Many things in this world bug me. Injustice towards women and children, politicians without morals, greedy mining magnates who try to control the media, Rupert Murdoch, people who don't say please or thank you... the list is seemingly endless.
Some of the things that bug me are relatively minor. Or should be. But they eat away at me and drive me nuts.
The main one that's been bugging me for the last few days falls into the "actually shouldn't be a thing but it is" category. Yes, I'm talking about my old pals, spelling and grammar. They've been abused quite badly the last few days; mostly by my Facebook friends. I don't know quite why it gets to me so much, but it does. And since I can't really go ballistic about it on Facebook, because I don't want to offend these people who are (seemingly) ignorant as to their faux pas, I really need to get it off my chest somewhere. I'd hazard a guess that there's about four people who read this blog who are actually my friend on FB (and none of them are perpetrators of this particular crime!) so I'm not terribly worried about venting here.
Anyway. Let me provide you with a couple of examples of these grammatical transgressions:
1. Then vs Than
I have one particular friend whose status updates read like a shopping list of her daily achievements (or on the weekends, her social diary). I have no issue with this per say, however her constant misuse of conjunctions drives me insane. "Grocery shopping, than getting a haircut, than a manicure, than lunch with the girls, than beach time...". Part of me just wants to write "THEN NOT THAN YOU MUPPET!" in the comments section, but I'm a little too polite.
2. You're vs Your and It's vs Its
"Wow, look at you're new hair"; "Your going to love the show, its great"; "We took it's collar off for cleaning".
'Nuff said.
3. Names (and how to spell them)
My name is spelled with an 'i' at the end, instead of the more common 'y'. I won't go into the reasons for this, but suffice to say, this spelling has been in place for almost 30 years. Both my work and personal email addresses require the use of the 'i', but this doesn't prevent people from then addressing me in the body of the email using the 'y' variant. Grrrrr. It's not rocket science. Still, at least I'm not being insulted in the same way as two of the (historical) characters from Jesus Christ Superstar, which I (and several of my friends) saw over the weekend. My personal favourite mis-spelled name was 'Pilot' (for Pontius Pilate), followed closely by 'Kyaphus' (for Caiaphas). I realise that not everyone grew up going to church or being beaten over the head with a bible like I was, but please. There was a cast board out front and really? We live in the age of Google. I said it once, I'll say it again.
It's not rocket science.
(Sometimes, I read back what I've written and think to myself "I really do need to lighten up and get a life". Then I realise it's all blog fodder, shrug and hit the 'publish' button.)
Monday, June 17, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Nyquil Dreaming
I had a weird dream the other night. A Nyquil-induced dream. I was going to try and piece it together here, based on what I tweeted immediately upon wakening, which was:
#Nyquil dreams. Freaking me out yet again. #HaveCold #SleptFourteenHours #LegallyBlonde #ObesePeopleInTrolleys #NavyBluePuppies #SharedLoos
But I really can't remember any of it. I have no idea what the correlation was between Legally Blonde and Obese People In Trolleys, for example. Don't even ask why the obese people were IN trolleys instead of pushing them... I have no idea.
Also, why would puppies be navy blue? I've never seen puppies in any shade of blue, let alone navy. I suppose Shared Loos may feed into my long-held fear of going to a party at someone's house and there not being a lock on the toilet door and having someone barge in on me whilst I'm 'mid-business' (so to speak). But I don't know why I was dreaming about it. I especially don't know what it had to do with puppies and obese people.
No, I think it's safe to say I'm utterly perplexed by this one. The more I mull it over in my mind, the less I remember about it.
But it bugs me.
Still.
#Nyquil dreams. Freaking me out yet again. #HaveCold #SleptFourteenHours #LegallyBlonde #ObesePeopleInTrolleys #NavyBluePuppies #SharedLoos
But I really can't remember any of it. I have no idea what the correlation was between Legally Blonde and Obese People In Trolleys, for example. Don't even ask why the obese people were IN trolleys instead of pushing them... I have no idea.
Also, why would puppies be navy blue? I've never seen puppies in any shade of blue, let alone navy. I suppose Shared Loos may feed into my long-held fear of going to a party at someone's house and there not being a lock on the toilet door and having someone barge in on me whilst I'm 'mid-business' (so to speak). But I don't know why I was dreaming about it. I especially don't know what it had to do with puppies and obese people.
No, I think it's safe to say I'm utterly perplexed by this one. The more I mull it over in my mind, the less I remember about it.
But it bugs me.
Still.
Thursday, June 06, 2013
Under the Influence - Part 1
So the subject of my late-night-lightbulb moment was this (word for word, this is what I scrawled at about 1am):
Influence of childhood authors on later life. ie if you read widely when you're young; will your perspective be broader as an adult? Conversely: if you don't read at all or read only what you have to, to get through the education system, will you be more likely to confirm to society's standards?
