out a thought-through response when you actually don't have much clue of what is expected.

But I suppose that's the task at hand.



Lovemeg

#54: Dark Circles Under The Eyes

So I have another toileting issue.

It might sound like I have a weird obsession with this necessary bodily function, however I find myself thinking about this every time I find myself on the loo; the porcelain throne; the toot. Does anyone else (and I'm mainly talking to the girls here) feel embarrassed when you're sitting, minding your own business, with someone else in the cubicle next to you and all you hear is silence? Neither person wants to break this with the sound of fluid excreting from their belows, concluding in continued discomfort for both parties. I even find it harder to start peeing sometimes when I know that someone else is listening.

My issues aside, I'm currently in my room, craving an early night. I know this doesn't sound like the regular desire for a Uni student, especially one that lives right in the thick of it, however after a late night of assignmenting and general staying up (code for being force to watch Lost by bffl Joel) too late has finally caught up to me. However, I did realise that if I dig into my studies, I can write a decent 500 word essay in just under an hour. Minus the research of course. I retain the knowledge that I'm free to stay in Bathurst for two additional days than usual due to my roster not calling for my attendance until Saturday, meaning St Pat's Ball, here I come. Many photos to be taken.

Speaking of work, apparently St Marys' Band Club rates at number 56 on the most violent clubs and pubs list, according to the Herald. But you know, at least it's not in the top 20 like Bloc, Panthers and, the perennial favourite, Embo. Behind the bar isn't violent at all: only prissy, homophobic idiots back here.

I can feel myself merging into the culture.



Lovemeg

#53: The First Article

So I wrote a little article for the student magazine.

Not sure if it has been accepted yet, but I thought I'd give you a peek anyway. The theme for the issue is "Chinese Whispers".


"“So, what do you think of the first years?”

This is the question on everyone’s lips. While wandering around the campus, it is hard not to accidentally overhear the conversations returners indulge in, discussing the new kids on the block. Words like “quiet” and “reserved” are thrown down like dirty socks behind a common room couch, however I am not convinced that our full potential has been reached in regards to campus reputation.

Many people seem to not notice a novice in the crowd due to our perceived silence, although there are various characteristics of a first year that differentiate us from our returning counterparts. We still wear our best clothes to class everyday as if we are in a fashion parade for Myer, not having transitioned to the stage of loosely fitting yoga pants, pyjama tops and over-sized Corey-esque sunglasses that is sported by the students observably experienced in early morning sessions. We turn up to the Uni Bar as early as possible after finishing a hard day full of tutorials we booked one after another thinking it was a race, leaving us with so much time on our hands through the rest of the week. And we live off a diet of 2-minute noodles and cup-a-soups.

We may do our readings and show up to lectures, but we are just like everyone else; not in the mood for work when we should be, and in the mood for a party when we shouldn’t be. We’re still learning the ropes, and you may need to be patient with us because we don’t have a 30-day money back guarantee. We’re like puppies: cuddly, cute, excitable, scared of lightning and unfalteringly curious.

And if you put in the time to train us, we won’t pee all over the house."

We sure won't.



Lovemeg

#52: Lights and Sounds

So Colours wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

Sure, it got rather busy around midnight, but it was highly bearable. Sure, there was a 30 all-in brawl right in the middle of the dance floor, but I was safely tucked behind the bar and not in the line of fire. And the music was a bit homie-g at times, but at least it had a beat.

My legs are getting pretty sore though. I don't do much walking; it's just the pressure placed on the balls of my feet that gets to me. However, you should all visit me one night. I believe I'm on most Fridays. St Mary's Band Club.

Be there.



Lovemeg

#51: Pyjama Weekends

So when I come back to Penrith, I don't wear clothes.

I have to always trek off to work pretty much as soon as I wake up because of the awkward hours, so I spend my days on my computer, completing assignments and downloading music I'm not allowed to access through the Uni network, just dressed in my pyjamas. I feel rather greasy even though I've only just had a shower. I feel tired even though I've only just woken up. It's funny how certain items of clothing can make you feel different ways. Formal clothes make you feel uptight and uncomfortable. Casual clothes make you just want to lounge around. But pj's have this eternal force to make your teeth feel furry and your bones feel cold.

I'm currently watching "The Bucket List" and have decided Morgan Freeman has the best narrator voice. The storyline is rather interesting too: making a list about everything you want to do before you die. I think I might make one of them.

One day. Soon.



Lovemeg

#50: Podcast Episode Four

So barf is a horrible word.

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Have fun kids. Hope you feel better than I do.




Lovemeg

#49: First for Everything

So my work environment is really starting to come out of its shell.

I knew that the smiling faces and generosity of the patrons would be short lived. Sure, the majority of the customers are fine, but I've had a few interesting encounters lately with 30-something year-old men wanting my number. I find it weird being picked up in such a sense mainly because it has never happened to me before (because I'm not overtly slutty or a hottie like Gabrielle) and I'm busy working, not sitting/hanging off the bar like a desperate. But you just say you've got a boyfriend and they go away without too much fuss (apart from kissing your hand and saying "You can pour my wine ANYtime" *insert sleazy double eyebrow raise*).

I heard the funniest pick up line and come-back last night too.

Drunk Guy: "Hey, I'm Josh. I'm single."
Drunk Girl: "Hey, I'm Cath and I'm gay."

It made me laugh in between yawns. Working from 10pm-4.15am is hard work. Your body just starts to slow down after about 2am, and you're expected to pour drinks into cups and put cash into tills and roll up mats and wipe up spills and cut up lemons and stock up fridges... I feel tired just recounting it all. And amongst all that, you need to judge who has already had too much, hide from angry bitch managers and try to appear fine when other middle-aged workers decide to touch you all the time.

At least it pays well.



Lovemeg

#48: Wipe It

So some people are scum.

I have various pet peeves, but one of my biggest is when people pee on toilet seats. Whenever I walk into the toilet, there is an increasing chance that there will be drops of urine on the seat. It only takes two extra pieces of toilet paper, people. Sometimes even just one piece. I don't want to sit on your wee, biatches.

