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.

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.

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.

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