Case in point. Brutha & I.
My influences (early):
Judy Blume
Elinor M Brent-Dyer
Enid Blyton
Astrid Lindgren
Laura Ingalls Wilder
Joyce Lankester Brisley
Noel Streatfeild
Elizabeth Enright
(later)
Harper Lee
JD Salinger
Jane Austen
Bret Easton Ellis
That's what I wrote. I'm kinda impressed that not only is it legible, but that it actually makes sense. Also the fact I've given an example of the case of my brother and I, impresses me.
So. Let me expand.
For as long as I can remember, I have been a voracious reader. I don't ever remember not being able to read. It's a long-standing source of pride for my mother that I walked out of my first day of school with the reader we'd been given (which we were told we would "eventually" learn to read) and proceeded to speed-read it aloud in absolute disgust in front of the other mothers, finishing up with a flourishing slam and a "this is a book for babies - when do we get real books to read?". Apparently the other mothers were in awe at my reading level. I didn't notice - I was too busy being pissed off at the pathetic selection of books being offered for my enjoyment. Thankfully, we had an understanding school librarian, who allowed me to borrow from whichever section took my fancy and I was reading from the upper primary school section by the time I was six. By the time I was nine I had read the entire children's section of our local library. Twice. Every year for my birthday (and again at Christmas) I was given at least half a dozen books. When my dad purchased a set of World Book Encyclopaedias, one of my favourite pastimes was to pick a volume at random and just read. If you ever wanted to find me as a child, you didn't need to look far. I'd be the one curled up in a chair with her nose in a book.
It's pretty safe to say, I LOVED reading. I was naturally curious about so many things, and reading answered a lot of the questions that my parents (and teachers) didn't automatically have the answers to. Of course, it also raised loads more questions, so it was a double-edged sword I guess.
Brutha, by contrast, was NOT a natural reader. He had no problems reading, per say, but he couldn't bear to sit still (unless it was on a bean bag in front of the TV at 5pm every afternoon watching Monkey and The Goodies) and spent the majority of his childhood outdoors kicking (hitting/bouncing) a ball or climbing a tree or riding his bike or (once or twice a year) scrounging through the local hard rubbish collection collecting "stuff" which he would use to build things. He read only enough to prevent him getting D's at school and had no interest in the written word. Movies, he loved. He was all about the visual. But even if you bought him a novelised version of Star Wars, you couldn't get him to read it. Reading for enjoyment was not something he subscribed to. I remember his final year of school being quite the battle in our household. I'm sure in his mind, knuckling down to study for exams equalled the worst possible form of torture.
To say we were polar opposites is somewhat of an understatement.
As a child, I lived vicariously through books. I sought adventures to far away places in the words of the authors whose books I inhaled. As an adult, I have been inspired to visit many of the places and undertake many of the activities I read about as a child. My curiosity and sense of adventure can (in no small part) be attributed directly to the words I read as a child. I've travelled widely, studied any number of fascinating subjects in great detail and have a perpetual "what if/imagine that/why is it..." attitude towards life. I rack up frequent flyer points like a business traveller on speed. There are so many places in the world I want to visit that I'm terrified I'll die before I get to see them all. There are so many things I still want to achieve that I worry I'll never fit them all. I haven't lived in my hometown for over twenty years and I have no intention of ever living there again. In fact, I've lived in over twenty different places since I first moved out of home. That's an average of a new place every 12 months. That's not really normal, is it?
By contrast, Brutha lives less than half an hour from the place we grew up. He's worked in many jobs, but until recently, they've not been jobs he's interested in - they've just been a means to paying the bills. Now he's working as a landscape gardener and although he complains that the work is quite physically taxing, he's enjoying it. Brutha has never been overseas (and I highly doubt he'd ever want to). His idea of "travel" is to take his wife and daughters to stay at the in-laws farm which is an hour's drive followed by an hour's ferry trip away from his house. I think the last time he went on a plane was when he went on his honeymoon to North Queensland, which was in the mid-1990s. He didn't much care for that holiday by all accounts. Lying by a pool or exploring a rainforest is not his idea of fun. I'm not entirely sure, because by the time he returned from that trip, I was safely ensconced back in London and planning trips to Scotland (to go in search of the elusive Hamish Macbeth, whiskey and men in kilts) and Switzerland (in search of ski slopes, fondue and the location of the Chalet School books). He is more than happy to spend the remainder of his life doing the job he's doing, doing home improvements, spending his weekends at the local sporting clubs (cricket in summer, hockey in winter) and adding to his (already-ridiculously-huge) collection of Marvel comic memorabilia. Oh yeah. He's also a hoarder (takes after our mother who I swear saves every scrap of anything that crosses her path). Apart from books, I live a pretty uncluttered life. I could pack up my house and be ready to move in a day. Or less.
