Oh and by the way.
I got my HSC timetable today. The BOS can S my D.
Quite literally, and failing that at least figuratively.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The week.
This may become a regular fixture - the assorted school funnies of the week which didn't warrant their own post.
To begin with: FRANKENLORD (expletive) a way to blaspheme obscenely without actually using obscenities.
"You brought Frankenstein today? Thank the Frankenlord!"
N.B. pronounced in a manner akin to 'fuckin'.
FRANKENMOTHERFUCKER (n) As Victor is the 'mother' of the monster (i.e. he 'bore' it) thus, to be a frankenmotherfucker, he would have to be wanking. Thus, a frankenmotherfucker is one who supplicates themselves after creating a monster otu of spare parts.
In Latin on thursday, we had some entertaining segways. One of them involved us speculating as to what animal Mr Morrison (our teacher) would be. Sarah suggested a meerkat. I suggested a giant squid. As it turns out, that's his favourite animal. Who'd have thunk.
There was then a minor discussion regardign the pronunciation of the word command which resulted in teh following conversational gems:
Mr Morrison: You say command, I say potato.
Me: You say potato, I say giant squid.
Monica: You say potato, I say Lady Gaga.
Later in the lesson, as we discussed Cicero's wording, Mr Morrison said "How much authority does this speech have?"
Half the class however thought he had said "How much authority does this bitch have?" something which mildly confused us - because that's not the kind of thing he usually says - at which point we dissolved into giggles.
Today, during Latin extension, we were translating a Catullus poem addressed to Furius and Aurelius - the selfsame men Catullus 16 was addressed to. Namely the guys he said he would sodomise violently (and that was the nice part of the poem).
This led me say "Catullus didn't like many people", to which Mr Morrison responded "Catullus liked his brother."
Utter silence.
And then as we were leaving, he said "My comment for the weekend is be nice to each other." at which point he left the room. The moment he was outside the door he added "And don't get drunk or pregnant."
Well. That was unexpected. All I can say is: I won't.
To begin with: FRANKENLORD (expletive) a way to blaspheme obscenely without actually using obscenities.
"You brought Frankenstein today? Thank the Frankenlord!"
N.B. pronounced in a manner akin to 'fuckin'.
FRANKENMOTHERFUCKER (n) As Victor is the 'mother' of the monster (i.e. he 'bore' it) thus, to be a frankenmotherfucker, he would have to be wanking. Thus, a frankenmotherfucker is one who supplicates themselves after creating a monster otu of spare parts.
In Latin on thursday, we had some entertaining segways. One of them involved us speculating as to what animal Mr Morrison (our teacher) would be. Sarah suggested a meerkat. I suggested a giant squid. As it turns out, that's his favourite animal. Who'd have thunk.
There was then a minor discussion regardign the pronunciation of the word command which resulted in teh following conversational gems:
Mr Morrison: You say command, I say potato.
Me: You say potato, I say giant squid.
Monica: You say potato, I say Lady Gaga.
Later in the lesson, as we discussed Cicero's wording, Mr Morrison said "How much authority does this speech have?"
Half the class however thought he had said "How much authority does this bitch have?" something which mildly confused us - because that's not the kind of thing he usually says - at which point we dissolved into giggles.
Today, during Latin extension, we were translating a Catullus poem addressed to Furius and Aurelius - the selfsame men Catullus 16 was addressed to. Namely the guys he said he would sodomise violently (and that was the nice part of the poem).
This led me say "Catullus didn't like many people", to which Mr Morrison responded "Catullus liked his brother."
Utter silence.
And then as we were leaving, he said "My comment for the weekend is be nice to each other." at which point he left the room. The moment he was outside the door he added "And don't get drunk or pregnant."
Well. That was unexpected. All I can say is: I won't.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
A is for irritation.
Last night, my family were being irksome. By irksome, I mean my younger sisters were acting like five year olds while I was trying to get homework done, and I was yelled at for yelling at them.
And so after shutting the door to my room and switching on my trusty mp3, I went to one of the things that tends to put me in a happy mood: my Windows Media player.
As the HSC progresses, and my sisters (especially the one whom I have to share a room with) get on my nerves more and more, I’ll be blogging a hell of a lot about music. This is because most of the other stuff I do in order to calm down (like go over old music from when I was in SCC, having a good singalong and enjoying afresh my glory days) is rather boring.
So today I will be looking at the fruitier stuff on my Windows Media, and explaining why it’s there.
“I Believe In A Thing Called Love” which I think may be by The Darkness.
I’ve loved this song ever since I heard it on the soundtrack for Bridget Jones 2. I’ve always had a bit of a thing for acid trip rock. This is the result of it. Every time I hear it, I smile. And then sing along like a guy using the upper reaches of his falsetto.
Then there’s the stuff I ripped from the Forrest Gump soundtrack. I suppose the sixties and seventies were a good time for American music. It more or less went downhill from there.
There’s also the stuff I ripped from the soundtrack of The Full Monty:
Flashdance. Enough said.
You Sexy Thing. Ditto.
Make Me Smile by Steve Harley and the Cockney Rebel.
Any pop song with harmonies I actually like as a massive rarity. One that I can listen to for hours on end is even more rare. It’s a happy song.
I have the winners single from Eurovision 2009 – Fairytale from Alexander Rybak.
I have immense respect for a young man who can saw his way through a violin bow on Eurovision because he’s playing so hard.
Poison by Alice Cooper. I’ve gotten a perfect score on Singstar for this song. That was a wasted week spent in hospital. But moving on…
I have some Andrew Lloyd Weber stuff. Don’t ask me why. I much prefer Sondheim or Boublil and Schönberg.
I also have the complete discography of Apocalyptica.
I’m a bit of a classical music nerd, and so when a band comes along which makes heavy metal out of cellos, I’m going to be markedly impressed. At the moment, I’m listening to their cover of Hall of the Mountain King by Edvard Grieg. That’s some marvy cello.
Then onto the Avenue Q soundtrack.
Avenue Q. How can one describe it? I don’t know.
Suffice I list a few of the song titles:
Everyone’s a little bit racist
The internet is for porn
Of you were gay
Schadenfreude
It sucks to be me.
That having been said, it’s actually a markedly happy musical. Lots of black humour.
And I mean that in both senses of the word. It’s ironic, and there’s a character called Gary Coleman.
And that’s it for the A section. Next time I’m pissed off at my relations, I’ll move onto B. Perhaps C…
And so after shutting the door to my room and switching on my trusty mp3, I went to one of the things that tends to put me in a happy mood: my Windows Media player.
As the HSC progresses, and my sisters (especially the one whom I have to share a room with) get on my nerves more and more, I’ll be blogging a hell of a lot about music. This is because most of the other stuff I do in order to calm down (like go over old music from when I was in SCC, having a good singalong and enjoying afresh my glory days) is rather boring.
So today I will be looking at the fruitier stuff on my Windows Media, and explaining why it’s there.
“I Believe In A Thing Called Love” which I think may be by The Darkness.
I’ve loved this song ever since I heard it on the soundtrack for Bridget Jones 2. I’ve always had a bit of a thing for acid trip rock. This is the result of it. Every time I hear it, I smile. And then sing along like a guy using the upper reaches of his falsetto.
Then there’s the stuff I ripped from the Forrest Gump soundtrack. I suppose the sixties and seventies were a good time for American music. It more or less went downhill from there.
There’s also the stuff I ripped from the soundtrack of The Full Monty:
Flashdance. Enough said.
You Sexy Thing. Ditto.
Make Me Smile by Steve Harley and the Cockney Rebel.
Any pop song with harmonies I actually like as a massive rarity. One that I can listen to for hours on end is even more rare. It’s a happy song.
I have the winners single from Eurovision 2009 – Fairytale from Alexander Rybak.
I have immense respect for a young man who can saw his way through a violin bow on Eurovision because he’s playing so hard.
Poison by Alice Cooper. I’ve gotten a perfect score on Singstar for this song. That was a wasted week spent in hospital. But moving on…
I have some Andrew Lloyd Weber stuff. Don’t ask me why. I much prefer Sondheim or Boublil and Schönberg.
I also have the complete discography of Apocalyptica.
I’m a bit of a classical music nerd, and so when a band comes along which makes heavy metal out of cellos, I’m going to be markedly impressed. At the moment, I’m listening to their cover of Hall of the Mountain King by Edvard Grieg. That’s some marvy cello.
Then onto the Avenue Q soundtrack.
Avenue Q. How can one describe it? I don’t know.
Suffice I list a few of the song titles:
Everyone’s a little bit racist
The internet is for porn
Of you were gay
Schadenfreude
It sucks to be me.
That having been said, it’s actually a markedly happy musical. Lots of black humour.
And I mean that in both senses of the word. It’s ironic, and there’s a character called Gary Coleman.
And that’s it for the A section. Next time I’m pissed off at my relations, I’ll move onto B. Perhaps C…
A Facebook Conversation About Pablo Neruda.
This is the gist of a facebook conversation with one of the people whom I know doing the IB.
Adela (on Damon's wall): Wow. Neruda is messed up. On the upside, you don't need to do Frankenstein. Victor is a sissy little girl bitch. (I got that gem of an insult off Scrubs. I love that show.) If I were to be studying Neruda in english, I have a feeling I would have given my teacher a nervous breakdown.
(Just as a bit of a pointer, that was paraphrased.)
Damon (in the comments thingy): Ha! You see!!! He is a douche-wad with issues pertaining to women. We had to deal with 21 poems of his.
"It steadily gets worse and worse... first the dodgy sexual imagery, leading to his whispering girly man things..."
The bit in quotation marks was (surprise, surprise) a quote.
Neruda REALLY needed a girlfriend.
Adela (on Damon's wall): Wow. Neruda is messed up. On the upside, you don't need to do Frankenstein. Victor is a sissy little girl bitch. (I got that gem of an insult off Scrubs. I love that show.) If I were to be studying Neruda in english, I have a feeling I would have given my teacher a nervous breakdown.
(Just as a bit of a pointer, that was paraphrased.)
Damon (in the comments thingy): Ha! You see!!! He is a douche-wad with issues pertaining to women. We had to deal with 21 poems of his.
"It steadily gets worse and worse... first the dodgy sexual imagery, leading to his whispering girly man things..."
The bit in quotation marks was (surprise, surprise) a quote.
Neruda REALLY needed a girlfriend.
Pablo Neruda
A while ago, I did a post about Rime of the Ancient Mariner - one of Coleridge's opium epics.
Anyway, in a fit of boredom today, I decided to see what was so utterly perverse about Pablo Neruda.
Some people I know who do the IB have to study his works, and the general feedback I get is that among other things, he needed to get laid.
I read some of his stuff, and all I can say is holy *numerous expletives in numerous languages*. This man had issues.
Who writes an ode to a flea?
You know how I said I could imagine Coleridge lying there in his opium den wondering what could rhyme with noon before hitting on the word 'bassoon' with an almost eureka-like enthusaism?
