So, I realise I haven't blogged in more or less forever, and in my defence that's been because of life. To begin with, due to the fact that my latin class (see my numerous posts titled 'The Week') have all graduated, my life is markedly less entertaining. This fact, combined with the fact that this year I finally finished the HSC (on a side note, A JIHAD ON THE BOARD OF STUDIES) meant that when I did actually do something worth blogging about, I was too busy to actually blog.
Anyway, yesterday was the day of the Art exam, the final exam of a mutual friend of myself and Isy. Isy and I decided that it would be marvellous fun if we were to surprise the aforementioned mutual friend, Angus, by turning up at the end of his exam. The busride back to the city and the time following offered up this conversational gem:
To begin with, Isy and I were discussing our respective post-HSC viewing lists, and I mentioned Torchwood: Miracle Day.
Isy: I heard that its only redeeming feature is all the gay sex.
Angus: Are you talking about Glee?
Of course, he had a point. The gays are the only reason I still watch Glee.
I also took my Brownie for a spin - Reginald now has two pictures sitting on film, waiting to be developed. I've also been working with some 1990s filmstock cameras I found at home. But, of course, the reels aren't done, so no photos until then.
But it'll happen. And when it does, they'll be here along with captions.
Stay classy.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
A Night to Remember (Or, That Awkward Moment When the Encores go for Longer than the Second Half)
So yesterday, I had some free tickets to see the Placido Domingo/Katherine Jenkins concert.
It was pleasant. It was a popera concert, and before you freak out too much, it was nothing like a concert of He-Who-Must-Not-Even-Be-Alluded-To-Let-Alone-Named (do yourself a favour and don't click the link).
There was some solid opera (for example it was 50 years to the day since Placido Domingo performed his first aria from Tosca, and then he performed it again and it was all terribly cute), and then there was some less solid opera. For example there was some West-Side Story.
But whatever works to keep the plebeians happy.
And whilst on the subject of keeping the plebeians happy, Katherine Jenkins. She had no fewer than four costume changes during the show. I cannot help but think that her gowns budget must be PHOENOMENAL.
My main beef stems from the encores. The concert had finished, and then Placido Domingo did an encore of some kind of spanish opera thingy. And then Katherine Jenkins sang Time to Say Goodbye, a song which she owns like her prison bitch, might I add. Then the orchestra played an overture. Then, since Placido Domingo was the headlining act, he sang again. But this time it was Besame Mucho - a tango standard. I was somewhat confused by that choice of closing piece.
I wasn't confused for long. Because on came Katherine Jenkins again. And she sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. After Time to Say Goodbye, you can imagine how much of an anticlimax that was. And then of course the headlining act came back on for another song (we were back to opera by now). I though surely, we're done now.
Lol jks, we weren't. There was another duet, by which time I was expecting a nice rendition of Nessun Dorma to follow to round out the night.
There wasn't. They were actually legit done.
The encores ran for longer than the second half. Surely there's a law against that kind of thing.
It was pleasant. It was a popera concert, and before you freak out too much, it was nothing like a concert of He-Who-Must-Not-Even-Be-Alluded-To-Let-Alone-Named (do yourself a favour and don't click the link).
There was some solid opera (for example it was 50 years to the day since Placido Domingo performed his first aria from Tosca, and then he performed it again and it was all terribly cute), and then there was some less solid opera. For example there was some West-Side Story.
But whatever works to keep the plebeians happy.
And whilst on the subject of keeping the plebeians happy, Katherine Jenkins. She had no fewer than four costume changes during the show. I cannot help but think that her gowns budget must be PHOENOMENAL.
My main beef stems from the encores. The concert had finished, and then Placido Domingo did an encore of some kind of spanish opera thingy. And then Katherine Jenkins sang Time to Say Goodbye, a song which she owns like her prison bitch, might I add. Then the orchestra played an overture. Then, since Placido Domingo was the headlining act, he sang again. But this time it was Besame Mucho - a tango standard. I was somewhat confused by that choice of closing piece.