Our politics are also wildly different. My parents were/are quite conservative. I'm pretty sure my mother voted for John Howard. I've voted for a few different parties over the years... I do a lot of research into who to vote for and why, regardless of party (having said that, you'll never see me voting Liberal/Coalition. Ever.). My mother doesn't agree with my political views (and I abhor hers), but we've learnt to not to get into an argument about them. In contrast, Brutha votes the same way my dad did (which is the same way my mother votes). No questions asked. Just tick the box. It's not important. Keep the status quo. Don't get involved with that stuff.
Yep. If we didn't share a physical resemblance, I'd swear we weren't related.
Which brings me to the subject at hand. I guess it's a nature vs nurture thing? Or is it? We have the same parents, were raised in the same household. Yet our outlooks on everything are vastly different. I can't even begin to understand how he's happy (and he is happy) with his day-to-day life; and he is totally bamboozled by my constant need for new experiences, to explore the world and to look at life from a global perspective.
Wow. I've just scrolled back through what I've written and it's long. And that's just the intro. I haven't even started on the main argument. Maybe I'll make this a two part post and let this one sink in first.
Well done if you've made it this far... stay tuned for Part 2!
Influence of childhood authors on later life. ie if you read widely when you're young; will your perspective be broader as an adult? Conversely: if you don't read at all or read only what you have to, to get through the education system, will you be more likely to confirm to society's standards?
Case in point. Brutha & I.
My influences (early):
Judy Blume
Elinor M Brent-Dyer
Enid Blyton
Astrid Lindgren
Laura Ingalls Wilder
Joyce Lankester Brisley
Noel Streatfeild
Elizabeth Enright
(later)
Harper Lee
JD Salinger
Jane Austen
Bret Easton Ellis
That's what I wrote. I'm kinda impressed that not only is it legible, but that it actually makes sense. Also the fact I've given an example of the case of my brother and I, impresses me.
So. Let me expand.
For as long as I can remember, I have been a voracious reader. I don't ever remember not being able to read. It's a long-standing source of pride for my mother that I walked out of my first day of school with the reader we'd been given (which we were told we would "eventually" learn to read) and proceeded to speed-read it aloud in absolute disgust in front of the other mothers, finishing up with a flourishing slam and a "this is a book for babies - when do we get real books to read?". Apparently the other mothers were in awe at my reading level. I didn't notice - I was too busy being pissed off at the pathetic selection of books being offered for my enjoyment. Thankfully, we had an understanding school librarian, who allowed me to borrow from whichever section took my fancy and I was reading from the upper primary school section by the time I was six. By the time I was nine I had read the entire children's section of our local library. Twice. Every year for my birthday (and again at Christmas) I was given at least half a dozen books. When my dad purchased a set of World Book Encyclopaedias, one of my favourite pastimes was to pick a volume at random and just read. If you ever wanted to find me as a child, you didn't need to look far. I'd be the one curled up in a chair with her nose in a book.
It's pretty safe to say, I LOVED reading. I was naturally curious about so many things, and reading answered a lot of the questions that my parents (and teachers) didn't automatically have the answers to. Of course, it also raised loads more questions, so it was a double-edged sword I guess.
Brutha, by contrast, was NOT a natural reader. He had no problems reading, per say, but he couldn't bear to sit still (unless it was on a bean bag in front of the TV at 5pm every afternoon watching Monkey and The Goodies) and spent the majority of his childhood outdoors kicking (hitting/bouncing) a ball or climbing a tree or riding his bike or (once or twice a year) scrounging through the local hard rubbish collection collecting "stuff" which he would use to build things. He read only enough to prevent him getting D's at school and had no interest in the written word. Movies, he loved. He was all about the visual. But even if you bought him a novelised version of Star Wars, you couldn't get him to read it. Reading for enjoyment was not something he subscribed to. I remember his final year of school being quite the battle in our household. I'm sure in his mind, knuckling down to study for exams equalled the worst possible form of torture.
To say we were polar opposites is somewhat of an understatement.
As a child, I lived vicariously through books. I sought adventures to far away places in the words of the authors whose books I inhaled. As an adult, I have been inspired to visit many of the places and undertake many of the activities I read about as a child. My curiosity and sense of adventure can (in no small part) be attributed directly to the words I read as a child. I've travelled widely, studied any number of fascinating subjects in great detail and have a perpetual "what if/imagine that/why is it..." attitude towards life. I rack up frequent flyer points like a business traveller on speed. There are so many places in the world I want to visit that I'm terrified I'll die before I get to see them all. There are so many things I still want to achieve that I worry I'll never fit them all. I haven't lived in my hometown for over twenty years and I have no intention of ever living there again. In fact, I've lived in over twenty different places since I first moved out of home. That's an average of a new place every 12 months. That's not really normal, is it?