I can picture Neruda sitting there in his little poetry hole or den or nook or wherever the hell he wrote his poetry looking at sketches of naked women and saying in a seedy south american accent as he stroked his goatee (I know I'm verging into the lands of the politically incorrect, but seriously.) and said 'Hmmm. Now how can I describe this in a manner that will make students all over the world cringe when they read it...A-ha! I know! White hills!!!' (Scribbles away furiously).
That guy had issues.
Anyway, in a fit of boredom today, I decided to see what was so utterly perverse about Pablo Neruda.
Some people I know who do the IB have to study his works, and the general feedback I get is that among other things, he needed to get laid.
I read some of his stuff, and all I can say is holy *numerous expletives in numerous languages*. This man had issues.
Who writes an ode to a flea?
You know how I said I could imagine Coleridge lying there in his opium den wondering what could rhyme with noon before hitting on the word 'bassoon' with an almost eureka-like enthusaism?
I can picture Neruda sitting there in his little poetry hole or den or nook or wherever the hell he wrote his poetry looking at sketches of naked women and saying in a seedy south american accent as he stroked his goatee (I know I'm verging into the lands of the politically incorrect, but seriously.) and said 'Hmmm. Now how can I describe this in a manner that will make students all over the world cringe when they read it...A-ha! I know! White hills!!!' (Scribbles away furiously).
That guy had issues.
Life
I hate being sixteen.
Seriously. Not only am I a good chunk younger than the vast majority of my year group, pretty soon I'll be making decisions which will more or less shape the course of he rest of my life.
I spend my spare time playing Lacrosse and watching Sesame Street. I'm not ready to go into the real world.
School is like my security blanket. I've been attending St George for a good 37% of my life. IT'S FAMILIAR. I know what I'm going to be doing each day, and I know to an extent what to expect of each day.
Whenever I put concerted effort onto thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life, I get nowhere. I change my mind with reasonable regularity. At the moment, I feel like studying Mechanical Engineering. Who knows how long this phase'll last?
The only way I can describe my mind when it comes to thinking about the future is a snafu.
I'm feeling rather snafulated at the moment.
Grr.
Seriously. Not only am I a good chunk younger than the vast majority of my year group, pretty soon I'll be making decisions which will more or less shape the course of he rest of my life.
I spend my spare time playing Lacrosse and watching Sesame Street. I'm not ready to go into the real world.
School is like my security blanket. I've been attending St George for a good 37% of my life. IT'S FAMILIAR. I know what I'm going to be doing each day, and I know to an extent what to expect of each day.
Whenever I put concerted effort onto thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life, I get nowhere. I change my mind with reasonable regularity. At the moment, I feel like studying Mechanical Engineering. Who knows how long this phase'll last?
The only way I can describe my mind when it comes to thinking about the future is a snafu.
I'm feeling rather snafulated at the moment.
Grr.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Latin for the day
Last term I was informed that I am the whore of the Latin Class. Apparently I've been getting a hell of a lot of some lately.
I seem not to have noticed that this getting of some was taking place, but who knows.
This stems from a minor dalliance carried out whilst in New Zealand on school band tour.
Go figure.
Everyone then made some comments that whilst innocuous in context, would sound rather off colour if reproduced. Unfortunately, I don't remember them, otherwise I would most definitely post them. More's the pity.
I did manage to recall these gems from class today.
Mr Morrison: The next day, Verres started playing Silly Buggers.
Me: I just spoonerised 'witty banter'.
Mr Morrison: The slave wars of Spartacus didn't spread across to Sicily.
Mersini: That's probably because he [Verres] paid them.
I seem not to have noticed that this getting of some was taking place, but who knows.
This stems from a minor dalliance carried out whilst in New Zealand on school band tour.
Go figure.
Everyone then made some comments that whilst innocuous in context, would sound rather off colour if reproduced. Unfortunately, I don't remember them, otherwise I would most definitely post them. More's the pity.
I did manage to recall these gems from class today.
Mr Morrison: The next day, Verres started playing Silly Buggers.
Me: I just spoonerised 'witty banter'.
Mr Morrison: The slave wars of Spartacus didn't spread across to Sicily.
Mersini: That's probably because he [Verres] paid them.
Frankendickhead
Today in english, I was seized with the idea of writing fake urban dictionary meanings to random words and phrases I came up with. Since we're studying Frankenstein, they're all themed somewhat similarly.
I'll give the WORD (part of speech) Definition
use in a sentence and/or other tidbits
Let's start with FRANKENDICKHEAD (n) Someone who forces adolescents to study Frankenstein against their will.
My english teacher is such a Frankendickhead
FRANKENEYE (n) When someone burst a capillary in their eye resulting in a dirty great red patch below their iris which everyone focuses on whenever that person happens to look anywhere, thus distracting everyone.
Holy CRAP! Check out Mr Turner's Frankeneye
FRANKENFAIL (v) When the girl who sits next to you in english forgets her copy of Frankenstein for a few weeks running.
Yvette Frankenfailed again.
FRANKENPHRASE (n) A statement which is self glorifying to the point where people are tempted to be violent towards you.
Where does Victor Frankenstein get all these Frankenphrases from? I feel tempted to murder him every time he opens his mouth.
FRANKENSEX (v) To engage in intercourse with someone whom you've always thought of as faimly, but who thankfully isn't actually related to you.
All this Frankensex is really weirding me out.
FRANKENBABY (n) Somethign you threw together with whatever happened to by lying around within reach.
"What's in the casserole?"
"Oh, it's a Frankenbaby."
FRANKENFRIENDSHIP (gerund) 'Real manly men' who have a friendship so close that you'd assume there was a little bit of courtly man-love going on on the side.
All this Frankenfriendship is also weirding me out.
FRANKENFAMILY (n) A way of forcing women into being nurturers and the producers of progeny.
The FLDS is a great example of Frankenfamily.
KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR (n) A man who clearly doesn't fight hard enough in battle, otherwise he's be dented and covered in gore, not to mention a bit tarnished."He's her knight in shining armour."
"What a ponce."
"I reckon."
FRANKENFATHERHOOD (gerund) Abandoning your child because it's ugly.
Holy expletive that kid's ugly. I can't believe its parents haven't gone and Frankenfatherhooded it.
BLADERUNNER (n) A great big segway which takes an english class off topic.
"That was an effective Bladerunner."
"I know right? We didn't do any work all double."
FRANKENPATERNITYSUIT (n) When the child you abandoned whilst practicing your Frankenfatherhood comes after you demanding that you recognise it as your progeny.
"What's this?"
"It's a Frankenpaternitysuit, you Frankendickhead. Maybe you shouldn't have been such a Frankenfather."
I'll give the WORD (part of speech) Definition
use in a sentence and/or other tidbits
Let's start with FRANKENDICKHEAD (n) Someone who forces adolescents to study Frankenstein against their will.
My english teacher is such a Frankendickhead
FRANKENEYE (n) When someone burst a capillary in their eye resulting in a dirty great red patch below their iris which everyone focuses on whenever that person happens to look anywhere, thus distracting everyone.
Holy CRAP! Check out Mr Turner's Frankeneye
FRANKENFAIL (v) When the girl who sits next to you in english forgets her copy of Frankenstein for a few weeks running.
Yvette Frankenfailed again.
FRANKENPHRASE (n) A statement which is self glorifying to the point where people are tempted to be violent towards you.
Where does Victor Frankenstein get all these Frankenphrases from? I feel tempted to murder him every time he opens his mouth.
FRANKENSEX (v) To engage in intercourse with someone whom you've always thought of as faimly, but who thankfully isn't actually related to you.
All this Frankensex is really weirding me out.
FRANKENBABY (n) Somethign you threw together with whatever happened to by lying around within reach.
"What's in the casserole?"
"Oh, it's a Frankenbaby."
FRANKENFRIENDSHIP (gerund) 'Real manly men' who have a friendship so close that you'd assume there was a little bit of courtly man-love going on on the side.
All this Frankenfriendship is also weirding me out.
FRANKENFAMILY (n) A way of forcing women into being nurturers and the producers of progeny.
The FLDS is a great example of Frankenfamily.
KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR (n) A man who clearly doesn't fight hard enough in battle, otherwise he's be dented and covered in gore, not to mention a bit tarnished."He's her knight in shining armour."
"What a ponce."
"I reckon."
FRANKENFATHERHOOD (gerund) Abandoning your child because it's ugly.
Holy expletive that kid's ugly. I can't believe its parents haven't gone and Frankenfatherhooded it.
BLADERUNNER (n) A great big segway which takes an english class off topic.
"That was an effective Bladerunner."
"I know right? We didn't do any work all double."
FRANKENPATERNITYSUIT (n) When the child you abandoned whilst practicing your Frankenfatherhood comes after you demanding that you recognise it as your progeny.
"What's this?"
"It's a Frankenpaternitysuit, you Frankendickhead. Maybe you shouldn't have been such a Frankenfather."
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Irish Separatism
Today, after the ANZAC Day parade (which was ridiculously enjoyable. The sousa bruises were so worth it), I watched a movie called 'The Wind That Shakes the Barley'.
It was about the Irish insurrection against the occupation of Northern Ireland by the Black and Tans.
It was a fantastic movie - Cilian Murphy was fantastic, and the guy playing his brother kind of looked like that guy from Atonement (which I still haven't seen).
Nonetheless, it ended just like every other IRA movie - with the main character being shot for supporting the cause.
Irish history is depressing. Britain more or less used Ireland in order to keep the colonies under control.
If the colonies had an uprising, the Empire would say 'Look at what we did to Ireland when they had an uprising. We massacred them left, right and centre. And they're white. Just think what we'll do to you.'
If the colonies demanded republic status, or wanted out of the commonwealth, the Empire would say 'Ireland's been fighting for independence for a good three hundred or so years, and we still haven't given it to them. What on earth makes you think we'll grant it to you.'
And so on. It's just depressing. It's no wonder that in pretty much every war Britain fought in the late nineteenth and early to mid-twentieth centuries, England's enemies would do their utmost to get in contact with the Irish and supply them with weapons.
To some extent, they were to England what Sicily was to Rome: something to be regarded with caution, and shot to bits every so often just to make sure they weren't planning anything. That's why Hannibal approached Rome through Sicily. He was sure to have support.
On the upside, the game started by showing the men playing Hurling. It's like Shinty, but Irish.
It was about the Irish insurrection against the occupation of Northern Ireland by the Black and Tans.
It was a fantastic movie - Cilian Murphy was fantastic, and the guy playing his brother kind of looked like that guy from Atonement (which I still haven't seen).
Nonetheless, it ended just like every other IRA movie - with the main character being shot for supporting the cause.
Irish history is depressing. Britain more or less used Ireland in order to keep the colonies under control.
If the colonies had an uprising, the Empire would say 'Look at what we did to Ireland when they had an uprising. We massacred them left, right and centre. And they're white. Just think what we'll do to you.'
If the colonies demanded republic status, or wanted out of the commonwealth, the Empire would say 'Ireland's been fighting for independence for a good three hundred or so years, and we still haven't given it to them. What on earth makes you think we'll grant it to you.'