Anyway, here's some entertainment.



Back to trying to do these assignemnts before my horrid work hours later tonight. I ain't a 9-to-5-er; I'm a 9pm-to-4.30am-er.

Woot.




Lovemeg

#47: Podcast Episode Three

So here it is as promised.

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Featuring Lover Joel and Maryanna via text message.




Lovemeg

#46: Tackling the Past

So I'm back in Bathurst after a tiring four day stint in Penrith.

I worked 24 hours behind the bar during this short time, which I'm hoping will earn me the "mega bucks" as one of the patrons put it (Obviously a play-on-words concerning my name. I think...). However, as pay doesn't come through until Wednesday, I have to budget for the first 3 days at Uni every week, meaning less drinks at the bar on Tuesday night and less carrots in my vegetable cooler.

After work on Saturday, I attended Tom's 18th Birthday bash, something I had been looking forward to all week. I'd get to see everyone, boast about my adventures in University Land and just relax. I, however, felt rather underwhelmed after the affair. I feel that perhaps the outcome of the night may have altered if I had join in with the drinking festivities, however I was glad I didn't after the sight of Russell's demise.

I just found that there were only a few people who I enjoyed seeing. The others I couldn't have cared less about. It was not too long into the night until I found myself sitting with Jess, discussing CSU, instead of mingling with the past chapter in my life. This was a very unsettling emotion for me: I truly missed a handful of people and was glad I had had the chance to catch up with them. But for the rest, the conversations bored me, the personalities seemed too mundane, the immaturity in the faces of people unsettled me.

I feel old.



Lovemeg

#45: Around the World Soundtracks

So this is my room.



That is all.



Lovemeg

#44: Reframing Learning

So this is what I have to do at Uni.

Hitler Rap


Freeze Frame


Bambi Meets Godzilla


Internet is for Porn


Chinese Backstreet Boys


Life is good when you get to watch YouTube videos for homework.



Lovemeg

#43: Surprise Wake-Up Call

So I didn't go out last night, unlike my dormies.

It was the opening of DK, the pool club that occurs at the Oxford Hotel weekly, and everyone who was anyone was attending. I didn't go mainly because I figured I had already killed enough braincells this week, plus I wasn't feeling all that crash hot. Instead, I had a great night in with Lauren and Hayley.

I'm a heavy sleeper and only woke up once, however was informed this morning that there were a few lads hooning around in our cottage in the early morning hours. I left my room thinking that there would be the usual mess around the house, but was surprised at what was actually waiting for me.

I've devised a poll for all of you to guess what I saw. Please participate, and I shall reveal the answer in my next podcast.



Lovemeg

#42: Lost and Found

So I'm in a better mood now.

I ended up at the Uni Bar this afternoon and was presented with my wallet, in an untouched position. My faith in the generousity and honourability of the CSU-ians continues to be strengthened, and I am currently sitting at my desk in a content state. I've begun researching for my first essay, slowly pouring out my political position on to a piece of paper. Just like draining ear wax.

Except more messy.



Lovemeg

#41: Heavy Heads

So I got bit drunk last night.

Some would probably say too drunk. But Returners' Night is a bit of a big deal. And a big deal it turned out to be.

The night started with a canceled dorm meeting that everyone showed up to believing it was still going ahead, due to the lack of advertising by our RA's. However, the pizza still came, and everyone was dressed up for the theme of the night: Anything But Clothes. Before you jump down into the proverbial alligator-infested sewer, most people were wearing garbage bags, Passion-Pop cartons, those reusable Supre enviro bags... I covered myself in newspaper, however as it slowly ripped away, I decided to pretend I was part of Wyndradine (or is it Windradyne?) where the theme was Tight and Bright.

After downing a fair bit of Skyy vodka and three shots of cheap tequila while playing Mario and Sonic Olympics on the Wii, we headed down to the Uni Bar how I somehow dodged the radar of the scrawny, rat-tailed bouncers. I was already totally off my face so I really don't understand how I was able to get in. After telling Jess I would always remember her name even when I was drunk and telling Beth I was sure I'd run against her before (even though she still denies it), I got a call from Olivia. Even though I can't remember all that much from our conversation, Liv, thank you so much for calling; it was great to hear your voice.

I have two stamps on my arm, meaning I entered the Uni Bar twice. I recall going through the bouncers twice, but I don't know why I went outside. Toilet break perhaps. That minor detail aside, the major fault of my evening was not taking a bag to the bar. My wallet must have popped right out of my pocket, meaning I have to cancel all my cards and have no way to get home, no way to get credit and no money full stop. Hopefully I can work out something rather soon.

Otherwise I'll be stuck here for life.



Lovemeg

#40: Bare Walls

Dear Internet,

I am experiencing a change in setting and am interested in your services to alleviate the senseless void developing in my psyche.

All people experience sensations of being new. An amateur. Beginning at square one. I am prepared for the oncoming changes organised to occur in my life over the oncoming years, however still wish to reach out to what I know best. My past. My habits. My home.

I live in Cottage J situated in the Bathurst Diggings residency and am having difficulty transforming my 10x5 metre box into a comforting and space-maximising abode. I need what is familiar to really amp up the homely setting required to exist here for the next year.

All of my friends who have visited my room in Penrith realise I have a heightened appreciation for band pictures cut out of the Drum Media, photos of friends and the God-send that is Blu-Tack. I cannot survive without covering my immediate surroundings with reminders of the past, stagnate with markings from those happier times. Times to remember and cherish when life takes a turn for the worse.

My request is that your minions, dear Internet, send me articles to place on my walls to lift my spirits and improve the decor in my room. I pose to the readers a challenge: send me a piece of paper with a single word written on it. It can be any word you wish, as long as it has some significance to your relationship with me. On my next Podcast of Vlog, I will attempt to identify which word matches with which friend, ultimately providing myself and my subscribers with a bond-strengthening experience.