By contrast, Brutha lives less than half an hour from the place we grew up. He's worked in many jobs, but until recently, they've not been jobs he's interested in - they've just been a means to paying the bills. Now he's working as a landscape gardener and although he complains that the work is quite physically taxing, he's enjoying it. Brutha has never been overseas (and I highly doubt he'd ever want to). His idea of "travel" is to take his wife and daughters to stay at the in-laws farm which is an hour's drive followed by an hour's ferry trip away from his house. I think the last time he went on a plane was when he went on his honeymoon to North Queensland, which was in the mid-1990s. He didn't much care for that holiday by all accounts. Lying by a pool or exploring a rainforest is not his idea of fun. I'm not entirely sure, because by the time he returned from that trip, I was safely ensconced back in London and planning trips to Scotland (to go in search of the elusive Hamish Macbeth, whiskey and men in kilts) and Switzerland (in search of ski slopes, fondue and the location of the Chalet School books). He is more than happy to spend the remainder of his life doing the job he's doing, doing home improvements, spending his weekends at the local sporting clubs (cricket in summer, hockey in winter) and adding to his (already-ridiculously-huge) collection of Marvel comic memorabilia. Oh yeah. He's also a hoarder (takes after our mother who I swear saves every scrap of anything that crosses her path). Apart from books, I live a pretty uncluttered life. I could pack up my house and be ready to move in a day. Or less.
Our politics are also wildly different. My parents were/are quite conservative. I'm pretty sure my mother voted for John Howard. I've voted for a few different parties over the years... I do a lot of research into who to vote for and why, regardless of party (having said that, you'll never see me voting Liberal/Coalition. Ever.). My mother doesn't agree with my political views (and I abhor hers), but we've learnt to not to get into an argument about them. In contrast, Brutha votes the same way my dad did (which is the same way my mother votes). No questions asked. Just tick the box. It's not important. Keep the status quo. Don't get involved with that stuff.
Yep. If we didn't share a physical resemblance, I'd swear we weren't related.
Which brings me to the subject at hand. I guess it's a nature vs nurture thing? Or is it? We have the same parents, were raised in the same household. Yet our outlooks on everything are vastly different. I can't even begin to understand how he's happy (and he is happy) with his day-to-day life; and he is totally bamboozled by my constant need for new experiences, to explore the world and to look at life from a global perspective.
Wow. I've just scrolled back through what I've written and it's long. And that's just the intro. I haven't even started on the main argument. Maybe I'll make this a two part post and let this one sink in first.
Well done if you've made it this far... stay tuned for Part 2!
Tuesday, June 04, 2013
Noted
Some of my best (and strangest) ideas occur in that moment right before I go to sleep... just as my head hits the pillow and I'm usually having a conversation with myself over something I did (or didn't) do during the day. Often, I'll lie there for a minute or two and suddenly I'll have a lightbulb moment on how to deal with whatever it is. When this happens, I have two choices:
1. Get up and do whatever my brain is telling me to do (thus delaying sleep - never a good idea with me); or
2. Grab the notebook beside my bed, write it down in as much detail as I can muster at that late hour, then turn off the light and go to sleep.
Yes. I've learned to keep a notebook and pen beside my bed. It took me a few years of using the most unlikely of writing instruments (eyeliner, lip pencil) on the most unlikely of notebook substitutes (kleenex, sales receipts); but thankfully, Typo and their 3 x A5 notebooks for $10 sales have meant I'm much more organised when it comes to late-night-lightbulb-moments.
Usually, it's so late and I'm so tired, that I end up scrawling some nonsense that is indecipherable the next day. I have notebooks full of scribbles that even I can't make any sense of. I'm sure there are some brilliant ideas just waiting to be uncovered - sadly I think they'll never see the light of day. However, last night I actually managed to write down a page of extremely coherent notes about a topic that has been rolling around my mind for days.
Wonders will never cease.
Now please excuse me while I go and transpose these notes into my next blog post. This one will actually require a bit of research, so it may take a day or two.
Until then, might I recommend watching the latest series of Arrested Development? It's amusing me no end.
x
1. Get up and do whatever my brain is telling me to do (thus delaying sleep - never a good idea with me); or
2. Grab the notebook beside my bed, write it down in as much detail as I can muster at that late hour, then turn off the light and go to sleep.
Yes. I've learned to keep a notebook and pen beside my bed. It took me a few years of using the most unlikely of writing instruments (eyeliner, lip pencil) on the most unlikely of notebook substitutes (kleenex, sales receipts); but thankfully, Typo and their 3 x A5 notebooks for $10 sales have meant I'm much more organised when it comes to late-night-lightbulb-moments.
Usually, it's so late and I'm so tired, that I end up scrawling some nonsense that is indecipherable the next day. I have notebooks full of scribbles that even I can't make any sense of. I'm sure there are some brilliant ideas just waiting to be uncovered - sadly I think they'll never see the light of day. However, last night I actually managed to write down a page of extremely coherent notes about a topic that has been rolling around my mind for days.
