well....

That was crap. I always laugh at my efforts when I try to condense my thoughts into a poem or short story. They always seem like the product of a 14 year old's creative writing project.

It's important that you know that. I'm so envious of those who possess that talent to write beautifully. It flows out of them, it seeps out. They couldn't contain it even if they wanted. In the meantime, I frown at my screen for an hour, attacking my keys for not being able to type the words themselves. "I know I have it in me, but these keys aren't cooperating. Those jealous bastards!" Writing skilfully is innate, you can't fool someone into thinking you are a great writer. You can fool someone into think you have style, you are smart or even that you are funny. You cannot mask the fact that you are languid and dry.

Is there some irony in that sentence? But I'm not trying to fool you! How dare you!

Back on point (was there ever was one? There's no way of knowing...), I have been thinking lately about the trailer for Gus Van Sant's Restless I saw the other day. In the trailer, a character talks about a special songbird. This bird thinks it dies every time the sun goes down. When it wakes up, it is so surprised to be alive that it chirps a beautiful tune.

I was reading A Streetcar Named Desire a few days back, and I've just been thinking about Blanche and the songbird. I can't explain this feeling, the lump in my throat when I think of the two. There's something tragic yet hopeful about the songbird. Blanche is the same.

But the analogy doesn't quite fit does it? I wonder what it is like to be that songbird. To wake up with a fresh view of the world every morning. To feel so relieved that you are alive again.Opening your heavy lids and feeling happiness because there's light and green and shade. Maybe the bird isn't so tragic at all, maybe it's liberating.

I guess in my head Blanche and the bird were linked because they both have so much hope. But the bird is hopeful and the Blanche is hopeless.

Blanche is more like a moth- fluttery and scatterd, drawn to the light,hoping to find beauty and to be guided, only to get stung. And like a moth, she will do it again and again.

Maybe the bird gives up too easily, its too easily fooled by the darkness. The shadows trick it into thinking there won't be light. That the darkness is all it has left.

In my head, Blanche was a songbird because every time life has let her down she collapses. She can't see that the darkness is ephemeral. But then what does she have when the shadows disappear? Light, the light that betrays her. There is no liberation in finding the light, it only hurts.

Argh, I'm so annoyed I spent all this time thinking about this. When it all leads to nothing.

hohum

I am not effortless, I am work.
I have no ease.
I try to appease but
I have no grace,
No frills, no lace.
I laugh too much.
I speak too loud.
I try too hard,
I'm much too proud
to admit that
I am not effortless, I am work.

johnny flynn

All that I have is a river,
The river is always my home.
Lord take me away,
For I just cannot stay,
I'll sink in my skin and my bones.

The water sustains me without even trying.
The water can't drown me,
I'm done with my dying.

Now the I land I knew is a dream,
And the line on the distance grows feint,
So wide is my river,
The horizon a sliver,
The artist has run out of paint.

the stupid life of an american teenager

This is a terrible show. If I had to quickly sum it up, I would call it a piece of preachy, badly acted, horribly written, frustratingly unrealistic crap.

But, I have watched a full season of it. I scream and kick myself for it, but I watch episode after episode. I think it is partly because I'm a masochist- I actually want to see exactly how horrendous this show can get. I want to tear my eyes out and my ears hurt from all the conservative babbling that goes on each episode. But I keep going. It is reliable in that way, just like you can rely on a shark to eat you up alive if you are stranded on the ocean.

One things that frustrates me is the blatantly conservative message the show creator is shoving down our throats. SEX IS BAD. EVERYTIME YOU HAVE SEX, SOMETHING BAD WILL HAPPEN.

Seriously, a girl has sex and her dad dies the same day. She then proceeds to berate herself for being such a cold hearted killer. My vagina killed my father! Of course, everyone on the show says she is a fool for thinking that. But she refuses to believe them and says " I know I killed him. He told me not to have sex and I did. He died because I had INCREDIBLE SEX!". I honestly feel that the actress who had to deliver these lines deserves an Oscar for not quitting on the spot after reading the script. She delivered them without cringing, displaying enormous self restraint and control over her gag reflex. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. She probably only deserves an Emmy.

