The Times, They Are A-Changin'

Come gather 'round, people wherever you roam
And admit that the waters around you have grown,
And accept it that soon you'll be drenched to the bone;
If your time to you is worth saving
Then you'd better start swimming or you'll sink like a stone
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics who prophesise with your pen
And keep your eyes wide, the chance won't come again,
But don't speak too soon for the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who that it's namin'.
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Come Senators, Congressmen, please heed the call:
Don't stand in the doorway, don't block up the hall
For he who gets hurt will be he who has stalled,
The battle outside ragin'
Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers throughout the land
And don't criticise what you can't understand:
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command,
Your old road is rapily agin'.
Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand
For the times, they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast:
The slow one now will later be fast
As the present now will later be past,
The order is rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now will later be last
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Today was one with more reflection over the past than usual.

Following an average day (swimming then school), I headed off to the State Library to see what they had on the My Lai massacre (HEX). With that accomplished (for the record, they didn't have much of what I was looking for - but then they never do... Fisher Library all the way!!) I was in the city with nothing to do. And since it was a wednesday, I decided it would be an idea to drop into SCC (Sydney Children's Choir) for a visit.

With the annual Christmas choral extravaganza taking place in a week, rehearsal was fully in swing. During the first half I helped the supervisors sort the red choral robes (so unspeakably bad, but yet so good - it's kind of like Stockholm Syndrome: you find yourself inexplicably attached to them) into height order so as to facilitate the allocation thereof.

As the allocation took place, I had an opportunity to chat with choristers whom I hadn't seen since the choir's 21st anniversary concert back in late june. Sitting in on the rehearsal for part of the second half showed me how much had changed in the 18 or so months since I aged out of the SCC - there were new kids everywhere, all the male soprani I remember were now off in the marvellous magical land of Alto 2 (guess which section I was section leader of back in the day...), and about to leave because they no longer really qualified as trebles... It was somewhat depressing. It made me feel old, and I thoroughly dislike feeling old.

I then happened to spot an old friend waiting outside the rehearsal room (Vox, the Sydney Philarmonia's youth choir has rehearsals wednesday evenings after SCC), and so I exited for a chat (but not after Lyn (our fearsome and awe inspiring conductor) noticed me and had everyone say hello... I love getting the alumna treatment).

Angus and I started in the SCC back in 1999 when we were in kindergarten, and both about two feet tall and blond. Now of course, he's still blond and significantly taller, and I'm still stunted and short... And my marvellous Jew-fro is gone... But seriously. He knew me back when I did things like turn up to a rehearsal and announce loudly, and in a tone of indignant socialism "Did you know that they're putting a GST on breast pumps?!" (In my defence, I was five or six. This of course didn't stop Lyn bringing that little anecdote up at the 21st anniversary concert... Luckily she didn't name me. It was only after that I found out she was talking about me. I must say I had completely repressed that gem of a memory). Good times... Good times.

It was great remembering the old days of Opera House christmas concerts with the horrid red robes and the nauseatingly kitschy electric candles we all had to make us all look angelic and such... the days when supervisors stood waiting in the wings to drag the bodies of the choristers who passed out from heatstroke off the stage... back in the day where there were only seven choirs in the SCC structure... as compared with the current 20 or so.

It made me realise just how much I miss being part of choir. Bloody expletiving HSC.

And then this evening, whilst on facebook, I was facebook chatting with one of my friends from my latest hospital stint, and the following was said:
Kelsey: ADELA I thought of that song the other day
You know the times are changing song
And almost cried because I realised how much I missed you

She was referring to Bob Dylan's "The Times, They Are A-Changin'" which I spent a lot of time singing whilst we were stuck in hospital (I had a ukelele with me, and I had a repertoire of about six songs... stuff got repeated.), and even ended up calligraphising on a 2 metre piece of paper which now hangs above the door in the classroom (hospital sucks, and it helps to have a reminder that everything is transient, including medical incarceration).

And to be honest, the song affects me the same way. Every time it comes up on my ipod, I remember all the girls I spent 8 weeks living with and how much I miss them.
It also reminded me of just how quickly things change. Change is scary and unfamiliar. To be honest, I wish everything would just stay the same.

I wish I were still a cute little blond six-year-old with socialist tendencies, I wish my blood still did what it was meant to, and most of all, I wish my dad were still alive. The times, they are a-changin', but I really wish they weren't.

The Aftermath of Spec

Schools Spectacular was week. For marching band, that meant 55 hours of band from Tuesday through Saturday.
Not only that, it also meant crazy sunburn for everyone.
I'm doing a recap of spec on the MMB blog: Loud and Proud.

For anyone still enrolled in a NSW state high school who is interested in joining, I totally recommend it. Marchign band is by far the most enjoyable activity I do, and not only that, the Department of Sports and Recreation classifies marching band as an extreme sport.

So join up! Google: "Millennium Marching Band apply 2011" and fill out the webform. Ignore where it says that applications are closed - they're still open for a while.

Success and Mad Skillzzz

I finished the vest. It is so grandma-esque that I think it's the epitome of cool.
Next stop: beanie. Then gloves, then another three daleks.
I need to find something better to do with my life.

Ce Qu'a Passé Recennement

I would make such an amazing 1950s housewife. I knit, I sew, I bake; I can organise charity fundraisers like you wouldn't believe; I can write with exceeding prettiness; and I am totally HBIC.

For example, recently, I've been knitting a vest, the pattern for which I got off of the Vogue Knitting website (VogueKnits - my new favourite magazine). It's going to be pastel pink and Bitchen as.

The colour choice has apparently surprised some people (by whom I refer to my benchmates in rollcall, George and Taylor). This is because I looked through my closet recently and realised that I have very few colours when it comes to my clothing. The majority of my T-shirts are black, my jeans are dark, I have a grand total of 4 brightly coloured shirts, 3 of which are long sleeved, and of them, two of which are so low cut that I can only wear them in the depths of winter lest I sustain cleavage burn - an incredibly irritating area to get sunburnt.

This monochromaticism, combined with the fact that the suburban Soccer-Mum look is one that I seem to be able to pull off (Pam from TrueBlood is totally my style icon - although only with regard to what she wears that isn't made of black leather), has inspired me to get knitting. I haven't knitted and actual garment since I made a cardigan a couple of years ago ofer the course of two hospital admissions (a cardigan which, for the record, I have never worn, but which makes my sisters the envy of all their friends when they wear it. I don't see why, in my opinion it makes them look like a horizontally striped gumdrop from the eighties... but I digress) and so I decided to get back on the figurative horse, and return to knitting, this time using patterns that I like.

Also, with Sarah's (the one who continually gets referenced in The Week) 18th coming up, I knitted her a Dalek stuffed toy. It's about two feet tall, and replete with plunger, whisk and eye stalk. Not to mention, a hell of a lot better looking than the ones on the link. There are bound to be photos from Sarah's party, I'll upload one if I remember. I'll be making another one for Sophia (also of The Week) when her 18th rolls along.

Finally, with regard to knitting, I'm finishing off a fuzzy beanie for Koby, who soon after Formal will be heading off to America for a while, and being somewhere up north (Iowa I think??) will be neading much external warming paraphenalia. I had started some crazy bobbly socks, also c/o VogueKnits, but they've gone to the back burner, along with my white gloves, which I had initially made somewhat shoddily, so I undid them and started afresh. The second run of them is an improvement, but I probably won't be motivated to finish them before winter rolls around again. Perhaps I'll get them done in time for formal... No matter.

Just today, I got around to looking at the blog of my marvellously talented friend Anne. You can find it here. I heard that she had a blog after seeing the amazing nails she had created for Sam, and let me just say that she blows my skillz right out of the water. I mean I'm impressed with myself if I manage to paint my nails whilst not getting nailpolish on my skin. Dayumm.

Bugger. And hurrah?

Due to the mildly frightening array of tests I must undergo on friday, I can't go to the Reclaim the Night march. At least I still got the free shirt.
On the plus side, these tests might actually find shit out about why I keep getting so sick... Just think, I may never be hospitalised again.
Wouldn't that be nice.

Mild Fail On My Behalf

I haven't been posting lately, and for that I am sorry.
Anywhom...

Today I went to a forum on feminism. Apart from a Feminazi teacher from NSGHS, it was quite interesting.

So onto the reason for this post: this friday evening (29/10) is the evening of the Reclaim the Night march which aims to help to eradicate sexual violence towards women.

It's a non-autonomous march, which means that men who believe in respecting the rights of women can join the march and show their support.

It's 6.00 pm on friday, going from Town Hall to Martin Place. Join us as we aim to reclaim the night.

Contemplations of Matricide

I'm going back into hospital. Suffice to say I hate my mother.

The Week Part I

Last week's Week will be slightly late, although as a bit of a sample, I direct you to the MMB blog which I write.

My Namèd Stick

I have a name for my stick.

I wanted to name it after one of the Furies (who - interesting historical sidebar - were born from the droplets of blood in the sea resulting from Cronos' castration of his father, Uranus, the separated appendage having been tossed into the ocean), so my options were Tisiphone, Megaera and Allecto.

Megaera would have, in my opinion, led to too many parallels being drawn with Hercules (the disney extravaganza), so that option was out.

Tisiphone did wage some righteous slaughter in Aeneid X, but Virgil described her as pale. My stick is predominantly black. That just wouldn't have meshed.

And thus, although J K Rowling got there first, my stick is named Allecto the Destroyer (because Monica suggested 'the Destroyer' and it had a nice ring to it).

Here's a photo. My stick's the black one.

My Nameless Stick

I got a Lacrosse stick today. At long expletiving last. It's black with silver and yellow. It matches my mouthguard. It's awesome.

It requires a name. So far the ideas are:

Biggus Dickus
Lord Archibald
The Basilisk

Input muchly welcome.

People v. Inanimate Objects

My Mao alarmclock died. I am unimpressed.