And so on. It's just depressing. It's no wonder that in pretty much every war Britain fought in the late nineteenth and early to mid-twentieth centuries, England's enemies would do their utmost to get in contact with the Irish and supply them with weapons.
To some extent, they were to England what Sicily was to Rome: something to be regarded with caution, and shot to bits every so often just to make sure they weren't planning anything. That's why Hannibal approached Rome through Sicily. He was sure to have support.
On the upside, the game started by showing the men playing Hurling. It's like Shinty, but Irish.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Books
I went to the library on friday afternoon. I was pleased with what I found. New books by all three of my favourite authors.
To start with, I found the Asa Larson book I'd been looking for. I'd read the first and third in her series, but for some reason the St George Library system had failed to get the second. No matter.
It's Swedish murder fiction. There's also an element of psycho thriller in there which is why I love her books.
There was also a Camilla Lackberg book which had just come in, which was markedly delightful.
I suppose I just like Swedish Psycho-thrillers starring women who would normally not be involved with crime solving.
There's something refreshing about their style of writing, the way in which everything is to the point, without any buggering around the point.
I also got some books by Charlaine Harris, which I immediately read.
She writes vampire fiction, but in such a plausible way that one is able to relate to the characters. To a certain extent, it's just trashy fiction, but I love it. I really need to watch TrueBlood, the series based upon the books. I'll get around to it.
To start with, I found the Asa Larson book I'd been looking for. I'd read the first and third in her series, but for some reason the St George Library system had failed to get the second. No matter.
It's Swedish murder fiction. There's also an element of psycho thriller in there which is why I love her books.
There was also a Camilla Lackberg book which had just come in, which was markedly delightful.
I suppose I just like Swedish Psycho-thrillers starring women who would normally not be involved with crime solving.
There's something refreshing about their style of writing, the way in which everything is to the point, without any buggering around the point.
I also got some books by Charlaine Harris, which I immediately read.
She writes vampire fiction, but in such a plausible way that one is able to relate to the characters. To a certain extent, it's just trashy fiction, but I love it. I really need to watch TrueBlood, the series based upon the books. I'll get around to it.
Sigh
Today I finished reading Kristin Ross' 'May '68 and its Afterlives'. It was a good book, if you're into sociopolitical history.
I was reading it for Extension History.
I only complain about this because now I have to read two books which are in french. Apparently, they haven't been translated into english, so I'm on my own.
I'll manage, but still. Why did I choose such a mother-expletivingly difficult topic.
I'll tell you - because I'm an idiot.
And also on the topic of HEX, on tuesday, we're going to be discussing Jews for Jesus. I am so pumped for a religious smackdown.
Watch the ANZAC day parade. I'm the girl in a purple cape with a sousaphone.
I'm listening to 'Wo Bist Du' by Rammstein.
It's lovely.
I was reading it for Extension History.
I only complain about this because now I have to read two books which are in french. Apparently, they haven't been translated into english, so I'm on my own.
I'll manage, but still. Why did I choose such a mother-expletivingly difficult topic.
I'll tell you - because I'm an idiot.
And also on the topic of HEX, on tuesday, we're going to be discussing Jews for Jesus. I am so pumped for a religious smackdown.
Watch the ANZAC day parade. I'm the girl in a purple cape with a sousaphone.
I'm listening to 'Wo Bist Du' by Rammstein.
It's lovely.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Vois sur ton Chemin
Vois sur ton chemin, gamins oubliés égarés.
Donne leur la main pour les mener vers d'autres lendemains.
Sens au coeur de la nuit l'onde d'espoir, ardeur de la vie, sentier de gloire.
Bonheurs enfantins trop vite oubliés effacés.
Une lumière dorée brille sans fin tout au bout du chemin.
Sens au coeur de la nuit l'onde d'espoir, ardeur de la vie, sentier de gloire.
That was Vois sur ton Chemin from Les Choristes. It is quite easily one of my favourite songs.
It also has the most beautiful lyrics. They translate as such:
See upon your path, childhood forgotten and lost.
Give them a hand to lead them to further tomorrows.
Feel in the heart of the night the wave of hope, the spirit of life, which marks the way to glory.
Childhood joys abandoned and forgotten too soon.
A golden light shines endlessly at the end of the path.
Feel in the heart of the night the wave of hope, the spirit of life, which marks the way to glory.
It's certainly a stark contrast to one of my other favourite songs: No Leaf Clover by Metallica.
The chorus goes:
Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel was just a freight train coming your way.
They both deal with the concept of the light at the end of the tunnel, and they're both fantastic songs. One just manages to be so much more optmistic than the other.
Donne leur la main pour les mener vers d'autres lendemains.
Sens au coeur de la nuit l'onde d'espoir, ardeur de la vie, sentier de gloire.
Bonheurs enfantins trop vite oubliés effacés.
Une lumière dorée brille sans fin tout au bout du chemin.
Sens au coeur de la nuit l'onde d'espoir, ardeur de la vie, sentier de gloire.
That was Vois sur ton Chemin from Les Choristes. It is quite easily one of my favourite songs.
It also has the most beautiful lyrics. They translate as such:
See upon your path, childhood forgotten and lost.
Give them a hand to lead them to further tomorrows.
Feel in the heart of the night the wave of hope, the spirit of life, which marks the way to glory.
Childhood joys abandoned and forgotten too soon.
A golden light shines endlessly at the end of the path.
Feel in the heart of the night the wave of hope, the spirit of life, which marks the way to glory.
It's certainly a stark contrast to one of my other favourite songs: No Leaf Clover by Metallica.
The chorus goes:
Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel was just a freight train coming your way.
They both deal with the concept of the light at the end of the tunnel, and they're both fantastic songs. One just manages to be so much more optmistic than the other.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Debating
Today was the first debate for the PDC for the year. I was markedly put out to discover that unlike in previous years when the year 12 competition allowed one to talk for 13 minutes, this year our speaking time has been cut down to nine.
I cannot sufficiently destroy the other team's case in 9 minutes. I can destabilise it, and perhaps knock down a few walls, but I cannot raze it to the ground in 9 minutes.
Either way, the debate on school league tables was won by us, a good start to the zone party of the competition.
In our zone there are two Caringbah teams and on team from Kirrawee. We debated one of the Caringbah teams today. The other team was in the audience compiling notes on us and our speaking styles.
We must really have threatened them.
Either way, it's good to be back into debating. Where else would I be able to say that an attempt to nationalise the curriculum is a fascist plot by the government to infringe on our rights and to make the state governments more reliant on federal.
I cannot sufficiently destroy the other team's case in 9 minutes. I can destabilise it, and perhaps knock down a few walls, but I cannot raze it to the ground in 9 minutes.
Either way, the debate on school league tables was won by us, a good start to the zone party of the competition.
In our zone there are two Caringbah teams and on team from Kirrawee. We debated one of the Caringbah teams today. The other team was in the audience compiling notes on us and our speaking styles.
We must really have threatened them.
Either way, it's good to be back into debating. Where else would I be able to say that an attempt to nationalise the curriculum is a fascist plot by the government to infringe on our rights and to make the state governments more reliant on federal.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Lolz and such
I recently discovered a most marvellous website called Very Demotivational. It's internet logo (the little picture next to the URL) is VD. Oh the chuckles.
They have a most fantastic tool for creating your own demotivational posters. I availed myself of this tool and immediately began spamming my facebook page with my warped creations.
I had planned to avail myself of this tool again tonight to create one, only to find that my internet was so slow that the page couldn't actually load itself. Instead, a message appeared on the page saying that there was a problem, but people were in the process of fixing it. There was also a lolcat:
Behold.
Wow. That's adorable.
Every time I reloaded the page, there was a new cat.
It made me forget my irritation at the lack of internet.
They have a most fantastic tool for creating your own demotivational posters. I availed myself of this tool and immediately began spamming my facebook page with my warped creations.
I had planned to avail myself of this tool again tonight to create one, only to find that my internet was so slow that the page couldn't actually load itself. Instead, a message appeared on the page saying that there was a problem, but people were in the process of fixing it. There was also a lolcat:
Behold.
Wow. That's adorable.
Every time I reloaded the page, there was a new cat.
It made me forget my irritation at the lack of internet.
Friday, April 16, 2010
STDs
I just got my CPU back from IT after they cleaned it of some horrible virus. It got me thinking that viruses are like STDs and putting your USB into a computer is like unprotected sex.
Imagine there are two computers: ComputerA and mine, as well as my USB.
Now imagine that ComputerA has syphilis. Not knowing this, I inserted my USB into its USB port (Oh the off colour implications). Not knowing that my USB was now syphilitic, I inserted it into my computer.
My computer then contracted syphilis without my knowledge.
My USB is a bit of a whore, always being put into other people's computers either to give or receive files. Long story short, pretty soon everyone has syphilis.
What we need is condoms for USBs.
And speaking of condoms, I created a demotivational poster to mark the occasion:
Imagine there are two computers: ComputerA and mine, as well as my USB.
Now imagine that ComputerA has syphilis. Not knowing this, I inserted my USB into its USB port (Oh the off colour implications). Not knowing that my USB was now syphilitic, I inserted it into my computer.
My computer then contracted syphilis without my knowledge.
My USB is a bit of a whore, always being put into other people's computers either to give or receive files. Long story short, pretty soon everyone has syphilis.
What we need is condoms for USBs.
And speaking of condoms, I created a demotivational poster to mark the occasion:
Advice from the Magical Land of Television
Rachel Maddow on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart:
Don't shoot people, and don't encourage the shooting of people
Stephen Colbert:
Praise the lord and pass the guacamole.
Stephen Colbert devoted a chunk of his segment a few days ago to the South.
He began by saying "I am a proud son of South Carolina."
The byline then added 'Probably a brother of South Carolina, too.'
Apparently he cured himself of his southern accent, and attempted to prove that it continued to exist by eventually saying "Ich bin ein Southerner."
This was no doubt paying tribute to Bill Clinton's famous Berlin Wall cockup: he was giving a speech in Berlin, and instead of beginning with 'Ich bin Berliner' (meaning I am a Berliner, thus creating a feeling of solidarity), Bill began with "Ich bin ein Berliner", which to a non German speaker would seem to be the more syntactically correct statement. Unfortunately, the terminology 'ein Berliner' means 'a jam doughnut'. Oops.
It also reminded me of a story one of my friends told me about when her class learnt German for a few weeks of year 7. When they learned the 'ich bin' construction, they all immediately put their jumpers on their heads and ran around the school yelling "Ich bin Laden!!!".
But I digress.
There was then the Colbert Report's unique spin on the civil war.
In my opinion, the civil war wasn't caused directly by slavery. It was Lincoln's non-core promises combined with a hell of a lot of interstate rivalry. I have several essays on the subject, but I won't subject you to them.
He then made what was possibly one of the best calls... ever.
When discussing the Double Down, all he could say was "Surely this is the warped creation of a Syphallitic brain"
Someone purported to be the German ambassador to the UN then came on and was presented with a cupcake, because apparently McDonalds is attempting to market them to Germans.
Apparently the cupcake looked weak.
