I spent a good hour and a half illegally appropriating photos of Deborah at nationals for Gymnastics.
Then I made a facebook photo album.
Because I am officially THE BEST SISTER IN EXISTENCE.
That and the fact that Deb is a bit of a ninja. Who planks like a boss. A boss whose pre-eminence floats all across the land of Mordor.
You can find that album here.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Dogs (or) Why I Have Stabby-Stabby-Murder-Face, but No-One Available to Stab
In general, I have nothing against dogs. They can be pleasantly entertaining in some circumstances, and I'm sure they serve some discernible purpose. Well kind of, anyway.
I only bring this up because I'm currently looking after a dog while some family friends are on holiday. I hate this dog.
It's big and smelly and it jumps on me (something which I don't tolerate from animals which weigh more than about 7 kg and will thus leave a bruise) and it is possibly the least intelligent animal I have ever had the misfortune to meet.
It's four years old and STILL chases its tail. It barks ALL THE TIME. And worst of all, it slobbers. I tolerate drool from babies because I know they aren't harbouring any pathogens from masticating on raw meat and that mysterious clod of something it ate at the park on its walk, but I don't tolerate it from dogs for the reasons set out above.
"So why did you agree to do it in the first place?" I hear you ask.
The answer is that I didn't. The day before she left to take Deb to Perth for gymnastics, we had one of our (incredibly frequent) 'oh and by the way, I've said you're going to [insert verb] for [insert name] for [insert length of time]' conversations.
So now, I'm stuck looking after an idiot animal until saturday. I am unimpressed.
Also, did I mention that it scratches?
I only bring this up because I'm currently looking after a dog while some family friends are on holiday. I hate this dog.
It's big and smelly and it jumps on me (something which I don't tolerate from animals which weigh more than about 7 kg and will thus leave a bruise) and it is possibly the least intelligent animal I have ever had the misfortune to meet.
It's four years old and STILL chases its tail. It barks ALL THE TIME. And worst of all, it slobbers. I tolerate drool from babies because I know they aren't harbouring any pathogens from masticating on raw meat and that mysterious clod of something it ate at the park on its walk, but I don't tolerate it from dogs for the reasons set out above.
"So why did you agree to do it in the first place?" I hear you ask.
The answer is that I didn't. The day before she left to take Deb to Perth for gymnastics, we had one of our (incredibly frequent) 'oh and by the way, I've said you're going to [insert verb] for [insert name] for [insert length of time]' conversations.
So now, I'm stuck looking after an idiot animal until saturday. I am unimpressed.
Also, did I mention that it scratches?
Pretensions
Today I had a horrifying thought. Am I pretentious when it comes to music?
Admittedly, when it comes to classical music I'm more a fan of the darker stuff - deaf or nearly so Beethoven, Mozart at the end of his life when he was all dark, Jenkins for reasons I can't really understand - and when it comes to popular music, I'm the same. Metallica, Apocalyptica, Rammstein, Within Temptation, Iron Maiden, Kamelot, even the odd bit of Murderdolls.
Recently however, I've found that I'm liking more and more non metal. I quite like three of Adele's latest songs, I can listen to Christina Perri's Jar of Hearts on an endless loop, and there's one Florence + The Machine song which I love, I just don't know what it's called. Either way, this made me wonder. Am I truly a metalhead, or am I just fooling myself?
Am I just pandering to my pretensions that I'm more hardcore than that? Ought I give up and stop visiting Utopia (which is probably my favourite store after Dymocks Stationery - the cheapest place to get Calligraphy supplies)?
To test this theory, I went into JBHifi and purchased a CD. Lungs by Florence was $10. If I didn't like it, I could always just give it to my sister.
I stuck it in my computer and listened with trepidation.
As it turns out, I didn't like it. Cosmic Love was alright, but not really to my taste. All of the tracks sounded the same, with the same airy voice and electronic instrumentation. I'm not a pretentious ass. I genuinely dislike the majority of popular music. I don't know whether I should be pleased or disappointed. Who cares?
Either way, I'm off to cleanse my mind of all that ranga music by listening to some music which never fails to perk me up: Amour by Rammstein, Parliament of Fools by Skyclad, Sacra by Apocalyptica and what is probably my favourite piece of classical music: The Allegretto (mvt. 2) of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.
Because as it turns out, I really am hardcore like that.
Admittedly, when it comes to classical music I'm more a fan of the darker stuff - deaf or nearly so Beethoven, Mozart at the end of his life when he was all dark, Jenkins for reasons I can't really understand - and when it comes to popular music, I'm the same. Metallica, Apocalyptica, Rammstein, Within Temptation, Iron Maiden, Kamelot, even the odd bit of Murderdolls.
