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!