It also means that I must now find another inanimate object to pit myself and others against. And I've found the perfect one: my pencil case.

It's the 1962 edition Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 7; hollowed out, with my stationery inside. And people can't seem to open it without it attacking them.

Case in point this afternoon: I was at Hurstville station waiting for a bus to get me home when I ran into one of the ex-Marists (Kogarah Marist College, a Catholic boy's high school relatively close to St. G) who now attends Sydney Boys. Upon looking quizzically at the old encyclopaedia tied closed with a shoelace which was on top of my folder, I informed him it was my pencil case, at which point he tried to open it. And failed.

Pencil case: 1. Humanity: 0.

After showing him how to undo the shoelace, he opened the cover... at which point a highlighter jumped (yes, jumped. I shit you not) out.

Pencil case: 2. Humanity: still 0.

The funny thing is that I never have any trouble with it. I suppose it's because it respects its maker.

The Week

There isn't much by way of the funnies this week due to the fact that I've been knitting and writing parody songs for AUJS (Australian Union of Jewish Students - it's a uni thing that Sarah's directing) Revue 2010: The Shulshank Rejewsion.

No, I jest. The likelihood of it being called that is minimal at best. Other name options are:
Jewno (Juno)
Jews (Jaws)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Jew (guess which movie we got that idea from)
No Country for Old Jews
Gentlemen Prefer Jews
The Jews Brothers (Blues Brothers)
etc. Basically if there's a Jew pun to be made, we've tried it.

And onto The Week!!!

We were in Latin, as we are wont to be when something funny happens. I had asked Sir when the song Mambo Number 5 had come out.
Sir: It would have been the late nineties. I remember it playing at my year 12 formal.
Soap: (in an amazed tone) You had formals back then??
Sir: (in that bitterly ironic tone he tends to use a lot around us) Yes, Sophia. We wore our best loincloths and draped the hide of a freshly slaughtered deer over our backs.
I laughed for a solid five minutes.

Later that lesson, Sophia put her headband over her eyes, turned to Elsa and whispered the following:
Soap: Elsa, I'm a cyborg.
She assumed none of us could hear her. Unfortunately for her, she whispered it at the exact moment our class was completely silent. So sir responded thus:
Sir: (stage whisper) Sophia, we can hear you.

And then on friday in LEX...
Sir: I can't afford to give you wine, you boozehound.
(That was the gist of a Horace poem about Virgil... Well my class found it funny.)

The Week

Returning to last week's discussion of raunch in metaphysical poetry, our distinguished teacher had this to say, much to our horror...
Sir: A bit of raunch is an important part of any consenting adult relationship.
Me: Can I quote you on that one, Sir?
Sir: I'd rather you didn't.

Today was Harry Potter dress up day (long story there). I dressed up as Professor Umbridge. Sarah dressed up as a basilisk using a sock puppet with eyes stuck on.

For the record, Mr Mo looks like an older, scarless version of Harry Potter with nicer glasses.

At the beginning of class, Sarah stuck the puppet in Sir's face. He hissed at it. He then told us that it was our problem we didn't speak parseltongue.

About 10 minutes later we were divided into pairs and each put on a computer in order to do some practice exam collaboration. Monica was in the classroom because she enjoys our company and secretly regrets dropping extension.

Sarah and I were on pair, Sophia and Elsa were the other. We were seated at computers when it was noted that the class had been inadvertently segregated: Monica (Philipino), Sophia (Vietnamese) and Elsa (Chinese) were all at one end of the room; Sir (at least 4th generation Australian), Sarah (She lives in the Shire. That says something about her lineage) and I (European ancestors is about as close as I can get) were on the other.

I am unfortunately unable to document what Mr Mo said next, because it is impossible not to be misconstrued. But it was hilarious.

The Week US Edition

I've been promising this for a while, and here it is:

Intercom on the Caltrain to San Jose on Monday 2 August: Attention all Caltrain passengers. If you have a monthly pass for July, it expires at noon on the first business day of the next month. Which is today. So it expired about 10 minutes ago.

You definitely don't get that on Cityrail.

Me Love Cookie

Recently I have been making a Cookie Monster hat in preparation for year 12 trivia night and it's dress-up theme. I just finished it. I'll put up pictures as soon as someone takes a photo and uploads it to Facebook (my internet being what it is, there's no point in me doing it, I won't actually upload the photo for a couple of months).

Suffice to say it's AWESOME.

The Week (old school style)

As of today, I am back at school (cue much rejoicing). I'm not going to comment on the fact that according to my new timetable, I now have two doubles of maths on a friday.

And so, The Week!!!

We were in latin (as I inadvertantly am whenever something funny happens) and Mr Mo was a touch... different.
Me: Sir, are you high on cough medication?
Sir: Yes.
Me: Really?
Sir: No.
Me: Would you like me to put that on the record?
Sir: Maybe.

Later, we were in Latin, and John Donne's Busy Old Fool came up. Apparently one of the english teachers had read it to his class and had been rather... enthusiastic in doing so.
Sir was defending the validity of the poem, as he is wont to do.
Sir: It's a bit raunchy. Raunchy is good.
Me: Not when it's coming from you, sir.
Sir: That's not what my wife says.
At which point we all cracked up.

And then we got onto the topic of Cicero and Catullus' mutual burnign hatred.
Mr Mo tried to describe their reasons for hating each other. Apparently Cicero was a conservative, whereas Catullus...wasn't.
Sir: Cicero would have been a John Howard voter. Catullus would have voted for the Greens.
Me: Could we take it one step further and say that he'd vote for the HEMP party? [Help End Marijuana Prohibition]
Soap & Sarah: Sex party!
Sir: I think he might have had a few sex parties himself.

The conversation then took it's logical course... to Harry Potter.
Basically, Catullus had put the word patronus in his poem regardign Cicero. In this case we were to take patronus to mean lawyer as opposed to patron.
Sir: Expecto Patronum - I'm waiting for a lawyer.

And that's from one day of school. I'll be back next friday with a week worth of The Week.

And because I'm in the running to win Curmudgeon Of The Week (scroll down until you get to the pertinent post), here's a photo of me, because my evil *insert numerous multilingual expletives of great magnitude and ferocity* dial-up sucks five pronged demon wangs, and won't let me attach things to emails.

Dentistry

I have a long and colourful history with my dentist, stemming from when she spent five unanaesthetised hours reimplanting my teeth into my damaged jaw, making caps to replace all the bits that snapped off, and then splinting the resulting mishmash of tooth, fibreglass and high calcium concrete together.

This was continued when she had to replace one of those caps earlier this year (on my birthday, if I may add) because it had been sealed incorrectly and was starting to have problems.

And I have a feeling it's going to be furthered because I'm getting a new tooth.

I first noticed it a few weeks ago when I realised I had a strange lump under my gum behind the back molar in quadrant 4. A few weeks later, there's a tooth starting to erupt.

I've had all my adult teeth since I was somewhere in the vicinity of age eleven. That means this tooth can only be one thing. A wisdom tooth.

I'm seventeen years old (technically seventeen years, one month and ten days, but who's quibbling). I AM WAY TOO YOUNG FOR WISDOM TEETH.

I am unimpressed. Jaw, way to fuck me over again.

Adela vs. Communist Machinery, Round 2

The chairman Mao clock is windup. I neglected to wind it yesterday after it woke me up (I'd wound it before going to sleep, I hadn't thought it necessary). When I went to sleep at 11.30 last night, I found it had stopped at 11.00

Tricky move, Chairman. Let's call this one a draw.

AngryAngryMurderEyes

I have water in my ear canal. I'm assuming it's left over from swimming. It's pissing me off.

Grrr.

Cookie Redemption

I've recently been bitching about my inability to make Biscotti.

I've finally worked out my problem: completely ignore what the cookbook says and just improvise. As it was, the previous times I'd failed I'd already replaced the almond meal with ground hazelnuts, the beaten eggs with superstrong coffee and added chocolate.

As it turns out what I was neglecting to do was apportion the batter at about 1/3 of the size I was instructed and double the cooking time.

At last success. The final score: Biscotti 2; Adela 1.

Not ideal, but at least I won the war.

Communism

When Mimi returned from China, she brought with her a windup Chairman Mao alarm clock, which she then gave to me. It's awesome. Mao's hand waves as the seconds tick. It is a truly awesome clock. The only issue is the alarm function.

I went swimming this morning, and so last night I set the alarm for 0510. This morning, the alarm went off... at 0445.

Score at the end of round 1: communism 1, sleep 0.

You win this round, chairman.

100 and a Blog Quiz

I was reading one of the blogs I follow and I decided to send in an application to be named Curmudgeon of the week.

This also allows me to do my 100th post in style.

Name: Adela (I've also been referred to as 'the doorbitch of Hades')

Age: 17

Provenance: Sydney, Australia

Occupation: Student

When did you first self-identify as a curmudgeon?
Last year, when as head of the school's student council, I told my counterpart at our brother school (all girls school - we have to collaborate) where he could shove it. That's also the moment I started being referred to as 'That evil psychotic bitch from St George' by some of the lovely (and I use that term loosely) boys from Sydney Tech.

Who’s the curmudgeon (living or dead, historical or contemporary) you most identify with and why?
Paul Keating. Anyone with that kind of vocabulary deserves to be deified.

What do you hate that other people inexplicably love?
Emoticons. They give me murder eyes. Instant messaging. Voicemail messages. Novelty ringtones (unless it's Verdi's Dies Irae).

You are Dante. What, in order from least to most excruciating, are your nine circles of hell?

I'm going to go one step further and do all the little facets of Dante's hell.

Vestibule: People who don't register to vote. Voting is a privilege. Use it.

Here we cross Acheron, the first of the five rivers in Hell. Charon, ferryman thereof, does Hades a favour here by weeding out the gullible (i.e. the people who pay him for their passage before they're on the other side). If you're gullible enough to fall for a ponzi scheme or any other type of fraud that turns up in your inbox, you deserved it.

