Monthly Archives: July 2012

So this is going to have to be a quick one, since trials start tomorrow.
I really should be a little bit more concerned about the imminent arrival of the most important exams that I’ve ever faced, but I’m not. To be honest, I’ve never been less concerned about a set of exams, despite the fact THAT I’VE NEVER BEEN MORE FREAKED OUT OVER A SET OF EXAMS. Ok. I don’t really know how to feel. At least I know that I’ve never been less prepared, which is why I should be wrapping this up quick smart. The problem is though, I can’t bring myself to care, and that is scaring the fuck out of me.

Anyway, as previously stated, I was having trouble finding supplementary texts. That situation hasn’t improved. At all.
On the bright side, I finished reading Anil’s Ghost for the exam on Friday. And I think right now I’m still just flying a little on the exhilaration that comes whenever I properly finish reading a book.

But, scarily, the most important thing in my life right now is not the upcoming trials that contribute, in no small part, to the exams that determine my future and life and career and eternal happiness and worth as a socially functioning human being and… yeah. Not really feeling it.

Really, the only things on my mind at the moment are the Olympics, which never, ever cease to inspire me beyond belief and cause me to feel absolute joy and pleasure and privilege to simply be human.

Definitely better than Christmas.

(p.s. There’s a lot more that I’d love to say about the Olympics and just why I love them so much, but time’s running short. BELONGING)

(p.p.s. I apologise for the uncustomary lack of interactivity or anything remotely of any interest. I fully understand if this shits you to tears. but hey, it’s my blog and I’ll type poorly written, frustration-venting, incoherent slabs of text whenever I please.)


It’s worn off slightly now, but the glow still kind of lingers on.

What glow? Why, the wacky, wild, weekend wonder, of course!

ok, that was a little weird. Let me explain.

It comes along a few times a month, maybe more if you’re lucky. It’s the feeling of fabulous freedom, the beautiful bliss of a weekend that extends for miles ahead, wild swathes of green pasture that promise nothing but joy… oh what a wonderful world this would be

Every so often, I find myself inexplicably happy, and for an indeterminate period, I can forget about anything that may be going wrong in life, the universe, and everything. I’m not quite sure how, it just creeps up stealthily behind me until suddenly I’m overcome by the most amazing euphoria and I become inexplicably thankful for everything I do have, instead of wallowing in the murky, miry depths of everything I’m not.

Let’s break it down.

1) Splendour has started, people! And even though I can’t be there, I’m comforted by the potential prospects of next year’s pilgrimage, not to mention the far-more-relieving-than-it-should-be broadcast on the j’s. So that’s one good thing.

And look, how can I complain? Snaka, Jinja, maybe regispek, Jungle Giants, Harvest later this year… all’s clear on the concert front.

2) Opening ceremony tomorrow! There’s a beauty in the Olympic spirit that never fails to bring me to tears… I’m not necessarily what you’d call a patriot, but, hey, how can you not be proud? And I’m sorry to say that the sneaky ploys of Visa have shattered my sentimental side with all that “go world” jazz. my god i’m such a slave to commercial manipulation. (note to self, watch more gruen)

And let’s face it, Morgan Freeman could make a cereal carton sound inspiring.

3) There’s something to be said for spontaneous semi-shirtless empty house dancing.

I got a bit carried away. What’s the point of surround sound if you never use it? Hope the neighbours don’t complain.

4) Epiphanies are good, too. Especially when they reassure you that the future is bright and things’ll work out in the end. Or, at least, that you can love both YA lit (of both the trashy and incredible varieties) and “literature” (or, at least, the idea of reading, understanding, and appreciating it at some unforeseen later date. but hopefully uni). John Green, DFW, you people are boss. You ma(k/d)e the world a better place. Or something. (I can’t really express myself like you, soz.)

This is water.

This is water.


And no, I don’t mean aus’ queen of pop, so hold the candlelight vigils for now.
The world of Masterchef tonight lost a great hero, a culinary conjuror, a cooking crusader, a princess of pastries, and whatever other crappily alliterated superlatives you might care to label Kylie with, the latest victim of systematic, targeted cruelty exacted by the devious Matt, Gary and George. Alright, this is making very little sense, and I need to hurry along and get to bed and that because I am currently being a Good Student and trying out the foreign and downright intimidating concepts of Studying and Getting Enough Sleep. Anyway, I guess it comes as no surprise that the same company responsible for The Shire delights in stringing me along, eliminating in quick succession Debra the Menopausal Moaner, and Wade the Taciturn Troll only to devastate my delight, destroying the dreams of Beau, Alice and Kylie with clinical precision. What has the world come to? All I have left to sustain me now is the beautiful bromance of Ben and Andy, and let’s face it, only Kylie was good enough to challenge Mindy for the title. So I’m boycotting Masterchef, which is just as well considering the IMPENDING SPECTRE OF DOOM THAT LOOMS BEFORE US ALL, and destroys my ability to enjoy the Olympics. At all. Fuck the HSC.

On that note, I’m battling hard to find supplementary texts. I’ve barrelled through Fight Club and The Graduate these past few days, but I’m at a loss as to how I’m going to ever get around to writing anything ever about them. That’s not to mention Arcadia, for History & Memory, which, while strong on the History, seems to be suffering a severe case of Alzheimer’s and therefore offers NOTHING WHATSOEVER in terms of Memory. AND THAT’S not to mention the current failure of an idea that is Cluedo.

I apologise profusely for the severe dearth of sense in that above rabble.

trials are melting my brain.

Anyway, this has been around for a few years, but I’ve only (somewhat) recently come to have a proper appreciation of it.

