Everyone under the radiant southern cross has surely heard of the "Pub Crawl". But has anyone ever considered going on a "Cafe Crawl" instead?
Let's be honest - We live in a society that is equally as bent on caffeine consmption as it is on alcohol consumption, so the Cafe Crawl seems like it should be a natural progression. Surely crawling from Cafe to Cafe, in some kind of caffeine-induced delerium, would be just as thrilling, if not more thrilling, than drunkenly rambling from pub to pub? Surely the gentle and quirky ambiance of each cafe would prove far superior to blaring pub rock from varying decades?
On Saturday morning, I decided it was time to embark on the first ever Cafe Crawl in recorded history. I embarked on the journey alone, armed with a fierce nay blue coat, some cash, a bit of wit and a notepad.
The following is a journal I kept of the experience:
9:52AM - Black Bear Cafe
I'm sitting at the most cramped table at the most bohemian cafe in Bellingen, a town which itself is both cramped and bohemian. I just began the fabled "Cafe Crawl" alone, but alone is really the way I like it. I've recently come to terms with being the biggest and most brooding introvert in history, and I don't see my intense solitude as a bad thing.
I've learnt that a lot of joy comes from spending time alone, with yourself, exploring the world around you through your eyes only. Solititude brings a lot more joy, fulfillment and clarity than being stuck with the wrong company. That's something I learnt the hard way.
Everyone in this cafe seems to be deeply connected, whether it's through friendship, familiarity of frequent intercourse, I don't know.The staff are bursting with life, and their warmth is rivalling that of my capuccino.
I suppose I should actually write about the coffee itself. It's perfect and I don't think I can fault - except the cup it was served in is possibly the smallest cup in existence. The richness of the coffee and the skill with which it was clearly crafted far outweighs my disappointment and it's petite stature. I've been drinking it at a medium pace, taking infrequent sips of water. Though I would love to down this beauty instantly, I have decided it is worth savoruing.
I watch as a gregarious woman booms her coffee order from across the Cafe, very politely yet also with a hint of aggression. I suppose the two combine to show how passionate she is about Coffee. I like this woman.
11:15AM - Tuckshop Bellingen
I never realised that two neighbouring cafes could feel drastically different. The smallest o features, like lighting, music, and design can somehow make mountains of difference in terms of ambiance.
I have a theory that going out for coffee isn't just about the coffee. It's about the ambiance, about how you feel going to that cafe. It's about the coffee experience.
Cafe workers, including myself, have two balance two key ingredients, in my opinion, to make it work. Making it all work takes 1 part good coffee and 1 part good atmosphere. Even the best cup of coffee just want taste as good if I don't feel comfortable sitting down drinking it. Having said that, no amount of flirting with patrons can change the way a bad cup of coffee tastes.
Looking around this cafe, I feel like in a showroom. There's nothing wrong with it, but it just feels a little intimidating. Every surface is sparkling and every wall is pristine white, but there are just no features that catch my eye. There's nothing to stimulate me, or to make me feel comfortable. I feel like this chair doesn't want to be sitting on it. It's arms are cold and unwelcoming, and everything feels dangerously chic.
Although I feel a little out of place here, I can't deny how much I am enjoying this vegetarian sourdough. It's difficult to find vegetarian food, when dining out, that is both edible and substantial. But this roll has hit the spot, quite a few times. Though my capuccino was a tad bitter and served without chocolate, and I find the ambiance a little intimidating, all can be forgiven thanks to the sourdough.
12:36PM - Bean Cafe Bellingen
I'm now up to Coffee number three. I had to yell over the top of a - very passionate - live jazz band to order my coffee, but I don't think that's a bad thing.
As the jazz intensifies, I can feel myself entering into a caffeine-induced delerium. Three coffees is probably a bit much, but I'm on a cafe crawl, and I will drink this third coffee if it's the last thing I do.
I don't exactly feel like all my troubles have fallen away, but instead, I feel the jazz music and I are moving so quickly that the troubles can't keep up. I feel a bit like Chicago's answer to Amelie, but maybe that's just the delerium setting in.
Though I'm at least fifty kilometres away from home, I've still managed to run into two people I went to school with, someone I work with, his mother, and a stallholder who apparently knows me. I visited the local produce markets between coffees today, and the man who sold me potatoes and bananas swore he'd seen me before. After we established that, no, I wasn't in a band, so, no, he hadn't seen me performing, we came to the assumption that we must have met while drunk. We chatted briefly on awkward points of life, before I wandered off, still having no recollection of ever before meeting this guy.
The gentleman across from me was eyeing me off consistently, but I only noticed as he was leaving. He drank a milkshake of unknown flavour, while the woman he sat with had some form of tea. I suppose it would be rather odd to ask the waiting staff what the table had ordered, but I'm just so curious. Perhaps it's all the caffeine making me this way. Perhaps it's finally having some time off. Perhaps it's the live jazz.
I guess the mystery will prove more exciting than knowing anyway.
As I discard my take-away cup and wander, reluctantly, away from the live jazz band, I ponder on what I've done. I have just finished the first Cafe Crawl in recorded history, and dread to think how many shots of coffee I've injested in the process.
As the music fades, I wonder whether I've really made history or if I'm just an idiot. As my heart beats faster and louder than ever before, I decide that both are probably true.
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Monday, 9 June 2014
Brutally Honest Facts
Since high school ended, I found myself in lots of situations I never expected to be in. Sometimes, I've felt like I'm in a prison; at other times, drifting off in space. While in this prison-space continuum, I've learnt a lot of very strange facts about life, the universe, and whatever else there is.
- Most people don't know what they're doing. Everyone is bluffing a little bit, pretending to be a little better at what they do, a little more knowledgeable, or a little less hungover.
- Hard work does pay off. It can also hurt you. A lot. I've been working more than full time hours for about six months now. And I've been working very, very hard every hour that I'm at work. This has put me in a very good position in some ways - I have job security, I have the adoration of my employer, I have gained a lot of really good skills and obviously I have a lot more money than I would if I wasn't working (or not working as many hours). At the same time, all this hard work and excess work has left me in a very bad way. My wellbeing and health have taken a beating from all of this, and any time I do have free from work is spent recovering - from work, and from all the ailments it inflicts. So I've learnt the hard way that, yes, hard work pays. But there is a line between working hard and killing yourself.
- People are fickle. They come and they go. The ones that matter remain. After high school, most of my friends moved away, or simply drifted away. We all changed, and because we all headed in different directions, we lost whatever it was that held us together. We're all different people now. It can be initially distressing to go to a party with all your old school friends, and realise you don't actually get along with any of them any more. That there is nothing to talk about, and they either haven't grown up at all, when you have, or they've simply grown into something you don't really like. In the end, the people that really matter aren't lost, and if anything, losing old social connections makes room for new ones. It's tough, and it's painful, but it happens. And it's usually for the better.
- No one is looking out for you. So, you have to look out for yourself. I'm not saying no one cares about you. Or that you should disregard the needs of those around you. What I'm saying is, at the end of the day, it is you, and only you, who is responsible for yourself. Sometimes, no one is there to look after you when you're sick, or hold you when you're breaking down. Just as we can only work so hard before crumbling, we can only give so much of ourselves before we break. You need to look after yourself first, so that you have something to give to others. It is okay, and it is normal, to look after yourself. To need space, to need "me-time", to do things that achieve nothing but spreading a smile across your face.
- Listen to your body. Your intuition, or gut feeling, is quite probably right. This is one of my mother's mantras. It's simple but vitally important. Listen to what's going on inside yourself. I decided to really listen to my body recently after falling very ill for the fifth time this year. I've had the same symptoms and problems on and off all year, and there's only so many times I can suppress whatever's going on with a pill. I decided to stop and really listen to myself. To my body, to my mind and to my spirit. For a long time, I had intuitively known that something was wrong. But I chose to ignore this feeling, because I couldn't afford to be unwell in my fast-paced lifestyle. I decided enough was enough, and it was time to listen to that quiet little voice. I've booked an appointment with the doctor to really get to the bottom of the issue, and am planning to reduce my hours at work, as they have been a contributor to my ill health.
- Just do it, whatever it is. No, I don't like cleaning the house, the toilets at work, or my room. But all three need to be done, and nothing is achieved by trying to avoid them. If you don't want your housemates to kick you out, don't be a slob, and if you want a job, you will damn well clean that toilet. Do what needs to be done, whether you want to or not, and I promise you you'll feel good about it.
- Life comes in seasons. There are winters, and they can really drag. And there's usually no one to keep you warm. There are times of drastic change, and there are times when nothing ever seems to change. Sometimes, there is no one home, and at other times your house will fill with guests. At times, the road becomes your home, and sometimes, you get stuck somewhere in suburbia. Always remember that there will be another chapter, and you do have the power to turn the page when you're ready.
Sunday, 11 May 2014
The self - unfinished
It's 8:20am on a Sunday morning. The sun is streaming into the kitchen and drying all the dishes I just washed. I'm waiting for the people who live next to the laundry to wake up so I can do some washing without pissing them off.
My coffee has gone completely cold.
At this point, I have found myself pondering on existence. Pondering on the concept of self.
The concept of the self is one of those things that should be very straightforward and comprehendable but is secretly a lot more complex and confusing than it seems. Everyone has a self, or rather they are a self. Linguistically, we refer to the self as being a combination of something the individual owns, and as something the individual is. In saying "I am myself" I refer to me actually being the self in saying that I am that self. But the personal connection between me and the self is destroyed in that I then refer to that self as "myself", denoting that this self is something I own, or something I have, and not something that I am completely.. So, what is the self? Something we are, or something we own? Is it all of us, or part of us, or something merely associated with us?
It is not uncommon for one to refer their physical self as their "person". If someone asks "Do you have a pen?" you may reply "No, not on my person", and in this situation you are implying a seperation between you and your physical self. You are claiming that your physical self is not you, but is merely something you have, something that is yours but not you.
So why do we refer to the self as being simply a part of us, or something that we have or own, when, technically speaking, we are that self? And if we are not the self, or the self is not us, then what are we?
I studied Buddhism briefly last year, and I have a basic understanding of the belief system. One thing that interested me in my studies was that Buddhism claims that the self does not really exist, and that all of the "selves" in existence are actually one thing. And in the pursuit of Nirvana (Enlightenment) one attempts to literally detach from desire or attachment, and essentially from the physical self. I found it a deeply profound concept that the self may not actually exist, and instead merely be a construct that emerged to create disharmony and disrupt or divide one large co-existence.
So, what is the self? From what I've found so far, it is us, it is not us, it something we have that is ours but not us, and it does not exist.
My coffee has gone completely cold.
At this point, I have found myself pondering on existence. Pondering on the concept of self.
The concept of the self is one of those things that should be very straightforward and comprehendable but is secretly a lot more complex and confusing than it seems. Everyone has a self, or rather they are a self. Linguistically, we refer to the self as being a combination of something the individual owns, and as something the individual is. In saying "I am myself" I refer to me actually being the self in saying that I am that self. But the personal connection between me and the self is destroyed in that I then refer to that self as "myself", denoting that this self is something I own, or something I have, and not something that I am completely.. So, what is the self? Something we are, or something we own? Is it all of us, or part of us, or something merely associated with us?
It is not uncommon for one to refer their physical self as their "person". If someone asks "Do you have a pen?" you may reply "No, not on my person", and in this situation you are implying a seperation between you and your physical self. You are claiming that your physical self is not you, but is merely something you have, something that is yours but not you.
So why do we refer to the self as being simply a part of us, or something that we have or own, when, technically speaking, we are that self? And if we are not the self, or the self is not us, then what are we?
I studied Buddhism briefly last year, and I have a basic understanding of the belief system. One thing that interested me in my studies was that Buddhism claims that the self does not really exist, and that all of the "selves" in existence are actually one thing. And in the pursuit of Nirvana (Enlightenment) one attempts to literally detach from desire or attachment, and essentially from the physical self. I found it a deeply profound concept that the self may not actually exist, and instead merely be a construct that emerged to create disharmony and disrupt or divide one large co-existence.
So, what is the self? From what I've found so far, it is us, it is not us, it something we have that is ours but not us, and it does not exist.