I wasn't confused for long. Because on came Katherine Jenkins again. And she sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. After Time to Say Goodbye, you can imagine how much of an anticlimax that was. And then of course the headlining act came back on for another song (we were back to opera by now). I though surely, we're done now.
Lol jks, we weren't. There was another duet, by which time I was expecting a nice rendition of Nessun Dorma to follow to round out the night.
There wasn't. They were actually legit done.
The encores ran for longer than the second half. Surely there's a law against that kind of thing.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Looking around the sitting room.
Speedy disclaimer - you may have to physically click on the photos in order to view them.
There's a little nook between the window and the door, next to one of the sofas. In that nook, there's a chair, and a tuba. Music books are stacked against the wall, and there's some sheet music peeking out of the top of the tuba's bell. A cat is sitting in the open tuba case, looking altogether too much at home. The sofa has its back to a curved bank of windows. Sometimes a sousaphone hides in the space between the sofas and the windows, but not today.
If you look past Sophia being a fool, you can see the chair and some of the music.
The sofa is a mahogany colour which matches the bookcases (from IKEA) housing the encyclopaedia collection. You can see them in the background if you look past Monica being an even bigger fool.
Then there are the bookcases. There are four all up, going from the windows to the miniature alcohol collection. On top of the first, is a big old boom box, as well as a box of badges.
Inside the box of badges are all kinds of cool things, like this shovel:
And all these badges from gigs and rallies my dad went to:
There's a tape collection, filled with all kinds of art rock (anyone for 'Peter and the Wolf' read by David Bowie?), the bookshelves, the atlases and history books, the 1957 Encyclopaedia Britannica and a reproduction of the 1779 original Britannica. Books of the year, Funk and Wagnalls' encyclopaedia, Encyclopaedia Judaica and more art books. A vase from the Chinese government. Various nicknacks from trips overseas.
A set of porcelain bells, also from the Chinese government, stemming from back when dad did tax law consulting work with the World Bank.
Perpendicular to the third bookcase is the other sofa. It faces the other, and between the two is a table adorned with all the books we've been given, but never really read. Here we have (l-r) Monica, Sarah, Elsa and Mersini, reading them because we were in the middle of a power outage. On the far left, you can see part of a quilt, and in the background, the dining room. Taking up the fourth bookcase are the dictionaries. From an 1800s encyclopaedic monster to the bilingual ones in various and numerous languages, as well as (my favourite) the compact Oxford English Dictionary, printed four pages per view, and sold with an accompanying magnifying glass. you can just glimpse them past Mersini.
Then there's the miniature alcohol collection. Dad would bring them back from trips overseas, and some of them are quite unique.
Leaning against the unit housing the miniatures is dad's suitcase, which has sat there for the past eleven years. It still has the dried out pens and business cards which were in it when it was first laid to rest there, once it became apparent that it wasn't going to be used any more.
There's a light above the table. I hung a disco ball from it as a joke, and it stayed as a cutesie fixture.
Next to the tuba, on the other side of the entrance from the front of the house, is the piano, and a wingbacked armchair which is the perfect size for curling up with a decent book. Against the back wall is a violin and it's accoutrements, and next to the sofa is a bassoon and its trappings.
A teddy bear sits on the bottom octave of the piano, overseeing its realm.
There's a little nook between the window and the door, next to one of the sofas. In that nook, there's a chair, and a tuba. Music books are stacked against the wall, and there's some sheet music peeking out of the top of the tuba's bell. A cat is sitting in the open tuba case, looking altogether too much at home. The sofa has its back to a curved bank of windows. Sometimes a sousaphone hides in the space between the sofas and the windows, but not today.
If you look past Sophia being a fool, you can see the chair and some of the music.
The sofa is a mahogany colour which matches the bookcases (from IKEA) housing the encyclopaedia collection. You can see them in the background if you look past Monica being an even bigger fool.
Then there are the bookcases. There are four all up, going from the windows to the miniature alcohol collection. On top of the first, is a big old boom box, as well as a box of badges.