So if there’s anybody out there, feeling somethin', send me a line. Or a word, rather. Don't hold back.

Yours sincerely,



Lovemeg

Post to:
MEG ELIZABETH EBELT
CHARLES STURT UNIVERSITY
LPO BOX 8059
BATHURST, NSW 2795


(Lolz at Potbelleez reference. I r smrt.)

#39: Low Bass Thuds

Saturday 16 February


So it’s 1:30am.

I’m definitely turning into a morning person; I can’t handle these late night anymore. My newest dormie has turned his music off after seeing me wander towards my room, and taking into account how much he has looked after me tonight, I can see a healthy relationship in the future. Brenton is a diamond in the rough I think. He’s a DJ, decked out in the most geometrically patterned metro gear available on the market, but he’s also from Hay. I dare you to come up with a better paradox than that. However, regardless of his history, he seems like a really nice guy, staying at home with me on my first night back, introducing me to some of the people he stayed with last year over a game of Wii golf.

Living on campus I believe will be a step in the right direction for me. Existing away from my selective high school upbringing and plunging into true adolescent reality is going to be a journey. I’ve already learnt that profanity cannot be used enough. Drinking never becomes tired. And no one is a virgin.

This time next year I’m sure I will fit the mould.

But do I want to?



Lovemeg

#38: Greetings from Home

Thursday 14 February


So CSU internet is annoying.

I really wanted to blog as much as possibly possible during this week, however incompatibility issues arose to disrupt my future plans from taking place. Apparently. The web browser Safari isn’t very welcome on the CSU network, hence my inability to email, post, podcast or vlog.

However, I now have Firefox on my laptop and should be able to quench your burning desire for Meg gossip from now on. To be blatantly truthful, I don’t have any particularly interesting gossip, rather just stories to tell of the week that passed. It is hard to remember everything that happened during O Week due to the frantic pace of the activities, but I will try to recall the most exciting events in as thorough detail as I can muster.

The town revolves around the Uni. The discounts they provide students are countless, with almost all outlets providing some kind of aid for us tertiary educated kids, ranging from bank accounts to ice cream, from cheap grog to cheap swimming pool membership, from not looking twice at a bunch of us screaming “I’m a little teapot” at the height of our inhalation to knowing what the theme was that night at the Uni Bar when we placed an order for 60 metres of material. After reading the preceding sentence back, I believe an explanation is in order, but keep up (Come on, I had to during this week). Most banks set up stalls on the central lawn on Wednesday, offering student account, as well as other information set-ups such as NRMA and student exchange. If you want really nice gluten-free ice cream, got to Annies’. There is always a venue for pre-drinks before a Uni bar night, providing Happy Hours and discount beer/cocktails for us adolescent alcoholics. $9 per week unlimited visits to the local pool. During the Mystery Bus Tour, we were forced to sing nursery rhymes at the tops of our lungs to please our leaders, which was obviously not surprising to the Bathurst residents who jeered and cheered. Spotlight, Salvo’s, Bargin Bin and Vinnies’ seem like the places to be for Bar dress up nights.

Basically, the community spirit is not only drilled into the new students of the college, but rather ingrained into their psyche through constant reminders of our togetherness through isolation. Everyone will say hi to you as you walk along the path to sign up for the week’s tutorials, however, it is only possible to connect with others if you take the time to understand the differing views. The journalism students seem like the most interesting to me, but that might just be my own preferences. Let’s see what happens when the returner’s make their… return.

I’m predicting a transformed atmosphere when I arrive back at my Bathurst home.



Lovemeg

(P.S. If you wish to contact me, do not hesitate to call me on 0263387582 or send me snail mail at CSU, LPO Box 8059, Bathurst NSW 2795)

#37: Greetings from Bathurst

Tuesday 12 February



So I’m officially a Uni student.

I am currently sitting on the couch in my dorm, writing this blog in a word document as my computer has decided to not connect into the network. Life without the internet has been reasonably easy for me, after years upon years of addiction, but I still really need an outlet to vent my deepest, darkest feelings about the universe.

I am currently sitting here with Hayley, one of my dormies, discussing schoolies and skin cancer. My dorm mates are the best I could have ever wished for: my room is next to Joel’s, a guy who loves to party and walk into my room looking awkward. Up the other end of the cottage are Hayley and Lauren, two very open and talkative girls who I can see myself becoming very close to. They’re all very tidy and considerate while keen to make friends.

What I found so easy about this entire experience was what I thought I would find the hardest: making friends. It’s an even playing field; no one knows anyone else and when you’re all thrown together to make up a special dorm dance to show off at the Uni Bar that night, you are forced to socialise. In my RA group (All the way with IJK) there is a fabulous array of people: from all areas around the place, including Mr KK from Russia (That’s his nickname because none of us can pronounce his real name). Our RA (Residential Advisor), Mandy, is possibly one of the most excitable people around. She’s a second year nursing student, however she is over 20. I think it’s a job I wouldn’t mind putting my hand up for next year.

I’ll post more later.



Lovemeg

#36: Rainbow Suitcase

So packing is an intricate process.

I’m currently sitting on my bed, surrounded by every colour of the material rainbow, scrunching up my nose in an attempt to avoid the dust that has sprung from the depths of my wardrobe, reclining backwards in defeat.

I’ve always been a brilliant packer. However, I have never had to pack this much of my life into a small bag. The logistics of this process is thoroughly complex: due to my plan to live on campus for four days of the week and exist at home for the remaining three, I have come to the conclusion I need certain supplies in Bathurst and here in Penrith. Sure, it’s easy to organise double toiletries and cooking/eating utensils. But what about clothes? Shoes? Undies? Socks?

I’m thinking I will take all items of clothing that I own, and then take a small backpack that acts as a vessel for my weekend clothes that I shall pick on each Friday before I leave. I’m setting up camp in a new place, and instead of feeling like I’ll be returning home to Penrith every weekend, I foresee myself mentally preparing to leave for a weekend away at work. Not a weekend at home.