Sunday, 27 April 2014
Surprise Olives
It's 7:30pm. I'm sitting on my bed, which isn't made, listening to the sound of rain and researching Olives.
It has suddenly occurred to me that I am very mild. I'm the type of person that has nothing but butter on their toast, and doesn't like the toast to be too well-toasted. One time, I nearly ran over someone at a zebra crossing. They gave me a foul look and I almost cried. I felt like running out of the car and onto the road, while screaming "I'M A PERFECTLY RESPECTABLE PERSON I WAS JUST ABSENT MINDED I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME".
So there we have it. I'm a perfectly respectable person, who is also absent-minded, and currently listening to the sound of rain while researching olives. I think I'm a lot more mild than Mild Salsa, and possibly on par, in mildness, with Lightly Sparkling Mineral Water.
Although, that stuff is thrilling in my opinion. I accidentally bought a bottle of super-organic local sparkling mineral water instead of the no frills boring water normal shops sell. I didn't seem to think anything of it when I heard the cashier say "sparkling", but when the water hit my tongue, boy did I feel the sparkling!
So I was overwhelmed the first time I had Sparkling Mineral Water. OVERWHELMED. Mind you, it was Surprise Sparkling Mineral Water. And while surprises are romantic in theory, in practice they're usually awful. Surprise Sex is uncomfortable and crosses some lines, Surprise Dates fuck with your timetable and put your whole day out of whack, Surprise Surcharges do nothing but piss you off.
Surprises can be fun, sometimes. Once I bit into a quiche and swore I tasted wine. I enjoy quiche and I very much enjoy wine, so naturally this event embodied the fabled pleasant surprise. After a lot of screaming and glee I discovered that the source of the surprise wine flavouring was the olives embedded within the quiche. And at that point I decided to pursue an interest in and love for olives, because, in my own absurd words, "THEY TASTE LIKE WINE!"
And we're back to olives. Move over Rome, all roads now lead to Olives.
I find it really fucking odd when people say something is olive-coloured. Olives start off a shade of green, and then become a purple-ish black when they're ripe... or may be when they've rotted. Anyway, I have never met anyone with green or "purplish" skin, so I understand the term, "olive-skin".
This annoys me as much as the term "redhead". The term "redhead" refers to a person with orange hair, not red hair. And their head is certainly not red either.
The list goes on. When people tell me about the "miserable weather" outside, I always wish to inform them that "The weather is rainy; you are miserable". I don't know why people feel the need to drag the weather down when they're feeling bad. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a rainy day, or a cloudy day. Just because you're annoyed that the washing won't dry for a week now thanks to this constant rain, doesn't give you the right to drag the weather down with you in your parade of self-pity in some twisted attempt at pathetic fallacy.
There are some things I like, as unusual as that might sound given that all I've down so far is ramble about bothersome circumstances and my sarcastic approach to them. I like olives, as I've already mentioned, twice. I actually like the rain, as detrimental as it is to my attempts to wash things. I like the company of good friends. I like when boys make me giggle.
I'm actually super excited to be moving house. I am only moving a few streets away, but this will be the first house I have ever lived in without my family. It has a nice backyard and plenty of space for herbs and vegetables, so naturally I'm excited.
I think that just about sums up the extent of my mildness. The fact that I am excited by the prospect of growing herbs and vegetables (and fruits!); more than I seem to be excited about moving in with a best friend.
I think it's time to go. So I will, go that is. And so I leave you bewildered and annoyed by the pointless crap I just discussed, with myself. Enjoy some olives.
It has suddenly occurred to me that I am very mild. I'm the type of person that has nothing but butter on their toast, and doesn't like the toast to be too well-toasted. One time, I nearly ran over someone at a zebra crossing. They gave me a foul look and I almost cried. I felt like running out of the car and onto the road, while screaming "I'M A PERFECTLY RESPECTABLE PERSON I WAS JUST ABSENT MINDED I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME".
So there we have it. I'm a perfectly respectable person, who is also absent-minded, and currently listening to the sound of rain while researching olives. I think I'm a lot more mild than Mild Salsa, and possibly on par, in mildness, with Lightly Sparkling Mineral Water.
Although, that stuff is thrilling in my opinion. I accidentally bought a bottle of super-organic local sparkling mineral water instead of the no frills boring water normal shops sell. I didn't seem to think anything of it when I heard the cashier say "sparkling", but when the water hit my tongue, boy did I feel the sparkling!
So I was overwhelmed the first time I had Sparkling Mineral Water. OVERWHELMED. Mind you, it was Surprise Sparkling Mineral Water. And while surprises are romantic in theory, in practice they're usually awful. Surprise Sex is uncomfortable and crosses some lines, Surprise Dates fuck with your timetable and put your whole day out of whack, Surprise Surcharges do nothing but piss you off.
Surprises can be fun, sometimes. Once I bit into a quiche and swore I tasted wine. I enjoy quiche and I very much enjoy wine, so naturally this event embodied the fabled pleasant surprise. After a lot of screaming and glee I discovered that the source of the surprise wine flavouring was the olives embedded within the quiche. And at that point I decided to pursue an interest in and love for olives, because, in my own absurd words, "THEY TASTE LIKE WINE!"
And we're back to olives. Move over Rome, all roads now lead to Olives.
I find it really fucking odd when people say something is olive-coloured. Olives start off a shade of green, and then become a purple-ish black when they're ripe... or may be when they've rotted. Anyway, I have never met anyone with green or "purplish" skin, so I understand the term, "olive-skin".
This annoys me as much as the term "redhead". The term "redhead" refers to a person with orange hair, not red hair. And their head is certainly not red either.
The list goes on. When people tell me about the "miserable weather" outside, I always wish to inform them that "The weather is rainy; you are miserable". I don't know why people feel the need to drag the weather down when they're feeling bad. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a rainy day, or a cloudy day. Just because you're annoyed that the washing won't dry for a week now thanks to this constant rain, doesn't give you the right to drag the weather down with you in your parade of self-pity in some twisted attempt at pathetic fallacy.
There are some things I like, as unusual as that might sound given that all I've down so far is ramble about bothersome circumstances and my sarcastic approach to them. I like olives, as I've already mentioned, twice. I actually like the rain, as detrimental as it is to my attempts to wash things. I like the company of good friends. I like when boys make me giggle.
I'm actually super excited to be moving house. I am only moving a few streets away, but this will be the first house I have ever lived in without my family. It has a nice backyard and plenty of space for herbs and vegetables, so naturally I'm excited.
I think that just about sums up the extent of my mildness. The fact that I am excited by the prospect of growing herbs and vegetables (and fruits!); more than I seem to be excited about moving in with a best friend.
I think it's time to go. So I will, go that is. And so I leave you bewildered and annoyed by the pointless crap I just discussed, with myself. Enjoy some olives.
Saturday, 12 April 2014
Note to future self
Dear Future Self,
Well done on still being alive. I'm assuming you must have started sleeping or eating properly, or taking so much crack that it has somehow preserved your body in an eternal state of fucked. I really hope you don't take crack.
I hope you're happy in whatever you're doing. Because I know you will be doing something, and you will be doing it at 100 kilometres an hour, and giving it every ounce of yourself, because that is in your blood. I assume you're probably having sporadic breakdowns adjusting with constant changes and obstacles. You'll get over them. The shit times will pass and there is always friends/drinking/music/nature/crack. But again I hope you don't resort to taking crack. That shit is expensive and you're meant to be saving up to go somewhere sometime.
I hope you've learnt to see the good in everything, and to appreciate things a little more. I hope you're at least a tiny bit less narcissistic, and that you've stopped being so terrible with money. I really wonder about things. Do you still have an undercut? What colour is your hair? Are you seeing anyone? Have you left your hometown yet?
It's the strangest thing that I (that is me, who I am right this second) will never be able to know the answers to these questions. Even though I will be the one who decides their answers, I won't really be me any more when they have an answer. This is too deep and illogical for me to articulate in my haphazard writing style. So I'll do something completely unoriginal and use an example from a play I recently did some backstage for.
The play was called "Quartet" - and yes it had four characters and yes it was about music. The four characters were all great opera singers in their time, but now find themselves in an upmarket nursing home devoid of artistic stimulation, or stimulation of any description. Like any good work of art, the play is not simply about music, or about being old people in a nursing home; it's two most obvious themes. The play is about the very concept of art, the pains and joys of living and aging, and lastly the invisibility and inevitability of change.
Three of the musicians in the home decide that they should like to perform the "Rigoletto" at a concert held annually by the home in celebration of the birthday of Giuseppe Verdi. This is particularly interesting as the three musicians recorded the song together along with Jean Horton years ago in the prime of their operatic careers. However, when they suggest that Jean should need to join them and render them the complete quartet again, she refuses.
For the majority of the play's opening it appears that Jean's refusal is solely due to stubbornness, and as such the rest of the quartet are angered with her for what they perceive to be selfishness. However, later in the play she reveals the truth.
You'll have to forgive me because I don't have a copy of Quartet and can't find it anywhere online, so I have no actual quotes to use here. But the big reveal Jean makes is that thirty years ago, when she abruptly ended her operatic career and stopped singing, it wasn't a choice she made. It was assumed by the other members of the Quartet and any strange members of the public interested in the personal lives of Opera singers that she ended her career to focus solely on being a wife and mother, as it was after the birth of her daughter that it happenned. However, she reveals to the rest of her Quartet that after the birth of her daughter, she tried to sing for a much coveted role, but simply couldn't. She tried and tried, but alas no sound would come out. And so she had no choice but to end her career as an opera singer.
While the other members of the Quartet lament Jean's loss of her own ability to sing, Jean herself laments something much darker - the loss of herself. She claims that "the Jean Horton that was" was brilliant and "shone bright in the firmament", but that she is literally a different person now, who just happens to inhabit the same body as "the Jean Horton that was".
The concept initially appears to be nothing more than a hyperbolic statement used to heighten the significance of the loss of Jean's vocal ability. However, as it is explored and expanded upon within the confines of the play, the audience come to realise that the statement Jean is making is not an exaggeration, but a profound philosophical statement.
The concept is essentially that we change throughout our lives - moving from role to role, from place to place, changing things as small as hairstyles or as large as professions and goals. We lose friends and make new ones, end relationships and start new ones. As we journey through our lives, aspects of our personality change, and we ourselves change too. The underlying claim made by Jean Horton in Quartet is that we literally become different people throughout our lives as we change.
The concept is terrifying yet thought-provoking. If I look back on my own life, while I do feel as though aspects have remained the same in my life - such as the fact that I still live in my hometown - almost as many things have changed.
At five, I could not properly or completely articulate myself. The concept of sexuality or intellect were hardly present in my mind - I did not consider the notions of sex, or of intellect.
At twelve, I was articulate. Not yet fully developed, but articulate. At this point, I began to notice I was same-sex attracted - but denied acknowledgement of this due to my beliefs. My intellect was certainly developed, but again, not yet to it's full extent. I enjoyed study, and learning.
At eighteen, I am able to well articulate myself. I enjoy intellectual stimulation, and have now fully accepted my homosexual inclination.
It is clear that at these three ages, I was and am drastically different. Almost no remnants of my five year old self remain. In light of this, I am left to consider. Do we literally become different people throughout our life? Does my former self no longer exist in any form, or does he remain at least partially?
I am not apologetic for bombarding you, my future self, with all of this. Above all, I hope you always think. I hope you wonder, and search for answers, and question, and explore. Change is inevitable, and though so much changes, I hope this remains.
I do hope you don't do crack.
George.
Well done on still being alive. I'm assuming you must have started sleeping or eating properly, or taking so much crack that it has somehow preserved your body in an eternal state of fucked. I really hope you don't take crack.
I hope you're happy in whatever you're doing. Because I know you will be doing something, and you will be doing it at 100 kilometres an hour, and giving it every ounce of yourself, because that is in your blood. I assume you're probably having sporadic breakdowns adjusting with constant changes and obstacles. You'll get over them. The shit times will pass and there is always friends/drinking/music/nature/crack. But again I hope you don't resort to taking crack. That shit is expensive and you're meant to be saving up to go somewhere sometime.