Every episode of this hideous show contains the word sex repeated at least 30 times. Below are some examples of the subtle and layered dialogue spoken on the show:

"I don't think we should have SEX. We're not ready because we aren't MARRIED."- The Christians
"I LOVE SEX. I am going to have SEX with my boyfriend right now!"- The 'slut'
"All I can think about is SEX. I want to have sex NOWWWW!"- Every guy on the show
"You aren't having sex, you whore!"- Every father on the show to their daughters.

The creator and writers might as well hit us in the head with a mallet with the word SEX printed on it. It would be much less painful and more fun.

Another thing that has me banging my head on my wall for relief after watching the show are the characters. Namely the main character- Amy Jeurgens. First of all, what a stupid name. Secondly, I think she is the most possibly the most annoying teenage character in the history of television. She is a shrew. That is the perfect way to describe her.

First of all, she gets knocked up. And blames it all on the guy- what a scumbag, how dare he have consensual sex with her? She yells at everyone in her family and her dutiful boyfriend who has stuck around with her, despite her carrying the spawn of another man's seed. She yells at him for being jealous of the father. She forces him to take her on a holiday, fully expecting him to pay for her and her baby. When he hesitates she yells. She then announces that she doesn't care whether he takes her, just as long as she gets to go. What a keeper!

I want to punch her in the face everytime she speaks. She compelled me to google 'Amy Jeurgens bitch' on google- I will never forgive the show for making me sink so low. And now I've posted an entire blog on it!

I will continue to watch the show. I have figured out why. Firstly, I get some good jaw dropping action from watching. Secondly, I am holding out for the day when Amy gets bitch slapped in the face by her spineless boyfriend. Or maybe she can get hit by a bus.

Rant over. God this was annoying to write, but I had to get it off my chest. I just want to quickly quote Ben Folds who sums up Amy Jeurgens bitchface succintly in Rocking the Suburbs:

Ya'll don't know what it's like
being male, middle class and white
It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say
FUUUUUUUCK

give up all this stuff

That was my attempt to explain my afternoon in a story that should have depth but proabably doesn't. For one that does, click here.

Today was a doozy. I have a lot of theories. Most of them are silly. I have a theory that Earth is really Project Earth and God takes the place of Michael Kors, Nina Garcia and Heidi Klum-face. I think everything that has been done has been done before. War, global waming, genocide. We're nothing but a repeat and God is looking down on us and thinking 'Again? Learn your lesson folks!'. Everytime he repeats it we get a little better. Humans get a little smarter, a little more compassionate, the world slowly and steadily becomes a nicer place. But it always ends in doom. Then God starts again.

Really, we're just a pet project. A dissapointing one at that.

My other theory, isn't really a theory but an observation culminating from every 'coming of age' film there is. Life, to me, is made up of a series of crises. Before you leave highschool, there's the crisis of 'what will I do?'. This really continues for the rest of your life. Right now I find myself constantly thinking 'What am I doing? Why? Why not?' I have no idea what direction I'm going. Hence the doozy.

I always wanted to be steps ahead (streets ahead!Community!). I always wanted to be the one who knew it all before everyone else. I wanted it figured out. Done. Do it. But I guess I'm just figuring it out that having plans is all good and well, but don't expect everything to go exactly as you had imagined.

I have this nagging thought in my head I can't shake. It is like the voice of a whiny cartoon character. I want to be adventurous and spontaneous but also be safe and grounded. You probably think all I want to do is complain.

That's another thought I can't escape.

in my head

I was on a bus today and I was going to be transferred on another bus. My second bus was due to arrive in 20 minutes. I found myself praying that the bus would go slower and slower, so I wouldn't have to wait at the bus stop.I felt a sense of happiness every time the traffic light would turn red. I smiled a silly smile. Everything was going according to plan.