Wonders will never cease.
Now please excuse me while I go and transpose these notes into my next blog post. This one will actually require a bit of research, so it may take a day or two.
Until then, might I recommend watching the latest series of Arrested Development? It's amusing me no end.
x
Monday, June 03, 2013
Talking in Code
Scrolling through my Facebook feed tonight, I came across a status update from one of my friends complaining about the fact he felt out of it because everyone was updating about the latest ep of Game of Thrones. He is holding out watching on a weekly basis so he can watch the entire series in one sitting. He has no idea what anyone was referring to and he felt a little excluded.
I don't watch Game of Thrones. Never have. It's up there with Mad Men and the Twilight saga on the list of things I feel I probably should watch, but likely never will because I just don't get the fuss surrounding it. It does make me feel a little like Ann Perkins in Parks and Rec when she's talking to Donna about that very topic:
You can't see Ann's blank-faced response in these pics, but you get the idea. She's as clueless about GoT as I am.
Which kinda segue-ways me into the point of this post.
Everyone has their own language. Pop Culture language, that is. And they have certain groups of friends who understand this language, and if they're lucky enough, can speak that language.
Case in point. My friend M and I. We've only known each other for about a year, but we figured out pretty early on that we were separated at birth. Why? We speak the same language. A language that revolves around the quirky things which we are (some would say obsessed) fascinated with, such as:
- US politics (specifically Hillary Clinton running for President in 2016. We are willing to campaign on her behalf)
- Awards shows (our preferred hosts are Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, closely followed by Neil Patrick Harris)
- Anything written by Aaron Sorkin (especially The West Wing and The Newsroom)
- Doctor Who
- Arrested Development
- Saturday Night Live
- Parks andRecreation
Our fascination/obsession with the last one in particular, manifests itself in our ability to retain huge quantities of trivial information and random dialogue which we delight in using to confuse those around us. It's like our own secret language. We throw around seemingly benign comments about waffles, calzones and bacon and use phrases like "Treat Yo' Self" and "LITERALLY" in general conversation. It's like our own little clique. I was never in the cool clique in high school and I'd hazard a guess that M wasn't either, so maybe this is our grown-up way of compensating. In a rather juvenile way, of course.
It still feels like I'm on the outside a little, though, when the 'cool kids' start referencing GoT.
But I guess the difference now is that I'm not trying to keep up with them because I have my own 'cool' language that they don't get. Plus I've found a friend who does.
Which is even cooler.
LITERALLY.
Thursday, May 02, 2013
Beauty Rituals
My beautician has implemented a frequent treatment card system - a bit like the coffee card used at the cafe across the road from my work. That card is awesome - I get at least two free coffees a week (and I only work at that place on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays). I actually buy more coffee from my local cafe, but they don't have a coffee card system - they're far too posh for that. Either that or they know that I'd be back every second day to collect my freebie.
Anyway, the deal with my beautician's frequent treatment card is that after five visits you get a free eyelash tint and when you get to ten visits, you get $25 off a facial. I presume you then go back to the beginning and start again... I haven't been going there long enough to know. I'm sure I'll find out eventually - I am in there every four weeks for hot wax torture.
But today marked my 6th visit since I realised this scheme existed and so (because we forgot last visit), I got my free eyelash tint.
I can hear those of you who know me and therefore know my colouring, snorting from here.
My heritage is a mixture of Scots, English, German and Spanish. In terms of colouring, I definitely drew from the Spanish side of the family. My hair is quite a dark brown, I have ridiculously dark eyebrows and I have very long and very dark eyelashes.
I'm not really the target market for an eyelash tint and I did question the point of having one, but my beautician insisted it would really enhance my eyes. "Make them pop" was the actual expression she used, which made me think of the odd occasion my Granddad would pop his glass eye out to freak us when we were kids. Not pleasant. But I went ahead with it anyway. It was free. What did I care?
Well, other than there being the slightest amount of residue around my eyelashes, which makes it look like I'm wearing eyeliner, I can't flippin' tell the difference.
So imagine my expression when, as my beautician is rebooking me for my next waxing appointment, she perkily asks if I want to book in for another eyelash tint? She wasn't actually looking at my face as she asked it, so I had a few seconds to school my features into something resembling neutrality. Thankfully.
Because if she'd looked at me as she was asking me, she would've seen this expression:
But by the small mercy of her starting at her computer screen as she was asking the question, she got this expression:
Another eyelash tint. REALLY? REALLY???
Nice try lady, but this isn't Maccas and I'm not upsizing to the combo.
Anyway, the deal with my beautician's frequent treatment card is that after five visits you get a free eyelash tint and when you get to ten visits, you get $25 off a facial. I presume you then go back to the beginning and start again... I haven't been going there long enough to know. I'm sure I'll find out eventually - I am in there every four weeks for hot wax torture.
