Why not discuss Christmas? I mean, everyone likes sparing one day of their lives to give a shit about Jesus and those who don't really do a marvellous job of pretending to. That said, I am part of the latter minority and have been this way ever since my parents admitted that the overweight homo sapiens in red who derives joy from having children sit on his lap was indeed one big hoax. Upon this discovery I was then able to grow up a little inside and concede that Christmas was a stress-filled affair scattered with glorified roastgoods and paper bonbons filled with jokes pertaining to a certain epoch which allowed for crass and all-round incongruousness.
To me, Christmas is just another day, one which I'd no doubt sacrifice even if it meant returning all the presents I've accumulated and haven't yet thrown out over the past sixteen years. I can understand and tolerate (yes, contrary to popular belief I am capable of this) the religious significance of it all, it's one thing to tolerate and one thing to involve oneself. Despite my father's insistance that I partake in religious activities solely based on the fact that I attend an Anglican school, I prefer to be on the observing end of things. And that concludes my view on Christmas, though it's probably more of a rant rather than a view.
As for what I want, well, I really have no clue. I may or may not decide to purchase a new laptop (which will ultimately help decide my fate in the VCE) and am tossing up whether a webcam for vlogtastic purposes involving collaborations with Nick will be a worthy investment. In the meantime, I'm tired and craving TV so I might conclude what is probably the most terrible blog I have ever written. Have a splendiferous Christmas and if I'm still jetlagged, an awesome 2009.
Bethany
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
I needed something to cheer me up...
So I found this on my hard-drive while randomly perusing the computer in the early hours of morning. It's been translated directly from French, so please excuse any grammatical errors/bastardisation of the English language.
If my life was an original soundtrack, there would be songs which would be characterised with harpsichord solos, maybe with a clarinet here and there. Percussion would also be utilised, often suggesting something sinister or bad. Lots of moments in my life, especially my mission for love, have needed a song here and there; however seeing as technology isn’t quite advanced enough to have songs in Word Documents, you will have to imagine. It’s simple, isn’t it? If not, please depart.
Anyway, the story commences at my Aunt Vivi’s party. She was a woman whom although very ugly, was also nice and made the best cakes. Unfortunately, she ate them all before we had a chance to eat them; therefore this was only a suspicion because we thought that if she ate them all the time, they were probably delicious. Well, we were at Vivi’s when I saw a guy. Not an ordinary guy that you can see any day; this guy was brilliant. I can’t possibly describe his appearance; imagine the most gorgeous guy in history. Your guy probably isn’t as good looking.
I walked near him, drinking my champagne. Eventually, I fathomed the courage to speak to him, after I’d had a bit too much to drink. Prior to now, Vivi told me that there would be a new guy at the party, an American student called Dave. I thought that he had to be Dave.
"Hi", I said, « My name is... "
“My name is Dave, “ he said. I wasn’t able to say my name. Although I thought Americans were stupid, I decided to continue our conversation.
“Dave? That’s a nice name, isn’t it? You’re the first person with that name that I’ve met! Congratulations! I want to kiss you in fact! For a real French present! »
It was clear that I’d had a bit too much to drink. I was drunk, but I knew what I was saying. Dave wouldn’t kiss me; and I was becoming very sad. Although that I was drunk, I wanted him. All night, I tried to kiss him, but I wasn’t successful. After the party had finished, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I asked Vivi for his telephone number, but she was always eating her cakes, avoiding me completely. Despite the difficulties, I was determined to be with my dearest, my love. Approximately, the music has to start now; maybe a song with cello and double bass solos.
If you’ll permit me, I want to paint you a scenario. Imagine that you have been invited to a ball, a masked ball in fact. If you haven’t been to a masked ball, it’s like this: normally, there are lots of people who are either ridiculously pretentious or poor people who are only here because they won a sort of competition that you find on the back of milk cartons. Although there is a big difference between the rich and the poor, a typical person wouldn’t notice. Instead, they can drink and dance and pretend to be pretentious.
In many ways, the world is like a masked ball; with the rich people and the poor people and pretending. Moreover, since the ball is masked, when you want to look for someone that you may know, it’s always very difficult because everyone is wearing a mask. Therefore, you have to search for a long time, and you ask yourself if your person is actually at this masked ball or in your imagination. However, I thought that Dave didn’t live in my imagination, and I was determined to find him, in the big masked ball that is our life.
A long time ago, Vivi told me that Dave would return to Wisconsin on the 3rd April; which gave me lots of time to organise the trip that would be the best decision of my life. Piece by piece I arranged it, assuring myself that I would go to every place where Dave might be. My flight, scheduled for the 27th May at 9:02am, would fly me across the Atlantic Ocean until the magical land of the USA was visible. I would stay in lots of little motels, making sure I didn’t buy too many clothes and the like. This would be an unforgettable adventure; I was so happy that I would see Dave, the love of my life, my flea, my dearest. Every word of love could describe him.
Anyway, before I knew it, I was eating bad quality food on a transatlantic flight, thinking about how content I would be when I saw Dave for the first time in a month. I ignored the dry chicken and the bread because I knew that the best was approaching. Somewhere in this big land that is the United States, Dave was doing something, and it made me smile. Somewhere, Dave was having a shower or maybe doing his homework. While my little television showed me “Sleepless in Seattle”, I knew the film would manifest itself in my life.
The United States is a place that you can’t imagine yourself loving, probably because like a masked ball, there are differences that one can’t see except if one looks around. First of all, one thinks that everything is the same – the restaurants, the people possibly – and it seems like a small country. However, if one spends ten years there, their opinion is going to be different.
It’s a big country, the United States, but the country’s size wouldn’t stop me from finding my dearest. I had stopped my tertiary education to look for Dave; and instead of studying I was working in lots of restaurants and from time, I danced for money. My new life was difficult, but I remembered that everything would be perfect when I found Dave. The internet became an invaluable resource as every day, I looked for him on Google and then I would drive down every street in Wisconsin, from time to time asking someone if they had heard of him. Most of the time, I wasn’t successful, but one day changed my entire life.
This part of the story would need music for sure, but it’s difficult to determine what sort. Normally, romantic violin solos would be ideal for scenes like this, when finally the amorous couple would meet and would kiss till the sun would rise. However, this seems appropriate only if it is accompanied by sinister solos like from the other scenes. I think that any murder has the potential to be contradictory, and this is no exception. Passion and hatred are so close together that it’s not a big surprise.
I’m sure that you know what will happen, so I won’t explain it to you. It’s clear that passion and hatred combine; culminating in bloodthirsty love and eventually, a murder, emerged from my desires for this guy, the love of my life, my weakness that forced me to do this horrible crime. Well, on this tropical island, Dave is with me, not breathing, immobile, but still perfect. It mightn’t be the ending that you wanted, but in one way I think that it is perfect. I finally have Dave and although it isn’t the best ending, it’s the only ending.
Oh, and despite the fact that I'll probably never see him again, I hope J is still frequenting this blog as much as ever. I would honestly like to think that my writing leaves lasting impressions on people.
Untitled.
Well, after five years, two months, thirty-one days and twelve minutes, I am here. I am here, where I have wanted to be for so many years and I can finally say that everything is perfect. My dearest on my left and a large bottle of champagne on my right, on a tropical island with no problems; it’s incredible at least.If my life was an original soundtrack, there would be songs which would be characterised with harpsichord solos, maybe with a clarinet here and there. Percussion would also be utilised, often suggesting something sinister or bad. Lots of moments in my life, especially my mission for love, have needed a song here and there; however seeing as technology isn’t quite advanced enough to have songs in Word Documents, you will have to imagine. It’s simple, isn’t it? If not, please depart.
Anyway, the story commences at my Aunt Vivi’s party. She was a woman whom although very ugly, was also nice and made the best cakes. Unfortunately, she ate them all before we had a chance to eat them; therefore this was only a suspicion because we thought that if she ate them all the time, they were probably delicious. Well, we were at Vivi’s when I saw a guy. Not an ordinary guy that you can see any day; this guy was brilliant. I can’t possibly describe his appearance; imagine the most gorgeous guy in history. Your guy probably isn’t as good looking.
I walked near him, drinking my champagne. Eventually, I fathomed the courage to speak to him, after I’d had a bit too much to drink. Prior to now, Vivi told me that there would be a new guy at the party, an American student called Dave. I thought that he had to be Dave.
"Hi", I said, « My name is... "
“My name is Dave, “ he said. I wasn’t able to say my name. Although I thought Americans were stupid, I decided to continue our conversation.
“Dave? That’s a nice name, isn’t it? You’re the first person with that name that I’ve met! Congratulations! I want to kiss you in fact! For a real French present! »
It was clear that I’d had a bit too much to drink. I was drunk, but I knew what I was saying. Dave wouldn’t kiss me; and I was becoming very sad. Although that I was drunk, I wanted him. All night, I tried to kiss him, but I wasn’t successful. After the party had finished, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I asked Vivi for his telephone number, but she was always eating her cakes, avoiding me completely. Despite the difficulties, I was determined to be with my dearest, my love. Approximately, the music has to start now; maybe a song with cello and double bass solos.