I hope you've learnt to see the good in everything, and to appreciate things a little more. I hope you're at least a tiny bit less narcissistic, and that you've stopped being so terrible with money. I really wonder about things. Do you still have an undercut? What colour is your hair? Are you seeing anyone? Have you left your hometown yet?
It's the strangest thing that I (that is me, who I am right this second) will never be able to know the answers to these questions. Even though I will be the one who decides their answers, I won't really be me any more when they have an answer. This is too deep and illogical for me to articulate in my haphazard writing style. So I'll do something completely unoriginal and use an example from a play I recently did some backstage for.
The play was called "Quartet" - and yes it had four characters and yes it was about music. The four characters were all great opera singers in their time, but now find themselves in an upmarket nursing home devoid of artistic stimulation, or stimulation of any description. Like any good work of art, the play is not simply about music, or about being old people in a nursing home; it's two most obvious themes. The play is about the very concept of art, the pains and joys of living and aging, and lastly the invisibility and inevitability of change.
Three of the musicians in the home decide that they should like to perform the "Rigoletto" at a concert held annually by the home in celebration of the birthday of Giuseppe Verdi. This is particularly interesting as the three musicians recorded the song together along with Jean Horton years ago in the prime of their operatic careers. However, when they suggest that Jean should need to join them and render them the complete quartet again, she refuses.
For the majority of the play's opening it appears that Jean's refusal is solely due to stubbornness, and as such the rest of the quartet are angered with her for what they perceive to be selfishness. However, later in the play she reveals the truth.
You'll have to forgive me because I don't have a copy of Quartet and can't find it anywhere online, so I have no actual quotes to use here. But the big reveal Jean makes is that thirty years ago, when she abruptly ended her operatic career and stopped singing, it wasn't a choice she made. It was assumed by the other members of the Quartet and any strange members of the public interested in the personal lives of Opera singers that she ended her career to focus solely on being a wife and mother, as it was after the birth of her daughter that it happenned. However, she reveals to the rest of her Quartet that after the birth of her daughter, she tried to sing for a much coveted role, but simply couldn't. She tried and tried, but alas no sound would come out. And so she had no choice but to end her career as an opera singer.
While the other members of the Quartet lament Jean's loss of her own ability to sing, Jean herself laments something much darker - the loss of herself. She claims that "the Jean Horton that was" was brilliant and "shone bright in the firmament", but that she is literally a different person now, who just happens to inhabit the same body as "the Jean Horton that was".
The concept initially appears to be nothing more than a hyperbolic statement used to heighten the significance of the loss of Jean's vocal ability. However, as it is explored and expanded upon within the confines of the play, the audience come to realise that the statement Jean is making is not an exaggeration, but a profound philosophical statement.
The concept is essentially that we change throughout our lives - moving from role to role, from place to place, changing things as small as hairstyles or as large as professions and goals. We lose friends and make new ones, end relationships and start new ones. As we journey through our lives, aspects of our personality change, and we ourselves change too. The underlying claim made by Jean Horton in Quartet is that we literally become different people throughout our lives as we change.
The concept is terrifying yet thought-provoking. If I look back on my own life, while I do feel as though aspects have remained the same in my life - such as the fact that I still live in my hometown - almost as many things have changed.
At five, I could not properly or completely articulate myself. The concept of sexuality or intellect were hardly present in my mind - I did not consider the notions of sex, or of intellect.
At twelve, I was articulate. Not yet fully developed, but articulate. At this point, I began to notice I was same-sex attracted - but denied acknowledgement of this due to my beliefs. My intellect was certainly developed, but again, not yet to it's full extent. I enjoyed study, and learning.
At eighteen, I am able to well articulate myself. I enjoy intellectual stimulation, and have now fully accepted my homosexual inclination.
It is clear that at these three ages, I was and am drastically different. Almost no remnants of my five year old self remain. In light of this, I am left to consider. Do we literally become different people throughout our life? Does my former self no longer exist in any form, or does he remain at least partially?
I am not apologetic for bombarding you, my future self, with all of this. Above all, I hope you always think. I hope you wonder, and search for answers, and question, and explore. Change is inevitable, and though so much changes, I hope this remains.
I do hope you don't do crack.
George.
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
One must always leave a trail
Sitting in front of me is a packet of loose leaf Organic Lemon Myrtle Tea. It's expiry date is on my 21st birthday. Next to that is some random notes I took at a work meeting, brown eyeshadow, a gloriously large cup of coffee and a CD player.
Last night an old friend of mine returned home from his mysterious and somewhat prolonged adventure to Gulgong. As is almost necessary for people aged under 21, we had a party. On a Tuesday night.
I had work on Tuesday, and I have work today soon actually. I was planning to just meet them for dinner beforehand, extend my regards and then fuck off home again. Of course I turned up so late to dinner that I actually missed the dinner part, and arrived precisely when everyone was leaving.
Despite having said I would not, under any circumstances, attend a party on a Tuesday night, I did precisely that. I deliberately remained sober so that I could drive home at any point. But then I found myself amongst a group of close friends, in the dark, in the distance, getting in touch with Mary Jane.
I thought it would be best to wait a while before driving home, being then rendered completely off of my tits. So then I found myself lying on a trampoline, gazing at the cloudy night sky, slightly disillusioned by the lack of any visible stars. I remained stationary for a very fucking long time. Groups of people came and went; I remember lively discussions happenning around me that I was apparently physical unable to contribute to. Lola and I made nonsense at each other, understanding each other as intrinsically as babies.
I eventually made my way indoors. At the start of the night, my hair had been perfectly (or rather imperfectly) styled. I had pinned most of it back in an elegant style - something bohemian and a little bit flapper - and arranged tarragon flowers somewhat haphazardly in my hair.
The flowers from my hair, along with most of the bobby pins, laid on the trampoline and across the property, as I laid on a red lounge covered in cushions and everybody's things. There wasn't really any space to lie down but I think I made it work. Of course I then fell swiftly asleep in amongst all the things, blissfully unaware of how ridicudously high and absolutely freezing I was.
At 5:40 this morning I awoke startled and completely disoriented. The sun had begun to rise, which for some reason beckoned me to the bathroom. I grabbed most of my things (one must always leave a trail behind when they leave), and ran to the car, which for some reason I parked really far up the street. And then I headed home in a hurry, despite the fact I didn't (and don't) have to be at work until nine o'clock. I hope.
Last night an old friend of mine returned home from his mysterious and somewhat prolonged adventure to Gulgong. As is almost necessary for people aged under 21, we had a party. On a Tuesday night.
I had work on Tuesday, and I have work today soon actually. I was planning to just meet them for dinner beforehand, extend my regards and then fuck off home again. Of course I turned up so late to dinner that I actually missed the dinner part, and arrived precisely when everyone was leaving.
Despite having said I would not, under any circumstances, attend a party on a Tuesday night, I did precisely that. I deliberately remained sober so that I could drive home at any point. But then I found myself amongst a group of close friends, in the dark, in the distance, getting in touch with Mary Jane.
I thought it would be best to wait a while before driving home, being then rendered completely off of my tits. So then I found myself lying on a trampoline, gazing at the cloudy night sky, slightly disillusioned by the lack of any visible stars. I remained stationary for a very fucking long time. Groups of people came and went; I remember lively discussions happenning around me that I was apparently physical unable to contribute to. Lola and I made nonsense at each other, understanding each other as intrinsically as babies.
I eventually made my way indoors. At the start of the night, my hair had been perfectly (or rather imperfectly) styled. I had pinned most of it back in an elegant style - something bohemian and a little bit flapper - and arranged tarragon flowers somewhat haphazardly in my hair.
The flowers from my hair, along with most of the bobby pins, laid on the trampoline and across the property, as I laid on a red lounge covered in cushions and everybody's things. There wasn't really any space to lie down but I think I made it work. Of course I then fell swiftly asleep in amongst all the things, blissfully unaware of how ridicudously high and absolutely freezing I was.
At 5:40 this morning I awoke startled and completely disoriented. The sun had begun to rise, which for some reason beckoned me to the bathroom. I grabbed most of my things (one must always leave a trail behind when they leave), and ran to the car, which for some reason I parked really far up the street. And then I headed home in a hurry, despite the fact I didn't (and don't) have to be at work until nine o'clock. I hope.
Sunday, 23 March 2014
I don't want a boyfriend I just want a life
Last night I saw a lot of people I hadn't seen in a very long time, and met a few new people. It was the eighteenth birthday of old friend of mine who left town earlier this year to go to uni.
I looked around at the sea of faces. Smiling faces. And then a comment was made about how "It's so amazing how everyone has a boyfriend now". I looked around again at all my friends, boyfriends hanging off each of them. Everyone looked so happy, and as though no matter how shit things were or would become, they had someone else to share it all with; someone to fall back on; or someone to cry to.
I downed Moscato with force and couldn't help but think I'd somehow pulled the short straw. My friends had either moved away to start uni or stayed in town to finish school - and despite their student-induced-poverty and constant greivances about having to study, they were all happy.
I downed Moscato with force and couldn't help but think I'd somehow pulled the short straw. My friends had either moved away to start uni or stayed in town to finish school - and despite their student-induced-poverty and constant greivances about having to study, they were all happy.
The birthday girl's mother asked me how my love life was going. I didn't snap, and I didn't snap anyone's necks. I answered truthfully, "Nothing's really happenning". She began gathering pity, so I continued. "I was with someone at the end of last year, but he was a bit manic, so I decided I'd rather be alone. I'm so busy and I work so much I hardly notice".
The last part of my response was partly true. I was with someone, and I did call it off. But he wasn't manic, he was just wrong for me, and I'm too stubborn to make things work out with someone I don't even like much. And while I am busy and always working, it doesn't mean I don't notice there's no one there.
I keep finding myself in tears whenever I'm physically alone somewhere. I'm unhappy. I thought stepping straight out of school and into a full-time job would be worth it. But the truth is, no amount of money is worth more than my happiness. I earn a pittance, work horrific hours, and have nothing to show for it.
It's not that I want a boyfriend. It's just that I want to have a life to live, and something or someone to call my own. I don't want to be the "workaholic" who "can't come". I want too be the life of the party - like I used to be. I want to be brimming with energy and creativity, ideas and things to say.
I feel like I've pulled the short straw and nobody else seems to care. I'm losing my friends and even myself, for minimum wage. Sometimes, you have to back out of something. You have to walk away and close a door.
It's not that I want a boyfriend. It's just that I want to have a life to live, and something or someone to call my own. I don't want to be the "workaholic" who "can't come". I want too be the life of the party - like I used to be. I want to be brimming with energy and creativity, ideas and things to say.
I feel like I've pulled the short straw and nobody else seems to care. I'm losing my friends and even myself, for minimum wage. Sometimes, you have to back out of something. You have to walk away and close a door.
I'm at a turning point right now where it'll either get worse or it'll get better. And if it gets worse, I'll quit my job and leave. There's no shame in doing what you have to to look after yourself.
Be kind to yourself.
Be kind to yourself.
Sunday, 16 March 2014
Big Picture Shit
It's nearly St. Patricks Day, and my room and life are still a mess. I moved in at Christmas, and figured I would have got everything sorted by now.
At the end of last year, I practically walked out my final exam and into a full-time job. I thought the transition from student to full-time worker would be easy. I had five days off at Christmas, and of course, being my usual ridiculously-driven-to-succeed self, I decided it would be a good idea to move into my brother's house over those five days.
We all spent Christmas Day at my brothers house, sitting around the table and getting profoundly drunk on our chosen drinks. If I remember correctly I think I was slightly late to the family lunch because I was madly packing my belongings at my old house to bring over with me. Christmas Eve was the last night I ever slept at the house I had called home through senior high school, and Christmas Day was probably the last time I wasn't "busy" or "working", and one of the last times I've actually spent quality time with my mother.
The five days I thought would last forever disappeared in a heartbeat, as did my mother and her caravan. Suddenly I was working all the time, and saying "I can't" to everyone and everything, all the while watching my mother disappear with her husband and caravan into the distance.