Basically, it’ll be like a weekly holiday. And you will all be there on holidays with me, meaning that it in essence, Penrith will act as a retreat. An exciting place. Reinvented. An escape. Well, that’s what I’m hoping will happen. Make it fall into place, people.

Meanwhile, my pants aren’t responding to my requests for them to move, hence giving me more room on my bed to lay down and meditate. Lazy ass pants.



Lovemeg

#35: "Hi, I'm a Mac..."

So Macbooks are addictive.

I'm sitting on the floor of my living room, the screen glare illuminating my face as I hunch over my new gleaming Macbook. I have derived much enjoyment from exploring the programs and applications that are presented to me, while figuring out the differences between this system and my beloved PC. I have discovered that the only main difference between the two is that Macs seem to be tailored to the younger generation. With the flashy graphics that bend and twist over the page when you quit them, or the icons that bob incessantly when they become active (eg. When a new email is received, the email icon springs into action), Macs are certainly much more exciting than the dusty, traditional PC.

I have never owed a laptop in my life, but the freedom I am experiencing makes me feel like a real journalist. To be able to sit amongst nature while tapping rhythms of information into cyberspace is empowering and motivating.

It makes blogging really enjoyable.



Lovemeg

#34: Politics

So the outline for my Australian History and Politics core course has been posted on the official CSU website.

Here is the summary:

First Essay (compulsary) - Due 19 March - 35%
Second Essay (optional) - Due 15 May
Research Exercise - Due 22 May - 20%
Multiple Choice Exam - Exam Period - 10% (must pass)
Written Exam - Exam Period - 35%
Forum Participation - Throughout Year - Bonus 5%

The last line refers to the online forums set up for this subject in which students studying the course are required to participate in discussions on various topics concerning Australian Politics. I'm glad that Mr Howie introduced me to this form of interaction last year through our Exension English One wiki: I was an avid contributor to those threads, and I can see myself settling back into this mode fairly quickly.

Now, I don't have much of a political view: I am a sheep of generation Y who voted Rudd to shun the stale atmosphere that was clouding around Howard's policies (however, I am not implying that all Rudd votes have this mindset). As I am all for free speech, I would really like to hear your views on my first essay topic. Of course I will not be using these opinions within my piece, however rather to help me flesh out my own beliefs. Please feel free to comment this blog and leave a brief answer to the essay question, refute views put forth by others and just establish general discussion. You don't need a blogger account to comment my blog: just click on the "Add Comment" button, and post under either an "Anonymous" user or create a nickname.

Here's the question: What has shaped your current political position?

Look forward to hearing from you.



Lovemeg

#33: Podcast Episode Two

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Apologies for the ramblings about shorts.



Lovemeg

#32: Networking Troubles

So I think MySpace decided to delete my personal profile.

If it doesn't work in the next few days, I think I'm going to have to start a new one. I'm certainly looking forward to wasting lots of time on the net just to add everyone again.



Lovemeg

#31: Working Hard

So I got a job.

Being employed it much better than I thought it would be. After hearing all the tales of boredom you people spit, I expected a long night. But I surprised myself.

Working at the St Marys' Band Club is a rather easy job: cleaning, bar work, general organisation. Stuff that doesn't take too much effort. The hardest part of my new part-time occupation is remembering the troupe of workers' names. There's a lot of them. I befriended Anne on Friday, helping her behind the bar and learning what all the regular patrons order. Then I met Glen on Saturday night, a tall, bleach-blond, late-twenties guy who asked me if I was gay within an hour. How straight-forward the people of St Marys are.

I'm not a regular gambler. I've played the pokies twice, losing $10 in my entire history of gaming. I knew that some people had gambling addictions and it was a major factor influencing suicide rates, however I didn't realise the extent of this problem until last night. My shift spanned from 8p.m. to 2a.m. and throughout the night there were fluctuations in crowds around the bar and pokies section I was working in. At 7p.m., the amount of people reached its height as almost all of the 189 machines were occupied, and there were still at least 15 people there when I signed off for the night. Who plays the slots at 2 in the morning? That image has basically rid me any desire to ever gamble.

Haven't seen the real colours of the club yet, and I'm not just talking about their Friday nightclub called Colours. There was one disorderly man thrown out last night by security but he caused minimal chaos. I'm hoping that all nights go as smoothly as the one I just experienced.

Otherwise, I'll have to get my ninja groove on.



Lovemeg

#30: Podcast Episode One

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So basically I don't know how to add this to iTunes.

I think it might cost money to share it with that server, so I'm going to stick with my current host site. Please use the player above to listen to the first episode of my Podcast.

It is probable that it won't blow your mind.



Lovemeg

#29: Shout Out

So school starts back today.

As much as I want to go to my nearest school and yell at the top of my lungs "AHAHAHAHAHA YOU HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL, SUCKERS!!", I believe I might force the kindergarteners to lose control of their bladders. It feel really weird not having to go back. I'm used to having all of my stationary by now, organising my notebooks into subjects, psyching myself up for a big year ahead. However, I'm feeling rather empty today.

I'm sure that this hollow feeling will disappear in 2 weeks when I move to Bathurst. I have to go shopping soon for utensils, cutlery, plates and such, as well as cool alternative clothes so I can gain the reputation of "that awesome Sydney indy chick". I also need to talk my parentals into buying a MacBook for me so I'm able to blog from Uni (Oh, and to do assignments too, of course), and this deal is looking much more appetising for my father seeing as the Apple site is currently giving away iPod Nanos with the laptop. That plus my student discount shows a very good chance of me talking him into it this weekend.

In other news, I've decided to start writing letters to people who inspire me. I remember I started this back last year when I wrote to my primary school principal about aiding me with my PIP research. However, I didn't just write a short note asking for permission to interview students, rather detailing my progress through high school because I had an image of him telling the congregation at the year 6 farewell that they enjoyed hearing from ex-students. I feel like I should also write to my first primary school, see if there are still teachers there who taught me all those years ago. I bet there is.