Hans Beinholdt then made some marvellously poignant remarks about children's birthday parties. Unfortunately, it won't work if I merely transcribe it. You'll have to watch the show to grasp the full hilarity. Although if you follow the links you'll see him.
I then settled in to enjoy some ABC2.
Grumpy old women is underwhelming to the nth degree.
There was then some good Austrian Inspektor Rex, as opposed to the weird Italian franchise with the cop whose jeans are too tight. Unlike his Italian counterpart, the Austrian guy manages to look stylish even when he's been shot. Pants (not jeans) a shirt and vest. That's how cops should dress. None of this tight jeans crap.
Again, archaism wins.
And as you've no doubt noticed, I've finally worked out how to put in links and images. Hurrah.
Don't shoot people, and don't encourage the shooting of people
Stephen Colbert:
Praise the lord and pass the guacamole.
Stephen Colbert devoted a chunk of his segment a few days ago to the South.
He began by saying "I am a proud son of South Carolina."
The byline then added 'Probably a brother of South Carolina, too.'
Apparently he cured himself of his southern accent, and attempted to prove that it continued to exist by eventually saying "Ich bin ein Southerner."
This was no doubt paying tribute to Bill Clinton's famous Berlin Wall cockup: he was giving a speech in Berlin, and instead of beginning with 'Ich bin Berliner' (meaning I am a Berliner, thus creating a feeling of solidarity), Bill began with "Ich bin ein Berliner", which to a non German speaker would seem to be the more syntactically correct statement. Unfortunately, the terminology 'ein Berliner' means 'a jam doughnut'. Oops.
It also reminded me of a story one of my friends told me about when her class learnt German for a few weeks of year 7. When they learned the 'ich bin' construction, they all immediately put their jumpers on their heads and ran around the school yelling "Ich bin Laden!!!".
But I digress.
There was then the Colbert Report's unique spin on the civil war.
In my opinion, the civil war wasn't caused directly by slavery. It was Lincoln's non-core promises combined with a hell of a lot of interstate rivalry. I have several essays on the subject, but I won't subject you to them.
He then made what was possibly one of the best calls... ever.
When discussing the Double Down, all he could say was "Surely this is the warped creation of a Syphallitic brain"
Someone purported to be the German ambassador to the UN then came on and was presented with a cupcake, because apparently McDonalds is attempting to market them to Germans.
Apparently the cupcake looked weak.
Hans Beinholdt then made some marvellously poignant remarks about children's birthday parties. Unfortunately, it won't work if I merely transcribe it. You'll have to watch the show to grasp the full hilarity. Although if you follow the links you'll see him.
I then settled in to enjoy some ABC2.
Grumpy old women is underwhelming to the nth degree.
There was then some good Austrian Inspektor Rex, as opposed to the weird Italian franchise with the cop whose jeans are too tight. Unlike his Italian counterpart, the Austrian guy manages to look stylish even when he's been shot. Pants (not jeans) a shirt and vest. That's how cops should dress. None of this tight jeans crap.
Again, archaism wins.
And as you've no doubt noticed, I've finally worked out how to put in links and images. Hurrah.
Advice
I have a bit of a backlog of posts, so bear with me.
I found this gem whilst doing something. I can't remember what. Anyway.
Ladies and Genlemen:
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. Sunscreen's benefits have been proven by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall how fabulous you really looked at the time. You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing gum. Real troubles are apt to blindside you at 4 p.m. on an idle Tuesday.
Do at least one thing every day that really scares you.
Sing.
Floss.
Stretch.
Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Dance.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. The older you get, the more you need people who knew you when you were young.
Travel.
Accept certain truths: priced will rise. Politicians will philander. You will get old.And then you will fantasise that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.
Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you take, but be patient with those giving it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensign it is a way of fishing the past from the rubbish bin, wiping it off and recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen.
I found this gem whilst doing something. I can't remember what. Anyway.
Ladies and Genlemen:
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. Sunscreen's benefits have been proven by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall how fabulous you really looked at the time. You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing gum. Real troubles are apt to blindside you at 4 p.m. on an idle Tuesday.
Do at least one thing every day that really scares you.
Sing.
Floss.
Stretch.
Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Dance.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. The older you get, the more you need people who knew you when you were young.
Travel.
Accept certain truths: priced will rise. Politicians will philander. You will get old.And then you will fantasise that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.
Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you take, but be patient with those giving it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensign it is a way of fishing the past from the rubbish bin, wiping it off and recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen.
ABC
A few days ago I happened to turn on ABC3. It was Horrible Histories. It's like historical playschool for 10 year olds.
There were some incredibly simplistic explanations of post-renaissance rege-politics, to the point when I began to suspect that they were in fact catering to the playschool set.
Apart from the use of the word factions.
I began watchign as Henry VIII and Elizabeth (the original) danced around singing
"We're Tudors
Britain's biggest feuders
And just like barracudas
We kill with methods foul.
We're Tudors
Every enemy a Judas
But at least we're not as rude as
Simon Cowell"
The scansion was questionable, as was the historical context, but let's not go into that...
I chuckled.
There was then a show called 'The Time Compass' which actually did cater to the playschool set which gave a laughably simplistic explanation of the Carolingian era.
Apparently when explaining the feudal system of government, they no longer use the feudal pyramid I was taught. They had something called the feudal wheel. I didn't like it.
They then went on to attempt to explain the complex machinations of the Yoritomo shogunate in monosyllabics.
Onto ABC2. There was a show of unknown provenance concerning a character named Myrtle the tortoise. What's wrong with Myrtle the Turtle?
There was the Soup Opéra from France 3 Limousin productions. I love french animation. There's always that little bit of unexpected pizzaz.
And then Sesame street. Who in the name of *numerous expletives deleted* is Murray? He sure as hell didn't exist when I was 3.
I don't like the new theme song. Too much syncopation. Or the title animation. Too modern.
ARCHAISM, PEOPLE!!!
Anyway.
Holy *expletive*! Elmo is a Gordon clone! That was rather unexpected.
At least the count is as politically incorrect as always. Thank heavens for Bela Lugosi in Nosferatu.
Ooh! Big Bird.
Everybody then did the chicken dance before reading Humpty Dumpty.
Who should then arrive but Humpty himself, along with all the king's (talking) horses and all the king's men. He's a bit of a fop. The horses and men are all from different areas of the isles. From what I could hear, there was a scotsman, and a liverpuddlian horse.
And everyone was wearing a showercap so that they'd look bald like Gordon.
There was some filler stuff, and then a short clip about the letter of the day (I). It was a quasi-detective show, involving a private eye (get it???) dressed as the letter i. The person in the suit was George from Grey's Anatomy. There's another show I'll never be able to watch in the same way ever again.
Elmo and four ducks then sang a country song with a ukelele.
"Elmo had four ducks
Four birds of a feather
To waddle with
And quack together
But then one day
It swam away
Oh Gosh, oh gee
Elmo just had three."
And so on in the tradition of
'n little ducks went out one day
over the hills and far away
mother duck said "quack, quack, quack, quack"
but only n-1 came back"
Number of the day was somewhat unorthodox in the fact that it was 12. At least they used a good old-fashioned 90's video to show us.
We then followed a littel girl to her toddler's yoga class.
What is this?
I'll tell you what it is. It's modern. And I don't like it.
There was then a marvellous 90's video about 'when you grow up' involving some good old fashioned R&B (and by that I mean rhythm and blues. Not the modern crap)
Not entirely a fan of modern sesame street, although I did like that word of the day was 'Mustache'
There were some incredibly simplistic explanations of post-renaissance rege-politics, to the point when I began to suspect that they were in fact catering to the playschool set.
Apart from the use of the word factions.
I began watchign as Henry VIII and Elizabeth (the original) danced around singing
"We're Tudors
Britain's biggest feuders
And just like barracudas
We kill with methods foul.
We're Tudors
Every enemy a Judas
But at least we're not as rude as
Simon Cowell"
The scansion was questionable, as was the historical context, but let's not go into that...
I chuckled.
There was then a show called 'The Time Compass' which actually did cater to the playschool set which gave a laughably simplistic explanation of the Carolingian era.
Apparently when explaining the feudal system of government, they no longer use the feudal pyramid I was taught. They had something called the feudal wheel. I didn't like it.
They then went on to attempt to explain the complex machinations of the Yoritomo shogunate in monosyllabics.
Onto ABC2. There was a show of unknown provenance concerning a character named Myrtle the tortoise. What's wrong with Myrtle the Turtle?
There was the Soup Opéra from France 3 Limousin productions. I love french animation. There's always that little bit of unexpected pizzaz.
And then Sesame street. Who in the name of *numerous expletives deleted* is Murray? He sure as hell didn't exist when I was 3.
I don't like the new theme song. Too much syncopation. Or the title animation. Too modern.
ARCHAISM, PEOPLE!!!
Anyway.
Holy *expletive*! Elmo is a Gordon clone! That was rather unexpected.
At least the count is as politically incorrect as always. Thank heavens for Bela Lugosi in Nosferatu.
Ooh! Big Bird.
Everybody then did the chicken dance before reading Humpty Dumpty.
Who should then arrive but Humpty himself, along with all the king's (talking) horses and all the king's men. He's a bit of a fop. The horses and men are all from different areas of the isles. From what I could hear, there was a scotsman, and a liverpuddlian horse.
And everyone was wearing a showercap so that they'd look bald like Gordon.
There was some filler stuff, and then a short clip about the letter of the day (I). It was a quasi-detective show, involving a private eye (get it???) dressed as the letter i. The person in the suit was George from Grey's Anatomy. There's another show I'll never be able to watch in the same way ever again.
Elmo and four ducks then sang a country song with a ukelele.
"Elmo had four ducks
Four birds of a feather
To waddle with
And quack together
But then one day
It swam away
Oh Gosh, oh gee
Elmo just had three."
And so on in the tradition of
'n little ducks went out one day
over the hills and far away
mother duck said "quack, quack, quack, quack"
but only n-1 came back"
Number of the day was somewhat unorthodox in the fact that it was 12. At least they used a good old-fashioned 90's video to show us.
We then followed a littel girl to her toddler's yoga class.
What is this?
I'll tell you what it is. It's modern. And I don't like it.
There was then a marvellous 90's video about 'when you grow up' involving some good old fashioned R&B (and by that I mean rhythm and blues. Not the modern crap)
Not entirely a fan of modern sesame street, although I did like that word of the day was 'Mustache'
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Drumline
I watched Drumline the other night.
When you watch the movie, you're bound to find yourself thinking 'That can't be real life. Surely they've militarised that just a touch for Hollywood'.
All I can say is: it's all true.
Marching band is exactly like that.
That's what makes it fun.
When you watch the movie, you're bound to find yourself thinking 'That can't be real life. Surely they've militarised that just a touch for Hollywood'.
All I can say is: it's all true.
Marching band is exactly like that.
That's what makes it fun.
Why one ought never study Latin in one's spare time.
Today my Latin class went to the state library, with the exception of 16.6(insert infinite sixes)% of the class, because Mersini couldn't make it.
After a few hours of questionable productivity, we gave up on Cicero and went for a walk through Hyde Park.