I made a lot of unspoken promises to myself and I don't know that I've kept any of them. I kept vowing that I would take the time to properly move in to my new house and new life; to organise my things and my life, to unpack every box and to really settle into whatever this chapter of my life would be. I foolishly said that I wouldn't let things change, that work wouldn't get in the way of maintaining friendships, and that I would still do the things I'd always done.
Some things are difficult to understand until they are actually lived. My parents always told me that after high school, everything and everyone sort of fell away, and moved away, and that everything changes. I laughed at them, thinking yeah well maybe that happens to some people but not us.
Yeah well It happenned to us.
I think the worst thing is not that my friends are all slowly but surely moving away, changing, or drifting away from my newly workaholic self. The worst thing about this chapter of my life is not that things are changing, but that I feel like I am changing, in ways that I don't want to change. The mask I put on for work seems difficult to take off, and I seem to be pushing everyone and everything else away from me as a standard reflex. I think I've always been a fairly independent person, but now it just feels like I'm stubborn. I nearly got into a relationship at the end of last year, but then ran. I was terrified of being with someone, of opening up to them, if there was a chance that it wasn't right, or that it could end.
I don't know how or when it happenned, but my need to succeed has suddenly sky-rocketed, and driven me to avoid failure like bad coffee. I don't seem to start things - relationships, new friendships, hobbies, random little projects - as much any more if I can see them coming to a probable end.
I guess the great thing about changing is that it happens constantly... so I can always change again? I have this weird motivational phrase I like to tell everyone that has quite the opposite effect, that "you can do pretty much anything, it's just hard". I guess that applies to changing. I have this crazy dream of living and working in Europe in the near future, but it's not really crazy at all. I just need to tough it out through four years of uni and become qualified*, deal with working on the side and sacrificing things so that I can save money for my dream. It's not an impossible dream to fulfill, and it's not just plausible either. It's very possible, it'll just be hard.
I know they say the best things in life are free, but some pretty damn good things require hard work, study, and sacrifice. I will make it to Europe, and maybe (and quite probably) stay longer than I intend. There are just certain things I have to do to get there. Anything's possible, it's just hard. Hard but rewarding.
*I'm planning to study French and Linguistics/Sociology (undecided) at university next year
At the end of last year, I practically walked out my final exam and into a full-time job. I thought the transition from student to full-time worker would be easy. I had five days off at Christmas, and of course, being my usual ridiculously-driven-to-succeed self, I decided it would be a good idea to move into my brother's house over those five days.
We all spent Christmas Day at my brothers house, sitting around the table and getting profoundly drunk on our chosen drinks. If I remember correctly I think I was slightly late to the family lunch because I was madly packing my belongings at my old house to bring over with me. Christmas Eve was the last night I ever slept at the house I had called home through senior high school, and Christmas Day was probably the last time I wasn't "busy" or "working", and one of the last times I've actually spent quality time with my mother.
The five days I thought would last forever disappeared in a heartbeat, as did my mother and her caravan. Suddenly I was working all the time, and saying "I can't" to everyone and everything, all the while watching my mother disappear with her husband and caravan into the distance.
I made a lot of unspoken promises to myself and I don't know that I've kept any of them. I kept vowing that I would take the time to properly move in to my new house and new life; to organise my things and my life, to unpack every box and to really settle into whatever this chapter of my life would be. I foolishly said that I wouldn't let things change, that work wouldn't get in the way of maintaining friendships, and that I would still do the things I'd always done.
Some things are difficult to understand until they are actually lived. My parents always told me that after high school, everything and everyone sort of fell away, and moved away, and that everything changes. I laughed at them, thinking yeah well maybe that happens to some people but not us.
Yeah well It happenned to us.
I think the worst thing is not that my friends are all slowly but surely moving away, changing, or drifting away from my newly workaholic self. The worst thing about this chapter of my life is not that things are changing, but that I feel like I am changing, in ways that I don't want to change. The mask I put on for work seems difficult to take off, and I seem to be pushing everyone and everything else away from me as a standard reflex. I think I've always been a fairly independent person, but now it just feels like I'm stubborn. I nearly got into a relationship at the end of last year, but then ran. I was terrified of being with someone, of opening up to them, if there was a chance that it wasn't right, or that it could end.
I don't know how or when it happenned, but my need to succeed has suddenly sky-rocketed, and driven me to avoid failure like bad coffee. I don't seem to start things - relationships, new friendships, hobbies, random little projects - as much any more if I can see them coming to a probable end.
I guess the great thing about changing is that it happens constantly... so I can always change again? I have this weird motivational phrase I like to tell everyone that has quite the opposite effect, that "you can do pretty much anything, it's just hard". I guess that applies to changing. I have this crazy dream of living and working in Europe in the near future, but it's not really crazy at all. I just need to tough it out through four years of uni and become qualified*, deal with working on the side and sacrificing things so that I can save money for my dream. It's not an impossible dream to fulfill, and it's not just plausible either. It's very possible, it'll just be hard.
I know they say the best things in life are free, but some pretty damn good things require hard work, study, and sacrifice. I will make it to Europe, and maybe (and quite probably) stay longer than I intend. There are just certain things I have to do to get there. Anything's possible, it's just hard. Hard but rewarding.
*I'm planning to study French and Linguistics/Sociology (undecided) at university next year
Sunday, 9 March 2014
And then everyone left, and I got a job
It has been a fucking long time since I last posted on here. I guess I'd better quickly fill in whoever's unfortunate enough to be reading this on what's been happenning.
November: Well, the HSC finally came to a profoundly anti-climactic end when I finished my last ever high school exam. It had been Society and Culture, I believe. We drove off into the bush immediately afterwards for our much cheaper, earthier version of the notorious schoolies.
November: Well, the HSC finally came to a profoundly anti-climactic end when I finished my last ever high school exam. It had been Society and Culture, I believe. We drove off into the bush immediately afterwards for our much cheaper, earthier version of the notorious schoolies.
Our version of schoolies didn't go for very long. It actually just consisted of camping by a river, drinking, smoking, and swimming. At one point we all journeyed across the river, away from our campsite, for a bit of a wildly unnecessary bush bramble. We left one of the girls behind at the campsite because she was asleep and is one of those people that you just don't wake up. The interesting thing was that this particular friend of ours was terrified of lizards, and exceptionally large goannas had been circling our campsite for most of the morning. We figured leaving a girl who was terrified of lizards alone with a bunch of large lizards was a perfectly dandy idea, because, you know, she was asleep. For some reason, none of us took into account the wild notion that people often wake up after they've been sleeping for a while.
We all eventually returned to the campsite, slightly sun burnt and incredibly exhausted, to find that our friend had mysteriously vanished. We gazed up the hill and discovered that she had not, in fact, completely disappeared. Rather, she had merely teleported herself into her car, a place where she would be physically protected from the goannas that, upon waking up, she had discovered were circlcing the tent.
Somehow, we all convinced the goannas that the three of us were remarkably fearsome and, as such, they should vacate the premisis. Getting our friend to leave her car and return to the campsite - now completely but probably only temporarily devoid of goannas - was a much more difficult task.
Somehow, we all convinced the goannas that the three of us were remarkably fearsome and, as such, they should vacate the premisis. Getting our friend to leave her car and return to the campsite - now completely but probably only temporarily devoid of goannas - was a much more difficult task.
After two nights of camping, I returned home. In the same day, I attended a job interview for a job I would later recieve and officially signed out of high school. Straight out of the exam hall and into the work force. For the next week or so I entertained an old and dear friend who was in the process of moving from Dubbo to Cairns, and decided to visit in the mean time. When we weren't drinking, being emotional, catching up or wandering the streets in a thoroughly existential search for meaning/something to do, I was attending training sessions for the job I would soon begin.
Suddenly, I found myself bidding farewell to my friend at the local airport, crying, next to another crying friend. Before I knew it I had started the job, which was to be a strange cross between Barrista, Till Person, Waiter, and Wholesale Delivery Boy. But for the first month, all I did was help move the entire business from one venue to another. That was quite the induction.
Suddenly, I found myself bidding farewell to my friend at the local airport, crying, next to another crying friend. Before I knew it I had started the job, which was to be a strange cross between Barrista, Till Person, Waiter, and Wholesale Delivery Boy. But for the first month, all I did was help move the entire business from one venue to another. That was quite the induction.
December: My workplace officially opened, and I was introduced to two new friends I would be seeing a lot of in the future; "Overtime" and "Wages".
Christmas came and we all sat out the back of my brother's house. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days. There were gifts and deep conversations about things that happenned before I was born with people I never knew. There was beer, and wine, and pavlova. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days.
The new year came in while I was on the toilet. The Dixie Chicks Greatest Hits played in the background as I heard Lola and her boyfriend shriek about the New Year. I rushed out, washed my hands, and changed the music to "Midnight Radio" - a glorious song from off-broadway musical "Hedwig & The Angry Inch" that I'd always wanted to play at midnight. We drank wine and peppermint tea, played scrabble and nibbled on chocolate before spooning in my double bed.
Christmas came and we all sat out the back of my brother's house. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days. There were gifts and deep conversations about things that happenned before I was born with people I never knew. There was beer, and wine, and pavlova. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days.
The new year came in while I was on the toilet. The Dixie Chicks Greatest Hits played in the background as I heard Lola and her boyfriend shriek about the New Year. I rushed out, washed my hands, and changed the music to "Midnight Radio" - a glorious song from off-broadway musical "Hedwig & The Angry Inch" that I'd always wanted to play at midnight. We drank wine and peppermint tea, played scrabble and nibbled on chocolate before spooning in my double bed.
January: My new years resolution was really just to be healthy. But somehow January ended up as a month of alcoholism, parties, take-away and not sleeping enough. I went to work, saw my friends, got drunk and that was about it.
I was (of course) working when my mum and her husband left town in their caravan to travel around the country. I came home and suddenly realised that I now had to do my own washing and cooking.
Two of my closest friends turned eighteen in January. Both are from New Zealand and neither seemed very fussed about their coming of age. I owe one of them a pub crawl.
February: I'm not sure if anything remarkable happenned in February. I worked, a lot, but decided to start looking after myself at home. I re-entered the kitchen I had evacuated when the HSC hit, and learnt when to add red wine and what works in a quiche. The answers were "always" and "everything".
I ventured to Sydney in late February to celebrate a friend's 18th/go out clubbing/get out of the fucking small town I hadn't left since October. I took myself to Arq and then Bondi, where I snuck into the backpackers and intended to stay until sunrise. It became very freezing very quickly, and so at 5 in the morning I gave up, picked myself up off the grass and caught a bus back to where I was staying.
I spent a lot of that weekend on busses. I snuck a bottle of wine into the East Hills Hotel, caught up with a friend I hadn't seen since school ended at Coogee, and had a few drinks, Thai Food, and a go at the Pokies with my mum at Beverly Hills.
I was (of course) working when my mum and her husband left town in their caravan to travel around the country. I came home and suddenly realised that I now had to do my own washing and cooking.
Two of my closest friends turned eighteen in January. Both are from New Zealand and neither seemed very fussed about their coming of age. I owe one of them a pub crawl.
February: I'm not sure if anything remarkable happenned in February. I worked, a lot, but decided to start looking after myself at home. I re-entered the kitchen I had evacuated when the HSC hit, and learnt when to add red wine and what works in a quiche. The answers were "always" and "everything".
I ventured to Sydney in late February to celebrate a friend's 18th/go out clubbing/get out of the fucking small town I hadn't left since October. I took myself to Arq and then Bondi, where I snuck into the backpackers and intended to stay until sunrise. It became very freezing very quickly, and so at 5 in the morning I gave up, picked myself up off the grass and caught a bus back to where I was staying.
I spent a lot of that weekend on busses. I snuck a bottle of wine into the East Hills Hotel, caught up with a friend I hadn't seen since school ended at Coogee, and had a few drinks, Thai Food, and a go at the Pokies with my mum at Beverly Hills.
I sat at the airport terminal for two hours until my plane finally arrived at 7am on a Monday morning. I read Frankie for an hour, then we were there. I got off, went home, showered, ironed my uniform and headed to work.
And that about sums things up. I'm no longer a student, or a child. Working to pay my own way, rent and bills is thrilling and terrifying. At the moment I'm a bit under the weather, and for the first time, am really missing mummy.