However, I decided to build on this thought. I've begun emailing and messaging bands and musical artists that I admire. Now I know that these people are probably swamped up to their earlobes in fan mail, but I know that mine will be able to stand out. You all know how I write: you've heard me say speaches that kiss other peoples' behinds and you know that this method will be used for these messages. I know that my speils may not get written, but they will be written all the same.

I've currently written to Ben Lee, Sarah Blasko and Sarah Gardiner from Operator Please (No, not the fat one), and plan on contacting Gotye (Ah, Wally...), Patience Hodgson from the Grates, Beth Ditto from the Gossip, Red Riders, Bridezilla and Franz. I've already received a reply from Miss Gardiner, so there is still hope that I might receive feedback from the others, maybe even the international ones. This is why MySpace is such an innovation: the link between artist and fan is so much shorter and stronger, and even if I just get a reply from their management, I know that my message will get to the artist somehow even if I don't get a personal reply.

I think I'll write to Rosie Beaton. And possibly other Triple J hosts because they all seem like pretty down to earth people. The kind to reply to messages. And I'm going to write to politicians when I develope more of a policital conscience, which I think is a side that arrives with the main meal of University.

Let's see how many replies I can gather.



Lovemeg

#28: Unanswered Polls

So I've had a couple of polls on here lately that I haven't explained or analysed.

The Paris Hilton one I've had up for the past week relates to the fleeting thought I had recently about the lack of news about her at the moment. A few years back, she was on the cover of every magazine and on the lips of every tabloid journalist, however has slumped into the background lately. I began to think about how she was really represented. All intellegent lifeforms realise that gossip magazines are full of sensationalised rumours, and I personally think that Brittany has become the new Paris. Sure, they're both immature and spoilt, but are they as bad as the media make them out to be?

The ulterior motive of tabloid mags is to sell pages, therefore I came to feel that perhaps Paris wasn't as bad as her reputation spits. She's done pornography. She's slept with all these famous men. She abuses her designer dogs. However, at least she hasn't gone absolutely bonkers over the constant spotlight, and has even managed to avoid it for a few years. Maybe I'm giving her more leeway on the issue because of my exposure to the social monster that is Ms Spears. That's why I took it to you guys instead, and it was clear from the beginning that none of you had any faith in her at all. I praise the other individual who voted that she wasn't as bad, although I do see where the rest of you are coming from.

The other poll I conducted was about your favourite sauce. Tomato has always been the classic favourite, however I was wondering if people were beginning to change their preferences to new, stylised sauces like sweet chili. But tomato still prevailed. How disappointing. I voted for Barbeque myself, even though it is also made out of tomatoes, ironic as that may seem. But then again, I suppose a sauce that actually tasted like a greasy, steel barbeque with burn pieces of sausage skin stuck to it wouldn't taste that friendly.

Now on to the next poll.



Lovemeg

#27: My Big Day Out

So it's Australia day.

I'm currently sitting back and listening to the Triple J Hottest 100. The chart is up to number 21 now, and hearing the original version of the salmon dance rather than the Ministry version is very refreshing. A few of my songs have already found their way into the countdown, including Hold Music by Architecture in Helsinki and Pogo by Digitalism, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Vitriol by Bluejuice to crack the top 10.

Yesterday was the Sydney Big Day Out, a highly anticipated event on my calender. I made sure I dressed in my best indy gear (straight from the Op-Shop of course) and got there early as to catch Dappled Cities. Unlike last time I saw them, I was sober and not doing inappropriate things, able to enjoy the outstanding musicianship of this fabulous band. It was a picturesque setting, lazing on the lawn with hundreds of other punters, with the sounds of Holy Chord ringing true in the background. They're not much for entertainers, but they sure can play a good chord.

With the sounds of the repulsive British India on my tail, I raced to the Blue stage where a crowd was gathering for Operator Please. I somehow got my backpack through security and made it to within 5 rows from the barrier, only to see all these small children gathering on side stage. They all resembled members of them band. See this is a downfall of being an only child: I have no famous siblings to follow around. No one to get me backstage passes to their concerts. The set was very flat, all members appearing rather bored. Perhaps the novelty of being rockstars is wearing off due to their level of maturity. However, they did play a cover of Whip It, which was hilarious.

I traveled across to the V Energy Local Produce Stage to catch a few songs from the Soft Tigers, at first mistaking them for cut off your hands. They were pretty average: I was planning on buying their album a few months back, but decided against it because they appeared to have Expatriate Syndrome (also known as unoriginality). All they had going for them really was an interesting dress sense.

The Hot House played host to Grafton Primary, an electro trio I only recently discovered. The lead singer was possibly the skinniest man in the history of the known world, the "keytarist" looked a tad like Julian from the Presets, and the drummer didn't seem to be doing much. However, their sound overrided their lack of presence and I couldn't stop myself from dancing for the entire set. Watch out for these guys because I reckon they're on the way up.

Belles Will Ring didn't impress me too much when they supported the Red Riders half way through last year, but from the set they produced yesterday, I think it must have just been my overpowering anticipation for my favourite band that didn't give this group a chance. Less a keyboardist and a harmonica in C (they had to ask the crowd for one, and suprisingly, someone had what they were looking for), the boys showed their versatility through a marvellous array of songs. They definitely sounded better than what they do on their album.

After dancing around to Polyester Girl by Regurgitator on the Blue Stage, I made my way across to meet Elise for some spoonage... Before I go any further, yank your head out of the gutter; all I meant was that we were watching UK sensation Spoon together, gosh. The string of songs that proceeded were certainly sensational, bringing to light my desperate to purchase their most recent album, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. They did, however, play a couple of songs from their album Gimme Fiction, one that has been on high rotation on my iPod for two years now. And when I thought it couldn't get any better, they finished with The Way We Get By. The entire crowd swayed to this liberating classic and reminded me of why I am such a follower of UK pop.