1. Squealers. We all know at least one. Those people who erupt into ear-splittingly high-pitched squealing at the drop of a hat. Seriously, people. Curb your enthuasiasm. And take it down a few octaves.

And now into the realms of incontinence. Thanks Mr Alighieri. I couldn't have named it better myself.

2. Kitsch. Be afraid Hello Kitty. Be markedly afraid.

3. Popular music. If it has a drum beat created by a machine, it deserves to burn eternally. Also, if it's a boy who's waiting for his danglies to drop, he shouldn't be singing. Unless he's an a choir which only performs classical music. There's only one use for boy soprani: getting them to sing the castrato parts because the Catholic church outlawed castration.

4. Politicians (in democracies). They say that those who can't do, teach. Well, those who can't function in mainstream society as useful human beings go into politics. Even then...

5. Psychics, Astrologers and anyone else who works in the industry of flimflammery that is the 'supernatural'. Get a job.

The realms of incontinence are cut off at this point by the river Styx. Once we've crossed the Styx with its vile marsh choked with reeds (thanks Virgil), we enter the city of Dis.

6. Professional sports players who get injured and then whinge about it. I'm looking at you, soccer. Drink a cup of concrete and harden the fuck up.

In order to continue, we here cross Phlegethon, a river of FIRE!!!!!!!! I have to say that Pluto did a great job with the interior decorating.

7. Dictators. Let's face it, seizing control without an actual mandate from the masses (NB: the military don't count) just isn't very nice.

Here lies the Abyss. I'm assuming it's big, dark, possibly dank and empty inside. In other words it's a reality TV contestant.

The next 2 circles are the lands of fraud according to Dante. I suppose if you squint and tilt your head a little, my last two circles of hell could be interpreted to belong accordingly.

Circle 8, the Malebolge, is 'an ampitheatre-shaped pit of despair wholly of stone and of an iron colour' (Dante). Cheery place it is.

8. Plagiarisers. Interesting historical sidebar: counterfeiters are a kind of plagiariser. In medieval times, counterfeiters were punished by being boiled alive in hot oil. Guess what point I'm trying to get across...

There is then the Giants Well (reasonably self explanatory); followed by Tartarus. The ninth circle, reserved in my hell system for:

9. Genocide. The people who order it, the people who carry it out and the people who cover it up.

This is also where we find the river Cocytus, hateful with black slime and its sluggish flow... (Thanks again, Virgil)

If you had the power to sign into law an amendment prohibiting a specific human behavior (i.e. using a Bluetooth or singing karaoke), what would you outlaw? Protective sports gear. So you're playing a violent sport. Take it like a man and get on with it.

Let's lighten up. What makes you all warm and fuzzy inside? (Your heart can’t be COMPLETELY charred.)
Sleeping babies.

What's your favorite curse word/phrase?
Holy cock! (a marvellously versatile expletive)

Essay Question: Please write a 100 word open letter to an object, person, or other entity that has recently incurred your wrath.

I'll keep this one brief.

Germaine Greer:

Find something better to do with your time.

Also, eunuchs can't be female. There's paraphenalia lacking. It just doesn't work.

Piano Lessons and Typing

I had piano lessons when I was about five. The only thing about it that benefited me was the fact that I could read music at the end of it. I couldn't play for shit, that's for sure. I've had to teach myself on that front.

The only lasting effect (again, apart from the ability to read music) is the fact that these days, when I finish typing a sentence, I'll do that floaty hand thing pianists do.

It's kind of weird. I've also noticed that I use correct piano hand shape when I'm actually typing.

End result: I'm towards the lower reaches of mediochre with regard to playing piano, but I type with panache.

Also, thanks to YY's blog, I no longer have any desire to see Inception. I in fact have a valid excuse not to, which means my older sister isn't going to drag me along to another bloody Leonardo DiCaprio movie. Thank the heavens.

Five-Pronged Demon Wangs

I couldn't resist. This story must be told by me otherwise I'll be portrayed as some kind of crazy deviant or something.

For whatever reason, during the course of our study of Journeys, we got onto the topic of witchcraft. Or the legal system. Or something. I forget, but it was relevant.

I referenced a passage I had read in Sadakat Kadri's The Trial. (London, 2006), pp. 118-119.

There it is: Some of the most graphic details [of Sabbaths] came courtesy of an inquisitor called Pierre de Lancre, commissioned by King Henry IV in January 1609 to cleanse the Labourd region of southwestern France. De Lancre was a man of rivalrous temperament, and over the course of a four month investigation that saw him interview hundreds of suspects and send more than fifty of them to the stake, he rarely overlooked an opportunity to outdo the discoveries of his contemporaries. the sabbaths to which his suspects were involved attracted thousands of male and female witches, who danced the night away alongside smoke-wreathed wizards and gyrating lines of fauns, snakes, dragons and tigers. He agreed with other demonologists that Satan was especially likely to manifest himself as a billy-goat, but the goat that attended his sabbaths had up to five horns, including an illuminated one at the centre of its forehead. De Lancre also lost himself in pornographic reveries for paragraphs on end, although no demonologist lacked for libido, his tales of sodomitic beasts and women shared between men and demons are in a class of their own. He devoted particular attention to Satan's penis, and it is probably fair to say that he gleans more information on the topic that anyone else in history.

That is not to say that others lacked interest. As far back as 1521, Sylvester Prieirias had warned that Satan often appeared with a forked penis to double his debauchery or a triple-pronged one to maximise it [Robert E.L. Masters, Eros and Evil. The sexual psychopathy of witchcraft (Baltimore, 1974), p. 17.]. Nicolas Rémy noted that the diabolical organ could be as long as a kitchen utensil, 'even when only half in erection', and as thick as a spindle. Like several other demonologists, he also commented on the temperature of Satan's semen, so bitterly cold that women recoiled in shock upon receiving it [Nicolas Rémy, Demonolatry, tr. E. Allen Ashwin (London, 1930), pp.12-14].

Sixteen-year-old Jeanette d'Abadie, while trying to explain to de Lancre just how depressing and painful she had found her sexual experiences with the Devil, had told him that the organ in question was over a yard long, coiled like a snake, and covered in scales. Fifteen-year-old Marie de Marigrane had recalled it to be half-iron and half-flesh. Petry de Linarre got the impression that it was made of pure horn, which is why it made women scream so much. De Lancre's competitive instincts did not desert him even here. After reporting that a teenager called Marguerite had found the Devil to be hung like a mule, with an appendage as long and thick as an arm, he recalled that the demons found by Hebri Bouget in the Franche-Comté rarely had penises bigger than a finger. 'The witches of the Labourd,' mused de Lancre, 'are better served by Satan than those of the Franche-Comté.'

There. My remarks were taken out of context by my classmates. Never did I say the demon had a five-pronged penis. The fact that that certain version of events was the one recounted ad infinitum during Modern History merely goes to show that my classmates ought to listen harder when I reference medieval texts regarding witch burning.

Here's an easy way to remember it for future reference: French Satan = 5 horns + 3 penises.

The British Satan was utterly underwhelming in comparison.

Chemical Warfare

The odour of chlorine oozing from my pores is driving me slightly loopy.

Here's why: I've been swimming for a total of 4.5 hours this week, and I already smell like the pool.

I hate to think of what I'll smell like by the end of the month.

On the upside, 4.5 hours later and I'm pretty much back to the standard I was at in March when I stopped swimming for the winter (and because I cbf getting up in the mornings because I'd stay up mad late doing homework...but I digress). But again, that's not saying much. Because I suck numerous five-pronged demon wangs (talk to any of the people in my year 11 English class. That's the last time I bring up medieval texts on witchcraft.) at sprints.

Things I Am Not

As any of you who happened to be reading my blog around the time of Passover will know that I have issues getting back to my Eastern European culinary roots.

As it turns out, I also suck at making savory Italian biscuits. Namely the ones Toni always seems to have during French class and Sabrina always seems to be eating in French class.

Basically I found a recipe for them, and I thought 'why not give it a go?'

Bad Idea.

Basically, this had taught me that I will never be a good Eastern/Central European. Bubbe Sarah would be rolling in her grave. As would Tante Adela.

Why is it I have to come from a lineage of women who could make wheat free noodles without them tasting like glue?

Swimming

Today I went back to swim training in a desperate attempt to expedite the speed in which I get over jet lag.

Holy shrieking expletives it was painful.

In other news, I'm pretty much hooked on True Blood after watching the two episodes of it QANTAS happened to have on their entertainment database.

Tik Tok by AD€LA

I've got two more posts to do about America, but first I'd like to publish this spoof I wrote on the plane. It's to the tune of Tik Tok (as you can doubtlessly surmise from the title).

Wake up in the morning feeling like Paul Keating
(Hey what up, man)
Grab my briefcase, I’m out the door, I’ve got to go to some meetings
(Let’s go)
Before I leave, I grab my keys and a Canberra map
Cause when I win the election, I ain’t coming back

Italian leather all over my toes, toes
Professionals tailor all of my clothes, clothes
Talk to the press on my iPhones, phones
Photo-opping, kissing lots of babies
Backed up by my party
The opposition wish they were me…

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

Ain’t got a care in the world except for immigration
Not a problem ‘cause I’m saved by the psyche of the nation
The conservatives think that refugees aren’t all good
And Australia's fine with sticking them in Villawood

I’m talking about neutralising threats, threats
Creating budget safety nets, nets
Choosing portfolios for my political pets…
Better known as my front benchers
Most of them need to wear dentures
The front bench all need dentures
Front bench need dent…

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

For what it’s worth
The Lodge’s my turf
And the voters
Yeah, they love me

With well placed ads
Pandering to fads
Got a Twitter page
Yeah they love me

For what it’s worth
The Lodge’s my turf
And the voters
Yeah, they love me

With well placed ads
Pandering to fads
Pandering to fads

Now, the polling don’t start ‘till I walk in

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

I'll get around to making a video of it eventually.