~
If you’ll permit me, I want to paint you a scenario. Imagine that you have been invited to a ball, a masked ball in fact. If you haven’t been to a masked ball, it’s like this: normally, there are lots of people who are either ridiculously pretentious or poor people who are only here because they won a sort of competition that you find on the back of milk cartons. Although there is a big difference between the rich and the poor, a typical person wouldn’t notice. Instead, they can drink and dance and pretend to be pretentious.
In many ways, the world is like a masked ball; with the rich people and the poor people and pretending. Moreover, since the ball is masked, when you want to look for someone that you may know, it’s always very difficult because everyone is wearing a mask. Therefore, you have to search for a long time, and you ask yourself if your person is actually at this masked ball or in your imagination. However, I thought that Dave didn’t live in my imagination, and I was determined to find him, in the big masked ball that is our life.
A long time ago, Vivi told me that Dave would return to Wisconsin on the 3rd April; which gave me lots of time to organise the trip that would be the best decision of my life. Piece by piece I arranged it, assuring myself that I would go to every place where Dave might be. My flight, scheduled for the 27th May at 9:02am, would fly me across the Atlantic Ocean until the magical land of the USA was visible. I would stay in lots of little motels, making sure I didn’t buy too many clothes and the like. This would be an unforgettable adventure; I was so happy that I would see Dave, the love of my life, my flea, my dearest. Every word of love could describe him.
Anyway, before I knew it, I was eating bad quality food on a transatlantic flight, thinking about how content I would be when I saw Dave for the first time in a month. I ignored the dry chicken and the bread because I knew that the best was approaching. Somewhere in this big land that is the United States, Dave was doing something, and it made me smile. Somewhere, Dave was having a shower or maybe doing his homework. While my little television showed me “Sleepless in Seattle”, I knew the film would manifest itself in my life.
~
The United States is a place that you can’t imagine yourself loving, probably because like a masked ball, there are differences that one can’t see except if one looks around. First of all, one thinks that everything is the same – the restaurants, the people possibly – and it seems like a small country. However, if one spends ten years there, their opinion is going to be different.
It’s a big country, the United States, but the country’s size wouldn’t stop me from finding my dearest. I had stopped my tertiary education to look for Dave; and instead of studying I was working in lots of restaurants and from time, I danced for money. My new life was difficult, but I remembered that everything would be perfect when I found Dave. The internet became an invaluable resource as every day, I looked for him on Google and then I would drive down every street in Wisconsin, from time to time asking someone if they had heard of him. Most of the time, I wasn’t successful, but one day changed my entire life.
This part of the story would need music for sure, but it’s difficult to determine what sort. Normally, romantic violin solos would be ideal for scenes like this, when finally the amorous couple would meet and would kiss till the sun would rise. However, this seems appropriate only if it is accompanied by sinister solos like from the other scenes. I think that any murder has the potential to be contradictory, and this is no exception. Passion and hatred are so close together that it’s not a big surprise.
I’m sure that you know what will happen, so I won’t explain it to you. It’s clear that passion and hatred combine; culminating in bloodthirsty love and eventually, a murder, emerged from my desires for this guy, the love of my life, my weakness that forced me to do this horrible crime. Well, on this tropical island, Dave is with me, not breathing, immobile, but still perfect. It mightn’t be the ending that you wanted, but in one way I think that it is perfect. I finally have Dave and although it isn’t the best ending, it’s the only ending.
Oh, and despite the fact that I'll probably never see him again, I hope J is still frequenting this blog as much as ever. I would honestly like to think that my writing leaves lasting impressions on people.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
To the Nerd Herd,
I'm just going to go right ahead and contradict my arts student persona and launch straight to the point. Due to personal reasons, I will no longer be joining you all on a regular basis. This decision has come about after much deliberation and it's with great regret that I am incapable of finding a legitimate alternative.
I want to thank you all for being so courteous, warm-hearted, witty and above all, patient and accepting, especially during GH3 and Halo sessions. Never in my life have I met such a dynamic group of people so tolerant of my imperfections, which range from obscene neuroticism, my impetuous creativity and limited sense of humour. These past four months have been nothing short of memorable and I want to thank you all for the memories.
In the meantime, I wish you all the best for your future endeavours. Make the most of every opportunity and strive to become the best you can possibly be. Continue to encourage each other to thrive on learning and small joys in life the way you encouraged me.
Whether it's on a train platform in two days or in court in two decades, until we meet again (or if we ever do)...
Bethany.
Random Observation Post-Rejection 001
When I was exactly 12 months younger than I am today, and was doing my utmost to shelter myself from the commercialised beats of "Irreplaceable" and "Hey There Delilah"* in a bid to retreat to Facebook and fleeting affairs with homework - these times really are a'changing, aren't they? (You may now pass "GO" and collect your sarcasm") - I had an epiphany. An epiphany of the 21st century, it seems, because the way in which people tend to define epiphany varies from the downright religious to the downright... atheist. However, my personal epiphany came upon discovering that the first line of "I Don't Like Mondays" was as follows:
"The silicon chip inside her head/ gets switched to overload"
as opposed to what I had previously thought was:
"Instead of gettin' chips in Cider Head/ (She) gets switched to overload".
Until this very moment I had spent eons wondering whereabouts on this troublesome Earth Cider Head was located, and why the chips there were promoted as something superior to the common chip. I also pondered whether this nameless female protagonist had been adamant about getting chips at Cider Head, or if her desires to venture to such a little-known place were tangible or alternatively, a solution to not getting switched to overload. These questions consumed me for hours on end, usurping every square inch of my soul until I myself wanted to get chips from Cider Head, just to see what all the commotion was about.
So, what was my reaction when I discovered the real lyrics, you might ask? Well, I will admit I was a little disappointed; it was sort of one of those moments where you read the end of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy purely to find out the meaning of life, ascertain the fact that it's a number as opposed to a reason and then wonder why the fuck it's a number rather than something clichéd like "to love and to learn" or something just plain weird like "Thor Taylor". (I personally have never done this myself, but when I was dutifully informed that the meaning of my life was the product of six and seven I reacted this way) I then had a transitive moment where I cursed Bob Geldof's lyrical wankery and went off on my merry way, perfectly aware that I'd spent a good part of my adolescence contemplating erroneously rather than doing something productive, like saving baby whales with AIDS.
My point of all this lies within the fact that we are all capable of creating individual worlds for ourselves. Our collective world is quite the enormous place, so we feel a need to individualise it and create sanctums where we can believe that Geldof laments about deep fried potatoes cut in rectangular shapes and the meaning of life is a young prodigious Frenchman. And when we discover that part of this existence is not so, it can be somewhat pitying. In the past 12 hours, I've realised this and while it's been nothing short of comparable to an amusement park ride based on Fat Bastard's digestive system, I know I have to accept everything, stop dwelling on the past and making the present what I want it to be, even if it means forgoing what I had never wanted to forgo. I'll be in my non-individualised, communal world for a short while until I'll be able to make it personal again. And you know what, I can't wait to see how I can personalise it, with the people I'll meet, the places I go and the grades I receive.
Oh yeah, and I'll still have you know that I'm still slightly ticked off. Don't get me started on that one, ha.
*Had to Wikipedia the Top 100 Songs of 2007.
"The silicon chip inside her head/ gets switched to overload"
as opposed to what I had previously thought was:
"Instead of gettin' chips in Cider Head/ (She) gets switched to overload".
Until this very moment I had spent eons wondering whereabouts on this troublesome Earth Cider Head was located, and why the chips there were promoted as something superior to the common chip. I also pondered whether this nameless female protagonist had been adamant about getting chips at Cider Head, or if her desires to venture to such a little-known place were tangible or alternatively, a solution to not getting switched to overload. These questions consumed me for hours on end, usurping every square inch of my soul until I myself wanted to get chips from Cider Head, just to see what all the commotion was about.
So, what was my reaction when I discovered the real lyrics, you might ask? Well, I will admit I was a little disappointed; it was sort of one of those moments where you read the end of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy purely to find out the meaning of life, ascertain the fact that it's a number as opposed to a reason and then wonder why the fuck it's a number rather than something clichéd like "to love and to learn" or something just plain weird like "Thor Taylor". (I personally have never done this myself, but when I was dutifully informed that the meaning of my life was the product of six and seven I reacted this way) I then had a transitive moment where I cursed Bob Geldof's lyrical wankery and went off on my merry way, perfectly aware that I'd spent a good part of my adolescence contemplating erroneously rather than doing something productive, like saving baby whales with AIDS.
My point of all this lies within the fact that we are all capable of creating individual worlds for ourselves. Our collective world is quite the enormous place, so we feel a need to individualise it and create sanctums where we can believe that Geldof laments about deep fried potatoes cut in rectangular shapes and the meaning of life is a young prodigious Frenchman. And when we discover that part of this existence is not so, it can be somewhat pitying. In the past 12 hours, I've realised this and while it's been nothing short of comparable to an amusement park ride based on Fat Bastard's digestive system, I know I have to accept everything, stop dwelling on the past and making the present what I want it to be, even if it means forgoing what I had never wanted to forgo. I'll be in my non-individualised, communal world for a short while until I'll be able to make it personal again. And you know what, I can't wait to see how I can personalise it, with the people I'll meet, the places I go and the grades I receive.