In doing so, we stumbled upon a fountain which was just a low pool with jets of water shooting upwards.
And being mature young ladies who attend a selective school, we proceeded to take off our shoes, roll up our jeans, and run around in the fountain.
After a few minutes productively wasted, I stepped on something. It was painful.
As it turned out, it was a piece of broken glass I hadn't seen, and it was rather painful. Monica then pulled it out, which resulted in more bleeding than had been taking place directly previously.
So I hobbled onto dry land, and started elevating and compressing while Sophia discovered that although she has a fist aid certificate, she is made uncomfortable by the sight of blood. Go figure.
In the mean time, Monica and Elsa ran off to get Dettol and Band-Aids.
I was then patched up, at which point I hobbled off to St James station with Sophia, Monica and Elsa, then hobbled from Redfern to usyd, at which point my mother berated me for my stupidity as we walked to the campus medical practice.
I then had Betadiene swabbed on my foot, so it's now yellow.
Moral of the story: don't study latin in your free time. Ever.
It will only end painfully.
After a few hours of questionable productivity, we gave up on Cicero and went for a walk through Hyde Park.
In doing so, we stumbled upon a fountain which was just a low pool with jets of water shooting upwards.
And being mature young ladies who attend a selective school, we proceeded to take off our shoes, roll up our jeans, and run around in the fountain.
After a few minutes productively wasted, I stepped on something. It was painful.
As it turned out, it was a piece of broken glass I hadn't seen, and it was rather painful. Monica then pulled it out, which resulted in more bleeding than had been taking place directly previously.
So I hobbled onto dry land, and started elevating and compressing while Sophia discovered that although she has a fist aid certificate, she is made uncomfortable by the sight of blood. Go figure.
In the mean time, Monica and Elsa ran off to get Dettol and Band-Aids.
I was then patched up, at which point I hobbled off to St James station with Sophia, Monica and Elsa, then hobbled from Redfern to usyd, at which point my mother berated me for my stupidity as we walked to the campus medical practice.
I then had Betadiene swabbed on my foot, so it's now yellow.
Moral of the story: don't study latin in your free time. Ever.
It will only end painfully.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sydney Uni
I was at usyd today, just like most of these holidays, and I was mildly creeped out by the sheer number of people whom I recognised for whatever reason.
All I can say is that I clearly spend way too much time there.
All I can say is that I clearly spend way too much time there.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Ce Que J'aime Écoute
I've been on the internet for a while, waiting for pages to load, and so I think I'll spam a bit by writing down each song I listen to, along with any thoughts I have regarding it.
NB: I'm on the only computer at home which has internet, which has a pretty limited music library. I'm skipping any songs I didn't listen to.
Du Hast - Rammstein
I've loves this song ever since my history teacher played it for us. Till Lindeman (the singer) has a pretty fantastic set of vocal chords, and I love the mix between synth and the heavy guitars and drums.
Rammleid - Rammstein
Because everyone needs a bit of thrash every so often. I'm particularly a fan of the choir in the background of the verses.
Hallelujah - Handel
My sisters and I refer to Handel as 'Handi' because we've all done a hell of a lot of his stuff (we also refer to Purcell as 'Percy', but lets not go there). The Hallelujah chorus from Messiah just has that special something which makes a great choral work.
There's the perfectly balanced SATB score, with the parts playing off each other to create some fantastic layering; there's the rather small selection of orchestration (Harpsichord, Violin, Viola, Cello, Bassoon, Trumpet) which somehow just works perfectly); and there's the way that the accompaniment works with the music, filling gaps, and making it one of the most recognisable choral works ever.
Hot Stuff - Donna Summer
I got this song off the soundtrack of 'The Full Monty'. Good movie. Good song.
There's something fantastic about all the songs which are stereotypically drag queen songs (I Will Survive, I Need A Hero etc.).
O Fortuna - Orff
No comment necessary. Awesome incarnate.
Mrs Robinson - Simon and Garfunkel
I got this off the soundtrack of Forrest Gump before my sister Sarah had the brilliance to buy the 'Best of Simon and Garfunkel'. Whimsical guitars, and some of the best harmony you'll find anywhere, paired with surprisingly quirky and deep lyrics. I love it.
Empty Chairs At Empty Tables - Boublil and Schönberg
One of the most depressing songs of Les Mis. It really encapsulates all of France;s student revolts (May 68, anyone?). They thought it was a good idea at the time, and then looked back at their actions in retrospect and went 'Hmmm. Well. That was a bad course of action.'
To quote Raymond Aron: Once again Paris almost had a revolution, and then finished it as usual by voting conservative.
It was true then, and it's true now.
Valley Girl - Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention feat. Moonunit Zappa
This song is Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention at their art rocking best with Moonunit Zappa's inspired parody of a Sun Vally bimbo in the 80s.
This song encapsulates the entirety of Amy Heckerling's 'Clueless'.
This song encapsulates commercial America.
I grew up listening to this song.
Morgenstern - Rammstein
A choir singing Mass-like cadences in the background. A strong Bass voice in the forefront, underscored by some good industrial metal. Rammstein's great.
Rejoice rejoice. The sheet music of Les Choristes has finished downloading.
Now, should I be granted a school choir, I shall have music for them. Along with Michael Bojesen's 'Eternity', I'll be set (I would have also liked to use his 'Gloria', but that would be far too difficult for one of the school choirs).
Huzzah for downloading PDFs.
NB: I'm on the only computer at home which has internet, which has a pretty limited music library. I'm skipping any songs I didn't listen to.
Du Hast - Rammstein
I've loves this song ever since my history teacher played it for us. Till Lindeman (the singer) has a pretty fantastic set of vocal chords, and I love the mix between synth and the heavy guitars and drums.
Rammleid - Rammstein
Because everyone needs a bit of thrash every so often. I'm particularly a fan of the choir in the background of the verses.
Hallelujah - Handel
My sisters and I refer to Handel as 'Handi' because we've all done a hell of a lot of his stuff (we also refer to Purcell as 'Percy', but lets not go there). The Hallelujah chorus from Messiah just has that special something which makes a great choral work.
There's the perfectly balanced SATB score, with the parts playing off each other to create some fantastic layering; there's the rather small selection of orchestration (Harpsichord, Violin, Viola, Cello, Bassoon, Trumpet) which somehow just works perfectly); and there's the way that the accompaniment works with the music, filling gaps, and making it one of the most recognisable choral works ever.
Hot Stuff - Donna Summer
I got this song off the soundtrack of 'The Full Monty'. Good movie. Good song.
There's something fantastic about all the songs which are stereotypically drag queen songs (I Will Survive, I Need A Hero etc.).
O Fortuna - Orff
No comment necessary. Awesome incarnate.
Mrs Robinson - Simon and Garfunkel
I got this off the soundtrack of Forrest Gump before my sister Sarah had the brilliance to buy the 'Best of Simon and Garfunkel'. Whimsical guitars, and some of the best harmony you'll find anywhere, paired with surprisingly quirky and deep lyrics. I love it.
Empty Chairs At Empty Tables - Boublil and Schönberg
One of the most depressing songs of Les Mis. It really encapsulates all of France;s student revolts (May 68, anyone?). They thought it was a good idea at the time, and then looked back at their actions in retrospect and went 'Hmmm. Well. That was a bad course of action.'
To quote Raymond Aron: Once again Paris almost had a revolution, and then finished it as usual by voting conservative.
It was true then, and it's true now.
Valley Girl - Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention feat. Moonunit Zappa
This song is Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention at their art rocking best with Moonunit Zappa's inspired parody of a Sun Vally bimbo in the 80s.
This song encapsulates the entirety of Amy Heckerling's 'Clueless'.
This song encapsulates commercial America.
I grew up listening to this song.
Morgenstern - Rammstein
A choir singing Mass-like cadences in the background. A strong Bass voice in the forefront, underscored by some good industrial metal. Rammstein's great.
Rejoice rejoice. The sheet music of Les Choristes has finished downloading.
Now, should I be granted a school choir, I shall have music for them. Along with Michael Bojesen's 'Eternity', I'll be set (I would have also liked to use his 'Gloria', but that would be far too difficult for one of the school choirs).
Huzzah for downloading PDFs.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
HATEHATEHATEHATEHATE
I just spent a few hours reading microfilms at the marvellous Fisher Library. It was horrible.
Le Monde's films are blurry. The microfilm readers are from the eighties which means it may not be the LM which is blurry. It could just be the old monitor.
And the SMH in 1968 was so unspeakably chauvinistic. That's why my facebook status currently reads: Adela Greenbaumis at that lovely stage when she feels like STRANGLING THE 1968 EDITOR OF THE SMH USING HIS OWN NO DOUBT RATHER DRAB CHAUVINISTIC NECKTIE.
I usually never use caps, but this occasion deserved an entire rant in caps lock.
Did you know that the Sydney Morning Herald in 1968 had a church section, a mail order bride section and a section about 'parties' for young people(and the cynical inverted commas are there on purpose), including an inset about how girls could do their hair in order to stay at the height of fashion, but no world section.
You wouldn't think that they'd manage to devote a good twenty pages of news to the Vietnam War, and you'd be right.
Throughout May 68, there was always one article about the world's first heart translplant per day in order to alleviate all the doom gloom and excessive boredom of 19 3/4 pages of whining about 'Nam.
Which was followed by (I kid you not) a 40 page sport section.
Le Monde's films are blurry. The microfilm readers are from the eighties which means it may not be the LM which is blurry. It could just be the old monitor.
And the SMH in 1968 was so unspeakably chauvinistic. That's why my facebook status currently reads: Adela Greenbaumis at that lovely stage when she feels like STRANGLING THE 1968 EDITOR OF THE SMH USING HIS OWN NO DOUBT RATHER DRAB CHAUVINISTIC NECKTIE.
I usually never use caps, but this occasion deserved an entire rant in caps lock.
Did you know that the Sydney Morning Herald in 1968 had a church section, a mail order bride section and a section about 'parties' for young people(and the cynical inverted commas are there on purpose), including an inset about how girls could do their hair in order to stay at the height of fashion, but no world section.
You wouldn't think that they'd manage to devote a good twenty pages of news to the Vietnam War, and you'd be right.
Throughout May 68, there was always one article about the world's first heart translplant per day in order to alleviate all the doom gloom and excessive boredom of 19 3/4 pages of whining about 'Nam.
Which was followed by (I kid you not) a 40 page sport section.
More Les Choristes
After listening to the song 'In Memoriam' from the soundtrack a few times, my suspicions are confirmed. They are singing a Kyrie.
I told you so, Mimi.
I told you so, Mimi.
Movies I've Seen Recently
It's the holidays, which means my sisters watch movies when they're not off enjoying the lack of HSC.
So: Marigold.
This was Hollywood's attempt to cash in on Bollywood. Unfortunately for them, this movie came out before the Bollywood craze started. Oops.
I kept expecting the movie to grow a plot. But it didn't. When it ended, I just sat there going 'wow. That was surprisingly worse than I had ever expected. Never again.'
Basically, it reaffirmed my hatred of Bollywood movies.