Still laughing about the lead singer of Spoon calling a security guard a "dipshit" for spraying the audience when it wasn't even hot, Elise and I marched to the local stage to see Bridezilla in all of their colourful, vintage-turned-trashy glory. The lead singer, supporting a bleach blonde do, had much better diction this time than Homebake. The chemistry between the violinist and the saxophonist was mystifying, even at one point seeing them sit on top of each other in some kind of erotic embrace. The huge fans on each side of the stage provided dramatic sequences of struggle and anguish, complimenting the copious amounts of eyeliner that occupied the stage. I like them. A lot.

PNAU impressed me at Homebake, however this time I made sure I got into the action, heading deep inside the boiler room. I soon became rather jealous of the winners of the Triple J competition where the prize was to dress up as a character and jump around on stage. There was a wild strawberry, a seemingly dead bird, a sun, a diamond, a love heart, a lightning bolt... possibly something else as well. The stage was imbued with colour and movement, encouraging people of all dance abilities to break out in a rhythm. There was a dirty looking man beside me who kept smiling a toothless smile at me, shuffling his feet side to side while moving his arms in a fashion that resembled our primate relatives. As much as I was freaked out by his constant staring, I noticed that the music was letting everyone enjoy themselves. I might be going out on a limb here and may change my mind soon, but I think PNAU come a close second in my list of favourite acts (I'm taking points off because their lead singer, who resembles Wolverine, needs to learn that shirts are an acceptable dress code).

Eating dinner while being politically serenaded by Billy Bragg was an interesting experience. He definitely knows how to talk. He reminded me so much of Brady. Maz and I sat on the outskirts of the crowd for Battles, a band that I had heard much praise for. However, I was persuaded by their set at all. Their noise experimentation didn't stir any emotion in me and I found myself bored within five minutes. I know there are a lot of people out there who are in awe of the talent Battles possesses, but I just didn't dig it.

After making a hasty retreat from the Green Stage and picking up a Lemonade for some bootleg vodka mixer, we found ourselves in the main arena for Arcade Fire. I haven't listened to Funeral in such a long time, and I haven't heard anything off Neon Bible, so I found their sound really refreshing. The mini orchestra they create was fascinating. I don't know how they can coordinate so many instruments into a sound that dripped solidarity. The harmonies, the rhythms, the pulsing beats. Everything was brilliant. The show stepped up in excitement when we realised Luke Steele was standing right behind us. Being the huge Sleepy Jackson fans we are, Maz and I took candid photos of the man, only to discover that Murray from the Wiggles was standing right next to him. I must say, I was rather star struck. Murray looked so different not dressed in red.

Many people would probably call me crazy for not wanting to see Rage Against the Machine, however I've just never been much of a fan of their aggressive punk rock rap mixture. Instead I went to the Converse Essential stage to get a good position for Sarah Blasko. And I didn't just get a good spot, I had a fantastic view of the stage: on the barrier smack bang in the middle. Feeling as if my legs were about to fall off from standing up for almost twelve hours straight and having to endure the shrieking from Brand New, I knew the pain was all worth it when she stepped on to the stage. I have never been so mesmerised in my life. I could not take my eyes off her. She's so shy, yet so encapsulating. She dragged me into every song that came from her lips, and she earned her place at the top of my best acts list. I'm so glad I got to see her after missing her at Homebake. She definitely has a way with words that makes me feel so complicated.

Carl Cox reminds me of Ainsley. You know, that over zealous cook from England who is unable to how a pose that doesn't brandish his shimmering white teeth. For a man of his size, I expected a deep, masculine voice to resonate, however found myself laughing at a rather high cockney accent. Listening to his set while looking for my comrades made me feel like I was on drugs. Lost, confused, blinded by the lasers scanning the crowd. I still don't know if that is a good or bad thing.

It was a pretty good day, topped off by fabulous weather. It didn't live up to my impression of Homebake, but I have a feeling that Bjork may have helped the day surpass that expectation. But she was absent. I chuckled when I saw this guy wearing an "RIP Bjork" singlet.

Also, don't try to say "break" and "rest" at the same time. Consequences ensue.



Lovemeg

#26: Mr Ledger

So a week after I watch Brokeback Mountain, Heath ledger dies.

Does this mean that next week Jennifer Beals and Kevin Bacon will also kick the proverbial bucket? I must have a death-ray stare that penetrates television screens and attacks the actors whose characters I am intrigued by, wrapping its icy cold claws around their hearts that beat the sound of living.

And yes, everything is about me.

RIP Mr Ledger.



Lovemeg

#25: She's a Maniac

So strobe lights can cause brain damage.

You know when you pretend you know about something that is integral to popular culture that all of your friends seem to understand except you? I have decided that I am going to begin learning about all the perceived social beacons of culture, starting with watching the classic movies I have never seen. I began this torturous road with my dear friends Olivia and Tanya. It began with Jennifer Beals in the cult classic, Flashdance.



Ms Beals is my idol. The phenomenon of how she can have basically the same body as what is illustrated in the clip above now at the age of forty-four astounds me. But her character on the L Word is totally reversed from Alex the welder; Bette wouldn't dance. Well, only if Jodhi brain washed her into doing it. Anyway, back to the subject at hand; having watched Flashdance, I really cannot comprehend how this weak plot made a name for itself. There is no actual storyline. No real start and end. And why the heck would she be a welder and an exotic dancer at the same time?

Next was Footloose. Kevin Bacon really has a weird shaped face. And appears like a pig when he smiles. Physical features aside, this film also didn't live up to my expectations. Sure, the storyline slightly more fulfilling than Flashdance, however directors really need to learn than twenty-something-year-old actors can't pass for teenagers. Their extremely protrusive mountains of adam's apples and biceps only gained from many years of weight training and puberty give away their age, as well as the matured faces of the women. And no, baggy sweaters can't hide Sarah Jessica Parker's maturity.