Oh yeah, and I'll still have you know that I'm still slightly ticked off. Don't get me started on that one, ha.
*Had to Wikipedia the Top 100 Songs of 2007.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Ooooh burn, j'kiffe la France and infinity other titles that in the true spirit of a Generation Y-er, can't be fucked writing here (yet ironically *ca
I'm writing this blog entry at roughly 5:47AM (which equates to roughly 7:47 PM Parisian time) on a day which I believe is Monday, though I could be totally wrong. One might question why I'm writing so early in the morning and this can easily be justified by my overall mangled sense of time and space established as a result of a gruelling 24 hours in transit, but I think the real reason here lies in recently being burned by love or something along those clichéd lines. I don't know if it's the fact that it happened while I was overseas, but I'm just really frustrated that this is actually the fourth time in two years. I'm not trying to point the blame at anyone here, I just need to vent purely since I didn't think I could find anyone better and here I am, typing about something that I never thought nor hoped would eventuate. Ideally I'd love everything to be sweeter and my four remaining weeks of summer holidays to be less sombre but hey, the Rolling Stones insisted that we can't always get what we want and for me I guess that's true, really.
On a more optimistic note, I have successfully returned to Australia sans abduction/murder/rape. While it's good to be able to wear something other than a bulky coat and clompy boots and of course, sleep in my own bed, I really do miss Nogent with a passion. Living for four weeks in a country where one's knowledge of the language is left to either prosper or wither presents a myriad of opportunities to discover new perspectives on life and learn more about yourself, all while meeting interesting people - and in my case, making up parody songs about them - along the way. It's most certainly life-changing, if I am able to say that without feeling like a special guest on Oprah, which would result in roughly one hundred thousand tears pouring down the faces of one hundred overweight Midwestern housewives, only to be salvaged by one hundred Louis Vuitton handkerchieves distributed as freebies. Needless to say, my French has improved somewhat (I can understand roughly 85 per cent of conversation rather than 65 per cent at the start of exchange) and my outlook on life improved possibly even more and je suis sur que j'ai de la chance d'avoir participé dans l'échange. I'd no doubt highly reccommend it. I'd also recommend my parents check their datebooks more often, since they got the day mixed up resulting in a mad rush to collect me and my French teacher from the airport. I'll write about it when I feel like laughing, as opposed to right now where I'm just feeling emo and Nogent-sick.
Incidentally, France has cultivated within me a love of new music. Check out "Ta Douleur" by Camille, which you will have to do anyway since I've posted the link below. The song's entirely in French but from what I'm able to recall/translate, it's about a girl who is singing about her sick friend and her desire to "take her pain" and "block her senses". I love it not only for its seductive vocals (though I will say that French conversations are pure seduction anyway) and the prevalence of some slick bass guitar, but also the fact that this song can get away with calling scientists "connards" (dickheads - to Nick: "canard" is duck, not dickhead, unless you're New Zealander in which you can probably get away with calling someone a "duckhead" and causing offense. You can probably also get away with screwing sheep), which is something I've always wanted to do. A-fucking-men.
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=XIuyVAXvf1k
NB: Upon reading this a second time, having included the difference between "un canard" and "un connard", I'd like to add that the second sentence within the bracket and the clause which follows outside of the bracket are in no such way connected to each other. Despite feeling somewhat lonely and single I have not and never will have the slightest intention to resort to bestiality to act as a stop-gap solution to my desires. Thank you for reading this and hopefully understanding my propensity for human males, or males with the same number of chromosomes as me for that matter.
Oh, and speaking of good music, I would officially like to thank the Pixies for entertaining me with their music during my three consecutive flights. The songs "Debaser", "Wave of Mutilation" and "La La Love You" are awesome and incredible. In the meantime, to whoever can be arsed reading this (if my memory serves me correctly I think I only have one reader now) have a rockin' yuletide, bitch, and I'll see you in 2009 unless you're a pedophile/murderer/terrorist/scientist!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Mon dernier mot avant je pars en France.
Alright, so I'll readily admit that whilst I've been putting this blog entry off for a fair while, when there's a decision between doing this and attempting to condense (and synthesise) 30kg worth of clothing-related bulk in a suitcase the size of your average midget, the choice is unanimous. I'm currently relishing the remaning 32 hours I have left to exercise my ability to string remotely coherent sentences together, which in a sense is quite ironic given that I'm the only one home at the moment, thus the meaning of understandable communication is somewhat lost in a sea of wrapping paper and warm clothes thrown all over the room. As of tomorrow, I'll be eschewing the stereotypical comforts, namely Vegemite, 23 degree weather and A Current Affair (not really a comfort, but at least it's in English) and leaving on a jet-plane, flying from one hemisphere to the other like a sloth trying to traverse across an oversized gym ball and stopping twice along the way for "refuelling". It's a somewhat intimidating prospect; however I'm prepared to dedicate every square inch of myself to making the trip a marvellous success and take on the land which is responsible for odourous cheese, socialists and our very own Thor Taylor.
During the past week, my mood has varied between "drastically excited" to "unashamedly terrified" and there's no doubt that the presence of alcohol has acted as an effective catalyst. At present, I'm mostly hovering around the "just shut up and remember Dead Poets Society in all its quotetastic glory", since it only just dawned on me that such quotes as "Gotta do more, gotta be more!" and of course, the notable "Carpe Diem" are not entirely out of place in this situation. I'm going to miss everyone terribly, possibly in the same way that Republicans miss Bush but in a less disturbing way and I know that there will be some days where I'll want to come home and continue eating Vegemite, drenching myself in the 23 degree weather and watching A Current Affair. However I'm more than ready for the opportunity to see the world and experience new things and consequently, learn from them.
Anyway, this concludes my sappy rant. If you want a postcard, message/email/msn/text/morse-code me your address and I'll get on it asap.
Bethany
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Yet another gratuitous blog post.
However, before I commence - James, if you're reading this, I am so very incredibly sorry for disturbing you during Physics in all your transitive, fake ape-like glory. I'll do my utmost to repay you in as much red bean or Pocky as it takes; or maybe even Death Note viewings.
Given the antics of this week, I'm beginning to think that stupidity is a transitory possession for everyone except me. So far, I've failed to achieve my goals of obtaining an academic award and acting intellectually minded and thus I've fallen into a black pit of temporary emo-hood, sans atrocious poetry. The work ethic's decreasing at an astounding rate, which is dovetailing inconveniently with imminent exams of the non-VCE variety. To be honest, I'd love to be able to care; however this notion seems incredibly far-fetched as late for reasons unknown. Hopefully this bout of lethargy will be as ephemeral as my vaguely humiliating phone call during which I screamed "I CAN'T HEAR A WORD YOU'RE SAYING!" into my Motorola on an intersection full of skinny-jean and oversized cardigan-toting Korovians, only to hear a subtle murmur of "I'm in the middle of class...". If I may revert to third person, "Bethany endeavours to portray herself as a headstrong, intellectually adept 21st century rolemodel yet contradicts this facade by epitomising every due facet of clumsiness and social ineptitude, not to mention a distinct lack of phone etiquette". Double blah.
Apart from that shameless self-deprecation session, I might also add that today was nothing short of unusual aside from the aforementioned obvious embarrassment. Having abandoned my idea to be physically vandalised by eggs andwater-bombs filled with a plethora of fluids that do not fathom contemplation, I waddled (note: I waddle when I'm embarrassed, don't you dare judge me) down to catch a train to insertstation here, from where I walked to Chadstone Shopping Centre in a bid to curb my self-pity and listen to Motown. With this in mind, I met some interesting (both good and bad) people along the way and since I'm loathing the idea of writing down word for word exactly what happened, I hereby present a collection of short letters addressed to these eccentrics that made me feel like slightly less of a jerk-ette and more human, a feeling which I've never exactly warmed to...
To the Connex Ticket inspector who approached me just as I commenced the application of lip product: The two previously mentioned actions were mere coincidence. Your presence did not motivate me in any way, shape or form, to ameliorate my physical appearance in order to seduce you and the sincere manner that was to follow was purely platonic and nothing more. Being of such an esteemed *sarcastic smile* position in our society, I can surely understand that positive attention from women does not feature heavily in your daily life; however I sincerely hope that you acknowledge the irrelevance of my actions to your bludgeoning libido and maybe one day you'll inspect the ticket of that someone special, be it woman, man or hermaphrodite.
To the slightly-less dishevelled, irrepressibly WEIRD man who walked like he had bees up his crotch, counted his steps and then proceeded to see me and poke me in the eye: Aside from a definite deficiency in social aptitude, what exactly compelled you to partake in said actions? Upon seeing me, did it immediately dawn on you that I appeared to fit your list of mangled criteria of an "Ideal Candidate on which to Manifest My (Your) Eye-Poking Fetish", and was there such a fetish to begin with? If this is the case, I do not feel flattered in any such way by your strange "advances" and in fact felt nothing short of confused, slightly terrified and grateful for my sunglasses that proved an excellent protective barrier from the creepiness dripping from your soul. Had they not been gracing my skull at the time, I'm near-positive that I would have some sort of cancerous conjunctivitis with peculiar side effects, a la counting my steps out loud as I walked. I will, however, thank you for not raping me.