Yippee Hooray

You know when a guy is glancing around a room, his eyes pass over you and then a moment later he jerks his head back to look at you?

Totally just happened to me. I need to wear dresses and heels more often.

Today

Was filled with the drudgery of manual labour.

I began by helping out with sign in at the conference, between the hours of 8 and 11, at which point there was community service day. Whilst doing sign in, I had some lovely conversation with the kids from University of Nebraska, Lincoln.

At community service day, where we were divided randomly into groups and then sent to go de-weed the terraces along the guadeloupe river (A few miles thereof. Good thing there was a lot of us). I bonded with a bunch of students from Great Valley State University - one of the largest universities in eastern Michigan (that's said in a tongue in cheek manner, just to clarify). At the end of the two hours of pulling up really fierce weeds and hacking at stumps with hoes (don't even bother, we made just about every joke imaginable), after taking the group photos of the GVSU kids, I was asked if I was old enough to go get a beer with them (They knew I was in high school, but not that I was seventeen). I had to reply in the negative, because they're bitches about carding here in Cali.

Incidentally, before we started the community service, they showed us a slideshow outlining wha tthe different tools were. Because apparently some people don't know what rakes, shovels and hoes are. Hoes perhaps is understandable, but who not only cannot recognise a shovel but also does not know its function? Seriously.

There was an accounting careers fair at 4.30 in the afternoon. The dress was 'office casual', so I wore nice jeans, a white blouse... and my sparkly red heels. Because I'd brought them on the offchance they'd come in handy, and so they did.

So today has been a great success. I was invited out for beer by a bunch of college students, and as I walking back to the elevator after the accounting fair, a male student with a deeply southern accent enquired 'How're you doin'?'

This is not an isolated event. I've been spending a hell of a lot of time responding to when good looking southern boys (I swear, all the southern boys seem to be good looking) enquire as to my welfare. Heavens, their accents are adorable.

Australiana

Today was like Australia-fest for me.

For two reasons.

One: I found a store selling solely Australian goods. It was strange. There were things like 2L Cottees cordial for $13.50 USD. Tim Tams for $9.

Black and Gold brand Musk sticks...for $5.50

It was expensive up the shizzay.

Two: Mum decided we would have Indian for dinner. In the restaurant (well it called itself a bistro, but whatevvs) there was a television, showing a program called 'Australia: land beyond time'. It had every Australian nature cliché imaginable.

DI people (latin joke there), this is California. Find something else to consumerise.

Fruit

As anyone who has cooked anything dessertlike from an American cookbook will realise, they all seem to involve raspberries or blueberries or other heinously expensive fruit.

That's because here, it's all cheap as.

1 kg of blueberries for $5. 1 kg cherries for $5. 2 kg strawberries for $8. It's insane.

The Wonders of Consumerism

As I've been going about my merry way, I've just been jotting down random stuff that I find interesting.

Pay by weight frozen yoghourt: this is in all the food courts of supermarkets and also in standalone stores. You get a cup, and fill it with frozen yoghurt of whatever flavour you desire (there are about 20), you then weight your cup, the cup weight is subtracted to give the net weight of your yoghurt, and then you pay by the weight.

Smirnoff Savannah Tea: I saw an ad for this on a billboard. It's iced tea with lemon...with vodka. I don't see why they can't just do it themselves.

Speaking of which - Alcohol licencing: in any regular supermarket in america, there will be a liquor aisle. Not in a separate shop. In the supermarket, right next to the dried fruit and baked goods. And it's significantly cheaper than Aus.

Costco: A warehouse superstore which sells anything and everything. Some of the marvels I came across instore were...
60 inch flatscreen LCD, LED backlit televisions. $2999 (plus another 10% tax. Their GST isn't included in pricing. It means everything is about 10% more expensive than it seems.
Tea bags. In 300 packs.
5 gum: we get it in 12 sticks per pack. They have it in 10 packs of 15 sticks in cooler flavours than we have yet.
Makeup: 2 mascaras for $10.
Petrol: Costco sells ULP for $3.00 per GALLON. That's 75c per litre. Even non-costco petrol only costs about $3.25 for premium. And they complain that their petrol is expensive.

They've All Gone To Look For America

Takeoff was somewhat delayed due to some people who were transferring flights.

Whilst walking to the gate, it had seemed we would be travelling on one of Qantas' new A380s. But then we kept walking and saw that that plane was for QF11 to LA. QF73 to San Fransisco (my flight) was on one of those faintly old and incredibly cramped Boeing 747-400s. And it was completely full.

Taking up a reasonable chunk of Economy was (and someone had better tell Koby about this) the Sydney baseball team for the U25ish age group.

The inflight movie selection was underwhelming. I watched How To Train Your Dragon, which was fantastic, and Wog Boys 2, which was rather funny thanks to my wog roots; but they were about it.

The plane took off at 1400 EST, and by about 2130 EST, I was completely exhausted. So I had a nap, only to be awoken at about 0030 EST for breakfast. Strangely, I was quite awake regardless of the fact that I'd only had 3h sleep.

We arrived at 0300 EST [wednesday] or 1000 WST [tuesday] (NB: from now on, all times will be in Western Standard), spent a very long time in customs (and it would have been longer had I not used my Canadian citizenship, and mum her Canadian Landed Immigrant status), and eventually got onto the BART train station at the airport (Bay Area Rapid Transport - they didn't just nickname it).

The trains were lovely. One level, well set out, spacious, well ventillated and a hell of a lot more fast than Cityrail. They were powered by an electrified 3rd rail. This becomes relevant later.

From SFO, we caught a red line train to San Bruno, followed by a yellow line train to Millbrae, at which point we tranferred to Caltrain to get to San Jose/Diridon.

I'd like to comment on the design of the train stations. A fusion of Brutalism and dingy neo-classical Cityrail.

And as for the Caltrains... Giant double decker diesel drawn (sorry, I had to keep going once I'd started) behemoths which (and it may have just been that car) smell of ammonia. Ick. Ickickickickick. The countryside is however quite pretty. Very Californian.

And everyhting here is huge. The stores, the roads, the schools, which all have aroung 3-4k students. The schools here are purty.

I wrote that at 1155 and I was still quite awake. Mum, on the other hand, who only slept during the last hour of the flight was failing miserably to stay awake.

The rest of the day was spent going through giant shopping centres. There was a Westfield, and all I can say is the Australian ones are set out better.

That's it for today. Or perhaps not. Who knows. Tata all.

I Go To Be In America

Just like a Sondheim [and Bernstein] song that seems adorable and catchy the first few times you hear it, and after that becomes the bane of your existence because it's permanently entrenched in your head on a neverending loop... I'm going to the US tomorrow.

Don't ask how the extended metaphor relates. I don't even know.

But yeah. I'll be in San Jose CA for a week. Tagging along to a conference for some international organisation of...wait for it...commerce students.

At least I get to go (thankyou frequent flier system).

So yeah. I may or may not be able to access the internet during the next week, but I will be jotting down anything remarkable that happens and I'll post it eventually. Who knows. I might even get enough material to do The Week: US Edition.

But somehow I doubt it.

At least I have Cicero, Virgil, Catullus and Horace to keep me company.

Where are you, Mr Dopeyface?

Guess who I spent an hour and a half trampling today...

Andrew Hanson.

It was awesome. Be watching Yes We Canberra at 9.45 wednesdays on ABC1 or 9.15 Thursdays on ABC2 for the rerun.

It should be on at some point in the next 4 episodes, and failing that, it'll be an extra on the DVD.

The Week

Having returned to the loving fold of school, I'm back to writing The week.

Hells mother-expletiving yeah.

There was a thing involving Mentos wrappers on the fans. Long story there. I was absent at teh time. Anyway, the next day, when I was in attendance...
Soap: You're really fun on a sugar high [Sir]. We should get more mentos. Sorry, mento. There's only one.
Me: Wouldn't it be mentus?
Soap: Don't even go there.
Sir: Mentus is greek. It would be mentoi.

Sarah: Lustfuel.
She meant lustful. We think.

Horace: A girl, not of your sort, has captured the young man Telephus whom you seek, rich and lustful [this is where the lustfuel comes in], and she holds him chained in pleasant fetters.
Soap: Is he handcuffed.
Sir: *Pinches the bridge of his nose*

Sir [regarding the chariot of the sun, as part of a longish segue about Apollo]: The chariot of the sun is pulled by horses of flaming...
Me: Fire?

Sir: Cicero has two Cs. Ninja has two Ns. Perhaps it's a clever pseudonym.
Sarah: Adela has two As.
Me: I'm not a ninja *Shifty eyes*
Sir: Kafka has two As.
Me: I'm definitely not Kafka.

Sir invoked the name of Chuck Norris.
Soap: WHat would Chuck Norris do?
Me: What would Chuck Norris do... Probably roundhouse kick you, sir. In the face.

I know it's not much, but since I only have 6 hours of class time per week this term, it's all I can do.

Trawling the Bloggesphere

I've just been clicking on the little 'Next Blog' toggle on my page. Sweet expletiving deity, there are a lot of evangelicals out there.

On the upside: Annie Lennox. She's good. It's like ChickLit for your ears

Things I plan to read:

All of Mungo MacCallum's back catalogue
Artemis Fowl 7
...And Another Thing (the next Hitch-hiker's Guide book)
The Millennium Trilogy (I just haven't found the time)
The Gutenberg Bible (although the likelihood of that happening is roughly non-existent)

Here's hoping.

What to do?

Today is StuVac. Whilst my adorably frazzled friends frazzle them selves further by cramming for Trials, which begin tomorrow, I've been studying latin and being bored out of my brain. I'm actually starting to miss panicked study.