Saturday, 19 October 2013
Birth of a teenager
Well shit. It' 12:26 in the afternoon and I just woke up.
I was sortof hoping this day wouldn't come. When I was small, I used to look on in disgust at my brother's teenage lifestyle. The drinking, the going out, the incredibly odd food choices and the lingering smell. More than anything I think what repulsed me was the hours he kept. He would go to bed sometime after two - in the morning! - and arise sometime after lunch the next day. For some reason, this was completely unacceptable to my pious ten year old self.
The smell is something I remember vividly. He, and all his things, and all his friends had this vivid smell. It was the smell of apathy. The smell of frequently going unwashed for days at a time. The smell of mess, of disorder, of chaos. The smell of freedom.
When my brother moved out and stopped being a teenager, I never thought I'd come into contact with the smell again.
Today, I woke up around lunch time after going to sleep sometime after two. And I realised...
I now have my own smell.
It's official. I'm a dirty, rotten, teenage dirtbag. Most people enter this phase some time in their early teens, perhaps thirteen or fifteen. But of course of entered it after my eighteenth birthday. I'm somewhat renowned for being late. Late to catch onto trends, late to class, late to get togethers that I organise....
Most of the bands I've recently gotten into were in the height of their fame a few decades ago. Bear in mind that I wasn't even alive a few decades ago.
I'm not sure what it is that makes me so late all the time. Perhaps it's the fact that I generally take too long to do anything. Or maybe the fact that in over eighteen years I still haven't quite grasped the art of time management.
Generally, I catch onto trends after they've gone full circle. They've been discovered, shared, and then disowned by hipsters as "too mainstream", and then disappeared into the abyss of obscurity. After about a decade, they are nostalgically revived, and after another twenty to fifty years they're back in fashion as "vintage" or "retro".
It's usually sometime after the trend has disappeared into the abyss of obscurity that I finally jump on the bandwagon. In fact, more often than not the trend may have been through two or more revivals and again disappeared into obscurity, before I jump onto the bandwagon.
It's safe to say that I'm late when it comes to jumping on bandwagons. I'm late for busses too. Somehow I never miss long distance trains or planes though.
I was sortof hoping this day wouldn't come. When I was small, I used to look on in disgust at my brother's teenage lifestyle. The drinking, the going out, the incredibly odd food choices and the lingering smell. More than anything I think what repulsed me was the hours he kept. He would go to bed sometime after two - in the morning! - and arise sometime after lunch the next day. For some reason, this was completely unacceptable to my pious ten year old self.
The smell is something I remember vividly. He, and all his things, and all his friends had this vivid smell. It was the smell of apathy. The smell of frequently going unwashed for days at a time. The smell of mess, of disorder, of chaos. The smell of freedom.
When my brother moved out and stopped being a teenager, I never thought I'd come into contact with the smell again.
Today, I woke up around lunch time after going to sleep sometime after two. And I realised...
I now have my own smell.
It's official. I'm a dirty, rotten, teenage dirtbag. Most people enter this phase some time in their early teens, perhaps thirteen or fifteen. But of course of entered it after my eighteenth birthday. I'm somewhat renowned for being late. Late to catch onto trends, late to class, late to get togethers that I organise....
Most of the bands I've recently gotten into were in the height of their fame a few decades ago. Bear in mind that I wasn't even alive a few decades ago.
I'm not sure what it is that makes me so late all the time. Perhaps it's the fact that I generally take too long to do anything. Or maybe the fact that in over eighteen years I still haven't quite grasped the art of time management.
Generally, I catch onto trends after they've gone full circle. They've been discovered, shared, and then disowned by hipsters as "too mainstream", and then disappeared into the abyss of obscurity. After about a decade, they are nostalgically revived, and after another twenty to fifty years they're back in fashion as "vintage" or "retro".
It's usually sometime after the trend has disappeared into the abyss of obscurity that I finally jump on the bandwagon. In fact, more often than not the trend may have been through two or more revivals and again disappeared into obscurity, before I jump onto the bandwagon.
It's safe to say that I'm late when it comes to jumping on bandwagons. I'm late for busses too. Somehow I never miss long distance trains or planes though.
Friday, 13 September 2013
La Vie Boheme
Okay so it's been quite a while since I last posted on here. Nine months. I could have had a baby. I didn't. I don't have a womb. Or a girlfriend. Not that I want either.
Anyway, hello! I'm back. An awful lot has happenned over the past nine months and I don't really know where to start. I suppose the beginning?
At some point in the year I had a boyfriend. That all started and ended pretty quickly, actually. I probably shouldn't talk about it too much. He seemed sweet. But alas, that chapter has closed.
In about May I started getting involved in the local theatre. After ushering for a few shows, I heard auditions were being held for another show, "All Shook Up". At the time I was as shy as anything and didn't want to even go to the audition, let alone be in a musical. I was almost certain I couldn't sing, couldn't dance, wasn't the world's greatest actor and certainly didn't want to sing, dance and act in front of anyone I didn't have to. But I went to the audition. I did it. I'm pretty sure I turned up an hour late, even though the audition was held walking distance from my house. I'm always late to things. The epitomy of this would have to have been the time I held a barbacue down at the local beach's foreshores, and turned up 40 minutes late. I was the host. It was my barbacue. Yet I turned up 40 minutes late.
Right, the audition. So I went there and sat there shaking until the Director asked me to sing something for her. The only song I'd prepared was an excerpt of "We three Kings of Orient Are". Everyone was really shocked at how deep my voice was and didn't seem to mind that I'd sung a Christmas Carol in the middle of may.
I got into the show somehow as a member of the ensemble. I kept telling myself that I would have to let them all know that I had to leave the show as the pressure of the HSC was too strong. But I never got around to it, and along came opening night. I was running so high on adrenaline I didn't even have the chance to feel nervous or scared. Between when I auditioned for the show and the show's afterparty, I came to several epiphanies.
Anyone who knows me would be very, very sick of hearing about my "existential crises" or "sudden epiphanies". But I'm going to assume you, whoever you are, have perchanced to visit this blog for reasons dark and unknown, and as such don't mind me blabbing on.
Rehearsals started in May after the cast had been put together. I was shy and terrified of everyone and everything. My hair was auburn, and I had a boyfriend. By the time the show ended, all of that was gone. On opening night, we were all slapping each other's arses and undressing in front of each other backstage. And my hair, well, I'd dyed it black because I was sick of having to keep up the dying process. And the boyfriend, well, he was gone. It was good, in retrospect, that we parted ways. Even though I didn't really like him, I'd forced myself to believe that I did. And somehow it still hurt when it all ended. I guess being rejected isn't nice, regardless of who did the rejecting.
He might have rejected me, and other friends might have walked out or faded away from my life, but in the theatre I found sanctuary. I became eerily close to my theatre family over those few months. At one point I performed a less than sober striptease to some of the girls in the cast to Cher's "Welcome to Burlesque".
Anyway, the theatre became my home. I spent more time with the cast and crew than I did with my own friends and family, which felt like a bad thing. But then I came to the realisation that the theatre is what I love. I love performance. I love it.
It's been very difficult for me not to drop out of year twelve to become a full time vagabond. When I found out that auditions for "RENT" the musical are taking place somewhere in Sydney in October I sent off a flurry of excited emails. But then reality struck, and I realised I wouldn't be able to afford constant trips to and from Sydney, and shouldn't be traversing acrossing the country between HSC exams. And I decided I should stay here in my hometown for the rest of the year as it is my last year living here, and some people I might not see again.
Fuck, I'm going to miss everyone and everything about this town. Well, that's a lie. We have our fair share of bogans here, and much less than our fair share of excitement. But I have met the most beautiful people living here, and made connections I don't want to lose. People here have touched me on a deep level and I'm actually terrified and distraught at the thought of losing this connection. Although we all vow to stay in touch, I know that in reality only a few of us will, and the rest are doomed to drift off into the "I used to know" category.
I am truly going to miss this place. This beautiful town full of gorgeous people. It was where I grew up. It was where I first found myself. I learnt to walk, talk, sing, dance, drive and thrive here. I learnt how to be a person, how to be a friend, how to be a lover and how to embrace everything life offers with both arms. It was here that I had my first kiss, my first love. It was in this town that I discovered who I am. I discovered that I might be anybody, or somebody, and that I wasn't just nobody. I learnt to persevere, to try my hardest and to never give up. I learnt when to stop, when to let go, and when to walk away. And I know that moving to Sydney next year is something I just have to do. But I will forever hold this town and it's people close to my heart.
Anyway, hello! I'm back. An awful lot has happenned over the past nine months and I don't really know where to start. I suppose the beginning?
At some point in the year I had a boyfriend. That all started and ended pretty quickly, actually. I probably shouldn't talk about it too much. He seemed sweet. But alas, that chapter has closed.
In about May I started getting involved in the local theatre. After ushering for a few shows, I heard auditions were being held for another show, "All Shook Up". At the time I was as shy as anything and didn't want to even go to the audition, let alone be in a musical. I was almost certain I couldn't sing, couldn't dance, wasn't the world's greatest actor and certainly didn't want to sing, dance and act in front of anyone I didn't have to. But I went to the audition. I did it. I'm pretty sure I turned up an hour late, even though the audition was held walking distance from my house. I'm always late to things. The epitomy of this would have to have been the time I held a barbacue down at the local beach's foreshores, and turned up 40 minutes late. I was the host. It was my barbacue. Yet I turned up 40 minutes late.
Right, the audition. So I went there and sat there shaking until the Director asked me to sing something for her. The only song I'd prepared was an excerpt of "We three Kings of Orient Are". Everyone was really shocked at how deep my voice was and didn't seem to mind that I'd sung a Christmas Carol in the middle of may.
I got into the show somehow as a member of the ensemble. I kept telling myself that I would have to let them all know that I had to leave the show as the pressure of the HSC was too strong. But I never got around to it, and along came opening night. I was running so high on adrenaline I didn't even have the chance to feel nervous or scared. Between when I auditioned for the show and the show's afterparty, I came to several epiphanies.
Anyone who knows me would be very, very sick of hearing about my "existential crises" or "sudden epiphanies". But I'm going to assume you, whoever you are, have perchanced to visit this blog for reasons dark and unknown, and as such don't mind me blabbing on.
Rehearsals started in May after the cast had been put together. I was shy and terrified of everyone and everything. My hair was auburn, and I had a boyfriend. By the time the show ended, all of that was gone. On opening night, we were all slapping each other's arses and undressing in front of each other backstage. And my hair, well, I'd dyed it black because I was sick of having to keep up the dying process. And the boyfriend, well, he was gone. It was good, in retrospect, that we parted ways. Even though I didn't really like him, I'd forced myself to believe that I did. And somehow it still hurt when it all ended. I guess being rejected isn't nice, regardless of who did the rejecting.
He might have rejected me, and other friends might have walked out or faded away from my life, but in the theatre I found sanctuary. I became eerily close to my theatre family over those few months. At one point I performed a less than sober striptease to some of the girls in the cast to Cher's "Welcome to Burlesque".
Anyway, the theatre became my home. I spent more time with the cast and crew than I did with my own friends and family, which felt like a bad thing. But then I came to the realisation that the theatre is what I love. I love performance. I love it.
It's been very difficult for me not to drop out of year twelve to become a full time vagabond. When I found out that auditions for "RENT" the musical are taking place somewhere in Sydney in October I sent off a flurry of excited emails. But then reality struck, and I realised I wouldn't be able to afford constant trips to and from Sydney, and shouldn't be traversing acrossing the country between HSC exams. And I decided I should stay here in my hometown for the rest of the year as it is my last year living here, and some people I might not see again.
Fuck, I'm going to miss everyone and everything about this town. Well, that's a lie. We have our fair share of bogans here, and much less than our fair share of excitement. But I have met the most beautiful people living here, and made connections I don't want to lose. People here have touched me on a deep level and I'm actually terrified and distraught at the thought of losing this connection. Although we all vow to stay in touch, I know that in reality only a few of us will, and the rest are doomed to drift off into the "I used to know" category.