To "Vikram", the Coles shelf-stacker who arbirtarily introduced himself while I was browsing the toothbrush section of the toiletries aisle: Whilst it was a pleasure to meet you, I can't comprehend your intentions for merely walking up to me and asking my name when I appeared to be preoccupied with the rigours of toothbrush selection. I'm assuming your job isn't that hectic if your idea of "work" involves attempting to live vicariously through a seemingly well-intentioned part-time stalker and introduce yourself, only to walk towards the dairy goods section with a feeling of self-satisfaction. I'm sure you're a nice person and all, but really, Facebook and reality are two different realms - with vaguely stalkerish, sporadic introductions being legitimate only in the former. (NB: I'm prepared to disregard this policy for those who are male, eighteen years of age and under, attractive, intelligent, polite, witty and genuinely not a creep).
To that woman who was the spitting image of Roberta Williams (as portrayed in Underbelly), who provided ample support following my "ordeal" with Vikram: You truly are fantastic. Not only were you brilliant in making me forget the negative happenings of my day, you squeezed a chuckle out of me 15 minutes after meeting you knowing that you look like, act like, speak like and undoubtedly think like Roberta Williams. I'll never, ever forget your wise words, to "run quickly, before he comes after you" and I wish you all the success in the future, whether it be at VicRoads or beyond.
Anyway, if you've made it this far, congratulations. Have a splendiferous day, especially if you're part of the class of 2008.
xx
Today I love...motown, warm showers, having something to write about (for once), people who care about me getting massacred on muck-up day, good samaritans, mochaccinos, spending money, not being raped, costumes that make me look ugly, intentional rejection of typical beauty in pursuit of deliberate ugliness, people who don't yell at me, freedom, Melbourne Town Hall and its prime location...
Given the antics of this week, I'm beginning to think that stupidity is a transitory possession for everyone except me. So far, I've failed to achieve my goals of obtaining an academic award and acting intellectually minded and thus I've fallen into a black pit of temporary emo-hood, sans atrocious poetry. The work ethic's decreasing at an astounding rate, which is dovetailing inconveniently with imminent exams of the non-VCE variety. To be honest, I'd love to be able to care; however this notion seems incredibly far-fetched as late for reasons unknown. Hopefully this bout of lethargy will be as ephemeral as my vaguely humiliating phone call during which I screamed "I CAN'T HEAR A WORD YOU'RE SAYING!" into my Motorola on an intersection full of skinny-jean and oversized cardigan-toting Korovians, only to hear a subtle murmur of "I'm in the middle of class...". If I may revert to third person, "Bethany endeavours to portray herself as a headstrong, intellectually adept 21st century rolemodel yet contradicts this facade by epitomising every due facet of clumsiness and social ineptitude, not to mention a distinct lack of phone etiquette". Double blah.
Apart from that shameless self-deprecation session, I might also add that today was nothing short of unusual aside from the aforementioned obvious embarrassment. Having abandoned my idea to be physically vandalised by eggs andwater-bombs filled with a plethora of fluids that do not fathom contemplation, I waddled (note: I waddle when I'm embarrassed, don't you dare judge me) down to catch a train to insertstation here, from where I walked to Chadstone Shopping Centre in a bid to curb my self-pity and listen to Motown. With this in mind, I met some interesting (both good and bad) people along the way and since I'm loathing the idea of writing down word for word exactly what happened, I hereby present a collection of short letters addressed to these eccentrics that made me feel like slightly less of a jerk-ette and more human, a feeling which I've never exactly warmed to...
To the Connex Ticket inspector who approached me just as I commenced the application of lip product: The two previously mentioned actions were mere coincidence. Your presence did not motivate me in any way, shape or form, to ameliorate my physical appearance in order to seduce you and the sincere manner that was to follow was purely platonic and nothing more. Being of such an esteemed *sarcastic smile* position in our society, I can surely understand that positive attention from women does not feature heavily in your daily life; however I sincerely hope that you acknowledge the irrelevance of my actions to your bludgeoning libido and maybe one day you'll inspect the ticket of that someone special, be it woman, man or hermaphrodite.
To the slightly-less dishevelled, irrepressibly WEIRD man who walked like he had bees up his crotch, counted his steps and then proceeded to see me and poke me in the eye: Aside from a definite deficiency in social aptitude, what exactly compelled you to partake in said actions? Upon seeing me, did it immediately dawn on you that I appeared to fit your list of mangled criteria of an "Ideal Candidate on which to Manifest My (Your) Eye-Poking Fetish", and was there such a fetish to begin with? If this is the case, I do not feel flattered in any such way by your strange "advances" and in fact felt nothing short of confused, slightly terrified and grateful for my sunglasses that proved an excellent protective barrier from the creepiness dripping from your soul. Had they not been gracing my skull at the time, I'm near-positive that I would have some sort of cancerous conjunctivitis with peculiar side effects, a la counting my steps out loud as I walked. I will, however, thank you for not raping me.
To "Vikram", the Coles shelf-stacker who arbirtarily introduced himself while I was browsing the toothbrush section of the toiletries aisle: Whilst it was a pleasure to meet you, I can't comprehend your intentions for merely walking up to me and asking my name when I appeared to be preoccupied with the rigours of toothbrush selection. I'm assuming your job isn't that hectic if your idea of "work" involves attempting to live vicariously through a seemingly well-intentioned part-time stalker and introduce yourself, only to walk towards the dairy goods section with a feeling of self-satisfaction. I'm sure you're a nice person and all, but really, Facebook and reality are two different realms - with vaguely stalkerish, sporadic introductions being legitimate only in the former. (NB: I'm prepared to disregard this policy for those who are male, eighteen years of age and under, attractive, intelligent, polite, witty and genuinely not a creep).
To that woman who was the spitting image of Roberta Williams (as portrayed in Underbelly), who provided ample support following my "ordeal" with Vikram: You truly are fantastic. Not only were you brilliant in making me forget the negative happenings of my day, you squeezed a chuckle out of me 15 minutes after meeting you knowing that you look like, act like, speak like and undoubtedly think like Roberta Williams. I'll never, ever forget your wise words, to "run quickly, before he comes after you" and I wish you all the success in the future, whether it be at VicRoads or beyond.
Anyway, if you've made it this far, congratulations. Have a splendiferous day, especially if you're part of the class of 2008.
xx
Today I love...motown, warm showers, having something to write about (for once), people who care about me getting massacred on muck-up day, good samaritans, mochaccinos, spending money, not being raped, costumes that make me look ugly, intentional rejection of typical beauty in pursuit of deliberate ugliness, people who don't yell at me, freedom, Melbourne Town Hall and its prime location...
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Spring and all.
I’ve conceded as of this week that spring (as in the season we are currently experiencing) is merely a synonym for ‘idealism’. In amidst the abundance of sneezing and wheezing and other onomatopoeias that occur as a result of beautiful flowers scattered across sundrenched sidewalks, spring is intended to epitomise both perfection and affection. Technically, this should be fuelling the creative minds of notable cynics like myself, but much to the disappointment of my pessimistic/sarcastic core, complaining has become a transitive impossibility. I am a cynical caterpillar, only to be hatching into a beautiful (not really, but you get the idea), optimistic butterfly only to eventually regress to drab, derisive caterpillar-dom. And how I managed to associate a season to a persona and then to an insect and then to me (not to mention maintain such an absurd transition) is something that is well and truly eluding me.
Due to the overwhelming nature of said idealism, mostly replicating itself through female friends courting sweet boys and warm school days lazing on the oval, I’ve taken this opportunity to make myself immune to all of the aforementioned and knuckle down in an abnormally Asian fashion. I’ve realised the error of my ways in both my revision technique and my “parental obtainment of love” technique and have decided to review both, spending hours glued to a Science book somewhat living vicariously through Thor Taylor. Incidentally, I’ve found myself loving what I do; the ink from my excessively-chewed pens has become my lifeblood, the blank pages a canvas for overachievement and trust from my parents, and to be honest this is why people have doubted the presence of a social life or a legitimate reason to live for that matter. I feel like I have everything I need at the moment, despite notable deficiencies of a good source of hugs, respect for John McCain, or high alcohol tolerance.
Told you it was idealism.One month and twelve days until I leave for Cheese-land.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Les vacances sont arrivées.
And while we're on the topic of French, I've been seriously doubting my ability to speak the language. I'll post about it later.
It's incredible how much of your time you spend wishing for the holidays yet when they do arrive, it's just like a two week break that feels like a two day break. In amidst the hardass nature of my parents (especially when it comes to going out - 10.3opm curfew, wtf?) and all the procrastination, these lot of holidays have been shaping up to be fairly decent. Waking up at 8am and just lying in bed with the sun pouring through the windows has proved itself to be the first indicator of a pretty good day, and given the beautiful summer sunshine I've been more than compelled to go out for long walks more often. No doubt spring is good for the soul, but hayfever isn't.
Listening to (and enjoying): Psychotic Girl - The Black Keys. I blame Zac and nobody else.