Everyone knows Flashdance by the momentous audition scene where Ms Beals dances her little heart out in front of a panel of judges (successfully parodied by a beer company last year), and I thought there would be a duplicate scene in Footloose. I realise the warehouse scene where Mr Bacon is having an anger release by jumping off wheat mills and whatnot is meant to be a emotion-provoking part, but I really was not doing it for me. The concept of a pop culture negated town is alien in this modern day, and I'm sure would've been in the late 80's, however the film could have been more realistic if the protagonist decided to rebel actively (isn't that what we're meant to do anyway?) instead of bouncing off the walls in an abandonned warehouse where no one could see him.



I also watched Saturday Night Fever, which, surprise surprise, didn't live up to my expectations either. The penultimate dance scene of John Travolta in his white suit, which has been burned into my brain through pop culture folklore and praises from the masses, was actually rather shit. I had always imagined it to be heroic and majestic and portray the sheer empowerment of the finger pointing dance move (you know the one I'm talking about), but he had a black eye and was angsty about his friends' stupidity. So what if he kissed the girl? The ending was weak and the film was and still is too chauvinistic and racist to be considered a classic.

The whole concept of liberation through dance leaves me rather perplexed. I don't feel any more accomplished than what I was at the start of the day; only filling the bottomless void in my library of cultural knowledge.

Now on to the Godfather and Donnie Darko and other pop culture gems that require my cynical eye to grace over their execution.



Lovemeg

#24: Podcast

So I'm thinking of starting a podcast, recording my University adventures.

Any ideas for what it should be called?



Lovemeg

#23: Continuation

So the last blog I started writing on Wednesday then never finished.

I thought to retain the integrity of my emotions, I wouldn't try to finish the blog from a future frame of mind. Offers came out last night, and after almost an hour of white pages came a gleaming body of text proposing a new lifestyle. Charles Sturt wanted me. And it also wanted Harley and Jess, so I felt comforted by the thought that I wouldn't be completely alone.

As I was looking through the application package and the drft orientation timetable, the anxiety of the past few weeks drained away. I now feel totally comfortable with the choice I've made and can't wait to meet the exciting new people in my course.

Over the past few weeks I've tried to isolate myself from my usual socialising patterns to experiment with my coping mechanisms. I am a very social person. I am a self-confessed talk-aholic, play-aholic and go-out-aholic. But over the past two weeks I've tried to keep my movements to a minimum. And I'm really starting to miss people and appreciate the intensity of our friendships. I now realise that these last few weeks that I have in Penrith are pertinent, and even though I've been told on various occassions that I won't want to travel back home every weekend from Bathurst, however I still find myself on the opposite end. I am committed to hearing certain people's voices every week, even if it is just over the phone. Or seeing their style of writing in an email or a letter. Or see their smiling faces.

Even though I find it hard to communicate sometimes; ignoring phone calls, not going out because of my lack of money, or being non-responsive on long train rides, I urge you to realise that this is the way I am in my head. I'm ready to be open again now that all this anxiety is over and my self-confidence has been reinstated.

I'm learning how to be an adult.



Lovemeg

#22: Something to look forward to...

So offers come out tomorrow.

As much as I want to find out where I'm going this year, I keep accidentally saying to people "Oh, I'm hoping to go to University next year... Ehm, I mean this year... Next month actually". I wonder if I'm doing this on purpose or not. I'm really ready to start this new chapter in my life, but maybe I'm still too immature. As Tom would say, I'm unsure. However, this may only be pre-semester jitters.



...

#21: Sydney Classic

So today was one of the most interesting days I've experienced in a while.

I began my first day as an Athletics NSW official by getting lost. I knew that officials were meant to gather in the announcers box, but I didn't realise that there was a special room downstairs. I was soon found by Mary, the woman in charge of all officials, who gave me a purple shirt and a white hat that turned out to be too small. I was assigned to be a track umpire for both meets that were occurring on the day (which basically means I had to stand at a post on the outside of the track and make sure no one ran out of their lanes).

The group of officials is mainly comprised of men, and the average age overall would've been about, oh, 55. Some of them recognised me from all of the events I'd competed in over the years and were interested to hear about what I'd been up to, all looking after me and treating me to their hilarious sense of humour. It's a real community who strive to work with each other and look after the athletes. The first competiton was All-Comers, a weekly competition run by Athletics NSW for club members in this area. I learnt how to set up the hurdles correctly (and have now killed all the nerves in my fingers from over-use while pushing in the spring-loaded buttons that change the height), how to change the numbers on the lap board, and that the outside line of any lane is a part of the lane (therefore if an athlete runs on the inside line of their lane, they are committing an infringment).

However, the real excitement didn't begin until 6.30pm when the Sydney Track Classic commenced. This event is a spectator exhibition, where the top athletes in our country can come to compete and perhaps qualify for the Olympics. Jana Rowlinson (nee Pittman) was there judging the "Little Diva" competition, which included an excess of 100 girls from the ages of 6-10, dressed up in shiny, sparkley costumes, running the home straight with the champion herself. I've never really been much of a fan of Jana and her antics, but it's hard not to feel intimidated by someone so tall and muscular. The next star I saw was Matt Shirvington in the 2x100m relay, wearing this black and silver jumpsuit, staking his territory. There was a false start by one of the competitors, and Mr Shirvington ran through the entire 100 metres, prancing within his lane to reinstate his ego. I was under the impression that I would'nt have to report anyone as there would be no huge errors by these professional athletes, however found myself thrown in the deep end when Matt and his partner didn't exchange the baton within the change-over zone. It was weird seeing that he called out "Go" to his partner (who was also wearing a rather tight jumpsuit) to take-off, and then never was able to catch him. Shows that all greats make mistakes. But I will forever remember the day when I disqualified Matt Shirvington (well, I had to get another one of the officials to write out the report because I wasn't sure of the technicalities of the process, but I was still there).