But then it struck me. I was on a bus moving at a snail's pace. I would have been sitting on a bench, staring at nothing. In the end, I would still be waiting.

it's the mother flipping trailer

:)

free lady in melbourne

Just wanted to follow that cheery post. I had an amazing four days in Melbourne. This is the first time I've travelled sans parents. It's funny how a collection of days where nothing monumental happened can add up to an important experience. It's only this year that I started to think seriously about travelling and this trip just reignited that passion.

To be able to wander and to not know where you are. To be able to meet people you never would have met. Something about travelling makes you more adventurous and daring. It makes you want to do things you never would normally do. I love that feeling.

Me and my sister walked through the laneways of rainy Melbourne and it was so much fun and such a shock to the system. Perth is so quiet- I did not fully appreciate how true that statement was until my trip. When we got back I felt we were living in a zombie town. Melbourne is also a lot more trendy and polished. All the girls were very fashionable- I had serious shoe envy.

At the same time it makes me appreciative of how peaceful Perth can be. We have amazing beaches, a very relaxed atmosphere and less traffic. My friends and family are here. It's where I grew up.

I can't wait to travel outside of Australia, it makes me giddy just thinking about it.

I was made for sunny days

The thing about growing up is that it is no big deal. Actually, it becomes no big deal. Everything that happens in life, all the events that you have pictured for so long are surprisingly normal when it eventually happens. Graduating highschool, being able to wear whatever you fancy, having a job. Everything that seemed like such a big step when you were a child, that were so monumental becomes mundane. There is no thrill, no excitement. There isn't that feeling of something new. I guess that's what people miss about being a child- the wonder, the discovery.

This isn't some rant about how growing up sucks. Growing up isn't good or bad, it's just inevitable. Sometimes it feels like a loss. Nothing surprises you anymore. I feel so blase about everything. I have emotions sure, but nothing is a shock anymore. You can tell me something and I doubt I'd be horrified. I feel like I've heard all the horrible things there are to hear. People do shitty things to one another, that's just something you have to be prepared for.

It's not all bad though, this isn't a John Hughes movie. Obviously growing up has its moments. The freedom, the ability to be inspired and to think. To go out and to be independent. Sometimes it's hard to remember that though.

Just a thought. A slightly depressing, melancholy thought.

chelsea handler

Recently I read the masterpiece Are You There Vodka? It's me Chelsea by Chelsea Handler. Obviously from the cover and title you can tell it's a thought provoking account of a recovering alcoholic. But no, it was a memoir of sorts, with no real structure. It was just a series of stories from Handler's childhood which leads on to her twenties and thirties. My favourite stories are the ones that involve her dad.

He seems like a real force of a man. He wears mustard sweatpants which go up to his nipples and are held up by suspenders. He pees in his backyard because he can't be bothered walking to the toilet. He seems unapologetic and crass, someone who I would hate in real life and spend hours bitching about, but someone I love in fiction.

I'm just about to finish Are You There Vodka? so I decided to look up Handler's next book, My Horizontal Life. I went on amazon and perused the reviews. Some of them are quite harsh. Here are some extracts:

'I cannot believe anyone but a retarded pre teen would find this remotely funny.'

' I'm surprised she has survived these experiences without getting raped, seriously hurt or diseased.'

Imagine those printed glorious reviews printed across the cover. I think everyone has a right to their own opinion and I respect that, but mine matters above all else. The book's subtitle is A series of one night stands. If you don't want to read about Chelsea thoroughly enjoying herself then don't buy the book. Some say her humour is shallow and racist and that her lifestyle is repulsive, but that is the thing that I love about her. At first I was taken aback by how frank, and even how rude she can be. But as I read her book I just stopped taking her seriously and let myself enjoy her storytelling. It's great entertainment, and yes, can be offensive but I perceive it as irony more than anything else. I love how she can laugh at what a slurry she was/is.