Reading: A collection of random books I stumble upon at Borders. I'm too big a cheapskate to actually buy them.
Eating: Fairy bread. And lots of it.
It's incredible how much of your time you spend wishing for the holidays yet when they do arrive, it's just like a two week break that feels like a two day break. In amidst the hardass nature of my parents (especially when it comes to going out - 10.3opm curfew, wtf?) and all the procrastination, these lot of holidays have been shaping up to be fairly decent. Waking up at 8am and just lying in bed with the sun pouring through the windows has proved itself to be the first indicator of a pretty good day, and given the beautiful summer sunshine I've been more than compelled to go out for long walks more often. No doubt spring is good for the soul, but hayfever isn't.
I thought I'd include a picture of the view from the living room-cum-kitchen-cum-dining room. I'd deem it my favourite place if I didn't connotate it with the fact that Mum has rightfully reserved it as her rest-spot. Thus whenever I go and sit out there I always feel 31 years older and slightly more Asian.
Anyhow, in regards to what I've done so far, I just thought I'd clarify the fact that despite the numerous accusations, the contents of my social life are not centred around the rigours of Facebook and/or Atlas reading (but rather, feature as a minority). Sunday came around which involved me seeing "In Bruges" with NJ, DRP, SGJ and PR at the Jam Factory. Yes, NJ, you have roped me into the craze of using people's initials. For a movie which featured Dutch prostitutes, Irish hitmen and horny American midgets I was surprised by the cinematic cohesion and was even more amazed at the fact that it managed to be downright hilarious. Along with finding new inspiration for a musical production that will most likely never eventuate, coupled with the marvellous gentlemen I was surrounded by, it was by no doubt a pretty awesome day.
Almost killing myself on public transport seemed to be theme of the week when I traversed deep into the western suburbs, with only my woman's form to protect me (which is vaguely ironic given the counts of rape on the Werribee line). Thanks for that Shakespeare quote, JB. Fortunately, it was only to Williamstown, the least dodgy place on the west-side where people go to participate in Titanic re-enactments and attempt to decide where to buy icecream from the umpteen shops along the promenade. After over an hour regressing to the role of "Connex's bitch", I arrived with the intention of helping the lovely DVS with his homework; however small talk turned into grandiose conversation and we failed monumentally to get any done.
But egad, his dog is the cutest thing to ever live.
I should probably be off enjoying my last proper Australian break before I head off to the magical land of France, failing to speak their language but overcompensating with excessive cheese/chocolate/baguette consumption. Seeing ER and RC tomorrow, and hopefully ML later on.
Oh, and with homework:
VCE Music Performance - Technical analyses of two different songs.
INCOMPLETE.
Year 10 Art History - Dadaism and Surrealism assignment.
INCOMPLETE.
Motherfudge.
xx
Listening to (and enjoying): Psychotic Girl - The Black Keys. I blame Zac and nobody else.
Reading: A collection of random books I stumble upon at Borders. I'm too big a cheapskate to actually buy them.
Eating: Fairy bread. And lots of it.
Friday, September 12, 2008
VCE Subjects. And other things far less painful.
Much like emo culture, coating yourself in meat juice and walking into a bear-infested forest and watching Temptation re-runs, the VCE and the arduous, treacherous workload associated with it is one of those painful experiences that life throws at you. You want to retaliate with all your might, but eventually you concede that it's imperative to give a fuck, even if it's for a minute of your life. Unfortunately, this said arduous journey commenced for me with subject selection, which I approached with a sense of "why should I bother when all I'll be doing is complaining about the SACs to no end" but like all dismal situations, decided to give a shit just for the sake of the betterment of the fine art of shit-giving.
Without further ado, here are the subjects that I will pretend to enjoy but not-so-quietly curse:
English 1 & 2: Only really doing this because a) it's compulsory and b) it's not literature. That, and I've been eyeing the "Man for All Seasons" folders scattered amongst the "song's for jess" (sic) folders on the I: drive and I'm determined to ascertain whether the contents are monotonous as they actually appear.
General Maths Further 1 & 2: Only really doing this purely based on its tentative guarantee that I'll need this for "later in life" and to ensure that by doing mathematics, I'm retaining the slightest portion of Asian-ness otherwise lost by forgoing it entirely. Sure, it mightn't be Methods or Specialist, but for someone who repeatedly obtains Ds in tests, it's a relative equivalent.
French 1 & 2: Doing this so that the benefits of the 2008 French Exchange can be reaped in mind-numbing SAC after SAC. Also, this is one of the few subjects I actually enjoy, not just because I can sound pretentious without fear of instant disownment. Trust me, the phrase "voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" would have infinite more meaning and appreciation in French class if KAGS wasn't a girls school. Goddamn lack of co-education.
Japanese 1 & 2: Most people consider me somewhere between a freak and a nonconformist when I say that I really do love Japanese and want to do it at a tertiary level. I must agree about this title (but not based on the fact that I love Japanese), however I will add that a trip to Japan is a great way to affirm (or in my case, reaffirm) a love for Nihongo. The people are nice, the place is quirky and the food defies the aforementioned. True, a perpetual love of Japanese food may be spurring me on to improve my language skills, but trust me, it's worth it in the end.
Psychology 1 & 2: To satisfy and justify the presence of an inner eccentric, part-time philanthropist and perhaps even an urban psychopath. Truth of the matter is that I picked this subject based on the fact that I've heard a plethora of rave reviews; that, and I feel that extra bit less of a humanities student when I tell people I'm doing a "science". Feeling like a humanities student for an extended amount of time can result in serious psychological damage.
History Revolutions 3 & 4: Contradicting everything I've said about being a humanities student, I've picked this subject on the basis that reading Animal Farm made my stomach rumble. I mean, all that pork and beef would have that effect on anyone, right? Actually, I don't know why else I picked Revs, apart from the fact that I wanted to include some sort of history in my subject selections. Learning about authoritative Russian megalomaniacs seemed like a valid choice.
So, that basically concludes the subjects that I will waste over, complain about and at the worst and most frequent of times, eschew in pursuit of Facebook, MSN and blogging. While we're on the topic of authoritative Russian megalomaniacs (took me a while to type that correctly), I've recently smelt a whiff of Stalinism seeping vicariously throught the VCE, especially the "marking up" system. It really does seem that "All subjects are created equal. But some subjects are more equal than others" (yes yes clever me), in regards to the overprioritisation of subjects that clearly require more logic than others. Logic does not equal intelligence. It is merely another fucking quadrant from that circular chart which I got in year 8 which implies that Logic, Organisation, Intuition and Creativity are all different and neither superior nor inferior to one another. And damn, that's true.
Anyway, I best be off. Stay tuned for a Jazz Soiree entry in the next few seconds/minutes/hours/days.
B.
PS. Hey there Nick. If you've made it this far, congratulations. Now go and have a nice cold drink, with that awesome jazz hat on of course.
Without further ado, here are the subjects that I will pretend to enjoy but not-so-quietly curse:
English 1 & 2: Only really doing this because a) it's compulsory and b) it's not literature. That, and I've been eyeing the "Man for All Seasons" folders scattered amongst the "song's for jess" (sic) folders on the I: drive and I'm determined to ascertain whether the contents are monotonous as they actually appear.
General Maths Further 1 & 2: Only really doing this purely based on its tentative guarantee that I'll need this for "later in life" and to ensure that by doing mathematics, I'm retaining the slightest portion of Asian-ness otherwise lost by forgoing it entirely. Sure, it mightn't be Methods or Specialist, but for someone who repeatedly obtains Ds in tests, it's a relative equivalent.
French 1 & 2: Doing this so that the benefits of the 2008 French Exchange can be reaped in mind-numbing SAC after SAC. Also, this is one of the few subjects I actually enjoy, not just because I can sound pretentious without fear of instant disownment. Trust me, the phrase "voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" would have infinite more meaning and appreciation in French class if KAGS wasn't a girls school. Goddamn lack of co-education.
Japanese 1 & 2: Most people consider me somewhere between a freak and a nonconformist when I say that I really do love Japanese and want to do it at a tertiary level. I must agree about this title (but not based on the fact that I love Japanese), however I will add that a trip to Japan is a great way to affirm (or in my case, reaffirm) a love for Nihongo. The people are nice, the place is quirky and the food defies the aforementioned. True, a perpetual love of Japanese food may be spurring me on to improve my language skills, but trust me, it's worth it in the end.
Psychology 1 & 2: To satisfy and justify the presence of an inner eccentric, part-time philanthropist and perhaps even an urban psychopath. Truth of the matter is that I picked this subject based on the fact that I've heard a plethora of rave reviews; that, and I feel that extra bit less of a humanities student when I tell people I'm doing a "science". Feeling like a humanities student for an extended amount of time can result in serious psychological damage.
History Revolutions 3 & 4: Contradicting everything I've said about being a humanities student, I've picked this subject on the basis that reading Animal Farm made my stomach rumble. I mean, all that pork and beef would have that effect on anyone, right? Actually, I don't know why else I picked Revs, apart from the fact that I wanted to include some sort of history in my subject selections. Learning about authoritative Russian megalomaniacs seemed like a valid choice.