At least I have something to do tomorrow. There's a high school debating comp tommorrow at Sydney Uni, which a bunch of my debating buddies will be attending. St George was of course not invited, because let's be honest - debating at st G sucks numerous wangs. Simultaneously.

I will however be there because A: I have nothinb better to do, and B: I am now debating coach for the junior school.

I need to find something better to do with my time.

And Because I'm Fruity in the Head

I've changed an element of my blog page.

Guess what it is... ;)

That's right. It's so tricky I have a creepy smiley face.

Ho Hum

Today, as my school age friends will know, is the first day of term 3.

I was rather looking forward to today as I haven't had an actual day of school for about 10 weeks. I was going to have to leave early in order to get myself the 30 km to Westmead via off peak public transport (let's call that 1.5 hours on the conservative side) by 2.45, but today being a tuesday, I'd still be able to attend 7 (of my usual 12 on a tuesday) periods of class before having to leave in order to see if the discharge I've been enjoying over the past two weeks was permanent.

Long story short, mum decided there was no point in me going to school today, and so I spent the morning bumming around Usyd. I was sent to Fisher to look for some textbooks Sarah needed for Uni (it seems UNSW's library system just isn't as good), but the call numbers she had given me were incorrect. Way to fail there.

I did however borrow one of their copies of Girt By Sea: a Quarterly Essay by Mungo (Wentworth) MacCallum about the refugee crisis. I'd been meaning to read that for a while.

I then walked to Town Hall to look for an Angus and Robertson store so that I could use a voucher I'd had for ages. I was hoping to find a Gutenberg Bible journal similar to the one I got last week, but depicting a different print. The range there was shit to put in nicely. I instead bought 'Poll Dancing': MacCallum's review of the 2007 election.

So today hasn't been a total loss. I'll be blogging about the PolCom stuff once I've read it.

King Street and Broadway

I was at Usyd today, again.

Sarah, who is currently at the AMUNC conference, also at Usyd, realised once we had arrived at the uni that she lacked black flats, in which she would walk from the uni to Newtown, where the various committees of delegates were to be having dinner tonight.

Thus I was dispatched to get her the shoes before 5 pm.

To start with, I walked along King Street looking for Flying Penguin, which is the most fantastic toy store I have ever entered. It's so unspeakably cool. I got a voodoo doll phone charm. It's a brown dinosaur wearing glasses.

On my way back up King Street, I got a tube of silver paint at one of the art stores - I intend to pimp my Ukulele. It's going to be black with silver edging and iridescent bubbles painted on.

I also went to Vinnies. Good lord some of the stuff in there was tacky. I did however get a light blue cotton jumper (same jumper, different colour to the picture). Unfortunately, this means I can't wear them with my one pair of jeans, which are also light blue. I also got some sunglasses which make me look like my aunt Toby, but I'm cool with that.

I then went to Broadway. On the way there, I walked past victoria Park. It has the most fantastic playground I have seen in ages. There's a giant flying fox that you sit on, and a spherical spider's web, and one of those giant tilted dish thingies that you sit on and spin around and all sorts of other marvellous things. I'm totally planning to go for a play tomorrow when it's less damp.

At Broadway, I browsed Dymocks first, and got myself a notebook. It has a print of the Gutenberg bible on it, and the embellishments are 3D with metallic paint and all sorts of awesome illumination. And I got $5.50 off because I had points on my Dymocks card. I then got on with getting Sarah some crappy black flats from Cotton On.

As it turned out, the flats were one for $15 or two for $20, so I got myself a pair in silver. Because I like shiny things. I also got a 3pack of trashy mailpolish for 50c. The colours were black, pink and blue. The pink and blue ones were metallic, so I'm going to use them to paint the bubbles.

I then returned to the University and knitted for half an hour before I was able to give Sarah the shoes. I'm knitting gloves.

Sarah was so impressed with my $3.50 sunnies that I am to get a pair for Mimi to wear when on choir tour.

I did some marvellously fun shopping today. It was good.

Somewhat Dark Creative Visions

Next year, I will be entering the Royal Arts Show, again for calligraphy. This time, however, I'm planning to enter the 'Off the Wall' section; which is basically for 3D objects involving calligraphy.

My bright idea involves me making a music box, and then covering it with a calligraphised version of the Rammstein song 'Spieluhr'.

My only issue is where I'll be able to find ridiculously fine paintbrushes. One of my cousins reccommends those Games Workshop-type stores, but I'd like to avoid actually entering one of those if I can humanly manage it.

So... If anyone has an idea of where I could source them, I would be muchly greatful.

And Now for an Addendum

On a whim, I decided to see when All Schools debating trials would be on. They were on the ANZAC Day weekend. Admittedly I was somewhat busy at the time (marching in the city and all) but it's not that difficult for our debatign co-ordinator to PUT AN ANNOUNCEMENT IN ROLL CALL SO WE COULD AT LEAST BE INFORMED OF THESE THINGS.

Dear god, is it that difficult to forward the emails you get from the NSWDU and the Arts Unit to the students who could benefit from them?

And I couldn't help but notice a certain Sydney Girls student was on the state team. I saw her at last year's state trials. And she is a markedly underwhelming debater. Seriously. The worst debater on my school team is still better than her.

I am thoroughly unimpressed.

Anger and Disappointment

Before I start my rant, I do realise that I'm blogging, which means that my lovely friends are about to be once again burdened with my whining. You guys know I love you.

Aaaaaaaaaanywhom.

As I'm sure you're all aware, I spent almost 8 weeks in hospital. As those who frequent my facebook page will know, I was discharged on monday. This is just background info to make the rest of my rant make more sense.

Since I haven't attended school in ages, I'm somewhat out of touch with the happenings. So I just found out that CHS debating trials are coming up. And I missed the deadline.

Let's be serious here. The debating and public speaking co-ordinators both know that I'm the best they've got (I know I'm blowing my own horn, but it's the truth), and yet I have only been entered in the competitions that I went to the effort of entering myself in.

Let's start with the Lions club Youth of the Year competition. Each school is eligible to enter two students. I was stonewalled by our bitch of a principal because my sheet of extra-curriculars was exponentially more impressive than that of our school captain. IT'S NOT MY FAULT I DO MORE THAN HER. I was somewhat platified however by the assurance that I would be entered in every other public speaking and debating thing that year.

Rostrum Voice of Youth: only the students who entered themselves without the input of the school were registered by the time the deadline came around. Thank heavens I was proactive.

Premier's Debating Challenge: I'm the reason my team has speeches at the end of the hour's prep. Enough said.

Sydney Morning Herald Public Speaking comp.: year 11s were entered. So that they could gain experience. IF THEY'RE IN YEAR 11 AND THEY STILL NEED EXPERIENCE WITH PUBLIC SPEAKING COMPETITIONS, THEN THEY CLEARLY DON'T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES, AND THEY SHOULDN'T BE GIVEN MY SPOTS IN COMPETITIONS.

And now CHS debating trials. Each school is eligible to send three students. Apparently St George only sent one this year. NO MATTER WHO IT IS, I'M BETTER THAN HER. I'M THE BEST DEBATER THIS SCHO0OL HAS, AND IT KILLS ME THAT I'M NOT BEING ALLOWED TO ENTER THESE COMPETITIONS. IT'S RIDICULOUS.

I am the best this school has at talking. It sounds conceited, but there is no-one else at my school who can give a convincing ten minute speech on a topic she doesn't necessarily agree with or even know anything about, a topic which she was given without any time to prepare. I can debate without any preparation whatsoever, I write speeches that adjudicators love. I've had scholarship offers purely on the merit of my speaking ability.

SO WHY AM I NOT BEING ENTERED. JUST BECAUSE I'M NOT THERE TO PESTER THEM DOES NOT MEAN THEY CAN JUST GIVE UP ON ENTERING ME IN COMPETITIONS. I WAS IN HOSPITAL. CUT ME SOME SLACK HERE.

I'm pissed off.

The Next Post

I realise the photos didn't come up completely. Just click on them and you can see the whole thing :)

A Month in a Day

Day 1: Favorite actor(s)



Gaspard Ulleil (Hannibal Rising)



Dominic Cooper, Samuel Barnett, Jamie Parker (The History Boys)

Day 2: Favorite movie



The History Boys

Day 3: Favorite musician





Rammstein



Apocalyptica



The SCC. Oh wait... is that me in the picture they have on the website?
Hells yeah it is.



Matti Hyokki. Technically a composer, but what the hell. He's awesome.

Day 4: Favorite album

Anything by the above.

Day 5: Favorite book

How to be a Megalomaniac (Mungo McCallum) (I'm also quite a fan of Poll Dancing by the same author)

Day 6: Favorite food



Day 7: Favorite tv show



Day 8: Pictures of your room

Trust me. It's underwhelming.

Day 9: Picture of a flower in your favorite colour



Day 10: Favourite outfit



Jeans and Gumboots.

Day 11: Meme picture

I don't even know that that entails. I'm clearly not artsy enough.

Day 12: Favorite book quote

"A census taker tried to quantify me once. I ate his liver with Fava beans and a big Amarone."

Hannibal Lecter

Day 13: Favorite recipe

Recipes are for the weak.

Day 14: A childhood picture



Technically I was in year 10, but whatevvs.

Day 15: 2nd favorite movie



Day 16: Something that made you smile this day

Dude. That grammar is FAIL. But anyway:

BAN SOCCER FROM VUVUZELA CONCERTS!

Day 17: Favorite comic



Non Sequitur FTW

Day 18: Favorite board game



Day 19: A favorite memory

Morris: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Me: A human rights activist.

Morris: You'll get shot.

Thanks grandpa.

Day 20: A 10+ year old picture

Can't access them from this internet connection. Suffice to say I was adorable and blonde.

Day 21: Favorite movie quote

"Hello Clarice."

Hannibal Lecter.

Day 22: Favorite television quote

"I put it to you, Minister, that you are looking a Trojan Horse in the mouth."