I then watched 84 Charing Cross Road.
It was mildly humorous to see Anthony Hopkins with hair that wasn't grey playing someone who wasn't a cannibal (Oh Hannibal, you great hunk of psychopathic murderer, you).
Otherwise, it was a very slow movie, which ended ridiculously depressingly.
I also watched Rent.
I basically spent the entire time trying to work out what other stuff the actors were in, and chuckling at my younger sister Mimi's expense at the character named Mimi who was a heroin addict stripper. Oh the lols.
As it also turns out, I already knew most of the songs from hearing them a few times (one of the useful parts of having had eleven years of intense choral training is that after hearing a song a few times, I've pretty much memorised it).
The only thing that still rankles me about Rent is the fact that it's referred to as a 'Rock Opera'.
Rent is a musical. In no way is it anything approaching an opera. Don Giovanni is an OPERA.
Here's a quick way to differentiate between an opera and what isn't an opera.
Work out who's not a soprano. Now: if they're playing a witch, bitch, priest, statue or gigolo, then it's an opera.
Or at least an interesting one.
Or one that doesn't go on for SIXTEEN HOURS, WHAT THE HELL WAS WAGNER THINKKING?!
Or one that involves the life of the main character being so utterly crap that he ends up going insane just to get some peace. Wozzek. Most depressing opera EVER.
But I digress.
Last night I watched Les Choristes.
The subtitling was quite good, but not as brilliant as it could have been. Otherwise, wow.
I still have Vois Sur Ton Chemin in my head. I'm contemplating asking to conduct the junior choir at school and making them sing it. Not the senior choir. They're a lost cause.
There's just something about a good choir movie. There have been some crap ones (namely anything which came out of America involving a choir), and there have been some movies which use choirs in the soundtrack, and the music itself is good, but the movie's shit (Hey Hey It's Esther Blueberger is case in point. Three six hour days of recording with Australia's top children's choir - yes, I'm talking about the Sydney Children's Choir. Those were the days. Or Happy Feet. In order to get 'In My Room' sounding as though it were being sung by toddlers, we all had to sing down a fifth and our voices were taken back up digitally, which made us sound more like chipmunks. For the Alto 2s (The greatest section), that meant we had to sing B flat two below middle C. That's not even officially in Tenor range.)
I love a good movie involving any kind of high level music performance.
Admittedly, most of the soundtrack is variations on either Vois Sur ton Chemin or Caresse Sur L'Océan, but they're good songs. And it's a good soundtrack. And now it's on my USB. I love the internet.
Avenue Q was wrong. The internet isn't just for porn.
So: Marigold.
This was Hollywood's attempt to cash in on Bollywood. Unfortunately for them, this movie came out before the Bollywood craze started. Oops.
I kept expecting the movie to grow a plot. But it didn't. When it ended, I just sat there going 'wow. That was surprisingly worse than I had ever expected. Never again.'
Basically, it reaffirmed my hatred of Bollywood movies.
I then watched 84 Charing Cross Road.
It was mildly humorous to see Anthony Hopkins with hair that wasn't grey playing someone who wasn't a cannibal (Oh Hannibal, you great hunk of psychopathic murderer, you).
Otherwise, it was a very slow movie, which ended ridiculously depressingly.
I also watched Rent.
I basically spent the entire time trying to work out what other stuff the actors were in, and chuckling at my younger sister Mimi's expense at the character named Mimi who was a heroin addict stripper. Oh the lols.
As it also turns out, I already knew most of the songs from hearing them a few times (one of the useful parts of having had eleven years of intense choral training is that after hearing a song a few times, I've pretty much memorised it).
The only thing that still rankles me about Rent is the fact that it's referred to as a 'Rock Opera'.
Rent is a musical. In no way is it anything approaching an opera. Don Giovanni is an OPERA.
Here's a quick way to differentiate between an opera and what isn't an opera.
Work out who's not a soprano. Now: if they're playing a witch, bitch, priest, statue or gigolo, then it's an opera.
Or at least an interesting one.
Or one that doesn't go on for SIXTEEN HOURS, WHAT THE HELL WAS WAGNER THINKKING?!
Or one that involves the life of the main character being so utterly crap that he ends up going insane just to get some peace. Wozzek. Most depressing opera EVER.
But I digress.
Last night I watched Les Choristes.
The subtitling was quite good, but not as brilliant as it could have been. Otherwise, wow.
I still have Vois Sur Ton Chemin in my head. I'm contemplating asking to conduct the junior choir at school and making them sing it. Not the senior choir. They're a lost cause.
There's just something about a good choir movie. There have been some crap ones (namely anything which came out of America involving a choir), and there have been some movies which use choirs in the soundtrack, and the music itself is good, but the movie's shit (Hey Hey It's Esther Blueberger is case in point. Three six hour days of recording with Australia's top children's choir - yes, I'm talking about the Sydney Children's Choir. Those were the days. Or Happy Feet. In order to get 'In My Room' sounding as though it were being sung by toddlers, we all had to sing down a fifth and our voices were taken back up digitally, which made us sound more like chipmunks. For the Alto 2s (The greatest section), that meant we had to sing B flat two below middle C. That's not even officially in Tenor range.)
I love a good movie involving any kind of high level music performance.
Admittedly, most of the soundtrack is variations on either Vois Sur ton Chemin or Caresse Sur L'Océan, but they're good songs. And it's a good soundtrack. And now it's on my USB. I love the internet.
Avenue Q was wrong. The internet isn't just for porn.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Ethics
For my extension history research, I need some books which are somewhat off the beaten track. Generally because they're in French.
Luckily, my mother, as an academic at the University of Sydney, has access to the University of Sydney libraries. Which are big.
Fisher alone is HUUUUUUUGE.
Unfortunately, some of the books and articles I need are so far off the beaten track that not even Fisher in its magnitude has it.
This is when the joys of inter-library loans becomes evident.
All I need to do is fill out a form online (whilst pretending to be my mother because I'm using her card) which means I can request any book in existence, and they'll probably be able to locate it. At which point I turn up to Fisher library and pick it up.
This means I can get an obscure book generally available only in France, and thus read it and use it as a source.
I had just requested numerous books and an article from TIME magazine when I received a call from Fisher (I was using my mum's office while she took my younger sister to the dentist and orthodontist). In this call, the librarian enquired as to the language of one of the books I was requesting.
I than lied through my teeth in order to get the librarian to believe that I was requesting the books at the request of my mother, because otherwise I would be misappropriating University resources, and that would be unethical. It would also be unethical for him to allow it, which would thoroughly derail my research.
I am amazed by the level to which I can justify my own lack of ethics.
I'd be well suited for politics. Or public relations...
Luckily, my mother, as an academic at the University of Sydney, has access to the University of Sydney libraries. Which are big.
Fisher alone is HUUUUUUUGE.
Unfortunately, some of the books and articles I need are so far off the beaten track that not even Fisher in its magnitude has it.
This is when the joys of inter-library loans becomes evident.
All I need to do is fill out a form online (whilst pretending to be my mother because I'm using her card) which means I can request any book in existence, and they'll probably be able to locate it. At which point I turn up to Fisher library and pick it up.
This means I can get an obscure book generally available only in France, and thus read it and use it as a source.
I had just requested numerous books and an article from TIME magazine when I received a call from Fisher (I was using my mum's office while she took my younger sister to the dentist and orthodontist). In this call, the librarian enquired as to the language of one of the books I was requesting.
I than lied through my teeth in order to get the librarian to believe that I was requesting the books at the request of my mother, because otherwise I would be misappropriating University resources, and that would be unethical. It would also be unethical for him to allow it, which would thoroughly derail my research.
I am amazed by the level to which I can justify my own lack of ethics.
I'd be well suited for politics. Or public relations...
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Retraction
I would like to correct an error in my blog post entitled unanimous.
I stated that Nicolas Sarkozy spent an estimated 500 Euro per minute on his inauguration. I misquoted this figure - it was in fact 5000 Euro per minute. This was from Henry Samuel's column in The Independent.
I probably should have checked the number before typing, but at least it's not as if I overquoted, which could be construed as slander.
I stated that Nicolas Sarkozy spent an estimated 500 Euro per minute on his inauguration. I misquoted this figure - it was in fact 5000 Euro per minute. This was from Henry Samuel's column in The Independent.
I probably should have checked the number before typing, but at least it's not as if I overquoted, which could be construed as slander.
A Bit of a Heads Up
In Extension History this year, I will be learning about the historicity of Jesus (i.e. how the current religious and social concept of Jesus came to be).
My History teacher started us off with a blog post on his blog rearview2010.blogspot.com to get the ball rolling on the Jesus debate.
Once school restarts and we start learning, I'll keep this blog updated with the best of the inevitable theoretical religious debate.
Because there's nothing better than a debate on religious theory. Especially when your class comprises of all varieties of Christian, as well as an atheist who was brought up Jewish (me).
This should prove to be good.
My History teacher started us off with a blog post on his blog rearview2010.blogspot.com to get the ball rolling on the Jesus debate.
Once school restarts and we start learning, I'll keep this blog updated with the best of the inevitable theoretical religious debate.
Because there's nothing better than a debate on religious theory. Especially when your class comprises of all varieties of Christian, as well as an atheist who was brought up Jewish (me).
This should prove to be good.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Real Highland Men
Yesterday, I felt disgustingly motivated, so I decided to write the letter I'm sending off to Daniel Cohn-Bendit asking for his input for my History Extension work.
So as to ensure that I'd get everything into the letter when I did it in French, I wrote it en English. It was shorter than I had expected. I'll devote my next post to the nuances of translation.
I then sat at the kitchen table (my desk being too small) with some Metallica playing in the background, with Cassel's French/English dictionary (which isn't as good as their Latin/English dictionary, but it's geed enough) and a Bescherelle.
I got as far as the first clause before I needed to crack a dictionary.
I was partially through the translation when one of the mothers from the ballet school my sisters attend came to look at the second hand ballet shoes (the school runs a business of second hand ballet, tap, character and jazz shoes), because as it turns out, her daughter has an eisteddfod on Monday morning, and she only just realised that her daughter didn't have shoes.
Who doesn't realise that until it's Easter Saturday and you won't be able to buy a pair?
I then procrastinated by reorganising all of the shoes. As it turns out there were six ballet shoes in there lacking pairs. That was unexpected.
I then went back to translating, only for the same mother to come back looking to buy a pair of ballet tights (we run an import business getting them from the USA) because as it turns out her daughter didn't have a pair of them either. Good god, woman!
Eventually I finished the translation. My grammar's fantastic - I didn't need the Bescherelle at all. I just need to revamp my vocab.
And then, since it was a Saturday evening, I decided to watch one of my favourite shows: Hamish Macbeth.
It's brilliant, because it's Scottish cop quasi-comedy.
The episode starts with Shinty training.
Shinty is a traditional Scots game which takes the premise of hockey, combines it with the violence of Lacrosse, and is played using a baseball.
It looks like fun.
Anyway, one of the players gets mildly injured, and the coach tells him to toughen up, because "In my day, we'd pray through the pain barrier."