I am truly going to miss this place. This beautiful town full of gorgeous people. It was where I grew up. It was where I first found myself. I learnt to walk, talk, sing, dance, drive and thrive here. I learnt how to be a person, how to be a friend, how to be a lover and how to embrace everything life offers with both arms. It was here that I had my first kiss, my first love. It was in this town that I discovered who I am. I discovered that I might be anybody, or somebody, and that I wasn't just nobody. I learnt to persevere, to try my hardest and to never give up. I learnt when to stop, when to let go, and when to walk away. And I know that moving to Sydney next year is something I just have to do. But I will forever hold this town and it's people close to my heart.
Friday, 4 January 2013
So, it's next year. I'm sure a lot of people have made resolutions. I'm sure a lot of people have looked back at the previous year and given themselves a pat on their back for their achievements.
Let's have a look at what I got up to last year.
I spent most of January wandering around, confused. I'd go from the beach to a friend's house back to the beach again and occassionally back to mine. I would always wear Jeans when my friends dragged me to the beach, to avoid having to swim. This never worked, however, and at one point I was picked up bridal style and thrown into the water. I was not happy.
Sadly, I lost my grandmother in February. I won't make any jokes here because she was a woman who lived and breathed love, the epitamy of sweetness. I remember to this day a comment she made on all the pills she had to take. "I just give myself a shake and all the pills go in where they're meant to go" she'd say, making light of anything she was given. I miss her and regret not getting to know her as well as I could have.
On Valentines Day, I was single. And life was depressing. I wore a singlet over a shirt that day. I think it was that Valentines Day that one of my friends bought me a stuffed toy bear holding a love heart. There was nothing romantic between us, she was just lovely.
I woke up on St Patrick's Day at a friend's house, and slowly headed home with Nell. The next morning, we woke up and made Green Pancakes & Milkshakes to celebrate St Patrick's Day a day late.
In April I think I went to Dubbo. My old dear friend Brodie moved there two years ago and I rarely get to see him. It was lovely. He showed me a terrifying manga animation while I was there, after which I proceeded to scream and jump on top of him. We also went shopping with his now-ex-girlfriend. I learnt all about Dubbo, what life was like for them in Dubbo, and about how a friend of theirs had contracted Herpes. I haven't seen either of them since.
Honestly, my winter was quite a blur. I went to parties and at one point made out with someone, but other than that I don't remember doing much. Other than being depressed. It was in July that I became interested in Sarah Blasko.
In the September holidays, I went on a school trip to Vietnam. It was absolutely astounding. None of us wanted to leave Halong Bay. It was a truly gorgeous place, unlike anything I'd seen before. We went canoeing at one point and saw the most adorable monkeys in existence. The only one in our group that had brought a camera dropped it in the water, so we decided to stay and closely observe the social structure of the monkey's society. They had a habit of jumping out of trees and falling down several atmospheres but remaining fine nonetheless. Much like the way that the Vietnamese had a habit of driving recklessly but managing to avoid nearly all collisions. I honestly think less accidents occur on Vietnamese roads than Australian roads, despite our strict road rules and their lack thereof. Or perhaps they just don't make a fuss when accidents occur. That sounds like a very Vietnamese thing to do.
At some point I became avidly interested in baking. I don't know when or why, but somehow it became a hobby of mine. The number of cookies I made last year is terrifying. I once baked over 100, with mum's help, to sell at a CoastOut stall. They sold really well, but after that, I never wanted to see another cookie again.
I also got into riding to school. I think this was 83% due to the fact that I'd lost my bus pass and I couldn't be bothered putting up with the crap bus drivers gave me when I got on. Sure, having to pay to catch a school bus bothered me, but what bothered me more was how rudely I was treated by the bus company. There is no need for such derision when someone who is clearly a student and has clearly caught the bus almost every day for a year lacks a bus pass. I don't even know why bus passes are necessary. If I'm going from my home to school and back every day, clearly I'm a student. I have never heard of someone pretending to be a student just to hitch a free ride from their house to a school.
In December, I went to see Regina Spektor in Brisbane with my friend Lola. It was beyond words. Her voice she takes me somewhere else. She manages to tell someone else's story so well, again and again. Her songs aren't manufactured to fit a mould - she herself said that something like that each song could fit a different genre. She creates such real characters and real stories, and then puts them into beautiful melodies.
I made a lot of new friends last year. There was a lot of drama, and a lot of good times. A lot of memories you don't expect too, not all of them drunken memories. I have one memory of dancing to Christmas Carols in Brisbane while going mad from the heat.
Let's have a look at what I got up to last year.
I spent most of January wandering around, confused. I'd go from the beach to a friend's house back to the beach again and occassionally back to mine. I would always wear Jeans when my friends dragged me to the beach, to avoid having to swim. This never worked, however, and at one point I was picked up bridal style and thrown into the water. I was not happy.
Sadly, I lost my grandmother in February. I won't make any jokes here because she was a woman who lived and breathed love, the epitamy of sweetness. I remember to this day a comment she made on all the pills she had to take. "I just give myself a shake and all the pills go in where they're meant to go" she'd say, making light of anything she was given. I miss her and regret not getting to know her as well as I could have.
On Valentines Day, I was single. And life was depressing. I wore a singlet over a shirt that day. I think it was that Valentines Day that one of my friends bought me a stuffed toy bear holding a love heart. There was nothing romantic between us, she was just lovely.
I woke up on St Patrick's Day at a friend's house, and slowly headed home with Nell. The next morning, we woke up and made Green Pancakes & Milkshakes to celebrate St Patrick's Day a day late.
In April I think I went to Dubbo. My old dear friend Brodie moved there two years ago and I rarely get to see him. It was lovely. He showed me a terrifying manga animation while I was there, after which I proceeded to scream and jump on top of him. We also went shopping with his now-ex-girlfriend. I learnt all about Dubbo, what life was like for them in Dubbo, and about how a friend of theirs had contracted Herpes. I haven't seen either of them since.
Honestly, my winter was quite a blur. I went to parties and at one point made out with someone, but other than that I don't remember doing much. Other than being depressed. It was in July that I became interested in Sarah Blasko.
In the September holidays, I went on a school trip to Vietnam. It was absolutely astounding. None of us wanted to leave Halong Bay. It was a truly gorgeous place, unlike anything I'd seen before. We went canoeing at one point and saw the most adorable monkeys in existence. The only one in our group that had brought a camera dropped it in the water, so we decided to stay and closely observe the social structure of the monkey's society. They had a habit of jumping out of trees and falling down several atmospheres but remaining fine nonetheless. Much like the way that the Vietnamese had a habit of driving recklessly but managing to avoid nearly all collisions. I honestly think less accidents occur on Vietnamese roads than Australian roads, despite our strict road rules and their lack thereof. Or perhaps they just don't make a fuss when accidents occur. That sounds like a very Vietnamese thing to do.
At some point I became avidly interested in baking. I don't know when or why, but somehow it became a hobby of mine. The number of cookies I made last year is terrifying. I once baked over 100, with mum's help, to sell at a CoastOut stall. They sold really well, but after that, I never wanted to see another cookie again.
I also got into riding to school. I think this was 83% due to the fact that I'd lost my bus pass and I couldn't be bothered putting up with the crap bus drivers gave me when I got on. Sure, having to pay to catch a school bus bothered me, but what bothered me more was how rudely I was treated by the bus company. There is no need for such derision when someone who is clearly a student and has clearly caught the bus almost every day for a year lacks a bus pass. I don't even know why bus passes are necessary. If I'm going from my home to school and back every day, clearly I'm a student. I have never heard of someone pretending to be a student just to hitch a free ride from their house to a school.
In December, I went to see Regina Spektor in Brisbane with my friend Lola. It was beyond words. Her voice she takes me somewhere else. She manages to tell someone else's story so well, again and again. Her songs aren't manufactured to fit a mould - she herself said that something like that each song could fit a different genre. She creates such real characters and real stories, and then puts them into beautiful melodies.
I made a lot of new friends last year. There was a lot of drama, and a lot of good times. A lot of memories you don't expect too, not all of them drunken memories. I have one memory of dancing to Christmas Carols in Brisbane while going mad from the heat.
Brilliant Things
The Band "Shanteya & Jo"
Basically, they're two beautiful souls that come together to make ethereal, organic and poetic music. You can find them here:
https://www.facebook.com/ShanteyaAndJo/info
http://www.triplejunearthed.com/ShanteyaandJo
Pretty Much All Australian Comedians
Denise Scott once described speaking with an Australian accent as going in a "long, flat line"
Judith Lucy once lamented on the absurdity of women's vanity by claiming that one day, she would pick up a magazine and read "now we all no how much men hate lungs"
Kitty Flanagan once told the elderly to "use their old people skills to ward off the gypsies"
They're from Bellingen. Anyone who knows Bello will know what I mean.
They're just so Bellingen.
Basically, they're two beautiful souls that come together to make ethereal, organic and poetic music. You can find them here:
https://www.facebook.com/ShanteyaAndJo/info
http://www.triplejunearthed.com/ShanteyaandJo
Pretty Much All Australian Comedians
Denise Scott once described speaking with an Australian accent as going in a "long, flat line"
Judith Lucy once lamented on the absurdity of women's vanity by claiming that one day, she would pick up a magazine and read "now we all no how much men hate lungs"
Kitty Flanagan once told the elderly to "use their old people skills to ward off the gypsies"
Sunday, 16 December 2012
Underwear Underwear Where Are You
So I haven't written anything for a while here. That tends to happen. I treat this blog just like I treat everything and everyone. That is to say I'll spend obsessive amounts of time with it, and then it won't see me for a long time. My friends know this is how I roll, and it's not necessarily my fault. It probably is. I feel bad for this.
So the other day I sat an exam. In the morning I woke up late, and spent most of the time I had before the test at home, studying frantically. I went into the bathroom soon before it was time to go to have a shower. When I got out of the shower, I realised something. Not only had I forgotten to bring a towel in, but I had as well as this ceased to remember the need for underwear. So I stared at my black business pants and oversized white shirt before grabbing a towel that was not mine and drying, before putting on the shirt, the pants, and no underwear. On the way out, I chucked a pair of underwear in my bag, assuring myself I'd have time to put them on before the exam. But I was very wrong.
By the time I made it to campus, I was late. So I bolted into the room, and sat the entire test without underwear. No one knew. Except the two people I told after the test. And some other people I've told since. And anyone who's reading this.
So the other day I sat an exam. In the morning I woke up late, and spent most of the time I had before the test at home, studying frantically. I went into the bathroom soon before it was time to go to have a shower. When I got out of the shower, I realised something. Not only had I forgotten to bring a towel in, but I had as well as this ceased to remember the need for underwear. So I stared at my black business pants and oversized white shirt before grabbing a towel that was not mine and drying, before putting on the shirt, the pants, and no underwear. On the way out, I chucked a pair of underwear in my bag, assuring myself I'd have time to put them on before the exam. But I was very wrong.
By the time I made it to campus, I was late. So I bolted into the room, and sat the entire test without underwear. No one knew. Except the two people I told after the test. And some other people I've told since. And anyone who's reading this.
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
I went to Coast Out Fair Day on the weekend. The weather was bizzarely windy, and everyone at my stall ended up at least a little bit sick by the end of it.
I had a lovely time. Towards the end of the day, Louise, Emma and I started wlaking out into the ever-diminishing crowd with our remaining goods in an attempt to sell them for a lower price. Eventually we just said "Food" and "Donation", before I shoved our group's flyer in their face. It turns out when you ask people for a donation for something, it can go one of two ways. They'll give much more than the product is worth, or they'll do what lots of people did and just grab something and walk off.
The day ended up taking much longer than it was originally supposed to, and after pack up, I didn't get home until 7-something. I soon found myself in the shower, swearing in my head.
My weekend started immediately after class on Friday. That night, I had a sleepover, I guess you could call it. There were only five of us, so it was all very close knit. I was by far the most drunken one there. I felt really terrible though. Not because most of my blood had been replaced with alcohol, but because two of the girls were really unhappy. I mean REALLY unhappy. We'd all agreed to come over and have a few drinks, but apparently not. When two of your best friends are randomly unhappy and choose not to drink at a pre-organised agreed-upon shindig, what should you do? Well, apparently repeatedly asking if their okay doesn't work. I don't know what I was supposed to do though. It both broke my heart and pissed me off, so I just kept drinking and pole dancing. I had a good night. But I don't know if anyone else did. And I feel terrible.