I think most of the more abrasive reviews are from women. Why are women so harsh to judge other women? I know that sounds like I think I'm so far removed from that equation, that I'm not a part of 'women' and you're exactly right. Kind of. I think if a man wrote about his various sexual conquests I would buy the book to burn it. I would be disgusted. But with Chelsea's book and I just laughed and thought 'What a slut,hahah!' in a very endearing kind of way. I'm sure women and men should be treated equally but since we all know that is not possible, we should just go ahead and favour women.

good week

To my non existent readers,

I apologise for my laziness. I was consumed by uni work and had no time to breathe nevermind blog. This semester has been a whirlwind, everything was a blur until the very end when I saw a dim light at the end of the tunnel.

But now it's break and it feels great. I will now proceed to bore everyone, including myself, with the inane details of my first week of break because I don't want to forget how good it feels to do absolutely nothing worthwhile.

Last week straight after exams ( and the obligatory post exam chat/vent/moan with a friend) I went home and baked cookies. I know whoo! And then I chatted with a friend until 4 am.

On Tuesday I went to meet a friend to eat lunch. Lunch was interesting, to say the least. It was at a vegetarian restaurant that served fake meat. We ate vego chicken and vego fish. I guess it is better than eating meat if you ignore the fistful of MSG that is on every plate. We went vintage shopping next, and we went to this amazing store in Inglewood. It's called Mo Mo's and the owner is just lovely. We had a nice chat and I found out that she has been in the vintage clothing business all her life. She knew all the labels and stories behind the pieces of clothing. It's so wonderful to see someone so passionate and genuinely happy with their career.

On Wednesday, I had a meeting and then went to an advanced screening (1 whole day before it was released, talk about VIP treatment) of Get Him to the Greek- it was actually entertaining and Russell Brand wasn't as ridiculous as I thought he would be.

On Thursday, my sister skipped school and had lunch with me and my brother. Then I went shopping and bought some cheap heels.

On Friday, I was dirt poor but I had to bid farewell to my friend who is going to Indonesia for a month to teach. We went to the gallery and saw this amazing exhibition by Patricia Piccini. It's called Relativity and I have absolutely no clue about art, but I was dumbfounded by the amount of creativity and work people are willing to put into their pieces. Relativity features models of these creatures that Piccini invented and there were so realistic I got goosebumps. The skin had blemishes and veins, the children looked so innocent and carefree- everything about it was magical and eery. The picture above doesn't do it justice so please check it out if it comes to a gallery near you. This is coming from someone who never sets foot in a gallery to avoid art snobbery but it was gorgeous. Especially compared to the 'exhibition' I viewed before which was Ben Frost's Tales of Terror.

I use the term 'exhibition' loosely as there were about 10 portraits at most and there were featured in a boutique. I don't want to offend anyone, but that viewing cost me $8 in parking and it really was not worth it. As I mentioned before I do not profess to have any particular knowledge about art, but I was vaguely reminded of Andy Warhol when viewing Frost's pieces. And that is not a good thing in my book. Pop art is something that I will never see the appeal of. Especially not when something as abstract as imaginary monsters can evoke something inside of me. I believe that art can make you sit in awe at the sheer talent that some people have, or it can make you think, it can make you happy or sad. Ben Frost does nothing to me. Actually, that's not true. I feel angry and ripped off. I could have used that $8.

I know he is a much more talented artist that I will ever be and I'm happy that he is successful, but he is just not my cup of tea. Mainly because I don't enjoy meaningless crap in my tea. That's too far, I'm sorry, just an Aziz Ansari reference!

My weekend was actually really boring, the highlight being a trip to the farmers market which gave me awesome brownies. I had no money, so I skipped a trip to the cas.

Ok that's enough for one post.

More later!

the most terrifying

So I havc shared a few of my dislikes before but I forgot to mention one of the most terrifying things in this world- getting a haircut. The whole process is so frustrating- from choosing your salon, to deciding what style you want, explaining what you want to your stylist, then compromising on what you want, and finally, laying in the fetus position thinking about the fact that you just paid 80 dollars to look like Willy Wonka.



At least, that has been my experience.