Sir Humphrey Appleby

Day 23: Favorite animal



Tiger pigs.

Day 24: Something embarassing in your room

My Ukulele

Day 25: One of your most prized possessions

My Sousa

Day 26: A picture from one of the greatest days of your life

Save me.

Day 27: A picture of where you’re from

Don't go there.

Day 28: A drawing of you in the future

Or there.

Day 29: A picture of space




























Get it?
Space :)

Day 30: Somewhere you want to visit

FINLANDFINLANDFINLAND!!!!!

Disease

I don't like getting sick. I don't do it often either, generally only about once a year.

Which surprises me, as I've already been sick once this year.

I blame this unplanned illness on my recent hospital admission.

Having inhabited a germ-free environment for so long, my immune system had basically gone to shit. The moment I returned to the petri dish of infection known as my house, I got sick.

Damn and blast.

What The Expletive

I just friend requested someone on Facebook, and for the thing where you have to type the words shown to prove to the internet that you're not a robot, the words were 'cocksure' and 'the'.

What the expletive

Life

Holly was discharged yesterday. That's a massive bummer. We're all going to miss her. At least she got otu before she hit the ten week mark. Had she been discharged today, her admission would have been ten weeks. So I suppose it's good for her.

I've been let out for a parade today (marching band). It's for the international Lions convention. It should be fun, although getting a sousa onto a double decker bus (the way we're getting from the end of the parade back to the beginning for a second pass) will be a challenge. Hell, getting the sousa onto a regular bus so that I can get to Hyde Park (the startinng point) will be an interesting experience. And that's with it collapsed and in a flat(ish) case. This should be an experience.

Tomorrow is Inspired. For those of you who are uninitiated, that's the school Textiles and Design showcase. I'm MCing it. Dressed as the Queen of Hearts. Hells mother-expletiving yeah.

My performance pants are statically attracted to my legs. It shits me.

The Winter Solstice

Today (Monday) is the winter solstice.

Various events have transpired:

I’ve been moved back into the adolescent ward (gods be praised).

Hannah was discharged. Kelsey and I will miss her. We’ll compensate by going to Nowra in the holidays to stalk her.

I found out that I’m going to the US for a week in august on frequent flier points when mum goes to San Jose CA for a conference. Hells to the motherloving yeah.

And we decided we’d try to stay up all night. This will be the moment-to-moment account of what happens.

8.15 – Holly has a copy of Shrek 3. We shall watch it. It’s probably going to be underwhelming, but such is existence.

9.15 – I’ve been typesetting guitar chords in preparation for the BJE campfire sing-along. This year is going to pwn in the extreme.

9.20 – Holly has put the disc in the playstation console. It’s a pirated DVD and thus didn’t work. What a quandary. No matter – we’ll watch Sherlock Holmes. I personally am not a fan of Robert Downey Jr. – he creeps me out.

Oh well.

11.20 – Sherlock Holmes is finished. It was markedly good. I’m actually developing an affinity for RDJ. The plan of staying up all night has been abandoned due to lack of interest coupled with existing fatigue.

And so now I am sitting in the communal room typing, as the rest of the girls bitch about the fact that they’re not allowed to close the curtains around their beds (new mandate, enforced beginning today).

Oh well. Tata all.

The Future

As the current plans stand, I might be going back to school next term. Huzzah.

Hardening the expletive up.

One of the girls with whom I am currently sharing a ward pisses me off to no end. In the interest of protecting identities (like hell, one can never know who's on the internet, lurking), I shall henceforth refer to her as Q.

No, she is not a theoretical biblical document (just a joke for all my HEX buddies). But I digress.

If there's one thing that shits me to no end, it's whining. That irritating, high pitched, nasally childish voice people resort to when they're not getting their way.

Q whines all the time. I'm talking incessantly. But that's only the beginning of my figurative beef with her. Q is horrible to the other girls, constantly making snide comments and then saying 'Oh, no offence.'

Saying 'no offence' is probably worse than just being a bitch, because it shows that she doesn't own the fact that she's a bitch. I'm able to make this point because I actually do own my bitchiness. I just save it up for special occasions... But again I digress.

Q also seems to be labouring under the incredibly misguided impression that everyone cares. No-one cares about her stupid issues. Hmmm. Looks like today is a special occasion. Oh well.

Furthermore, Q believes that she should have everything her way. She flouts the rules set up by the powers that are, and then whines when she gets in trouble. She makes ridiculous requests at inappropriate times (I would give examples, but then it would be painfully obvious to anyone on the ward at the moment who I'm ranting about; and as much as I own my bitching, if I'm going to be living with them for some unforseeable amount of time, It helps if we get along...), and then practically has panic attacks when her requests are denied.

And then whenever she doesn't get what she wants, she starts crying.

And her French is pathetic. I know I've just made it obvious who I'm talking about, but I don't care. If there's something that pisses me off, it's bad french pronunciation.

And, Finally, she complains incessantly. I may have already said this, but I'll say it again. NOBODY CARES! SERIOUSLY! WE DON'T GIVE AN EXPLETIVE ABOUT WHY YOU DON'T LIKE IT IN HOSPITAL OR WHAT PERCEIVED WRONG YOU THINK YOU'RE SUBJECT TO. WE'RE ALL STUCK IN THERE TOO. WE'RE IN THE SAME MOTHER-EXPLETIVEING BOAT. NO-ONE LIKES PERSECUTION COMPLEXES.

Q, Harden the fuck up.

And I know I've been complaining for this entire post, but frankly, I don't care. It was justified.

On a nice little sidebar, thanks for the mention, Kelsey :)

The Eurovision Final!!!

Today whilst at UNSW, I happened to see a Google news heading telling me who won. But I’ll save that for the end of the post. I would have found out from channel ten otherwise, anyway.

Eurovision kicked off with Alexander Rybak sawing through yet another violin bow. Good on him. I usually don’t really like violin music, but he plays with so much vim that I forgive him his instrument choice.

Azerbaijan kicked off the show. Their singer was marvellous at walking down flights of stairs. Her backup dancer was barefoot, which made the fact that he was wearing a shirt forgivable. 7/10

Spain, the first of the bankrolling nations. Generally Spain’s entry is weird. Really incredibly strange. This year was no change to that. The singer looked like Bob Dylan on speed, the backup dancers were abstract to the point of postmodernism, not to mention creepy like sad clowns. Although they did have the Eurovision equivalent of a streaker – someone who jumped onto the stage and had to be dragged off by security. The fact that they just went with it really speaks in Spain’s favour. Otherwise, it was still really weird and I didn’t like it. But that’s just me. >5/10

Norway – last year’s winner. The song started off slowly, which demonstrated that the singer is clearly an opera boy – can’t sign at anything below 100%. He is aesthetically pleasing though. The backup singers were clumped too closely together. Also, in my opinion, the song was chordally reminiscent of a Paul Jarman song. But that could just be because I’m a choir nerd. The guy from Norway improved after the key change. The pyrotechnics were tasteful, but I think they could have been bigger. 7.5/10

Moldova had an electric violin as part of their act. The violinist was on a spinning turnstile, which must have been a bit nauseating for him. There was some hardcore thrusting from the sax and two backup dancers. The singer looked like a cross between Gwen Stefani, P!nk, Madonna and Lady Gaga. I liked it though, because it was eurotrashy to the nth degree. I am a fan. 8.5/10

Cyprus again. Jon Lilygreen is going on the Hottie Wall in the year 12 study at st. G. This is because he is a welsh babe who can sing. I must however ask why the drummer bothered to sing if he wasn’t miked. I like the fact that instead of getting a guitar with built-in pickups, he just duct taped a mike to the inside of his guitar. He made it a design feature. Kudos to him.8.75/10

Bosnia and Herzegovina had a fog machine, but that’s where the good stuff ended. The singer looked like that guy from Coldplay spliced with that guy from Savage Garden. Not a fan of the stance used by all whilst they were singing. Costuming wasn’t marvellously eurotrash, no-one worked the wind machine. It was (for lack of better adjectives) very American. >5/10

Backstage: the man from Spain is less creepy when not in costume, and is playing Sky in Spain’s production of Mamma Mia. Armenia’s backup singers are rather good. Alexander Rybak has shaken Barak Obama’s hand. He is also a fan of Lena from Germany’s song ‘Satellites’. Alexander Rybak is such a babe.

Belgium. ‘Me and My Guitar’. He’s alright looking, and it’s a sweet enough song, but it’s a power ballad. It just doesn’t get me doing a little happy dance on my hospital bed with a laptop propped on one knee. And his falsetto sucks numerous male appendages. Including his own. He was however the first act to work the audience. It wasn’t much, but he was the first to do it. I would rate it higher, but his falsetto killed it for me. 6.5/10

Serbia’s lead singer is totally androgynous. He looks markedly like something Lady Gaga would dress up as, perhaps crossed with (I shudder to type it) Justin Beiber . The male backup dancers were a bit underwhelming. So was the song. And his singing. Maybe it’s the kind of thing the Balkans go for, but it didn’t float my boat. The costuming for the female backup singers was ridiculously strange. 6.5/10

FYI: due to Spain’s interruption, they will get to perform again at the end.
Also, the Aussie viewers got a hello from the hosts. I love it when we get recognised.