The next morning I woke up and walked home to grab some eggs, before returning and waiting for everyone to wake up. That's the most boring thing one can do. Anyway, when they eventually woke up, I discovered that I had not only rolled in tim tams the previous evening, but when I was passing out in the early hours of the morning, I was loudly discussing the fact that I was going numb. I thought I'd thought that.
The later hours of Saturday saw me making an unspeakably large amount of cookies for the fair. After I finally finished this, I rode my bike to the shops to meet up with the others again, and of course left my bike lock at home. So we tied it up with a sock.
I had Goodie over that night, which was lovely. But we couldn't stop ourselves worrying about another dear friend. But there's only so much worrying you can do before falling asleep.
I've explained Sunday.
So now it's Tuesday, and I've finally succumb to one of the sicknesses floating around. I dread to think what class work I have to catch up on.
I had a lovely time. Towards the end of the day, Louise, Emma and I started wlaking out into the ever-diminishing crowd with our remaining goods in an attempt to sell them for a lower price. Eventually we just said "Food" and "Donation", before I shoved our group's flyer in their face. It turns out when you ask people for a donation for something, it can go one of two ways. They'll give much more than the product is worth, or they'll do what lots of people did and just grab something and walk off.
The day ended up taking much longer than it was originally supposed to, and after pack up, I didn't get home until 7-something. I soon found myself in the shower, swearing in my head.
My weekend started immediately after class on Friday. That night, I had a sleepover, I guess you could call it. There were only five of us, so it was all very close knit. I was by far the most drunken one there. I felt really terrible though. Not because most of my blood had been replaced with alcohol, but because two of the girls were really unhappy. I mean REALLY unhappy. We'd all agreed to come over and have a few drinks, but apparently not. When two of your best friends are randomly unhappy and choose not to drink at a pre-organised agreed-upon shindig, what should you do? Well, apparently repeatedly asking if their okay doesn't work. I don't know what I was supposed to do though. It both broke my heart and pissed me off, so I just kept drinking and pole dancing. I had a good night. But I don't know if anyone else did. And I feel terrible.
The next morning I woke up and walked home to grab some eggs, before returning and waiting for everyone to wake up. That's the most boring thing one can do. Anyway, when they eventually woke up, I discovered that I had not only rolled in tim tams the previous evening, but when I was passing out in the early hours of the morning, I was loudly discussing the fact that I was going numb. I thought I'd thought that.
The later hours of Saturday saw me making an unspeakably large amount of cookies for the fair. After I finally finished this, I rode my bike to the shops to meet up with the others again, and of course left my bike lock at home. So we tied it up with a sock.
I had Goodie over that night, which was lovely. But we couldn't stop ourselves worrying about another dear friend. But there's only so much worrying you can do before falling asleep.
I've explained Sunday.
So now it's Tuesday, and I've finally succumb to one of the sicknesses floating around. I dread to think what class work I have to catch up on.
Friday, 19 October 2012
Hanoi
I thought it was about time I posted something here. It was Sepia's birthday yesterday, but I did not give her anything. This post could be her gift. Although it's extremely narcissistic for me to assume that a piece of my writing could act as a gift to her. Narcissism is something I'm not fond of. Something else I'm not fond of is not having direct personal access to the internet.
So essentially this post will be rushed. No time to discuss my recent trip to Vietnam, which was actually extremely amazing. At one point, I woke up while vomiting. Or perhaps to the sound of my own vomiting. I was, thankfully, turned away from the guys I was sleeping with. Sharing a room with. But I was directly facing my things. So I lost some clothes and a neck pillow thanks to my sleep-vomiting.
I tell everyone this story when they ask about my trip. For me, it was one of the most thrilling experiences. I didn't enjoy it. But it was amazing. After I'd finished vomiting all over my stuff, I ran to the bathroom to look for something to clean it up with/see if I needed to vomit more. But then I ran downstairs to see if anyone in the hotel staff was awake/had a mop or some kind of jazz. But no. I was on my own.
So I tried my best to clean up my own vomit, in the dark, quietly, without vomiting more. That's a lie - I did vomit more. I slept in the bathroom that evening, on the floor. With a pillow though, so it was good. But I kept getting up to throw up, and this sort of thing didn't stop until we'd taken a long, bumpy bus ride to Halong Bay, and my body was contented with covering not only my possessions, but also my hair and my seat of the bus, in what is now called Esmerelda.
I think it's worst if I talk about Vietnam in a sporadic, out of order manner. But that may be how it will go. This event occurred near the start of the trip, at apperently beautiful Hanoi. I can't remember too much of it's beauty, just it's heat. As well as my Esmerelda. Oh, and of course the lighter man who followed Darby up and down the city streets trying to sell him a lighter. In Australia, people walk INTO shops and decide slowly what they might buy. In the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, the shop spills out of it's building onto the street, and the shop assistant decides frantically what you will buy. I really don't remember much of Hanoi. But I may have gotten a little less than sober one night with the girls in Hanoi. Still being a bit sick, I was no fun, but they were. Patricia may or may not have terrified another one of the girls by discussing masturbation while humping the wall. These two girls were also. sorry, may have also been, sharing a bed, much to the terror of the second girl who I won't name because I'm trying to keep my friends a little anonymity.
So essentially this post will be rushed. No time to discuss my recent trip to Vietnam, which was actually extremely amazing. At one point, I woke up while vomiting. Or perhaps to the sound of my own vomiting. I was, thankfully, turned away from the guys I was sleeping with. Sharing a room with. But I was directly facing my things. So I lost some clothes and a neck pillow thanks to my sleep-vomiting.
I tell everyone this story when they ask about my trip. For me, it was one of the most thrilling experiences. I didn't enjoy it. But it was amazing. After I'd finished vomiting all over my stuff, I ran to the bathroom to look for something to clean it up with/see if I needed to vomit more. But then I ran downstairs to see if anyone in the hotel staff was awake/had a mop or some kind of jazz. But no. I was on my own.
So I tried my best to clean up my own vomit, in the dark, quietly, without vomiting more. That's a lie - I did vomit more. I slept in the bathroom that evening, on the floor. With a pillow though, so it was good. But I kept getting up to throw up, and this sort of thing didn't stop until we'd taken a long, bumpy bus ride to Halong Bay, and my body was contented with covering not only my possessions, but also my hair and my seat of the bus, in what is now called Esmerelda.
I think it's worst if I talk about Vietnam in a sporadic, out of order manner. But that may be how it will go. This event occurred near the start of the trip, at apperently beautiful Hanoi. I can't remember too much of it's beauty, just it's heat. As well as my Esmerelda. Oh, and of course the lighter man who followed Darby up and down the city streets trying to sell him a lighter. In Australia, people walk INTO shops and decide slowly what they might buy. In the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, the shop spills out of it's building onto the street, and the shop assistant decides frantically what you will buy. I really don't remember much of Hanoi. But I may have gotten a little less than sober one night with the girls in Hanoi. Still being a bit sick, I was no fun, but they were. Patricia may or may not have terrified another one of the girls by discussing masturbation while humping the wall. These two girls were also. sorry, may have also been, sharing a bed, much to the terror of the second girl who I won't name because I'm trying to keep my friends a little anonymity.
Thursday, 27 September 2012
Saturday
Saturday
So Adele is blasting in my right ear, but only my right ear, because the left earphone doesn't work. I'm probably something thousand metres above Nimbin. One doesn't get much higher than that.
My carry-on luggage was pretty much completely emptied out and searched through several times at the airport. Anything tht remotely resembled a liquid and was over 100mL was taken. I'm not sure if I have any sunscreen, insect repellent, or other mildly necessary items. I'm really not fussed about losing the toothpaste. I mean it could have had a bomb in it. My teeth are already a lovely shade of yellow.
No seriously, I'm not fussed, or whinging. The amount of times I whinge on this blog, and then actively oppose whinging is astonishing. Just, get over it.
The things they took were just material possessions. And material possessions are just that, material. What means more to me is that which you can't measure, like how charming Mika is. Or, you know, love, friendship's and all that. All the memories we'll make here.
I was terrified a certain friend wouldn't make it on the plane. That sort of terror a mother has when one of her children is missing and she just assumes he's been kidnapped.
Amy Lee's continual screming of "Can you hear me/ Can you hear me? OH OH OH, OH OH OH" is relly very distracting. Yes, I can hear you. Through my right ear.
Anyway, that friendknows who he is. He is Darby. Workspacebar. Work.
So Adele is blasting in my right ear, but only my right ear, because the left earphone doesn't work. I'm probably something thousand metres above Nimbin. One doesn't get much higher than that.
My carry-on luggage was pretty much completely emptied out and searched through several times at the airport. Anything tht remotely resembled a liquid and was over 100mL was taken. I'm not sure if I have any sunscreen, insect repellent, or other mildly necessary items. I'm really not fussed about losing the toothpaste. I mean it could have had a bomb in it. My teeth are already a lovely shade of yellow.
No seriously, I'm not fussed, or whinging. The amount of times I whinge on this blog, and then actively oppose whinging is astonishing. Just, get over it.
The things they took were just material possessions. And material possessions are just that, material. What means more to me is that which you can't measure, like how charming Mika is. Or, you know, love, friendship's and all that. All the memories we'll make here.
I was terrified a certain friend wouldn't make it on the plane. That sort of terror a mother has when one of her children is missing and she just assumes he's been kidnapped.
Amy Lee's continual screming of "Can you hear me/ Can you hear me? OH OH OH, OH OH OH" is relly very distracting. Yes, I can hear you. Through my right ear.
Anyway, that friendknows who he is. He is Darby. Workspacebar. Work.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
When Life Gives You Bogans
Shit. People are actually reading my blog posts these days. I'm scared. Scared they'll find out how shit I am at most things.
I can't write, I'm shit at maths, I can't cook scones, I can't hold down a relationship. No idea why I'd need to "hold down" a relationship. It's not some kind of bird that could just fly away at any moment (Dido). Perhaps it is. Perhaps my relationships are all one Phoenix, and they just need to keep getting reduced to ashes for no apparent reason.
No idea what I'm on about, as usual. I was in the library with Sepia today. She was looking for some Poe to steal when I came across travel guides for the Australian Outback. I just about fell of the edge of the earth when I saw them. Why the bloody heck would anyone want to visit the outback? It's just dirt. Lots & lots of red dirt. And bogans. So many bogans.
But Priscilla was set in the outback, and I like Priscilla. For those of you who haven't seen Priscilla, it's a movie. About a bus. And two drag queens. And Bernadette. I love Bernadette.
Basically, Bernadette's husband dies, and for some reason, they get a huge bus, call it Priscilla, and travel to the Outback. I don't really understand that part of the plot but it's a damn good movie. Watch it.
One of my favourite parts of the movie is when SPOILER ALERT Adam, the younger drag queen who is just the sex, gets into trouble with some bogans. Basically, Bernadette; who, by the way, is a transexual woman, comes to the rescue.
The head bogan exclaims "Come and fuck me Bernadette", while grabbing his crotch for some reason.
Bernadette gracefully makes her way towards him, before kneeing him in crotch several times and then flicking her hair out of her face. The wit-machine then utters the gorgeous words - "There, now you're fucked"
I adore this scene, because it sums Bernadette up so well. She's been though quite a bit - being a transexual back in the day - and consequently, she is an extremely strong individual who's quick thinking. But she's also decided, through all this adversity, to be a graceful, elegant woman, and fight opposition with good nature, or, when necessary, kneeing bogan's in the balls.
We can all learn a valuable lesson from our dear Bernadette. When life gives you bogans, knee them in the balls. Or, you know, remain positive & good-natured despite adversity.
The movie's fantastic, & you can see that scene here.
I'd better leave you again for a while. Take care.
I can't write, I'm shit at maths, I can't cook scones, I can't hold down a relationship. No idea why I'd need to "hold down" a relationship. It's not some kind of bird that could just fly away at any moment (Dido). Perhaps it is. Perhaps my relationships are all one Phoenix, and they just need to keep getting reduced to ashes for no apparent reason.