Recently however, I've found that I'm liking more and more non metal. I quite like three of Adele's latest songs, I can listen to Christina Perri's Jar of Hearts on an endless loop, and there's one Florence + The Machine song which I love, I just don't know what it's called. Either way, this made me wonder. Am I truly a metalhead, or am I just fooling myself?
Am I just pandering to my pretensions that I'm more hardcore than that? Ought I give up and stop visiting Utopia (which is probably my favourite store after Dymocks Stationery - the cheapest place to get Calligraphy supplies)?
To test this theory, I went into JBHifi and purchased a CD. Lungs by Florence was $10. If I didn't like it, I could always just give it to my sister.
I stuck it in my computer and listened with trepidation.
As it turns out, I didn't like it. Cosmic Love was alright, but not really to my taste. All of the tracks sounded the same, with the same airy voice and electronic instrumentation. I'm not a pretentious ass. I genuinely dislike the majority of popular music. I don't know whether I should be pleased or disappointed. Who cares?
Either way, I'm off to cleanse my mind of all that ranga music by listening to some music which never fails to perk me up: Amour by Rammstein, Parliament of Fools by Skyclad, Sacra by Apocalyptica and what is probably my favourite piece of classical music: The Allegretto (mvt. 2) of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.
Because as it turns out, I really am hardcore like that.
Harry Potter
Today (it was midnight and all) I honoured the end of an era. I went to see Harry Potter 7 part 2. Not only that, I saw it in 3D.
This post will consist of three parts: The end of an era; Why are two dimensions insufficient; Six hours is a long time. I'm refraining from commenting on the plot and all that, because I don't entirely want to be that bitch who is constantly mind-raping you with spoilers. Regardless, I'm pretty darn sure that even if you haven't read the book (which you really ought to), you still know the rudiments of it.
Part the First - The End of an Era.
When HP1 came out, so very long ago, I was but a wee lass of seven [for the record, I use the word 'lass' in the Scots sense of small lady; not in the Adidas clad, going on Mainies and staunching sense]. Now, as the series ends, I am eighteen, having spent a goodly portion of my leisure time either reading the books (over and over), watching the movies or, most enjoyably, cracking up at the atrocious Fanfiction. Because there are some absolute shockers out there.
There were two movie series which defined my age group: the Toy Story trilogy (which I hear is about to do a Douglas Adams and release a fourth) and of course Harry Potter. In the same way I grew up alongside Andy, I grew up alongside Harry and his magical friends. I swooned over Robert Pattinson's pre-Edwardian hotness; I drooled over the 'bad boys' (Tom Felton, Young Tom Riddle and Young Snape); I generally questioned why Ginny, coming from such a lovely family, ended up being such a ho-bag.
But I digress. The point I'm trying to elucidate is the fact that we are at a turning point. The acoutrements of our childhood (like Harry Potter) are finished, to be replaced by whatever is going to define our age bracket now (I'm hoping True Blood). We're getting old.
Part the Second - Why Are Two Dimensions No Longer Sufficient?
It's no longer enough to merely watch a film or TV show. Now we have to have stuff flying at us and gettin' all up in our bidness as it were. I'm probably sounding like the grumpy old conservative that I am (I mean I certainly look the part - I'm wearing a blazer and pearls) but why can't we return to the good old days when the dividing line between entertainment and life was just that. A line. Because entertainment, in 2D was just a linear construct whereas real life was a spatial construct involving specific densities and volumetric displacements and all sorts of other fun geo-physical funsies.
Wow. That was a pretty darn nerdy rant.
Part the Third - Why One Really Ought to Avail Oneself of Internet Banking Facilities When Said Facilities Present Themselves.
I didn't. As a result, in order to be assured of tickets for the midnight showing, I arrived at Westfield Miranda at around 1800 and by 1830 I had four tickets to the midnight showing of HP7pt2, along with special edition Harry Potter glasses shaped 3D glasses.
By 1910 I was joined by Monica and Koby, and eventually (2040) we were joined by Meg - Monica's cousin, and a new addition to my internet exploits. There was nothing to do (and I really do mean nothing), and so we hung out like cool kids, judging the profusion of lads which seemed to be everywhere. We then got incredibly bored so we went on some mainies and staunched some bitchez.
I lie. We didn't.
We went for churros. Because we're hardcore like that.
By about 2130 we were hanging out outside the cinema. Which gradually filled with Shire dwellers, including lots of hipster boys who gave Mon and Koby 'lady boners' (their terminology, not mine), but just weren't my type. Because we all know what my type is...