In the 800 metres, Tamsyn Lewis was in a race full of girls in my age group. It was amazing how one of them was leading her for the first lap, and the others were less than 20 metres behind her in the end. I know 20 metres seems a lot, but these girls are all 18 and Tamsyn has competed in the Olympics already. Olivia Tauro also won the 400 metres, and seeing that she is only 17 (or maybe even 16) and was competing in an open age group division, the scrawny nerdy-looking, glases wearing, piggytailed girl I remember beating in the 100 metres when we were 10, had turned into a tremendous athlete. During warm-up, a few of these faces jogged past me and said hello; it felt good to be appreciated. And remembered.

Does anyone remember Lauren Hewitt? She has competed in the Olympics in the 200 metres before, and she was on a television commercial for Powerade (or was it Staminade?). I hadn't heard anything about her for a few years, and then suddenly, she turned up, sitting next to where I was judging. "How do you think they keep this grass so green?" came her voice from behind me. We talked about the nature of the grass at the Athletics centre, I wished her goodluck, and she was off to the starting line. She won too. Her down-to-earth personality and approachability really put my faith back into these athletes who talk the talk and walk the walk (Or run the run? Or jump the jump? Or throw the throw?). She was definately much more grateful for my help than Mr Shirvington who had just stormed off.

After seeing shot-putter Scotty Martin (He was on an ad when the 2000 Olympics was on, eating potatoes I believe) make the Olympic A qualifying distance (something ridiculous like 21 metres), my sights turned to the crowd. The stadium was packed. It was good to see so many people turn up to support the sport: athletics has never been a very successful sport for Australia mainly because there aren't the numbers of professional competitors that you may see in other sports such as soccer or netball. To see Sally McLellan, a literal unknown to the world circuit, qualify for the Olympics in both the 100 metres and the hurdles was brilliant. But the crowd reaction to her achievement really put my faith back into this sport. My sport.

Tonight showed me that the more you put into something, the more you get out of it.



Lovemeg

Number Twenty: Responsible Service of Drunks

So I achieved my RSA today.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the hospitality requirements for today's working environment, RSA stands for Responsible Service of Alcohol. I decided to acquire mine so I can find night work while at Uni so I'm able to feed myself. Plus, I think working in a bar would be pretty fun. And Maz and myself have decided that we are going to work at Purple Sneakers in the near future, anyway. There is no one more indy than us...

I started the day feeling anxious; unsure of where I was meant to go to find this mysterious training building; smiling to myself about how groovy Tanya's father looked standing on the station with sunlight trickling through his hair and illuminating his designer glasses. My attempts to wake the man sitting next to me on the train, who had fallen into a sleep deeper than the Indian Ocean, failed bitterly and I was forced to climb over him as to alight the train. I was surprised at when I first arrived at the small room where the course was held: out of over twenty people, only three of us were of Australian decent. The others I supposed were foreigners on temporary Visas who were attempting to find work as to survive. There were the Japanese, Chinese, at least ten Frenchmen, Canadians, Lebanese and a handful of Brazillians. I was fortunate enough to make friends with one such man from Brazil: he looked to me to be around twenty-years-old, however was only my height and stature. His hair was something not to be desired, with channels of nothingness created by gushings of gel (one of those '90s messy looks), but his accent made up for his appearence. He told me of how he had left his homeland to live in New Zealand for almost two years, lying to employers at bars about his lack of prior experience and came to Australia in September of last year to discover that he didn't only need experience in this country to serve alcohol, but qualifications to boot. He told me of how I should travel as to find myself.

A man with a name like Denieze Andre Drebe couldn't ever be wrong, and he got me thinking about travelling overseas to "discover" my true self. I've never had an urge to go abroad; I like being around familiar faces and sights and smells and sounds and weather patterns and cultural expetations. I would really love to move out to Bathurst to study, but I would never be willing to live in another country. I think I have the insecurity that I would never have somewhere to return, where at CSU I can just start up a conversation with someone about a typically Aussie topic; like the poor state cricket has found itself in or Ms Gillard's push for a national curriculumn (which I support strongly). You can't get that taste of home in other countries.

But just bceause I've had chocolate cake in the past, doesn't mean I have to live off it for the rest of my life, does it?



Lovemeg

Number Nineteen: All the Way to Bathurst and Back

So no one told you that was gonna be this way.

Erm... So I've been watching too much of Friends. It's not my fault: it's on Arena almost every 3 hours, and then on channel 10 every night. It's my fault that I don't have a job or other activity to occupy me outside my house and am left to watch copius amounts of sitcom television, but I'm not complaining all that much.

On a tangent that isn't completely random, I travelled to Bathurst today to check out their Charles Sturt University campus and I think I'm in love. Yes, it's very country and the rooms remind me of school camps, but I think I could exist there. There's a large indoor sporting facility along with 3 other outdoor fields and a free gym (I repeat: FREE GYM!). I was unable to have much of a squiz at the communications facilities as only the radio station is operational over the Uni break. I really need to think whether I want to study print or broadcast journalism because I believe the course breaks off into those areas after the first year. However, I suppose I will only be able to judge my abilities through experience.

I'm starting to get pretty anxious about University offers, though. I understand that CSU doesn't have a UAI cut off which gives the illusion that it's a sinch to get in. However, after learning of the alumni list scattered with channel 7 and Sky News hot shots, as well as the small intake number, a knot is beginning to form in my stomach. I have the same feeling about UTS as I doubt the course will come down 2 UAI points from last year. Thus, I feel there's a good chance I'll end up in Kingswood at UWS next year.

Nevertheless, Bathurst is a great little community centre. The parks there are brilliantly serene, and the amount of retail shops and pubs lining the streets gives me the heightened hope that I may have more luck finding a job there. And I should find myself back there rather soon after offers are released: O week starts on the 11th of Febuary. I was under the impression that most Universities got back into action well into March, but apparently not.

As much as I'm jumping out of my skin to get there, the date that it starts puts Tropfest in serious doubt.

And I really wanted to see my bad acting on screen.



Lovemeg