‘Butterflies’ from Belarus involved my second favourite costume reveal. My favourite was, of course, Lithuania, but this one wasn’t far off. The song was a power ballad, which didn’t dispose me toward them, but they’re all adept singers as long as they’re not having solos, in which they tended to suck. I was a fan of the fact that the women were wearing fully sequinned gowns. And then full sized butterfly wings popped out of the women’s gowns just in time for a key change. Marvy costumes, shitty solos. 7.5/10

Niamh Kavanaugh won Eurovision in 1993. The whistle player is her cousin, and also named Niamh Kavanaugh. She’s definitely improved from her semifinal performance. She must be feeling better. There’s something about her that just reminds me of Bette Midler. He audience went wild for the whistle player. Niamh’s [the singer’s] dress made her look like some kind of ocean spirit, although she made that look work for her. And although her use of the wind machine was understated, it was well placed.8/10

And now for my favourite song from semifinal 1: OPA! From the Greeks. Back were the open white shirts, tight white pants, manly dancing, manly tattooing, manly grunting at key points in the song: it was as manly and tasteful as ‘Wog Boys II – Kings of Mykonos’ is going to be. Namely incredibly and minimally respectively. I was also a massive fan of the guy with the stringed instrument, and the drums which shot fireworks from within them. The only problem was that the lead singer was about as attractive as the guys from ‘Wog Boys II – Kings of Mykonos’. 9.2/10

Then came Britain – a bankroller, so they were guaranteed a spot in the finals. An absolute babe – faintly reminiscent of Gaspard Ulleil in Hannibal Rising (apart from the singing. From what little we hear of Gaspard singing ‘Das Mantelein’, he was infinitely better), but…well… I shouldn’t be foreshadowing, but there’s a reason GB came last. Fun fact – the girl who represented Britain last year (and who also sucked) is now a Sugababe. But Josh was even flat on the last note. <5/10

Backstage: the Greeks have great arm muscles. Josh doesn’t look as good in profile as he does front on. Still a babe. He should go on the Hottie Wall.

Georgia is back from a year boycotting due to political shit-kicking with Russia. I’m still not a fan of the choreography, although the costuming is very Eurovision. She didn’t wind machine her hair enough, and she was sharp on the high notes. And it was a power ballad. And regardless of my dislike of the choreography, the backup dancers were fantastic. The only thing that saved it was the great pillars of fire at the end. 6.5/10

Turkey – the only country of my top three from Semi 2 to get into the finals. The drummer reminds me of the drummer from Rammstein. The drum part reminds me of Rammstein. The singer is the only man so far to work the wind machine. I remain a massive fan. This is like a musical cross between Linkin Park and Rammstein, with a touch of Marilyn Manson in the costuming. Brilliant flag dancing at the end. Still a massive fan. 9.25/10

Albania also began with an electric violin, but the violinist wasn’t as much of a babe as the one from Moldova. The signer looked a hell of a lot like Gwen Stefani crossed with Drew Barrymore. And the violinist was creepy to the max. The costuming of the lead singer was very Madonna. The song lyrics reminded me of ‘I Will Be Watching You’ by The Police. Namely, they were weird and stalkerish. 6.25/10

Iceland had a Björk, but not the one who wears dresses shaped like dead swans. This Björk has a good strong voice, and a dress which looks like it’s made for spinning around in circles like a lunatic. It’s a pity she isn’t, because for whatever reason I just don’t love the song. 6.75/10

And then came the Ukraine. Those of you who read my rundown of the last semifinal will know that I didn’t think this was eurotrashy enough, especially when compared with last year’s entry. She can sing, and she can use a wind machine as if she was born in the windstream of one, but she wrote the song herself, and it’s not the most marvellous song I’ve ever experienced. I did however like the electric guitar part. Probably because it really reminds me of Metallica. 6.75/10

And then came France. This song reminds me of Art vs. Science’s ‘Parlez-vous Français?’. It’s France’s theme music for the world cup. I love the dancing, the costuming, and the song itself. It’s making me dance along as I sit and type on my hospital bed like the blog nerd that I am. The French know what the audience want: catchy scat lyrics, and plenty of booty shakin’. There were minor pyrotechnic explosions in the background throughout the song. I only give this more points than Turkey because it’s more catchy, and after all that’s what Eurovision’s about: catchiness, not good metal. 9.5/10

Romania again had the conjoined electric pianos, but they were counteracted by the fact that the female lead singer looked like white Michael Jackson. The music was good, the song was shit. The costuming was tacky in a bad way, not in the good Eurovisual way. The lead female still had a fantastic opera voice, but it didn’t fit with the rest of the song. But the pyrotechnics at the end were good. 7/10

Russia’s band became famous on YouTube. Unfortunately, they look as if the fall of communism was somehow cruel to them: they just look a bit pathetic (both in the pathos inducing sense and the more commonly used sense). The acoustic guitarist looked a hell of a lot like Johnny Depp. The harmonies were marvellous. The words were incoherent. They were all really hairy. This lead singer had good falsetto. And he could work a wind machine and still seem slightly manly. 7.75/10

And now for Armenia. Again, her chest resides where her sphenoid bone ought to be. Apparently she’s the tallest performer tonight. She’s a good singer, the backup dancer is good, the backup instrumentalists were also good. The lyrics are however completely ridiculous. I do like the tune though. It’s nicely catchy. Set design was impressive, especially the tree emerging from the stone in the background. The best executed key change so far in my opinion, although as soon as the modulation had finished, the quality of the song rapidly decreased. 8/10

And then Satellites, from Lena. She sounds a hell of a lot like Missy Higgins, but it works for her. She looked a bit emo in the costume she happened to be wearing, but again, it worked for her. The song made me dance on the bed, it’s nicely catchy. I really like this song. A lot. I actually liked this equally to Turkey’s entry, but she was more Eurovisual. 9.3/10

Portugal’s entry was in Portugese. And it was a power ballad. And although their singer was in a lovely gown, she wasn’t great at singing. She’s also failed to remember that apart from Serbia in (I think it was) 2007, no-one has ever won with a song that isn’t in English. And even if I didn’t know who the winner is, I wouldn’t think they’d be the second nation to win with a non-anglophonic song. 5/10

Another power ballad from Israel. I didn’t like this song when it was on on Saturday, and I didn’t like it tonight. >5/10

Now for Denmark, which not only sounded like The Police, but had a lead male who looked like he was part of The Police. Frankly, I’d rather be playing ‘Little Lion Man’ on the Ukulele. And thus I am. 6/10

Spain performed again. I didn’t like it any more or less than the first time. Thus my opinion is unchanged.

Norwegian Josh Thomas pulled off his jacket to reveal something lime green and velvet with giant sequins on it. What the expletive?

So: my rankings for the night.
1. France
2. Germany
3. Turkey
4. Greece
5. Cyprus
6. Moldova
7. Armenia; Ireland
8. Russia
9. Belarus; Norway
10. Azerbaijan; Romania
11. Iceland; Ukraine
12. Belgium; Georgia; Serbia
13. Albania
14. Denmark
15. Portugal
16. Bosnia and Herzegovina; Great Britain; Israel; Spain

Whilst votes were being tallied, audiences across Europe danced. As the rappers made their way through the audience, we got to see a security guy manhandle screaming fans out of the way in Oslo. I lolled.

We got to watch footage of audiences around Europe dancing. It was actually quite cool. Streets full of people dancing in unison. Notable nations were Belgium, Sweden, Iceland, Germany, Ireland, Lithuania. Kudos to them.

And then us peeps at home were taught the dance. I danced along. It was fun.

A few moments later we saw the hosts again…but they were wearing different clothing. That was quick. And now Norwegian Josh Thomas is wearing a pair of butterfly wings. He is my hero.

And on to the revelation of the results. And lo, Svante appeared on high to the soundtrack of something reminiscent of Vangelis. Svante is the supreme lord god king supervisor of Eurovision.

The results: the three big points sets.
Romania: 8-Turkey; 10-Moldavia; 12-Denmark.
Ireland: 8-Germany; 10-Belgium; 12-Denmark.
Germany: 8-Greece; 10-Turkey; 12-Belgium.
Serbia: 8-Germany; 10-Greece; 12-Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Albania: 8-Turkey; 10-Germany; 12-Greece.
Turkey: 8-Bosnia and Herzegovina; 10-Germany; 12-Azerbaijan.
Croatia: 8-Serbia; 10-Bosnia and Herzegovina; 12-Turkey.
At the moment, Belarus is the only nation to still be on no points.
Poland: 8-Azerbaijan; 10-Belgium; 12-Denmark.
Bosnia and Herzegovina: 8-Germany; 10-Turkey; 12-Serbia.
Belarus is still sitting on a duck.
Finland:8-France; 10-Israel; 12-Germany.
Germany leads with a nice buffer. France isn’t doing as well as I would have thought.
Slovenia: 8-Serbia; 10-Germany; 12-Denmark.
Belarus still has nothing, and Denmark is really doing well. Clearly Europe liked The Police.
Estonia: 8-Georgia; 10-Russia; 12-Germany.
Russia: 8-Azerbaijan; 10-Georgia; 12-Armenia.
Belarus is finally off zero, on two points. But I know they won’t lose, so it’s all good.
Portugal: 8-Greece; 10-Romania; 12-Spain.
Germany has a buffer of almost 40 points. Still piddly compared to how well Alexander went last year.
Azerbaijan: 8-Georgia; 10-Ukraine; 12-Turkey.
The UK is currently on 7 points. They’ll only get to 10.
Greece: 8-France; 10-Albania; 12-Cyprus.
Iceland: 8-Greece; 10-Belgium; 12-Denmark.
Denmark: 8-Romania; 10-Belgium; 12-Germany.
Belgium has overtaken Turkey. GB is doing surprisingly well (relatively). They’ll slip.
France: 8-Portugal; 10-Serbia; 12-Turkey.
Spain: 8-Armenia; 10-Romania; 12-Germany.
Belarus is stuck on 2. They’ll get there.
Slovakia: 8-Israel; 10-Belgium; 12-Germany.
Bulgaria: 8-Armenia; 10-Turkey; 12-Azerbaijan.
Belarus is on 3 now. They’re movin’ on up.
Ukraine: 8-Turkey; 10-Russia; 12-Azerbaijan.
Latvia: 8-Russia; 10-Denmark; 12-Germany.
Ireland is on six points. It’s behind the UK at the moment. Belarus still languishing on three.
Malta: 8-Denmark; 10-Belgium; 12-Azerbaijan.
Norway: 8-Denmark; 10-Romania; 12-Germany.
Cyprus: 8-Romania; 10-Azerbaijan; 12-Greece.
UK, Ireland and Belarus are the only nations stuck on single figures. It’s moments like this that I miss the British commentator SBS used to use. He always had pithy comments to make about Britain’s pathetic performance.
Lithuania: 8-Spain; 10-Germany; 12-Georgia.
Belarus: 8-Israel; 10-Ukraine; 12-Russia.
Switzerland: 8-Albania; 10-Serbia; 12-Germany.
Ireland got six points and is finally into the realms of double digits. Come on Belarus. You can do it.
Belgium: 8-Iceland; 10-Germany; 12-Greece.
UK: 8-Romania; 10-Turkey; 12-Greece.
“And thankyou to those of you who did vote for us.” That says it all.
The Netherlands: 8-Turkey; 10-Israel; 12-Armenia.
Israel: 8-Romania; 10-Russia; 12-Armenia.
F.Y.R. Macedonia: 8-Germany; 10-Turkey; 12-Albania.
COME ON BELARUS. SURELY WIKI DIDN’T LIE TO ME!!!
Moldova: 8-Ukraine; 10-Russia; 12-Romania.
Belarus is up to six points. Time is running out. Come on Wiki, don’t fail me now.
Georgia: 8-Azerbaijan; 10-Armenia; 12-Belarus.
YESSS! GB GOT THEMSELVES TO 10, AND BELARUS GOT THE HELL AWAY FROM THEM!
Sweden: 8-Denmark; 10-Romania; 12-Germany.
Armenia: 8-Ukraine; 10-Russia; 12-Georgia.
From about halfway, it became mathematically certain that Germany would win. Good for Lena. I liked her song. Not as much as France’s or Turkey’s; but such is life. Eurovision 2011 will be in Berlin. Or Hamburg, if you look at the mass outdoor screenings across Germany.