So, that basically concludes the subjects that I will waste over, complain about and at the worst and most frequent of times, eschew in pursuit of Facebook, MSN and blogging. While we're on the topic of authoritative Russian megalomaniacs (took me a while to type that correctly), I've recently smelt a whiff of Stalinism seeping vicariously throught the VCE, especially the "marking up" system. It really does seem that "All subjects are created equal. But some subjects are more equal than others" (yes yes clever me), in regards to the overprioritisation of subjects that clearly require more logic than others. Logic does not equal intelligence. It is merely another fucking quadrant from that circular chart which I got in year 8 which implies that Logic, Organisation, Intuition and Creativity are all different and neither superior nor inferior to one another. And damn, that's true.
Anyway, I best be off. Stay tuned for a Jazz Soiree entry in the next few seconds/minutes/hours/days.
B.
PS. Hey there Nick. If you've made it this far, congratulations. Now go and have a nice cold drink, with that awesome jazz hat on of course.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Another update, say what now?
Like seasons, lacklustre pop songs and crushes on Pokemon characters, a desire to write is a transitory possession. Sometimes even so transitory to the point where it can only truly be passed off as laziness, which in my case, is correct. I honestly wish that I could tell you all about my adventures traversing the globe, saving (th)orphans and cavorting with attractive, intelligent young men coated in pudding - but in fact, my life over the past couple of months has been totally deprived of the aforementioned. Just familial arguments, fuckloads of homework and my main intention - to coerce my French teacher into thinking I'm emo.
I felt inspired to write today because last week marked the definite end of what had to be the worst winter ever. Really, I don't know how our teachers can label us as arrogant little shits when really, they'd be reacting the same way if they were stuck outside in the freezing corridors for three months with only the warmth accumulated by undefined mass of rolled fabric at the top of our ridiculous, intentionally-short skirts that come close to exposing one's genitalia in a smog of black tight. Having had that minor rant, I've never been more excited at the arrival of spring. After all, hayfever and suicidal lemmings seem totally incidental when there is warmth and the scent of flowers to be had! Good lord, I'm screwed up...
Anyway, that'll do me. I promise promise promise you I'll never quote the Hellacopters on this thing again, purely because it dawned on me a few nights ago that just like seasons, lacklustre pop songs, crushes on Pokemon characters, a desire to write, the Raveonettes, a passion for the Chicken Dance, water spilt on a floor, milk that isn't yet expired, superficialness, Razr scooters, dodgy MySpace photos, prophylactics, life and anything else you can think of... they are transitory possessions.
Peace and love,
xx
I felt inspired to write today because last week marked the definite end of what had to be the worst winter ever. Really, I don't know how our teachers can label us as arrogant little shits when really, they'd be reacting the same way if they were stuck outside in the freezing corridors for three months with only the warmth accumulated by undefined mass of rolled fabric at the top of our ridiculous, intentionally-short skirts that come close to exposing one's genitalia in a smog of black tight. Having had that minor rant, I've never been more excited at the arrival of spring. After all, hayfever and suicidal lemmings seem totally incidental when there is warmth and the scent of flowers to be had! Good lord, I'm screwed up...
Anyway, that'll do me. I promise promise promise you I'll never quote the Hellacopters on this thing again, purely because it dawned on me a few nights ago that just like seasons, lacklustre pop songs, crushes on Pokemon characters, a desire to write, the Raveonettes, a passion for the Chicken Dance, water spilt on a floor, milk that isn't yet expired, superficialness, Razr scooters, dodgy MySpace photos, prophylactics, life and anything else you can think of... they are transitory possessions.
Peace and love,
xx
Saturday, June 28, 2008
たくさんひまな時があります！
At last, after what has seemed like millenia, I have finally managed to overcome the detriments of laziness and faux-busyness and update this small portion of internet space. As the title of this entry suggests, time is on my side. Therefore, expect an innundation of holiday entries initiated between fits of boredom and misery. These two make for an excellent three-week holiday cocktail, sarcasm inclusive.
Between the previous update and now, many a thing has occurred. Exams were sat (and admittedly, not studied for), people were seen and formal was attended - double yay for Roman! - however it can be said that life is probably just as monotonous as before, albeit French-flavoured given that the trip is only five months away. The formal was absolutely spectacular, and not to sound like a walking cliche, I'm ecstatic that I got to go with one of the most amazing people I've ever encountered. And then he goes and bags me for my dancing efforts, which were hugely courageous. But we're still good.
As for the holidays, not much is in store. Seeing the boys on Wednesday after a dentists appointment, so it should be nice. If it weren't for the former I would consider suicide, despite the dentist being a lovely person. Just having sharp things jabbed in my mouth never did much for me. In the meantime, I'll just relax.
Between the previous update and now, many a thing has occurred. Exams were sat (and admittedly, not studied for), people were seen and formal was attended - double yay for Roman! - however it can be said that life is probably just as monotonous as before, albeit French-flavoured given that the trip is only five months away. The formal was absolutely spectacular, and not to sound like a walking cliche, I'm ecstatic that I got to go with one of the most amazing people I've ever encountered. And then he goes and bags me for my dancing efforts, which were hugely courageous. But we're still good.
As for the holidays, not much is in store. Seeing the boys on Wednesday after a dentists appointment, so it should be nice. If it weren't for the former I would consider suicide, despite the dentist being a lovely person. Just having sharp things jabbed in my mouth never did much for me. In the meantime, I'll just relax.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Holiday Entry Numero Quatro
It's the final weekend before Term Two commences, and I really am not looking forward to 12 weeks of high-impact learning and study in preparation for les mid years. Not to mention the fact that House Cross Country - clearly my least favourite event of the year - has been scheduled for Friday. No excuse, regardless of its sheer validity, will ever be able to persuade the P.E teachers to not have me participate. Gahh.
Retrospectively, these holidays have been really really really good. Normally, on the whole, the term 'holiday' could be loosely defined as an event which I sat around on my gluteus maximus feeling my flab expand, but this was an exception. I actually got off my ass and partook in various activities. I saw people, went shopping, and somehow motivated myself to do additional homework in a desperate attempt to seem like I was going to do well in the aforementioned exams. Sure, I still have the music review and at least 45 minutes of VCE Bass practise to do, but hell, I'm just pleased that I finished that chapter review before I died. It took me so long to do that I actually felt myself age in the process, no kidding there mate.
After pondering for a good 30 seconds for as to what to write next, I thought it might be good if I set myself some goals for the term ahead. It then occurred to me that I'd probably be setting myself the same goals that I normally set myself (and seldom achieve, to be frank) in addition to a few others that are totally irrelevant to the concept of living, or aren't legitimate due to a lack of time and/or energy. Sure, I'd love to become a master chef in my spare time; in fact, I've got an awesome recipe in mind for a citrus tart after consuming one that can be only described as the archetype of shit cooking. But then it's a matter of time - and also money. I need a job, but feel less than motivated to get one.
Anyway, for the meantime, I think I'll just relish the remaning days of the holidays and do my best to work around this recipe idea I have. I'll keep you updated and such, whether you care or not.
Bethany
Retrospectively, these holidays have been really really really good. Normally, on the whole, the term 'holiday' could be loosely defined as an event which I sat around on my gluteus maximus feeling my flab expand, but this was an exception. I actually got off my ass and partook in various activities. I saw people, went shopping, and somehow motivated myself to do additional homework in a desperate attempt to seem like I was going to do well in the aforementioned exams. Sure, I still have the music review and at least 45 minutes of VCE Bass practise to do, but hell, I'm just pleased that I finished that chapter review before I died. It took me so long to do that I actually felt myself age in the process, no kidding there mate.
After pondering for a good 30 seconds for as to what to write next, I thought it might be good if I set myself some goals for the term ahead. It then occurred to me that I'd probably be setting myself the same goals that I normally set myself (and seldom achieve, to be frank) in addition to a few others that are totally irrelevant to the concept of living, or aren't legitimate due to a lack of time and/or energy. Sure, I'd love to become a master chef in my spare time; in fact, I've got an awesome recipe in mind for a citrus tart after consuming one that can be only described as the archetype of shit cooking. But then it's a matter of time - and also money. I need a job, but feel less than motivated to get one.
Anyway, for the meantime, I think I'll just relish the remaning days of the holidays and do my best to work around this recipe idea I have. I'll keep you updated and such, whether you care or not.
Bethany
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Holiday Entry Numero Trois (I don't know what three is in Italian)
Okay, so I'm totally determined to finish this blog post. Unlike my previous two attempts at "Holiday Entry Numero Trois", which were terminated after I thought I found something better to do (though these discoveries seem unlikely now, come to think of it).
Having stayed up till 1am yesterday finishing my optional homework, I decided to reiterate to myself the true meaning of the holidays by not doing any homework and music practise whatsoever. Sure, I'm totally behind in music; with the hyperintelligent Asians in my 1/2 class practising for hours on end when I'm too busy conforming to the remarkably pathetic services of Connex to even give two shits. But rest assured, I'll be practising tomorrow, for it seems that whenever I avoid music practise, Roman is never on MSN. God's (or possibly Roman's) way of telling me to get a leg up and do it, I guess.