About a minute or so later, the coach is talking to a woman of a certain age (although the coach is also of a certain age, so it's all good), and the coach's son, who is on the Lochdubn Shinty team asks one of his team mates if he reckons his father's cracking on to her.
The team mate then says "I doubt it. She wears knitted ties."
There's a slight pause before Lachlan Jr (referred to as Wee Lachie) realises the implication of this.
We then see spies from the rival team, dressed in a mildly hopeless approximation of a Marine scout sniper suit made for the wilds of Scotland.
We then see Hamish's wee West Highland Terrier, who is the most ridiculously adorable dog, and who goes by the name of Jock.
My cat then sat on my shoulder, only to fall off when I cracked up at the sight of the Lochdubn cheerleading squad, the median age of which was 40.
It's now the day of the game, and practically the entire town get onto the town bus, including jock, who is wearing the town tartan. Because in Lochdubn they have a town tartan.
Robert Carlyle is smoking in every second scene. Including on the bus. Because that's the kind of thing which goes on in the mid 90s.
Wee Lachie then asks Hamish about the significance of knitted ties. Hamish responds with the somewhat philosophical statement of "There might be snow on the roof, but that doesn't mean that there isn't a fire in the grate, Lachie boy."
Lachie and Hamish then have a debate on the metaphysical implications of knitted ties.
We enter a clubhouse replete with kilted highland men. This is why I like the show.
Cut to the Lochdubn dressing room, which is full of good looking shirtless highland men.
We then get the vibe that the woman who's been distracting the coach (not the knitted tie lady) is an enemy agent...
Hamish then finds the referee tied up in a closet in his underwear. Hamish gives him a sippee cup full of brandy, and leaves him there.
Cut to the game. There's no ref, and so instead of Dunbacken (the other team) sending one of their men as the ref, Hamish the sheriff, who just so happens to have a set of kit, agrees to ref.
Hamish as it turns out, has impressive cardiovascular health for someone who smokes as much as he does. Meanwhile, Lochdubn is being soundly beaten.
The Lochdubn goalie gets knocked out, and thankfully it's half time.
Hamish tells Lachlan Sr about his enemy agent girlfriend. Odds for Lochdubn hit 20:1, and suddenly the townsfolk of Lochdubn start betting.
Lachie Jr, who had previously quit the team, comes back to play. And then, a military helicopter fries over the ridge and lands on the field.
That was somewhat unexpected.
A greatly mulleted man the jumps out to play for Lochdubn. He seems to be a big deal.
'Simply The Best' starts playing as mullet man starts taking off his fluorescent orange jumpsuit in slow motion to reveal his team uniform and him in all his hairy glory.
highland drums and bagpipes start playing in the background.
The mulleted man, wearing a headband which reads 'Wild Thing', scores a goal almost instantaneously.
Lochdubn now gets to 4-2.
Full time is called at 4 all. My cat is sitting on me.
We then get a close up of the kilt clad backside of a baddie, who is for some inexplicable reason, happy.
Slomo psychodramatic penalty shootout. Dunbacken don't score.
Lochdubn...
Play is stopped because mullet man apparently wasn't born in Lochdubn. But since his mother, the knitted tie lady, is, he's still eligible to play.
By now I'm getting the feeling that there's a rather intense backstory that I'm missing, but whatever.
Lochdubn scores.
Lochdubn have won a Shinty match against Dunbacken for the first time in 20 years.
A photo of the Lochdubnians is taken with Jock at the front. Because he's fluffy and adorable.
We finish with a scenic shot of the town bus heading home as the helicopter flies off into the distance. All is well again in Lochdubn.
And according to the credits, it's actually filmed in Lochdubn. That's cool.
So as to ensure that I'd get everything into the letter when I did it in French, I wrote it en English. It was shorter than I had expected. I'll devote my next post to the nuances of translation.
I then sat at the kitchen table (my desk being too small) with some Metallica playing in the background, with Cassel's French/English dictionary (which isn't as good as their Latin/English dictionary, but it's geed enough) and a Bescherelle.
I got as far as the first clause before I needed to crack a dictionary.
I was partially through the translation when one of the mothers from the ballet school my sisters attend came to look at the second hand ballet shoes (the school runs a business of second hand ballet, tap, character and jazz shoes), because as it turns out, her daughter has an eisteddfod on Monday morning, and she only just realised that her daughter didn't have shoes.
Who doesn't realise that until it's Easter Saturday and you won't be able to buy a pair?
I then procrastinated by reorganising all of the shoes. As it turns out there were six ballet shoes in there lacking pairs. That was unexpected.
I then went back to translating, only for the same mother to come back looking to buy a pair of ballet tights (we run an import business getting them from the USA) because as it turns out her daughter didn't have a pair of them either. Good god, woman!
Eventually I finished the translation. My grammar's fantastic - I didn't need the Bescherelle at all. I just need to revamp my vocab.
And then, since it was a Saturday evening, I decided to watch one of my favourite shows: Hamish Macbeth.
It's brilliant, because it's Scottish cop quasi-comedy.
The episode starts with Shinty training.
Shinty is a traditional Scots game which takes the premise of hockey, combines it with the violence of Lacrosse, and is played using a baseball.
It looks like fun.
Anyway, one of the players gets mildly injured, and the coach tells him to toughen up, because "In my day, we'd pray through the pain barrier."
About a minute or so later, the coach is talking to a woman of a certain age (although the coach is also of a certain age, so it's all good), and the coach's son, who is on the Lochdubn Shinty team asks one of his team mates if he reckons his father's cracking on to her.
The team mate then says "I doubt it. She wears knitted ties."
There's a slight pause before Lachlan Jr (referred to as Wee Lachie) realises the implication of this.
We then see spies from the rival team, dressed in a mildly hopeless approximation of a Marine scout sniper suit made for the wilds of Scotland.
We then see Hamish's wee West Highland Terrier, who is the most ridiculously adorable dog, and who goes by the name of Jock.
My cat then sat on my shoulder, only to fall off when I cracked up at the sight of the Lochdubn cheerleading squad, the median age of which was 40.
It's now the day of the game, and practically the entire town get onto the town bus, including jock, who is wearing the town tartan. Because in Lochdubn they have a town tartan.
Robert Carlyle is smoking in every second scene. Including on the bus. Because that's the kind of thing which goes on in the mid 90s.
Wee Lachie then asks Hamish about the significance of knitted ties. Hamish responds with the somewhat philosophical statement of "There might be snow on the roof, but that doesn't mean that there isn't a fire in the grate, Lachie boy."
Lachie and Hamish then have a debate on the metaphysical implications of knitted ties.
We enter a clubhouse replete with kilted highland men. This is why I like the show.
Cut to the Lochdubn dressing room, which is full of good looking shirtless highland men.
We then get the vibe that the woman who's been distracting the coach (not the knitted tie lady) is an enemy agent...
Hamish then finds the referee tied up in a closet in his underwear. Hamish gives him a sippee cup full of brandy, and leaves him there.
Cut to the game. There's no ref, and so instead of Dunbacken (the other team) sending one of their men as the ref, Hamish the sheriff, who just so happens to have a set of kit, agrees to ref.
Hamish as it turns out, has impressive cardiovascular health for someone who smokes as much as he does. Meanwhile, Lochdubn is being soundly beaten.
The Lochdubn goalie gets knocked out, and thankfully it's half time.
Hamish tells Lachlan Sr about his enemy agent girlfriend. Odds for Lochdubn hit 20:1, and suddenly the townsfolk of Lochdubn start betting.
Lachie Jr, who had previously quit the team, comes back to play. And then, a military helicopter fries over the ridge and lands on the field.
That was somewhat unexpected.
A greatly mulleted man the jumps out to play for Lochdubn. He seems to be a big deal.
'Simply The Best' starts playing as mullet man starts taking off his fluorescent orange jumpsuit in slow motion to reveal his team uniform and him in all his hairy glory.
highland drums and bagpipes start playing in the background.
The mulleted man, wearing a headband which reads 'Wild Thing', scores a goal almost instantaneously.
Lochdubn now gets to 4-2.
Full time is called at 4 all. My cat is sitting on me.
We then get a close up of the kilt clad backside of a baddie, who is for some inexplicable reason, happy.
Slomo psychodramatic penalty shootout. Dunbacken don't score.
Lochdubn...
Play is stopped because mullet man apparently wasn't born in Lochdubn. But since his mother, the knitted tie lady, is, he's still eligible to play.
By now I'm getting the feeling that there's a rather intense backstory that I'm missing, but whatever.
Lochdubn scores.
Lochdubn have won a Shinty match against Dunbacken for the first time in 20 years.
A photo of the Lochdubnians is taken with Jock at the front. Because he's fluffy and adorable.
We finish with a scenic shot of the town bus heading home as the helicopter flies off into the distance. All is well again in Lochdubn.
And according to the credits, it's actually filmed in Lochdubn. That's cool.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Unanimous
As those of you in the NSW secondary school system will know, today was the first day of the holidays. And while I was meant to be frantically doing my extension History major work today (I decided to take the easy option and differentiate some logs. Is it just me, or is that abjectly depressing. Aaaaaanywhom...), I instead decided to watch some TV whilst eating lunch.
The issue is that since we upgraded to digital, we have been unable to receive channels 7 or 9 or any of their subsidiaries. Thank the heavens for ABC2. I flicked through our meagre assortment of channels and was underwhelmed by the results of my trawl.
ABC had some crappy children's program. There was no way in hell I intended to watch anything involving some bogan 20something year old and a bunch of 'ninjas' (and yes, the derisive quotation marks were entirely necessary).
ABC3 had some preteen cartoon. Enough said.
SBS was showing the Turkish news...
SBS2 the Russian news...
And channel 10 had Dr Phil whom I hate with the burning passion of a hundred suns. It's his Texan accent. It rankles me.
But, praise unto the heavens, ABC2 had Sesame Street.
I missed the beginning of the episode, but from what I could understand, Elmo and Zoe were truing to convince Sully to sing with them. The issue being that Zoe (along with her pet rock and a singing chicken) wanted to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, whereas Elmo (and Dorothy and a singing pig) wanted to sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat.
It was gripping stuff.
Then Sully said that he wanted to do the triangle dance, which as it turns out, Elmo and Zoe had no qualms engaging in. They voted on it, and since they all wanted to do the triangle dance, Sully proclaimed it to be unanimous.
After they danced, who should arrive but LL Cool J who then explained the concept of unanimity (if one can use such a genitive) to the viewers with the help of Elmo and Abby.
What's that I hear all you GenY kids say?
Who the *numerous expletives* is Abby?
That was my question as well. To quote Wikipedia (something which I think is giving me a skin rash as we speak - I hate wiki.), Abby's full name is Abby Cadabby and she was:
Created to increase the number of female Muppets. Daughter of the fairy godmother, who is spoken about but never seen, she "has her own point of view and is comfortable with the fact that she likes wearing a dress"
After a brief bit of what was meant to be comic relief, but to me was actually tense psychodrama between LL Cool J and Oscar the Grouch, Elmo, Zoe and the letter A decided to watch a movie about the letter A.
