Thursday, January 31, 2008
#30: Podcast Episode One
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
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
#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.
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
Monday, January 28, 2008
#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
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
Saturday, January 26, 2008
#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
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
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
#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
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
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
#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
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
Saturday, January 19, 2008
#24: Podcast
So I'm thinking of starting a podcast, recording my University adventures.
Any ideas for what it should be called?
Lovemeg
Any ideas for what it should be called?
Lovemeg
Friday, January 18, 2008
#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
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
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
#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.
...
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.
...
Saturday, January 12, 2008
#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
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
Thursday, January 10, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
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
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
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Number Seventeen: Sales
So I'm confused.
Right at this moment, children are running into Officeworks and picking out Bratz pencilcases and Harry Potter backpacks and Faber-Castel texters. I remember indulging in this process for thirteen years of my life, however now find myself at a loss. What am I meant to go buy for Uni? I think this year I'll have to go a little easier on the colour-coded notepads and highlighters. But maybe I will need all those things, plus more. Who is to judge, really? I always seem to over compensate on stationary and the like when the back-to-school sales are on. I buy a year diary and deck it out in all of my details, colour-code it out into weeks, write everyone's Birthdays in it... I'm very good at tricking myself into a false sense of security regarding my work ethic for the year ahead.
However, I am determined to make this year my most organised. I am determined to stay motivated for more than 2 weeks. I can see myself falling into old habits of last-minute jobs, but I was told by a UTS advisor that this characteristic is a vivd strength of journalists so perhaps I shouldn't change my ways at all. It is hard to know how to prepare for such a different environment, but I'm thinking I should go in over-prepared so I'm not dealt any unsettling surprises.
I also might go check out the sales later on this week. There's always a bargin to be found; usually on an item that you'll buy on impulse and only use once. To tame the beast of consumerism is to restrict personality.
According to the sales assistants, that is.
Lovemeg
Right at this moment, children are running into Officeworks and picking out Bratz pencilcases and Harry Potter backpacks and Faber-Castel texters. I remember indulging in this process for thirteen years of my life, however now find myself at a loss. What am I meant to go buy for Uni? I think this year I'll have to go a little easier on the colour-coded notepads and highlighters. But maybe I will need all those things, plus more. Who is to judge, really? I always seem to over compensate on stationary and the like when the back-to-school sales are on. I buy a year diary and deck it out in all of my details, colour-code it out into weeks, write everyone's Birthdays in it... I'm very good at tricking myself into a false sense of security regarding my work ethic for the year ahead.
However, I am determined to make this year my most organised. I am determined to stay motivated for more than 2 weeks. I can see myself falling into old habits of last-minute jobs, but I was told by a UTS advisor that this characteristic is a vivd strength of journalists so perhaps I shouldn't change my ways at all. It is hard to know how to prepare for such a different environment, but I'm thinking I should go in over-prepared so I'm not dealt any unsettling surprises.
I also might go check out the sales later on this week. There's always a bargin to be found; usually on an item that you'll buy on impulse and only use once. To tame the beast of consumerism is to restrict personality.
According to the sales assistants, that is.
Lovemeg
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Number Seventeen: MySpace
So my poll has finished.
It's finally official: MySpace is more popular than Facebook. In light of these results, I thought I would discuss the topic of social networking. I am a member of both MySpace and Facebook, and had short stints with Bebo and Hi5 in the past. Even though it seems to be the most virused and abused by 13 year olds with their fluoro pink backgrounds and glitter writing, MySpace is the easiest site to use, in my opinion. I know that I have been able to connect with people I haven't seen in ages, and even though I probably won't catch up with them in person ever again, it's still a fulfilling feeling to know that people are thinking about you.
Talking about connecting with people, don't you hate it when you're having a conversation with someone and they try and finish your sentence? You are making a statement and these people say the last few words with you. I must say, I take guilty pleasure in making fools of these people: once I realise that my words are being overshadowed by a backup singer/sayer, I try to start a generic phrase then end it with an unusual resolution.
Sometimes you just have to think on your feet.
Lovemeg
It's finally official: MySpace is more popular than Facebook. In light of these results, I thought I would discuss the topic of social networking. I am a member of both MySpace and Facebook, and had short stints with Bebo and Hi5 in the past. Even though it seems to be the most virused and abused by 13 year olds with their fluoro pink backgrounds and glitter writing, MySpace is the easiest site to use, in my opinion. I know that I have been able to connect with people I haven't seen in ages, and even though I probably won't catch up with them in person ever again, it's still a fulfilling feeling to know that people are thinking about you.
Talking about connecting with people, don't you hate it when you're having a conversation with someone and they try and finish your sentence? You are making a statement and these people say the last few words with you. I must say, I take guilty pleasure in making fools of these people: once I realise that my words are being overshadowed by a backup singer/sayer, I try to start a generic phrase then end it with an unusual resolution.
Sometimes you just have to think on your feet.
Lovemeg
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Number Sixteen: 2008
So another year has passed by.
I must say, last night was brilliant. Even though I made a fool of myself on more than one occassion, I had a bucketload of fun. After travelling back and forth throughout the City of Sydney, we arrived at the Manning Bar for Purple Sneakers. Dancing crazily to Sparkadia, counting down the new year five minutes early with Dappled Cities, vodka and Red Bull drinks, racing backstage with Dorrell and then subsequently stalking the guitar/accordian player from Sparkadia, getting kicked out really early in the night and having to pee in the bushes, Gabrielle telling me that we could leave because she had successfully hooked in with a random called Peter, Maryanna's mermaid bra... All great memories. From what I can remember, anyway.
I've never gone into the City to be apart of the New Years festivities, however, I must say, they have a well organised system running in there. We didn't come across any trouble makers, all the streets were lit up fairly brightly, there was many a policeman around, and overall it seemed like a real community event. It seemed that the majority of people roaming the streets were of our age with a minority of family groups, which was contrary to my prior beliefs about the night. I thought that most young adults would be packed into clubs and the harbour would be the family domain, but it didn't seem that way.
Don't you just love checking your sent messages after a night of heavy drinking and wondering why you said certain inappropriate things?
I become a big drama queen when drunk; please don't take me seriously.
Lovemeg
I must say, last night was brilliant. Even though I made a fool of myself on more than one occassion, I had a bucketload of fun. After travelling back and forth throughout the City of Sydney, we arrived at the Manning Bar for Purple Sneakers. Dancing crazily to Sparkadia, counting down the new year five minutes early with Dappled Cities, vodka and Red Bull drinks, racing backstage with Dorrell and then subsequently stalking the guitar/accordian player from Sparkadia, getting kicked out really early in the night and having to pee in the bushes, Gabrielle telling me that we could leave because she had successfully hooked in with a random called Peter, Maryanna's mermaid bra... All great memories. From what I can remember, anyway.
I've never gone into the City to be apart of the New Years festivities, however, I must say, they have a well organised system running in there. We didn't come across any trouble makers, all the streets were lit up fairly brightly, there was many a policeman around, and overall it seemed like a real community event. It seemed that the majority of people roaming the streets were of our age with a minority of family groups, which was contrary to my prior beliefs about the night. I thought that most young adults would be packed into clubs and the harbour would be the family domain, but it didn't seem that way.
Don't you just love checking your sent messages after a night of heavy drinking and wondering why you said certain inappropriate things?
I become a big drama queen when drunk; please don't take me seriously.
Lovemeg
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