Anyway. As the Shiries appeared in their varying levels of costuming (there was one girl who looked uncannily like HBC as Bellatrix. Snaps to her), we played Would You Rather. Because we had nothing better to do. Most of it was reasonably middle of the road, with the exception of two which were absolutely inspired. Were I still writing The Week (which I'm not because my life is too boring), they would most definitely be in there.
1) Monica to myself:
Would you rather One Time At Band Camp a Tuba, or verb of choice a goat.
2) Monica and myself to Koby:
Would you rather a dead Nick Jonas with a goat watching (N.B.: this goat has Riley's face), or that same goat with Nick Jonas watching.
As you can see, goats were for some reason quite a prevalent theme. Go figure.
My point in all this is to pre-order your tickets. Because that was six hours I'm never getting back.
This post will consist of three parts: The end of an era; Why are two dimensions insufficient; Six hours is a long time. I'm refraining from commenting on the plot and all that, because I don't entirely want to be that bitch who is constantly mind-raping you with spoilers. Regardless, I'm pretty darn sure that even if you haven't read the book (which you really ought to), you still know the rudiments of it.
Part the First - The End of an Era.
When HP1 came out, so very long ago, I was but a wee lass of seven [for the record, I use the word 'lass' in the Scots sense of small lady; not in the Adidas clad, going on Mainies and staunching sense]. Now, as the series ends, I am eighteen, having spent a goodly portion of my leisure time either reading the books (over and over), watching the movies or, most enjoyably, cracking up at the atrocious Fanfiction. Because there are some absolute shockers out there.
There were two movie series which defined my age group: the Toy Story trilogy (which I hear is about to do a Douglas Adams and release a fourth) and of course Harry Potter. In the same way I grew up alongside Andy, I grew up alongside Harry and his magical friends. I swooned over Robert Pattinson's pre-Edwardian hotness; I drooled over the 'bad boys' (Tom Felton, Young Tom Riddle and Young Snape); I generally questioned why Ginny, coming from such a lovely family, ended up being such a ho-bag.
But I digress. The point I'm trying to elucidate is the fact that we are at a turning point. The acoutrements of our childhood (like Harry Potter) are finished, to be replaced by whatever is going to define our age bracket now (I'm hoping True Blood). We're getting old.
Part the Second - Why Are Two Dimensions No Longer Sufficient?
It's no longer enough to merely watch a film or TV show. Now we have to have stuff flying at us and gettin' all up in our bidness as it were. I'm probably sounding like the grumpy old conservative that I am (I mean I certainly look the part - I'm wearing a blazer and pearls) but why can't we return to the good old days when the dividing line between entertainment and life was just that. A line. Because entertainment, in 2D was just a linear construct whereas real life was a spatial construct involving specific densities and volumetric displacements and all sorts of other fun geo-physical funsies.
Wow. That was a pretty darn nerdy rant.
Part the Third - Why One Really Ought to Avail Oneself of Internet Banking Facilities When Said Facilities Present Themselves.
I didn't. As a result, in order to be assured of tickets for the midnight showing, I arrived at Westfield Miranda at around 1800 and by 1830 I had four tickets to the midnight showing of HP7pt2, along with special edition Harry Potter glasses shaped 3D glasses.
By 1910 I was joined by Monica and Koby, and eventually (2040) we were joined by Meg - Monica's cousin, and a new addition to my internet exploits. There was nothing to do (and I really do mean nothing), and so we hung out like cool kids, judging the profusion of lads which seemed to be everywhere. We then got incredibly bored so we went on some mainies and staunched some bitchez.
I lie. We didn't.
We went for churros. Because we're hardcore like that.
By about 2130 we were hanging out outside the cinema. Which gradually filled with Shire dwellers, including lots of hipster boys who gave Mon and Koby 'lady boners' (their terminology, not mine), but just weren't my type. Because we all know what my type is...
Anyway. As the Shiries appeared in their varying levels of costuming (there was one girl who looked uncannily like HBC as Bellatrix. Snaps to her), we played Would You Rather. Because we had nothing better to do. Most of it was reasonably middle of the road, with the exception of two which were absolutely inspired. Were I still writing The Week (which I'm not because my life is too boring), they would most definitely be in there.
1) Monica to myself:
Would you rather One Time At Band Camp a Tuba, or verb of choice a goat.
2) Monica and myself to Koby:
Would you rather a dead Nick Jonas with a goat watching (N.B.: this goat has Riley's face), or that same goat with Nick Jonas watching.
As you can see, goats were for some reason quite a prevalent theme. Go figure.
My point in all this is to pre-order your tickets. Because that was six hours I'm never getting back.
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