It was an episode of "A's Anatomy" starring Dr. Grover.
It was thought provoking.
Elmo and Zoe then voted to watch a movie about the number 9. 9 then showed up being a bit Bolshy (I love that adjective) and said it wanted to watch a movie about sheep. They then proceeded to vote unanimously to watch a fusion movie.
It was a cartoon of a guy singing
"How may sheep will jump over my head before I fall asleep at night time? The answer, my friends is nine."
to the tune of 'Blowin in the Wind'.
Everyone then unanimously voted that they would say goodbye to everyone whilst doing the limbo under Alan's broom.
It was an awesome episode. I must say I'm not a fan of all the newfangled animation (I prefer the more archaic Sesame Street of my childhood), but they've kept all the ethnic minorities which make Sesame Street great, so I'm still happy with the end product.
Although I'm never going to be able to watch NCIS LA in the same way ever again.
And then later, as I was watching 'The Daily Show with Jon Stewart', Jon was making fun of the French because Nicolas Sarkozy had been a douche towards the Americans on their own soil (although what did they expect from a right-winger with a faintly comical nose who spent about 500 Euro of taxpayer's money per minute on his almost Latinate inauguration...But I'm getting off the point).
Basically he [Stewart] said:
"Serious;y, France, you're a country who's been outflanked twice from the same side in 25 years. Here's a clue, guys, THEY'RE COMING FROM BELGIUM."
So true.
The issue is that since we upgraded to digital, we have been unable to receive channels 7 or 9 or any of their subsidiaries. Thank the heavens for ABC2. I flicked through our meagre assortment of channels and was underwhelmed by the results of my trawl.
ABC had some crappy children's program. There was no way in hell I intended to watch anything involving some bogan 20something year old and a bunch of 'ninjas' (and yes, the derisive quotation marks were entirely necessary).
ABC3 had some preteen cartoon. Enough said.
SBS was showing the Turkish news...
SBS2 the Russian news...
And channel 10 had Dr Phil whom I hate with the burning passion of a hundred suns. It's his Texan accent. It rankles me.
But, praise unto the heavens, ABC2 had Sesame Street.
I missed the beginning of the episode, but from what I could understand, Elmo and Zoe were truing to convince Sully to sing with them. The issue being that Zoe (along with her pet rock and a singing chicken) wanted to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, whereas Elmo (and Dorothy and a singing pig) wanted to sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat.
It was gripping stuff.
Then Sully said that he wanted to do the triangle dance, which as it turns out, Elmo and Zoe had no qualms engaging in. They voted on it, and since they all wanted to do the triangle dance, Sully proclaimed it to be unanimous.
After they danced, who should arrive but LL Cool J who then explained the concept of unanimity (if one can use such a genitive) to the viewers with the help of Elmo and Abby.
What's that I hear all you GenY kids say?
Who the *numerous expletives* is Abby?
That was my question as well. To quote Wikipedia (something which I think is giving me a skin rash as we speak - I hate wiki.), Abby's full name is Abby Cadabby and she was:
Created to increase the number of female Muppets. Daughter of the fairy godmother, who is spoken about but never seen, she "has her own point of view and is comfortable with the fact that she likes wearing a dress"
After a brief bit of what was meant to be comic relief, but to me was actually tense psychodrama between LL Cool J and Oscar the Grouch, Elmo, Zoe and the letter A decided to watch a movie about the letter A.
It was an episode of "A's Anatomy" starring Dr. Grover.
It was thought provoking.
Elmo and Zoe then voted to watch a movie about the number 9. 9 then showed up being a bit Bolshy (I love that adjective) and said it wanted to watch a movie about sheep. They then proceeded to vote unanimously to watch a fusion movie.
It was a cartoon of a guy singing
"How may sheep will jump over my head before I fall asleep at night time? The answer, my friends is nine."
to the tune of 'Blowin in the Wind'.
Everyone then unanimously voted that they would say goodbye to everyone whilst doing the limbo under Alan's broom.
It was an awesome episode. I must say I'm not a fan of all the newfangled animation (I prefer the more archaic Sesame Street of my childhood), but they've kept all the ethnic minorities which make Sesame Street great, so I'm still happy with the end product.
Although I'm never going to be able to watch NCIS LA in the same way ever again.
And then later, as I was watching 'The Daily Show with Jon Stewart', Jon was making fun of the French because Nicolas Sarkozy had been a douche towards the Americans on their own soil (although what did they expect from a right-winger with a faintly comical nose who spent about 500 Euro of taxpayer's money per minute on his almost Latinate inauguration...But I'm getting off the point).
Basically he [Stewart] said:
"Serious;y, France, you're a country who's been outflanked twice from the same side in 25 years. Here's a clue, guys, THEY'RE COMING FROM BELGIUM."
So true.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Canada
In a remarkable example of foresight, I've decided to get the planning of my seventeenth done now, because if I don't have the plans finalised before school gets back, it's never going to happen.
Which would suck, because I want to have a nice clean, safe birthday party before the joint 18th Lauren my next-door neighbour is threatening.
And so I am faced with the question of what format should the party take?
The two frontrunning ideas are: ice skating or road trip on the train.
And to clarify, when I say frontrunning, I mean only.
First: Ice skating.
*Ice skating here costs about three times what it cost in Canada. In Canada, you go to the ice rink in the same way we go to the local pool. And it costs about the same as pool entry here.
$18 to enter the rink and an extra $3 for skate hire? THIS ISN'T SPARTA!!!
And so I come to option 2: road trip.
Road tripping on the train is remarkably fun. My destination of choice would be Kiama, because the blowhole is particularly cool in the middle of winter.
The issue is that knowing my good friends at cityrail, there's bound to be last minute trackwork announced for the south coast line to be undertaken in the July school holidays, which is when this roadtrip will take place.
And whilst long train rides are fun, long crappy trackwork coach trips are not.
Which brings me to the title of this post: Canada.
In Canada, my birthday is in the height of summer. It's awesome. Summer + no water restrictions = no holds barred waterbomb fight to the nth degree.
Here, on the other hand, I have to deal with crappy winter weather, wimpy Australians who think that 15 degrees is cold (for the record, nothing above minus 30 is cold. Because you can dress for that kind of weather. It's only when the temperature goes sub-30-sub-zero that it's ACTUALLY cold.
Which makes me think that my preference of blowhole will not be widely accepted. Because it means sea spray and in all likelihood high winds.
All I can do is quote Chopper Reid in saying 'Harden the *expletive* up, Australia'.
Invitations are open* - I'll make an event on facebook once I know which form it will take.
Comment either here or on facebook with your ideas and comments.
But do it soon, or it'll never get off the ground.
*N.B.: when I say open, I mean open to people I know who attend high school
Which would suck, because I want to have a nice clean, safe birthday party before the joint 18th Lauren my next-door neighbour is threatening.
And so I am faced with the question of what format should the party take?
The two frontrunning ideas are: ice skating or road trip on the train.
And to clarify, when I say frontrunning, I mean only.
First: Ice skating.
*Ice skating here costs about three times what it cost in Canada. In Canada, you go to the ice rink in the same way we go to the local pool. And it costs about the same as pool entry here.
$18 to enter the rink and an extra $3 for skate hire? THIS ISN'T SPARTA!!!
And so I come to option 2: road trip.
Road tripping on the train is remarkably fun. My destination of choice would be Kiama, because the blowhole is particularly cool in the middle of winter.
The issue is that knowing my good friends at cityrail, there's bound to be last minute trackwork announced for the south coast line to be undertaken in the July school holidays, which is when this roadtrip will take place.
And whilst long train rides are fun, long crappy trackwork coach trips are not.
Which brings me to the title of this post: Canada.
In Canada, my birthday is in the height of summer. It's awesome. Summer + no water restrictions = no holds barred waterbomb fight to the nth degree.
Here, on the other hand, I have to deal with crappy winter weather, wimpy Australians who think that 15 degrees is cold (for the record, nothing above minus 30 is cold. Because you can dress for that kind of weather. It's only when the temperature goes sub-30-sub-zero that it's ACTUALLY cold.
Which makes me think that my preference of blowhole will not be widely accepted. Because it means sea spray and in all likelihood high winds.
All I can do is quote Chopper Reid in saying 'Harden the *expletive* up, Australia'.
Invitations are open* - I'll make an event on facebook once I know which form it will take.
Comment either here or on facebook with your ideas and comments.
But do it soon, or it'll never get off the ground.
*N.B.: when I say open, I mean open to people I know who attend high school
I Hate the Internet
No, I lie. I only hate MY internet.
Because it's dialup.
What's that I hear you say?
Surely you have left the technological stone age, Adela!
Well, I haven't. My internet is dial-up, prior to one month ago, if I wanted to watch a DVD I had to do it through one of our computers, and I know how to work a BetaMax projector.
What's a BetaMax? I hear you ask.
I'll tell you: it's the evil piece of crap which predated VCRs.
I'm only bringing this up because I felt like procrastinating by voting on submissions on mlia.com
AND I COULDN'T BECAUSE MY INTERNET WAS TOO SLOW TO LOAD THE PAGES!
There's a reason I spend a lot of time on fanfiction when I'm trying to procrastinate.
IT'S BECAUSE MY INTERNET IS TOO SLOW TO LOAD ANYTHING BETTER!
This is stressful. I'm so bored that I'm actually telpted to start writing my letter to Daniel Cohn-Bendit asking for his input regarding the lasting effects of 'Les evenements du Mai '68'.
Which will involve me writing a letter in *expletiving* français Française. Why does no-one outside of Canada understand français Québecois?
I hate my internet. I could use some good MLIA right now. Instead I'm heading over to fanfiction to leave nasty reviews on some crappy fanfiction written by thirteen year olds from America who haven't yet discovered the joys of spellcheck.
Because being a bitch is cathartic.
Because it's dialup.
What's that I hear you say?
Surely you have left the technological stone age, Adela!
Well, I haven't. My internet is dial-up, prior to one month ago, if I wanted to watch a DVD I had to do it through one of our computers, and I know how to work a BetaMax projector.
What's a BetaMax? I hear you ask.
I'll tell you: it's the evil piece of crap which predated VCRs.
I'm only bringing this up because I felt like procrastinating by voting on submissions on mlia.com
AND I COULDN'T BECAUSE MY INTERNET WAS TOO SLOW TO LOAD THE PAGES!
There's a reason I spend a lot of time on fanfiction when I'm trying to procrastinate.
IT'S BECAUSE MY INTERNET IS TOO SLOW TO LOAD ANYTHING BETTER!
This is stressful. I'm so bored that I'm actually telpted to start writing my letter to Daniel Cohn-Bendit asking for his input regarding the lasting effects of 'Les evenements du Mai '68'.
Which will involve me writing a letter in *expletiving* français Française. Why does no-one outside of Canada understand français Québecois?
I hate my internet. I could use some good MLIA right now. Instead I'm heading over to fanfiction to leave nasty reviews on some crappy fanfiction written by thirteen year olds from America who haven't yet discovered the joys of spellcheck.
Because being a bitch is cathartic.
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