Inside the box of badges are all kinds of cool things, like this shovel:
And all these badges from gigs and rallies my dad went to:
There's a tape collection, filled with all kinds of art rock (anyone for 'Peter and the Wolf' read by David Bowie?), the bookshelves, the atlases and history books, the 1957 Encyclopaedia Britannica and a reproduction of the 1779 original Britannica. Books of the year, Funk and Wagnalls' encyclopaedia, Encyclopaedia Judaica and more art books. A vase from the Chinese government. Various nicknacks from trips overseas.
A set of porcelain bells, also from the Chinese government, stemming from back when dad did tax law consulting work with the World Bank.
Perpendicular to the third bookcase is the other sofa. It faces the other, and between the two is a table adorned with all the books we've been given, but never really read. Here we have (l-r) Monica, Sarah, Elsa and Mersini, reading them because we were in the middle of a power outage. On the far left, you can see part of a quilt, and in the background, the dining room. Taking up the fourth bookcase are the dictionaries. From an 1800s encyclopaedic monster to the bilingual ones in various and numerous languages, as well as (my favourite) the compact Oxford English Dictionary, printed four pages per view, and sold with an accompanying magnifying glass. you can just glimpse them past Mersini.
Then there's the miniature alcohol collection. Dad would bring them back from trips overseas, and some of them are quite unique.
Leaning against the unit housing the miniatures is dad's suitcase, which has sat there for the past eleven years. It still has the dried out pens and business cards which were in it when it was first laid to rest there, once it became apparent that it wasn't going to be used any more.
There's a light above the table. I hung a disco ball from it as a joke, and it stayed as a cutesie fixture.
Next to the tuba, on the other side of the entrance from the front of the house, is the piano, and a wingbacked armchair which is the perfect size for curling up with a decent book. Against the back wall is a violin and it's accoutrements, and next to the sofa is a bassoon and its trappings.
A teddy bear sits on the bottom octave of the piano, overseeing its realm.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Why I am the Best Older Sister EVER
I spent a good hour and a half illegally appropriating photos of Deborah at nationals for Gymnastics.
Then I made a facebook photo album.
Because I am officially THE BEST SISTER IN EXISTENCE.
That and the fact that Deb is a bit of a ninja. Who planks like a boss. A boss whose pre-eminence floats all across the land of Mordor.
You can find that album here.
Then I made a facebook photo album.
Because I am officially THE BEST SISTER IN EXISTENCE.
That and the fact that Deb is a bit of a ninja. Who planks like a boss. A boss whose pre-eminence floats all across the land of Mordor.
You can find that album here.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Dogs (or) Why I Have Stabby-Stabby-Murder-Face, but No-One Available to Stab
In general, I have nothing against dogs. They can be pleasantly entertaining in some circumstances, and I'm sure they serve some discernible purpose. Well kind of, anyway.
I only bring this up because I'm currently looking after a dog while some family friends are on holiday. I hate this dog.
It's big and smelly and it jumps on me (something which I don't tolerate from animals which weigh more than about 7 kg and will thus leave a bruise) and it is possibly the least intelligent animal I have ever had the misfortune to meet.
It's four years old and STILL chases its tail. It barks ALL THE TIME. And worst of all, it slobbers. I tolerate drool from babies because I know they aren't harbouring any pathogens from masticating on raw meat and that mysterious clod of something it ate at the park on its walk, but I don't tolerate it from dogs for the reasons set out above.
"So why did you agree to do it in the first place?" I hear you ask.
The answer is that I didn't. The day before she left to take Deb to Perth for gymnastics, we had one of our (incredibly frequent) 'oh and by the way, I've said you're going to [insert verb] for [insert name] for [insert length of time]' conversations.
So now, I'm stuck looking after an idiot animal until saturday. I am unimpressed.
Also, did I mention that it scratches?
I only bring this up because I'm currently looking after a dog while some family friends are on holiday. I hate this dog.
It's big and smelly and it jumps on me (something which I don't tolerate from animals which weigh more than about 7 kg and will thus leave a bruise) and it is possibly the least intelligent animal I have ever had the misfortune to meet.