I still need to do my rock music review, which I essentially should be champing at the bit to complete given that I've biasedly given myself the task of reviewing my favourite album that I basically know inside-out and back-to-front. Presumably that will be done tomorrow, primarily for the same aformentioned reason of hoping the R-man gets online. Come to think of it though, I may not have time for such procrastinatory ventures; I'm going iceskating with friends tomorrow at about 8pm. It'll be my first time on the ice and whilst my initial perceptions of the art were mostly focused around the iceskates doubling as a limb-slicer, I'm still excited about the seemingly minimal prospect of actually doing a decent job out there.
Prior to then, aside from the (gulp) homework, I think I'll probably just have a lazy day and wander over to Chadstone to post a few belated pressies off to various parts of the world and more importantly, see if JB has any recently imported Hellacopters CDs. After enduring imaginary hardships I think I deserve a little present and given my miniscule budget, a CD seems overindulgent, but totally worth it.
Anyway to leave on a somewhat sordidly humorous note, here's a picture that I found on FaceBook that made both my father and myself giggle hysterically. Enjoy, and hope you're not too put off:
Bethany
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Holiday Entry Numero Duo
Whoever thought that partaking in the sublime art of bloggery would be a fantastic distraction from the clandestine, often perceived as non-existent world of optional homework?
Really, I shouldn't be avoiding it. I'm probably the biggest nerd you're ever likely to meet, or read about for that matter, and given the magnitude of my nerdiness homework evasion shouldn't be part of the plan, especially when I was the one who concocted such a notion that would make every dumbarse quiver with fear. In addition to this, I'm avoiding the subjects I like - English and VCE Unit 1 Music Performance - and completing the homework for the subject I'm supposed to emphatically resent - maths - within five days of getting it. Observe irony in its primary locations.
Aside from these procrastinatory paradoxes, I'm having a really good break. Thursday has probably been my favourite day, given that I caught up with my three favourite people in the known universe. We hadn't seen each other as a group for over two months so it was insanely, spectacularly brilliant to be able to interact with our voices as opposed to typing frantically. I'll never forget the look on Robin's face when he opened his birthday present, or Elliot's warmth when he raced over to give me a hug. Seeing them just made me realise how much I missed them; they really do play an integral role in defining who I am. Such is friendship.
And my God, despite his evident aversions to foreign language ranting and creativity, Roman is a cracker. Need I say more?
For someone who fits the criteria for a group of individuals notorious for lack of socialising, I've got a lot on this week. Seeing friends on Monday and Friday, going gift shopping for the second week in a row on Wednesday, (much to the annoyance of my bank account) and on the days in between I'll hopefully be chatting away on MSN to Roman. I am totally aware that this does not necessarily fit in the category of "socialising", but given that it's going to be the first day of the month with fast internet, how could I resist?
I want to buy an iTunes card so that I can download some jazz and heavy metal music (and then review it for the Arts Zine). Whether my budget will allow for such extravagance, we shall soon find out...
Anyway I'll catchya later,
Bethany
Really, I shouldn't be avoiding it. I'm probably the biggest nerd you're ever likely to meet, or read about for that matter, and given the magnitude of my nerdiness homework evasion shouldn't be part of the plan, especially when I was the one who concocted such a notion that would make every dumbarse quiver with fear. In addition to this, I'm avoiding the subjects I like - English and VCE Unit 1 Music Performance - and completing the homework for the subject I'm supposed to emphatically resent - maths - within five days of getting it. Observe irony in its primary locations.
Aside from these procrastinatory paradoxes, I'm having a really good break. Thursday has probably been my favourite day, given that I caught up with my three favourite people in the known universe. We hadn't seen each other as a group for over two months so it was insanely, spectacularly brilliant to be able to interact with our voices as opposed to typing frantically. I'll never forget the look on Robin's face when he opened his birthday present, or Elliot's warmth when he raced over to give me a hug. Seeing them just made me realise how much I missed them; they really do play an integral role in defining who I am. Such is friendship.
And my God, despite his evident aversions to foreign language ranting and creativity, Roman is a cracker. Need I say more?
For someone who fits the criteria for a group of individuals notorious for lack of socialising, I've got a lot on this week. Seeing friends on Monday and Friday, going gift shopping for the second week in a row on Wednesday, (much to the annoyance of my bank account) and on the days in between I'll hopefully be chatting away on MSN to Roman. I am totally aware that this does not necessarily fit in the category of "socialising", but given that it's going to be the first day of the month with fast internet, how could I resist?
I want to buy an iTunes card so that I can download some jazz and heavy metal music (and then review it for the Arts Zine). Whether my budget will allow for such extravagance, we shall soon find out...
Anyway I'll catchya later,
Bethany
Monday, March 24, 2008
Holiday Entry Numero Uno
Before I begin, a little bit of gratuitous entertainment in the style of "Crazy Hair Day" (note that this was often misinterpreted as "Cover Your Hyper-Conservative Head With A Crazy Wig Because Let's Face It, You Really Cannot Be Fucked Day", much to the chagrin of eccentrics and those unphased by copious amounts of hairspray alike):
By the way, I am perpetually thanking the 50% of Caucasianness that displayed itself through my hair and its non-futile efforts to be teased. As for the Asianness, my blood group and I are currently in discussion about its superfluous role in my appearance which resulted in numerous fob-poses a la PhotoPlus. I'll keep you updated on the progress.
Furthermore, I'm on holidays now. Whilst it does indeed feel emphatically cathartic and relaxing to be devoid of mandatory man-shoes and a uniform that makes my ass look pregnant for two glorious weeks, I am still speculating about whether or not I really should feel drowned with fatigue after 8 weeks, given that Term 2 will, unfortunately, be almost double the length of the Term which preceded it. This has resulted in the sporadic nature of my body clock, which has inevitably stayed true to the usual 7:15am (or 6:30 if there is a morning rehearsal) starts that I so effervescently dread.
Despite the omnipresent guilt factor regarding VCE Bass practise, I fail to budge and merely waste away on the internet until my mind disregards it in favour of something more riveting, like dinner. (Mind you, this is coming from someone who, in a fit of absurdity, told her corroboree of male camarades that she would not be on MSN in order to prepare for her first whole VCE unit by living vicariously through Jaco Pastorius had he been a hormonal, volatile adolescent girl at some stage in his life) To this day I often define "bass practise" as watching Hellacopters videos on my iPod, observing the every sexy move of Kenny Hakansson, whether it pertains to bass or not.
Mmm, yes. That's the stuff. Fuck you fucking Zac Efron, not my fault you sailed too far on HMAS Ugly.
In addition to this, my varied hatred for bass of the VCE kind has prompted me to compose a rather impromptu, Shift-F7-less (and therefore lame) poem pertaining to it. Enjoy this seldom poetic interlude:
If I were to enlighten you about VCE Bass,
With an impartial attitude engulfing my face,
You might respond with "Wow, that's ace!"
Or as a testament to your stupidity "Cello rocks!"
Disregarding the bass.
Whilst on your tangent, assuming VCE Bass is wicked,
One will soon realise that it's highly insipid,
That it's sadly not a case of letting your ego soar,
And fingering frets like a musical whore.
Hence it's obvious that without shift-F7 (or rhymezone.com), I am quite the poetic failure. That said I shall disregard anything to do with poetry for as long as my brain goes on strike.
Conclusively, despite the rant, things are looking up. I am tremendously excited to be seeing my corroboree of male camarades - Roman, Robin and Elliot - on Thursday. As one would likely assume, each one of them is an archetype of characteristics I can only help but admire and they are inspirations unto themselves, inspirations who inspire my creative and volatile escapades.
Anyway I'll catch you all,
Bethany.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Happy Pajama Game Anniversary!
Given that the only cold room in the house is my bedroom and the television is blaring next door, my writing may not be as verbose or fluent as it may be normally. Please excuse any incidences of poor grammar, crappy analogies and the like.
Well, one can correctly assume from the title of this entry that an entire year has passed since the first Pajama Game rehearsal way back in 2007 when my passions included The Raveonettes, sexy European guys and MySpace. In a way, it strikes me as completely absurd that 365 days prior to today, I was sitting in a room full of musical guys and girls, chatting away to my new friend and double bass compedro, Matt. I just remember being immensely happy with everything around me, being able to understand the music and attaining closure on this supposed double bass partner that I had been speculating about ever since I spotted his name on the Orchestra sheet two weeks prior.
In general, the Pajama Game was something that I'll never forget; in fact, probably the time which has resulted in immeasurable quantities of positive change. I can't describe the excitement and anticipation I felt in my stomach during Period 6 on a sunny Friday afternoon, awaiting the bell so that I could sprint exuberantly to the locker room, grab my bags, run to the designated rehearsal location, set up, and then run around the school trying to spot any St. Kev student that I had been acquainted with so I could wave vibrantly or even give them a hug.
However, despite the fact that this no longer happens and many friendships have ceased as a result of occurrences post-Pajama Game, I still fondly regard this anniversary as a kind of 'personal thanksgiving'. Had I not signed up for this experience, I would not be totally blessed with the things that I so poignantly value to this day. I am incredibly thankful to have met Elliot and Robin during the musical, and eventually Roman. Although there have been sacrifices on the road to attaining a reciprocal friendship, I do not regret adhering to these sacrifices because it's knowing that they're only a phone call or an Ichipan-visit away is cathartic, it makes me smile inside.