But today marked my 6th visit since I realised this scheme existed and so (because we forgot last visit), I got my free eyelash tint.
I can hear those of you who know me and therefore know my colouring, snorting from here.
My heritage is a mixture of Scots, English, German and Spanish. In terms of colouring, I definitely drew from the Spanish side of the family. My hair is quite a dark brown, I have ridiculously dark eyebrows and I have very long and very dark eyelashes.
I'm not really the target market for an eyelash tint and I did question the point of having one, but my beautician insisted it would really enhance my eyes. "Make them pop" was the actual expression she used, which made me think of the odd occasion my Granddad would pop his glass eye out to freak us when we were kids. Not pleasant. But I went ahead with it anyway. It was free. What did I care?
Well, other than there being the slightest amount of residue around my eyelashes, which makes it look like I'm wearing eyeliner, I can't flippin' tell the difference.
So imagine my expression when, as my beautician is rebooking me for my next waxing appointment, she perkily asks if I want to book in for another eyelash tint? She wasn't actually looking at my face as she asked it, so I had a few seconds to school my features into something resembling neutrality. Thankfully.
Because if she'd looked at me as she was asking me, she would've seen this expression:
But by the small mercy of her starting at her computer screen as she was asking the question, she got this expression:
Another eyelash tint. REALLY? REALLY???
Nice try lady, but this isn't Maccas and I'm not upsizing to the combo.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Do The Movie Mash
A friend posted this on my facebook wall the other day:
As you may have already gathered, I had mixed feelings about this film. Loved Aaron Tveit, hated Russell Crowe. The usual stuff.
So of course this little piece of YouTube genius appealed to me on so many levels. Kudos to the person(s) who made it. I'm highly impressed.
What particularly impressed me (and inspired me) was the Forrest Gump reference at 0:37... so much so that I had to hit pause for a good three minutes whilst I snorted with laughter. I snort with laughter on a fairly regular basis, but this in particular tickled me no end. And got me thinking... imagine a Les Mis/Forrest Gump mash up!
Yes, I can hear you groaning. But just think about it. The similarities between the two movies are definitely there...
Jean Valjean. Overcomes adversity to become a successful businessman but harbours guilt and a yearning for something he cannot have. Becomes involved with a woman who dies, leaving him in charge of (her) child.
Forrest Gump. Overcomes adversity to become a successful businessman but harbours guilt and a yearning for something he cannot have. Becomes involved with a woman who dies, leaving him in charge of (their) child.
And don't even get me started on the women...
Fantine (no surname), who has a terrible history with abusive men, has a child out of wedlock, turns to prostitution, falls ill and dies, leaving her child in the care of the man who tries to save her.
Jenny (no surname), who has a terrible history with abusive men, has a child out of wedlock, (doesn't necessarily turn to prostitution, but she had to pay for that drug habit somehow, so you do the math...), falls ill and dies, leaving her child in the care of the man who (always) tries to save her.
It's positively spooky how similar they are.
Also, think of the fun scenes you could mash up:
Every time Javert is chasing Valjean, Fantine could be there screaming "Run, Valjean, RUN!".
When Forrest carries Bubba out of the jungle, he could sing "Bring Him Home" over his half-dead body.
Valjean could turn up somewhere in the south operating his own shrimping boat, with Marius, who lost his legs in the sewers (all those faeces caused infections) swinging from the mast and encourage Valjean to invest in a startup company which would make them millions.
Oh yeah. The possibilities are endless. I'd TOTALLY watch that movie.
I'm going to go and plot some other movie mash ups now... this could be FUN.
1 May 2013
**** STOP THE PRESS!! ****
Have had a better idea on the shrimp boat concept...
Scrap Marius.
Javert doesn't actually die (like he wants to) when he jumps off the bridge. He does however smash his legs to bits so they have to amputate them. He spends years brooding some more and drinking and blaming Valjean for his troubles, but eventually joins Valjean on the shrimp boat, becomes his friend, encourages him to invest in the startup company which makes them millionaires and turns up years later with prosthetic legs and a lovely lady who accepts him just the way he is.
YEAH. That's more like it. A Javert/Lieutenant Dan combo.
I'm on a roll here, people.
As you may have already gathered, I had mixed feelings about this film. Loved Aaron Tveit, hated Russell Crowe. The usual stuff.
So of course this little piece of YouTube genius appealed to me on so many levels. Kudos to the person(s) who made it. I'm highly impressed.
What particularly impressed me (and inspired me) was the Forrest Gump reference at 0:37... so much so that I had to hit pause for a good three minutes whilst I snorted with laughter. I snort with laughter on a fairly regular basis, but this in particular tickled me no end. And got me thinking... imagine a Les Mis/Forrest Gump mash up!
Yes, I can hear you groaning. But just think about it. The similarities between the two movies are definitely there...