No idea what I'm on about, as usual. I was in the library with Sepia today. She was looking for some Poe to steal when I came across travel guides for the Australian Outback. I just about fell of the edge of the earth when I saw them. Why the bloody heck would anyone want to visit the outback? It's just dirt. Lots & lots of red dirt. And bogans. So many bogans.
But Priscilla was set in the outback, and I like Priscilla. For those of you who haven't seen Priscilla, it's a movie. About a bus. And two drag queens. And Bernadette. I love Bernadette.
Basically, Bernadette's husband dies, and for some reason, they get a huge bus, call it Priscilla, and travel to the Outback. I don't really understand that part of the plot but it's a damn good movie. Watch it.
One of my favourite parts of the movie is when SPOILER ALERT Adam, the younger drag queen who is just the sex, gets into trouble with some bogans. Basically, Bernadette; who, by the way, is a transexual woman, comes to the rescue.
The head bogan exclaims "Come and fuck me Bernadette", while grabbing his crotch for some reason.
Bernadette gracefully makes her way towards him, before kneeing him in crotch several times and then flicking her hair out of her face. The wit-machine then utters the gorgeous words - "There, now you're fucked"
I adore this scene, because it sums Bernadette up so well. She's been though quite a bit - being a transexual back in the day - and consequently, she is an extremely strong individual who's quick thinking. But she's also decided, through all this adversity, to be a graceful, elegant woman, and fight opposition with good nature, or, when necessary, kneeing bogan's in the balls.
We can all learn a valuable lesson from our dear Bernadette. When life gives you bogans, knee them in the balls. Or, you know, remain positive & good-natured despite adversity.
The movie's fantastic, & you can see that scene here.
I'd better leave you again for a while. Take care.
Saturday, 15 September 2012
Winter Kisses
Morning Everyone. Sorry for abandoning you for the winter. My reasons were both complex and a combination of "I'm Lazy", "I'm not good enough", & "I don't have internet access".
But I'm here now, and that's possibly good.
Quite a lot happenned while I was offline. I went to a few parties, made out with a few boys, and made some new friendships.
The parties were lovely, but they seem to be getting fewer and further between at the moment. This is either due to my heightening morlality or more likely the fact that it's final exam time at the moment. Final exams are not fun. Well, I think they are. But they're incredibly difficult, especially English Extension. I'll be blatently honest here & admit that I have not been doing my best in that class. I've failed to read a number of readings, and I creatively bullshitted my way through most of the assessments and tests...
When I sat down to write a six page essay for this subject, using a never before seen question, 5 quotes, and sporadic knowledge of the topic, within two hours, things got more than a little stressful. Add into the mix a piece of imaginative writing, and you have me sweating in buckets.
Making out with boys is another cause of my metaphorical sweat. For some reason, a straight - apparently bisexual male - felt the need to make out with me at a party. He was a bit less than sober at the time, but, nonetheless, I was scared & confused - my natural reaction to people having some interest in me. He'd been asking a mutual friend of ours if this could happen all night and I was shocked that he was so persistently interested in me. We hugged for centuries while I continually asked him what he wanted to do. He made it clear that I had to make the first move - so eventually I did that. When the night wound down and we stopped making out, I ended up sleeping next to him - on the floor - in a room full of boys and a tomboy. He was in terrible state, due to his girlfriend's emotional instability, and I thought I could make it better somehow. But he essentially ignored me in front of his friends, as they discussed women and porn & all sorts of things I had little interest in. I know, he kindof had a girlfriend at the time. But I thought there was a spark. There clearly wasn't, as he didn't care in the slightest about how dangerously close my back was to snapping sleeping on the concrete floor. When I got home, I purged my negative emotions about the fact he really didn't have feelingsg for me - after analysing all the interactions we had ever had for some scrap of hope - through listening to nothing but Sarah Blasko on Spotify. What the Sea wants, the sea will have is a spectecular album to listen to when you want to feel sorry for yourself & dream about what will never happen.
That was months ago. More recently, I had what retrospectively looks awfully like a short fling with a male I became quite fond of. Again, this started at night. But this time, he acted the same in the morning. Long story short, he was hesitant to be in a relationship because he'd be moving at the end of the year, but I didn't give a ham. Towards the end of us, he dragged me to a bonfire where I nearly froze out in the cold, and despite promising to keep me warm, he hardly touched me. I had a bad night. We ate too late, and stayed up for far too long doing nothing.
He avoided kissing me until he dropped me home the next morning... I knew something was up. He texted me later in the day to let me know he was becoming too attached and couldn't do this because it would hurt when he moves. He said he still wanted me in his life, although we've hardly spoken since
So now, I'm single, still. I never had a boyfriend per se. Out of the boys I wrote about, the first boy is now effectively back with his girlfriend, and the second boy, I don't even know. I heard mention of him being with someone else now too.
Sometimes, I get that horrible lonely feeling. I get it a lot actually. But I've decided to be happy with who I am, and never let anyone else become the focus of my existence. Although I may let that happen again, I hope not. For now, I've decided to focus on studies and let boys be a secodnary priority.
I'm sure that'll happen (sarcastic tone). But anyway, Spring has arrived, & I'm also going on an overseas trip this holidays. So I've got fuckall to complain about.
P.S. I realise I whinged for most of the post, then said I have nothing to complain about. Bear with me, please
But I'm here now, and that's possibly good.
Quite a lot happenned while I was offline. I went to a few parties, made out with a few boys, and made some new friendships.
The parties were lovely, but they seem to be getting fewer and further between at the moment. This is either due to my heightening morlality or more likely the fact that it's final exam time at the moment. Final exams are not fun. Well, I think they are. But they're incredibly difficult, especially English Extension. I'll be blatently honest here & admit that I have not been doing my best in that class. I've failed to read a number of readings, and I creatively bullshitted my way through most of the assessments and tests...
When I sat down to write a six page essay for this subject, using a never before seen question, 5 quotes, and sporadic knowledge of the topic, within two hours, things got more than a little stressful. Add into the mix a piece of imaginative writing, and you have me sweating in buckets.
Making out with boys is another cause of my metaphorical sweat. For some reason, a straight - apparently bisexual male - felt the need to make out with me at a party. He was a bit less than sober at the time, but, nonetheless, I was scared & confused - my natural reaction to people having some interest in me. He'd been asking a mutual friend of ours if this could happen all night and I was shocked that he was so persistently interested in me. We hugged for centuries while I continually asked him what he wanted to do. He made it clear that I had to make the first move - so eventually I did that. When the night wound down and we stopped making out, I ended up sleeping next to him - on the floor - in a room full of boys and a tomboy. He was in terrible state, due to his girlfriend's emotional instability, and I thought I could make it better somehow. But he essentially ignored me in front of his friends, as they discussed women and porn & all sorts of things I had little interest in. I know, he kindof had a girlfriend at the time. But I thought there was a spark. There clearly wasn't, as he didn't care in the slightest about how dangerously close my back was to snapping sleeping on the concrete floor. When I got home, I purged my negative emotions about the fact he really didn't have feelingsg for me - after analysing all the interactions we had ever had for some scrap of hope - through listening to nothing but Sarah Blasko on Spotify. What the Sea wants, the sea will have is a spectecular album to listen to when you want to feel sorry for yourself & dream about what will never happen.
That was months ago. More recently, I had what retrospectively looks awfully like a short fling with a male I became quite fond of. Again, this started at night. But this time, he acted the same in the morning. Long story short, he was hesitant to be in a relationship because he'd be moving at the end of the year, but I didn't give a ham. Towards the end of us, he dragged me to a bonfire where I nearly froze out in the cold, and despite promising to keep me warm, he hardly touched me. I had a bad night. We ate too late, and stayed up for far too long doing nothing.
He avoided kissing me until he dropped me home the next morning... I knew something was up. He texted me later in the day to let me know he was becoming too attached and couldn't do this because it would hurt when he moves. He said he still wanted me in his life, although we've hardly spoken since
So now, I'm single, still. I never had a boyfriend per se. Out of the boys I wrote about, the first boy is now effectively back with his girlfriend, and the second boy, I don't even know. I heard mention of him being with someone else now too.
Sometimes, I get that horrible lonely feeling. I get it a lot actually. But I've decided to be happy with who I am, and never let anyone else become the focus of my existence. Although I may let that happen again, I hope not. For now, I've decided to focus on studies and let boys be a secodnary priority.
I'm sure that'll happen (sarcastic tone). But anyway, Spring has arrived, & I'm also going on an overseas trip this holidays. So I've got fuckall to complain about.
P.S. I realise I whinged for most of the post, then said I have nothing to complain about. Bear with me, please
Monday, 9 April 2012
That's using your legs.
The other day I walked around 20km to prove something. I'm sure everyone's done something like that at one point.
It was 6am the morning after a party. I woke up before everyone else, confused, wearing drag makeup and one of the host's shirts. For some reason I decided I'd go for a walk, but first checked that what I was wearing was appropraite attire for the outside world.
On the other lounge was a couple, that were somewhat awake and sucking face. After recieving a positive response to my query, I began to walk, after working out where I was and admiring the scenery for a while.
I walked to the end of the street and saw an enormous green road sign. It exclaimed that the next country town was only 10km away. I accepted the challenge.
My reasons, in order of importance, were:
I got up after a while and trekked on, stopping twice more to send a text from a public phone and ask if I was heading in the right direction. I was, apparently, heading in the right direction towards the SMALL LITTLE VILLAGE. The old man I asked used a tautology to made sure I knew I was headed towards a "Small, little village" for some reason. Probably because I didn't look like the type that would, or should, venture outside the walls of suburbia. I was perfectly aware of where I was headed, and soldiered on until I reached a service station that appeared to have it's share of conflicts.
I was offerred a job as I walked in, cautiously avoiding the mopped parts of the floor. "I don't live around here" was my attempt to shut down conversation with the strange man. I bought an apple cider and payed for it on my card. To my disbelief, I think I actually typed in my Pin right the first time round. I don't think this has happenned since, and I live in constant fear of what happens after three incorrect Pin entries.
I went on to buy vegetable chips and make my way home. It was much hotter this time around and I laid down on various occassions. An old man offered to give me a lift, but I declined, thinking it was a bad idea to hitchhike. I regretted that decision up until the time a kind lady pulled over to offer me a lift. I accepted this time. She drove very quickly back to where I was staying, and I stumbled back as if nothing had happenned.
It was 6am the morning after a party. I woke up before everyone else, confused, wearing drag makeup and one of the host's shirts. For some reason I decided I'd go for a walk, but first checked that what I was wearing was appropraite attire for the outside world.
On the other lounge was a couple, that were somewhat awake and sucking face. After recieving a positive response to my query, I began to walk, after working out where I was and admiring the scenery for a while.
I walked to the end of the street and saw an enormous green road sign. It exclaimed that the next country town was only 10km away. I accepted the challenge.
My reasons, in order of importance, were:
- I am hungry and/or thirsty
- I want to prove that I have done interesting things in my life
- I want something to write about for my next blog post
I got up after a while and trekked on, stopping twice more to send a text from a public phone and ask if I was heading in the right direction. I was, apparently, heading in the right direction towards the SMALL LITTLE VILLAGE. The old man I asked used a tautology to made sure I knew I was headed towards a "Small, little village" for some reason. Probably because I didn't look like the type that would, or should, venture outside the walls of suburbia. I was perfectly aware of where I was headed, and soldiered on until I reached a service station that appeared to have it's share of conflicts.
I was offerred a job as I walked in, cautiously avoiding the mopped parts of the floor. "I don't live around here" was my attempt to shut down conversation with the strange man. I bought an apple cider and payed for it on my card. To my disbelief, I think I actually typed in my Pin right the first time round. I don't think this has happenned since, and I live in constant fear of what happens after three incorrect Pin entries.
I went on to buy vegetable chips and make my way home. It was much hotter this time around and I laid down on various occassions. An old man offered to give me a lift, but I declined, thinking it was a bad idea to hitchhike. I regretted that decision up until the time a kind lady pulled over to offer me a lift. I accepted this time. She drove very quickly back to where I was staying, and I stumbled back as if nothing had happenned.
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