So happy anniversary to me. And congratulations to you if you've made it this far.
Love Bethany xo
PS. Forgot to mention that without the Pajama Game, I would never have ascertained the existence of the greatest band ever (or flavour of the month, you never know).... The Hellacopters. Best music I've ever heard in my life.
Well, one can correctly assume from the title of this entry that an entire year has passed since the first Pajama Game rehearsal way back in 2007 when my passions included The Raveonettes, sexy European guys and MySpace. In a way, it strikes me as completely absurd that 365 days prior to today, I was sitting in a room full of musical guys and girls, chatting away to my new friend and double bass compedro, Matt. I just remember being immensely happy with everything around me, being able to understand the music and attaining closure on this supposed double bass partner that I had been speculating about ever since I spotted his name on the Orchestra sheet two weeks prior.
In general, the Pajama Game was something that I'll never forget; in fact, probably the time which has resulted in immeasurable quantities of positive change. I can't describe the excitement and anticipation I felt in my stomach during Period 6 on a sunny Friday afternoon, awaiting the bell so that I could sprint exuberantly to the locker room, grab my bags, run to the designated rehearsal location, set up, and then run around the school trying to spot any St. Kev student that I had been acquainted with so I could wave vibrantly or even give them a hug.
However, despite the fact that this no longer happens and many friendships have ceased as a result of occurrences post-Pajama Game, I still fondly regard this anniversary as a kind of 'personal thanksgiving'. Had I not signed up for this experience, I would not be totally blessed with the things that I so poignantly value to this day. I am incredibly thankful to have met Elliot and Robin during the musical, and eventually Roman. Although there have been sacrifices on the road to attaining a reciprocal friendship, I do not regret adhering to these sacrifices because it's knowing that they're only a phone call or an Ichipan-visit away is cathartic, it makes me smile inside.
So happy anniversary to me. And congratulations to you if you've made it this far.
Love Bethany xo
PS. Forgot to mention that without the Pajama Game, I would never have ascertained the existence of the greatest band ever (or flavour of the month, you never know).... The Hellacopters. Best music I've ever heard in my life.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Confused.
So far I've had a pretty good week, albeit a tad unusual. Aside from music practise, everything that I had been meaning to do just sorted itself out without me going to great lengths (kudos to the external force that made this happen), and I counted myself extremely lucky when it lasted.
Work experience has been finally sorted out a day after the form was due and although completing it at my local primary school was probably my last resort, I am still really rapt that I get to shed some positive light on a place that at one stage was awful to me, along with becoming reacquainted with some of my old teachers. I think that in a way, I was meant to do my work experience here so as to connect with my old self which has been long since left behind. In addition to this, working with preps will certainly be a challenge.
Furthermore, on the topic of reacquainting, I recently bumped into my Year Six teacher and friend, Mrs Chamberlin. She is undoubtedly a role model unto herself and someone I'd like to compare myself to when I turn 72 years old. I had actually been wanting to contact her for some time but had lost her email address, so it was very much a coincidence when I saw her and her husband, along with her daughter-in-law and baby granddaughter. I'm so pleased that she's finally a Grandma (as she had wanted to be one for as long as I could remember), and I wholeheartedly believe that little Sophie should count herself lucky for having such an energetic, fun, intelligent and compassionate Grandma - much better than my own Grandma I must admit :)
However, despite these fortunate occurrences, there are still some nicks in the cane which I haven't exactly been able to smooth out. I feel as if my passions for music and creative writing are being usurped by the constant demand for homework and time on the internet. There is absolutely no way I want these passions to subdue or even diminish, and I really don't want them to detract from my "me-time", which is usually best spent on the internet. I've essentially been using homework as an excuse not to write or do music, and as a result, I think my inner child wants to grow up and move out. I am thinking that the reason why I avoid music and creative writing is because now that I'm writing essays aplenty and completing VCE Units 1 and 2 Music Solo Performance, I tend to associate them with work rather than relaxation. Hell, I'll work it out eventually, just give me a few weeks and before you know it, I'll be complaining about something else.
For now, I shall continue to be excited about being able to see Elliot, Roman and Robin in the school holidays and French Exchange, which is further down the track. For now, take care.
Bethany
Work experience has been finally sorted out a day after the form was due and although completing it at my local primary school was probably my last resort, I am still really rapt that I get to shed some positive light on a place that at one stage was awful to me, along with becoming reacquainted with some of my old teachers. I think that in a way, I was meant to do my work experience here so as to connect with my old self which has been long since left behind. In addition to this, working with preps will certainly be a challenge.
Furthermore, on the topic of reacquainting, I recently bumped into my Year Six teacher and friend, Mrs Chamberlin. She is undoubtedly a role model unto herself and someone I'd like to compare myself to when I turn 72 years old. I had actually been wanting to contact her for some time but had lost her email address, so it was very much a coincidence when I saw her and her husband, along with her daughter-in-law and baby granddaughter. I'm so pleased that she's finally a Grandma (as she had wanted to be one for as long as I could remember), and I wholeheartedly believe that little Sophie should count herself lucky for having such an energetic, fun, intelligent and compassionate Grandma - much better than my own Grandma I must admit :)
However, despite these fortunate occurrences, there are still some nicks in the cane which I haven't exactly been able to smooth out. I feel as if my passions for music and creative writing are being usurped by the constant demand for homework and time on the internet. There is absolutely no way I want these passions to subdue or even diminish, and I really don't want them to detract from my "me-time", which is usually best spent on the internet. I've essentially been using homework as an excuse not to write or do music, and as a result, I think my inner child wants to grow up and move out. I am thinking that the reason why I avoid music and creative writing is because now that I'm writing essays aplenty and completing VCE Units 1 and 2 Music Solo Performance, I tend to associate them with work rather than relaxation. Hell, I'll work it out eventually, just give me a few weeks and before you know it, I'll be complaining about something else.
For now, I shall continue to be excited about being able to see Elliot, Roman and Robin in the school holidays and French Exchange, which is further down the track. For now, take care.
Bethany
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Giggling whilst getting an injection? NEVER
Well apparently, in some extremely rare cases, it does occur.
That must mean I'm an extremely rare case. Because generally there isn't anything overly joyous or entertaining about getting immunised.
And no, just for the record, I am not emo. I'll repeat, am not emo.
That must mean I'm an extremely rare case. Because generally there isn't anything overly joyous or entertaining about getting immunised.
And no, just for the record, I am not emo. I'll repeat, am not emo.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Retreat
Before I begin, LiveJournal is desolate, Americanized and just plain overrated. Hence my return to the stupendously all-encompassing Blogspot. I love it here.
So yeah, I got back from retreat yesterday, or as Roman so artfully (and erroneously) put it, lesbian camp. And might I say, it was really, really good. Christianity and obeying God actually weren't the centralities to the camp, nor was intense physical activity (amen to that!) so it would make perfect sense for me to have a fantastic time, in fact, probably the best time I've ever had on a camp. It was truly remarkable how once you send a group of hormonal and volatile 14 - 16 year olds off to a little country town devoid of any internet access, television or major distractions, group cohesion and acceptance is heightened tenfold. Everyone became so much nicer, and this can only be accredited to the marvellous faciliation skills of the teachers involved and the wise words of the guest speakers.
Seriously, I know I must sound like I'm writing this with someone holding a gun to my head shouting "Say the best things you can about retreat or I'll blow your head off" but I am actually not kidding. I've come back with a more indepth understanding of my cohort and myself that I don't think I could obtain anywhere else. In addition to this, I can now say that I've trapped myself in the toilet (thank you to the two people who saved me from further trauma) and jumped on the trampoline in the devious hours of night pretending to be a rocket.... for a mere 10 seconds.
Anyway have a nice day and I'll catchya,
Bethany.
So yeah, I got back from retreat yesterday, or as Roman so artfully (and erroneously) put it, lesbian camp. And might I say, it was really, really good. Christianity and obeying God actually weren't the centralities to the camp, nor was intense physical activity (amen to that!) so it would make perfect sense for me to have a fantastic time, in fact, probably the best time I've ever had on a camp. It was truly remarkable how once you send a group of hormonal and volatile 14 - 16 year olds off to a little country town devoid of any internet access, television or major distractions, group cohesion and acceptance is heightened tenfold. Everyone became so much nicer, and this can only be accredited to the marvellous faciliation skills of the teachers involved and the wise words of the guest speakers.
Seriously, I know I must sound like I'm writing this with someone holding a gun to my head shouting "Say the best things you can about retreat or I'll blow your head off" but I am actually not kidding. I've come back with a more indepth understanding of my cohort and myself that I don't think I could obtain anywhere else. In addition to this, I can now say that I've trapped myself in the toilet (thank you to the two people who saved me from further trauma) and jumped on the trampoline in the devious hours of night pretending to be a rocket.... for a mere 10 seconds.
Anyway have a nice day and I'll catchya,
Bethany.