That said, I’ve listened to it about five times on repeat while writing this, and I have to say it’s just becoming fucking annoying now. THIS IS THE SOURCE OF TODAY’S INCOHERENCY.

Trials are soon. Too, too soon. I’ve done nothing useful all holidays, so it’s a definite possibility that when school starts in two days I’ll start severely neglecting this blog.

On a happier note, allow me to present one of my favourite articles of clothing:

Now, I love this hoodie for three main reasons.

1) Ski patrol. I love snow. I love skiing. I love patrolling. (ok that’s not really true). But I want to study medicine and I need to learn first aid since I missed the course in year ten and so… Next season, when I’m 18, I’ll be able to apply for the volunteer service at Perisher or Thredbo and become a hectic ski patroller WOOOOOOO. I absolutely can’t wait, it’s going to be freaking awesome.

2) Well, there really isn’t much else to the hoodie, so it’s pretty clear that Vampire Weekend is also a factor in my deep undying love for this beautiful bundle of cotton.

So what’s incredible and amazing and fantastic and stupendous and splendiferous and phantasmagoric (actually, looking it up, that isn’t such a positive word after all) about it all is that vw are coming down under to play BDO. OH DAMN
What’s not so incredible is that I won’t be around until the 20th. Which in any other year would’ve been absolutely fine, but, as Murphy’s Law would have it, on the year that I’d finally be able to go to every stage and see every headliner and CHILDISH GAMBINO and FOALS and AARGHDFHUHADSFOSGJFsd f, it’s too days two late. ARGHARAGHAGRAgr

Seriously considering road tripping it down to Melbourne for the 26th…


3) greeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen. I like green. And while the green in this photo isn’t really the best, the actual product is a pretty schmexy verdigris. ARGH. that was close. everything just froze, as has been the case these past few months when it comes to my laptop and his tantrums. At least this time he restarted properly. Anyway, I like green. And you know what else is green?


But actually, they really aren’t. At least, most of them aren’t. I mean, look at these green sea turtles. A holiday spent in front of a screen may have irreparably altered m eyesight, but they still don’t look particularly viridian to me.

Still, I’d love to have a pet tortoise. (anyone read Esio Trot? my god I love Roald Dahl. Although those oompa loompas… I still have nightmares…)

(another note. the pet tortoise desire kinda really comes from Arcadia. But that’ll have to wait for another day. Or at least until after I finish the analysis I’m meant to be doing on it RIGHT NOW.


Way back at the beginning of these holidays, when an endless expanse of carefree, unbridled joy stretched out before me and life seemed full of potential and wonderment and what ifs, I did a few things.

First, I bought a Moleskine. In fact, I bought two.

Here they are.

Aren’t they purrrrrrrtyyyyy? Well, actually, to be honest they don’t look that fantastic. No different from any other notebook. But they’re Eye-talian and they came with security stickers, so they have to be awesome. AND THEY’RE GREEN. GREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN.

Next, I was lucky enough to go and see Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap. And guess what. I’m now sworn to secrecy as part of a cult. Yep, that’s right, we’re special. We’ve got t-shirts and everything. So as much as I’d love to tell you all how it played out, my lips (and fingers) must remain sealed.

Finally, I read something I’d been meaning to read for a long time. If you’ve seen my reading stack, you’ll realise that that doesn’t really narrow anything down. (side note, I love it when I use “that that”. Or “had had”. It looks so wrong, but feels oh so right). Anyway, it rhymes with Cooking for Nebraska and its author is my hero. Or one of them anyway.
But seriously, John Green has some serious feels-inducing, thought-provoking skillz, and Looking for Alaska showcases all that and more. Funnily enough, I started off really not engaging with it, but somehow it crept up on me and took me over and around and along on a cray-cray rollercoaster of woah. (I really apologise for my lack of sense. I’m having trouble using my words. I’m tired (but what’s new about that?)).

And now it’s almost the end of the holidays.
And I’ve barely touched my work, or books, or anything.
And I’m tired, and nervous, and angry at my lack of work doing.

And last night I dreamt that I had my arm around Alaska, and everything was just fine.

(which is weird, cause I didn’t really identify with Miles or become as attached to Alaska as I have to a dazzling array of other characters from various media… which will become far clearer in my next series of posts…)

So one of the first times I ever went driving by myself, I had to go over the Harbour Bridge to get to a friend’s house. That seems like no big deal – I mean, thousands, or more like tens of thousands, of people cross it every day, and I can be people, right?

Originally, though, the bridge was built for horse-n-cart type setups, and so, being the widest bridge of its kind in the world at eight lanes, it has the unfortunate problem of having some of the narrowest lanes in Sydney. Not to mention its exit onto the labyrinthine bradfield highway that I’m sure was created to intentionally make you change as many lanes as possible and incur the wrath of old ladies and their death stares/shaking fists.

But luckily, we made it unscathed. Not to brag or anything, but I only almost totalled three other cars on the way, and that was a new record for me. (I hate to admit it, but sometimes I feel like I’m just enforcing that Asian driver stereotype…)

Disorganised as we were, we still managed to arrive early, so we decided to just chill out the  front, testing the upper threshold of both the Volvo sound system, and the tolerance of late-afternoon suburban Mosman dog walkers and assorted residents. Unfortunately, it was just at the moment we decided to test the speakers’ handling of hardcore-punk-spice-girls-cover-pop-fusion-glam-rock-indie-noise-pop with the following song that a friend’s stately airbus pilot father walked past. Luckily, I saw him coming in the mirror. Unluckily, so did my partner in crime, who proceeded to slam down the volume just in time for all of Mosman to hear me shout, “FUCK, TURN IT THE FUCK DOWN.”

Needless to say, I won’t be revisiting the northern wilderness any time soon.