Jean Valjean. Overcomes adversity to become a successful businessman but harbours guilt and a yearning for something he cannot have. Becomes involved with a woman who dies, leaving him in charge of (her) child.
Forrest Gump. Overcomes adversity to become a successful businessman but harbours guilt and a yearning for something he cannot have. Becomes involved with a woman who dies, leaving him in charge of (their) child.
And don't even get me started on the women...
Fantine (no surname), who has a terrible history with abusive men, has a child out of wedlock, turns to prostitution, falls ill and dies, leaving her child in the care of the man who tries to save her.
Jenny (no surname), who has a terrible history with abusive men, has a child out of wedlock, (doesn't necessarily turn to prostitution, but she had to pay for that drug habit somehow, so you do the math...), falls ill and dies, leaving her child in the care of the man who (always) tries to save her.
It's positively spooky how similar they are.
Also, think of the fun scenes you could mash up:
Every time Javert is chasing Valjean, Fantine could be there screaming "Run, Valjean, RUN!".
When Forrest carries Bubba out of the jungle, he could sing "Bring Him Home" over his half-dead body.
Valjean could turn up somewhere in the south operating his own shrimping boat, with Marius, who lost his legs in the sewers (all those faeces caused infections) swinging from the mast and encourage Valjean to invest in a startup company which would make them millions.
Oh yeah. The possibilities are endless. I'd TOTALLY watch that movie.
I'm going to go and plot some other movie mash ups now... this could be FUN.
1 May 2013
**** STOP THE PRESS!! ****
Have had a better idea on the shrimp boat concept...
Scrap Marius.
Javert doesn't actually die (like he wants to) when he jumps off the bridge. He does however smash his legs to bits so they have to amputate them. He spends years brooding some more and drinking and blaming Valjean for his troubles, but eventually joins Valjean on the shrimp boat, becomes his friend, encourages him to invest in the startup company which makes them millionaires and turns up years later with prosthetic legs and a lovely lady who accepts him just the way he is.
YEAH. That's more like it. A Javert/Lieutenant Dan combo.
I'm on a roll here, people.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
This Is Why I'm Clueless About New Music
I blame digital radio.
Specifically, I blame whoever introduced me (I think it was my friend Kane) to the app I downloaded to my phone, which allows me to listen to radio stations from around the globe at the drop of a hat (and a wifi connection).
Since I discovered this app and all the glorious radio stations available to me (about a year ago), I have barely listened to Triple J or Nova or RRR or any of the other radio stations which could conceivably introduce me to new music. No. Instead I listen to Non-Stop 80s Radio or Awesome 80s Radio or (my personal favourite) Movie Ticket Radio (Pop).
All 80s. ALL THE FREAKING TIME. They play stuff I don't even have in my (extensive) music collection. Now THAT'S impressive.
As for Movie Ticket Radio (Pop) (there is a Classic version, which I also listen to occasionally). Well. WELL. It is what is says. Music featured in movies. This covers everything from the awesome Jerry Orbach crooning Be Our Guest from Beauty and the Beast to Shirley Bassey's iconic Goldfinger from the James Bond movie of the same name to The Pixies' classic Where Is My Mind from Fight Club. It's seriously awesome.
I spend most of my work-from-home time with one of these digital stations playing in the background - in fact Non-Stop 80s Radio is blaring out some classic A-ha number (not Take On Me - the other one they had about sun shining on televisions) as I type.
The only downside about listening to these stations, is that I am now utterly clueless when it comes to current music. I could no more tell you the title of the latest Daft Punk song than I could hum the tune of anything by Rhianna.
As someone who prides herself on being fairly up with pop culture, I am somewhat embarrassed by this and I apologise profusely to those artists (particularly the local ones) trying to to break into the industry who rely on people like me listening to radio stations playing their music and then jumping onto iTunes to download their album.
I'M REALLY SORRY AND I WISH YOU ALL THE LUCK IN THE WORLD, BUT I'VE BECOME ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.
I'm just not listening to new stuff because the old stuff is just so freaking good.
Soz.
Specifically, I blame whoever introduced me (I think it was my friend Kane) to the app I downloaded to my phone, which allows me to listen to radio stations from around the globe at the drop of a hat (and a wifi connection).
Since I discovered this app and all the glorious radio stations available to me (about a year ago), I have barely listened to Triple J or Nova or RRR or any of the other radio stations which could conceivably introduce me to new music. No. Instead I listen to Non-Stop 80s Radio or Awesome 80s Radio or (my personal favourite) Movie Ticket Radio (Pop).
All 80s. ALL THE FREAKING TIME. They play stuff I don't even have in my (extensive) music collection. Now THAT'S impressive.
As for Movie Ticket Radio (Pop) (there is a Classic version, which I also listen to occasionally). Well. WELL. It is what is says. Music featured in movies. This covers everything from the awesome Jerry Orbach crooning Be Our Guest from Beauty and the Beast to Shirley Bassey's iconic Goldfinger from the James Bond movie of the same name to The Pixies' classic Where Is My Mind from Fight Club. It's seriously awesome.