My, my. Lena mildly pashed Alexander. As Lena talked to the hosts, she had a small army of roadies attaching mikes to her for her winner’s performance.

And there it was. Eurovision 2010.

Eurovision. Semifinal 2

The Eurovision song contest is on at the moment.

I watched the first semi-final on Friday. I was underwhelmed. Nowhere was there something ridiculously tacky and thus brilliant. There were far too many power ballads.

No, I lie. Greece, with their almost shirtless male acrobatics was so tacky I loved it. And whichever country did the song ‘Butterfly’ was marvellously sequinned.

But seriously, people, this is Eurovision, not Australian bloody Idol. Ballads = bad. Wind machines, sequins and shirtless men = good.

I watched semi-final two last night.

The first song, Lithuania, summed up what Eurovision should be: a catchy song, coupled with male stripping and sequins. Watch it on youtube. It was brilliant.

Armenia was ridiculous, if you were to listen to the lyrics themselves. But that having been said, it was an alright song, and by god they costumed in the spirit of Eurovision. The chest of the lead singer was residing somewhere in the vicinity of her sinus cavity or Sphenoid bone.

Israel’s guy had nice hair, but wasn’t the world’s greatest singer.

Song number four, Denmark, was unremarkable but for the fact that it not only sounded markedly similar to the kind of music put out by The Police, the costuming looked like something off a Police music video.

Switzerland, with song number five, made good use of the prerequisite wind machine. Their song was also rather pop-like, but there wasn’t enough male stripping.

After an ad break, there was another one of those bits where the Aussie commentators talk to the competitors. As it turns out, the guys from Lithuania are all straight. Go figure. Also, as it turns out, Julia Zemiro owns a pair of those shorts. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you clearly haven’t watched Lithuania’s song.

Sweden did well when it came to distributing glowsticks. Unfortunately, that’s where the good work ended. Eurovision it was not. It was another power ballad. The glowsticks were (I’m sorry to say) unwarranted. Cold Chisel it wasn’t. Their singer couldn’t even work the wind machine. Her hair barely moved throughout the song. This is Eurovision! I want to see hair blowing as if there are gale force winds blowing. I don’t care about how well your dress billows in the wind. I want hair in a wind tunnel.

Azerbaijan. What can I say? She was dressed appropriately (i.e. like a drag queen). Her backup singers weren’t. They just looked like high class hookers. The male dancer was wearing too much clothing, and wasn’t very good anyway. And it was another power ballad. That having been said, I was a fan of the LED lights in the dress.

Last year’s entry by the Ukraine involved a woman from a band called Viagra and a bunch of men wearing skimpy skirts and little else. This year’s entry was tasteful. And thus boring as all hell. Where’s the woman dancing suggestively with scantily clad Spartacus look-alikes? You may ask. I’ll tell you. They’re gone. Although I congratulate her on her brilliant use of a wind machine. She knows how to work that breeze, and she works it hard.

The Netherlands’ entry. Costuming was in the spirit of Eurovision. The fact that the song was written by the guy who was the voice of Papa Smurf was in the spirit of Eurovision. The set design was very much in the spirit of Eurovision. The song, in my opinion, was far too reminiscent of ABBA. It’s actually creepy. You could superimpose any ABBA lyrics on top of that song, and it would work. Thus, something which could have been brilliant in my opinion lost its brilliance because the premise has been done before.

Romania had a pair of conjoined electric pianos. It had lead singers who exemplified everything wrong with capitalist music. The woman really looked like Michael Jackson once he was white. The guy had a vein pulsating in his forehead as he sang. It was a crap song, but by Jove did they get into the spirit of it all. And as it turns out, the woman has a wonderful opera voice. She can’t sing pop for shit, but her opera voice is fantastic.

Popular folk rock. It’s a fusion between folk music and rock. It involves traditional costumes, ham acting and a piano accordion. I like. I like a lot. And the girl from Slovenia really looked like Rachel Bilson. The fusioning didn’t really work. The rock was alright, and the folk was alright, but they didn’t gel well. It was weird. The rock guys looked like a washed up Brit-punk band from the nineties would if it had been abducted by the Al-Qasam brigades.

Then came the Irish. Their singer won Eurovision in 1993. She didn’t age well. She can sing (she was a touch flat at times, but apparently she was a bit sick on the day, so I’ll forgive her), but it was a power ballad. The flute player was good. Fun fact: the television channel which broadcasts Eurovision isn’t allowed to charge for the broadcast. Ireland won three years in a row, and it almost bankrupted their national television channel.

Bulgaria. Scantily clad men and women, all covered in body glitter. The song was good – not amazing but good, but let’s focus on what’s important: they were wearing silver and were covered in glitter. the male backup dancers were also very good. At dancing. And being covered in glitter. The women…well they couldn’t dance for shit, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what they were chosen for. Sarah phoned me and expressed her love of Bulgaria’s song. She thinks they should win with that.

Cyprus’ song is sung by a Welshman, the musicians are from Scotland, Norway and Cyprus, but who’s judging. Me. That’s who. I’m judging. Not to be a bitch, but apart from the lead singer, who isn’t even a Cypriot, they lack the sheer cuteness necessary to win the song contest. And I’m so sick and tired of the bloody power ballads.

Another spate of talkies with the hosts. The Welsh lead singer was a babe. And he had the most adorable accent. A 22 year old Welsh babe with an adorable accent.

Sam Pak consistently refers to the male host as ‘Norwegian Josh Thomas’.

Croatia’s song is performed by a band called Feminem. There is however an acute lack of rap. It’s another mother expletiving power ballad. The women aren’t even using the wind machine. They’re all reasonably adept dancers, especially when their ridiculous costuming is taken into account, but their hair and dresses are screaming out for a wing machine. Absolutely begging for it. BUT THEY’RE NOT MAKING USE OF IT.

Georgia’s entry is a touch postmodern for my liking. But they at least subscribe to the Eurovision mores of men in white pants and open jackets without a shirt, dancing barefoot. But the song ended with massive pillars of fire, so I approve.

Now that I’ve mentioned lack of footwear, a hell of a lot of the performers have been barefoot for their performances. I don’t really see why. Maybe they’re trying to make a point.

From the first moment of Turkey’s performance, I loved it. There’s metal undertones, combined with exemplary wind machine usage. Strobe lights. Someone dressed up as a Samurai soldier. Quasi-rap in a manner akin to Linkin Park. Someone else, dressed as the love child which would be produced if a female PowerRanger and The Stig were to breed. Quite possibly my favourite song of the night. Definitely top three.

And as it turns out, Norwegian Josh Thomas also has a pair of those sequinned hot pants. Seriously. Watch the video. It’s brilliant to the max.

Also, all Julia can say in Hebrew is Habonim. Failq on her part.

And the host talked to the two Australian people in the audience. Who’d have thunk there would be Aussies, and who’d have thunk the hosts would have sought them out.

They also once again pulled out the tiny lookalikes of the hosts, dressed in the same clothing, to be adorable while explaining the minimum age clause.

We also got a peek of the songs which auto-qualified for the finals (the bankroller nations and the host nation). I quite like the look of France and Germany’s entries. But more of that once I’ve watched the finals.

My favourite ten of the night were (in order of performance):
Lithuania
Armenia
Denmark
Switzerland
Romania
Slovenia
Bulgaria
Cyprus (but only because of their hot singer)
Georgia
Turkey

The ten who qualified were (in the order in which they were revealed):
Georgia
Ukraine
Turkey
Israel
Ireland
Cyprus
Azerbaijan
Romania
Armenia
Denmark

The percentage of my top ten who were in Europe’s top ten:
40%

DEAR GOD, EUROPE. HOW COULD YOU HAVE FUCKED UP SO GREATLY????????? WHERE WERE THE LITHUANIAN STRIPPERS? THE SPARKLY BULGARIANS?

I am unimpressed. Of my three favourite acts, two didn’t make it. I am unimpressed, Europe. I am unimpressed.

I will however get the videos of the songs I liked, so that I can preserve the brilliance for posterity, even if the rest of Europe disagrees.