I have never had any luck with my hair. It all started when I was about 8 or 9. My mum used to cut my hair pixie short (but with more of a mop hair influence) in fear that I would contract a lice infection. I ended up looking like a mini version of her, something I'm sure I will be discussing in therapy in the near future. I used to be obsessed with scrunchies as a child but of course, with no hair, it was hard to put them to use. But I was a rebel and gathered all the hair I had, slicked it upwards and forced the scrunchie to hold the 3 cms worth of hair I had. I insisted on looking like special ed kid.

Another time on holiday in Kuala Lumpur, I decided it would be 'exciting' to pick a random salon and get a haircut. Hey, I was in a foreign country and I was going all out. My devil-may-care attitude may offend some but that was how I rolled. I thought it would be 'exotic' , the same way people think getting cornrows is a celebration of culture. Needless to say, this was not one of my most pleasant experiences. Getting a haircut in Asia is one of the most grueling experiences a young girl can ever go through. It should be an initiation of sorts, kind of like when tribesmen used to pierce their faces or get circumsised. I sat their while my dainty hairdresser started attacking my hair with her scissors. I tried to look tough, because I was one tough 14 year old. So as I was holding back the tears and gritting my teeth, I smiled at my cruel hairdresser and told her I LOVED what she had done to my hair. And what a style it was! Imagine if your hair could have an eating disorder. Imagine looking like you're balding at 14. I have lived that life and I have to be honest, I did not rock the alopecia look.

My latest haircut was today. The experience wasn't bad at all except I ended up looking like Willy Wonka. Johnny Depp's Willy Wonka not Gene Wilder's. Although I actually think Gene Wilder would be a step up. I definitely enjoyed his movie better.

Another wonderul thing about getting a haircut is the lovely compliments you receive. Iwill reproduce the comments I received today.

"Oh, well, you sure look different"
"You look like a lesbian Willy Wonka"
"It's alright"

End scene.

it's been a while...

Ok, it has been probably 2 minutes since my last post but I just realised that I did not go into any detail as to what I will be blogging about. This blog will really just be about nothing. My random thoughts, rants, stories about my crazy mother and things I find funny. It will be unoriginal and uninspiring. You will be addicted.

Alright, now for some things that I do like because I also left that out of my last post.

Currently I enjoy Josh Thomas' podcasts especially the ones with Mel Buttle- I wish she was my best friend. Check out her blog: don't be fooled by the fact it's on myspace, it's actually very good.

I am addicted to Friday Night Lights.

I like making lists because I am always scared I will forget something.

Jaclyn Moriarty books especially Feeling Sorry for Celia and Finding Cassie Crazy.

The Weepies' music.

So there are now three entries on this blog, all of which are saying hello! or introducing the blog to my imaginary readers. You are now fully prepped for the awesomeness that is to come.

hello again

So it has been 2 years since the last post and I'm thinking of restarting my blogging career. I know, my millions of readers: GET EXCITED! I am not sure what I will be blogging about since the details of my personal life are of no interest to anyone, myself included. I am yawning just thinking about my day today. So I guess this blog will chronicle the life of your average uni student with no money, real goals or creative outlet. Thank God for the internet!

Heres a quick descripton of myself:

I am 18 years old. I attend university in Australia and am currently studying Law/Commerce. I don't know why I just put in 'currently' as if it's temporary because I am too lazy to change out of anything. I work at a discount retail store and have for almost 3 years. Oh and I'm a female if you haven't already figured that out.

These are the things I despise and I will have to considerably shorten it as this was supposed to be a quick introduction:

-Hipsters, I hate you. Shutup.
-Hot weather
-Trying on clothes at stores
-Dance music with no lyrics
-Fringes on boys (this would fall under hipsters but also include skaters, loners, stalkers or emotionally stunted individuals who still live with their parents at the age of 30)
-Kiwi fruit

Ok thats enough negativity. Not enough for me but I don't want to scare you off.

BTW I would like just to comment that I have no idea why 2 years ago I thought IHALB was the right acronym for this blog. I believe I have gotten over my retardation stage.