I spend most of my work-from-home time with one of these digital stations playing in the background - in fact Non-Stop 80s Radio is blaring out some classic A-ha number (not Take On Me - the other one they had about sun shining on televisions) as I type.
The only downside about listening to these stations, is that I am now utterly clueless when it comes to current music. I could no more tell you the title of the latest Daft Punk song than I could hum the tune of anything by Rhianna.
As someone who prides herself on being fairly up with pop culture, I am somewhat embarrassed by this and I apologise profusely to those artists (particularly the local ones) trying to to break into the industry who rely on people like me listening to radio stations playing their music and then jumping onto iTunes to download their album.
I'M REALLY SORRY AND I WISH YOU ALL THE LUCK IN THE WORLD, BUT I'VE BECOME ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.
I'm just not listening to new stuff because the old stuff is just so freaking good.
Soz.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Some Days, There Just Aren't Enough GIFs
So, this morning I went on a little shopping expedition to Chadstone with a mate. I wanted to go to Gap for more boxers (see this post for a refresher) and since said mate has a couple of munchkins, she wanted to check out Gap Kids so I tagged along upstairs once I'd found what I needed.
We didn't find anything for the munchkins, but our reaction to the discovery that a Gap Kids size XL is the perfect fit for the two of us, was something akin to this:
There was an entire wall of sale items, so I got the cutest sweater in the boys section for the bargain price of $14.25 (which for Gap is practically 90% off) and my mate picked up a polka-dot cardigan for about $25.
Needless to say, we WILL be returning. OFTEN.
So then I get home and they're putting up scaffolding around my block of flats in preparation for re-roofing. Right around the whole building. The banging of metal was annoying enough but to discover I've lost almost all the natural light in my study made me feel like this:
Then I checked a few work emails. One was from a colleague in Sydney and opened with the line "Thank you for offering to assist with...".
I had to physically step away from the keyboard to prevent myself from hitting the reply button and typing: "Just for the record, I NEVER OFFERED TO ASSIST YOU - MY BOSS JUST TOLD ME I HAD TO DO THIS - I WOULD'VE BEEN FIRED IF I'D SAID NO."
Because really, when it comes to adding to my (already quite heavy) workload, I feel mostly like this:
But then, that's mostly got to do with the fact that I don't want to do any aspect of my job right now and I'm getting increasingly desperate to find a new place to work.
So.
That's a snapshot of my day in GIF form. How was yours?
Sunday, April 21, 2013
It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...
My life is a series of "It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time" moments, all randomly strung together.
A bit like this blog.
There's so much I could write about.
So much I want to write about.
A million thoughts running through my head but they're all fleeting.
I'm really hating my job at the moment and I want to change direction and find something new, but the job market's tough and I can't even get a foot in the door at any of the places I'm interested in working.
Life would be a lot easier if I had a definite plan for what I wanted to do.
Trouble is, I don't.
I don't have a single clue WHAT I want to do with my life, other than that I DON'T want to do what I'm currently doing.
Is that any way to live my life? I'm really not sure. It's the only way I've known how to live it. I’ve never been much of a one for ten year plans or goal setting. I mean, I am ok at setting goals in a “hey, that sounds like a good idea so I’ll go do it” kind of way. Heading off to travel the world was a prime example of that. Quitting the corporate world to go to drama school was another.
But now I have to factor in things like being able to pay the rent and bills; and I don't have any savings to speak of, making my current desire to give a big, fat "fuck you" to my job an impossibility.
It's frustrating me no end and I'm really in need of a big ol' cup of "sort it the hell out" before I lose my mind...
Anyone know where I can get one of those?
A bit like this blog.
There's so much I could write about.
So much I want to write about.
A million thoughts running through my head but they're all fleeting.
I'm really hating my job at the moment and I want to change direction and find something new, but the job market's tough and I can't even get a foot in the door at any of the places I'm interested in working.
Life would be a lot easier if I had a definite plan for what I wanted to do.
Trouble is, I don't.
I don't have a single clue WHAT I want to do with my life, other than that I DON'T want to do what I'm currently doing.
Is that any way to live my life? I'm really not sure. It's the only way I've known how to live it. I’ve never been much of a one for ten year plans or goal setting. I mean, I am ok at setting goals in a “hey, that sounds like a good idea so I’ll go do it” kind of way. Heading off to travel the world was a prime example of that. Quitting the corporate world to go to drama school was another.
But now I have to factor in things like being able to pay the rent and bills; and I don't have any savings to speak of, making my current desire to give a big, fat "fuck you" to my job an impossibility.
It's frustrating me no end and I'm really in need of a big ol' cup of "sort it the hell out" before I lose my mind...
Anyone know where I can get one of those?
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