It's four years old and STILL chases its tail. It barks ALL THE TIME. And worst of all, it slobbers. I tolerate drool from babies because I know they aren't harbouring any pathogens from masticating on raw meat and that mysterious clod of something it ate at the park on its walk, but I don't tolerate it from dogs for the reasons set out above.
"So why did you agree to do it in the first place?" I hear you ask.
The answer is that I didn't. The day before she left to take Deb to Perth for gymnastics, we had one of our (incredibly frequent) 'oh and by the way, I've said you're going to [insert verb] for [insert name] for [insert length of time]' conversations.
So now, I'm stuck looking after an idiot animal until saturday. I am unimpressed.
Also, did I mention that it scratches?
Pretensions
Today I had a horrifying thought. Am I pretentious when it comes to music?
Admittedly, when it comes to classical music I'm more a fan of the darker stuff - deaf or nearly so Beethoven, Mozart at the end of his life when he was all dark, Jenkins for reasons I can't really understand - and when it comes to popular music, I'm the same. Metallica, Apocalyptica, Rammstein, Within Temptation, Iron Maiden, Kamelot, even the odd bit of Murderdolls.
Recently however, I've found that I'm liking more and more non metal. I quite like three of Adele's latest songs, I can listen to Christina Perri's Jar of Hearts on an endless loop, and there's one Florence + The Machine song which I love, I just don't know what it's called. Either way, this made me wonder. Am I truly a metalhead, or am I just fooling myself?
Am I just pandering to my pretensions that I'm more hardcore than that? Ought I give up and stop visiting Utopia (which is probably my favourite store after Dymocks Stationery - the cheapest place to get Calligraphy supplies)?
To test this theory, I went into JBHifi and purchased a CD. Lungs by Florence was $10. If I didn't like it, I could always just give it to my sister.
I stuck it in my computer and listened with trepidation.
As it turns out, I didn't like it. Cosmic Love was alright, but not really to my taste. All of the tracks sounded the same, with the same airy voice and electronic instrumentation. I'm not a pretentious ass. I genuinely dislike the majority of popular music. I don't know whether I should be pleased or disappointed. Who cares?
Either way, I'm off to cleanse my mind of all that ranga music by listening to some music which never fails to perk me up: Amour by Rammstein, Parliament of Fools by Skyclad, Sacra by Apocalyptica and what is probably my favourite piece of classical music: The Allegretto (mvt. 2) of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.
Because as it turns out, I really am hardcore like that.
Admittedly, when it comes to classical music I'm more a fan of the darker stuff - deaf or nearly so Beethoven, Mozart at the end of his life when he was all dark, Jenkins for reasons I can't really understand - and when it comes to popular music, I'm the same. Metallica, Apocalyptica, Rammstein, Within Temptation, Iron Maiden, Kamelot, even the odd bit of Murderdolls.
Recently however, I've found that I'm liking more and more non metal. I quite like three of Adele's latest songs, I can listen to Christina Perri's Jar of Hearts on an endless loop, and there's one Florence + The Machine song which I love, I just don't know what it's called. Either way, this made me wonder. Am I truly a metalhead, or am I just fooling myself?
Am I just pandering to my pretensions that I'm more hardcore than that? Ought I give up and stop visiting Utopia (which is probably my favourite store after Dymocks Stationery - the cheapest place to get Calligraphy supplies)?
To test this theory, I went into JBHifi and purchased a CD. Lungs by Florence was $10. If I didn't like it, I could always just give it to my sister.
I stuck it in my computer and listened with trepidation.
As it turns out, I didn't like it. Cosmic Love was alright, but not really to my taste. All of the tracks sounded the same, with the same airy voice and electronic instrumentation. I'm not a pretentious ass. I genuinely dislike the majority of popular music. I don't know whether I should be pleased or disappointed. Who cares?
Either way, I'm off to cleanse my mind of all that ranga music by listening to some music which never fails to perk me up: Amour by Rammstein, Parliament of Fools by Skyclad, Sacra by Apocalyptica and what is probably my favourite piece of classical music: The Allegretto (mvt. 2) of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.
Because as it turns out, I really am hardcore like that.
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