Monday, May 28, 2007
My parents went out to a trivia, quiz thing the other night. They didn’t get home until 11:48…
What the hell goes ON at trivia nights nowadays? Surely they’re just a ruse for old people to meet up with other old people, and show off and decide who knows the oldest information. Since when have trivia nights turned into raving parties that go until almost midnight? Midnight! Old people’s cars turn into PUMPKINS at midnight and their shoes fall off! Aren’t they cutting it a little close?
Anyway, it’s kind of damaging for my self esteem. I went out as well that night, and saw a movie, and I was home by ten o’clock. My parents are cooler than I am… and they went to a TRIVIA NIGHT!
Now that’s pathetic.
A note for professional, recording pop musicians:
I’m not sure why they still exist, but “hidden tracks” on CDs are not cool. They are not rewarding. They do not enhance my appreciation of a CD… In fact, they kind of, a little bit, maybe, make me loathe it with a passion that burns with the fire of a thousand suns.
Myth 1: Secret tracks “reward” true fans of a band…
Because fanatics will sit through 10 minutes of silence to hear a track that probably isn’t even that good. But, as I said, only fanatics will do this. These people are crazy. They do not deserve mentioning.
Surely a REAL fan of a band would LEAP up the minute a CD finishes, RUSH over to their CD player and (once more) press the glorious play button so that they can (once more) listen to the earth-shattering life-transcending music they so love.
Not listen to static for 8 minutes and 37 seconds.
Okay, maybe I’m just lazy and have no patience, but I have better things to do with eight minutes of my life. I could make FOUR packets of 2 minutes noodles in that time, and quarter-cook another so that the noodles are just starting to get soggy. And then I could EAT those noodles, while listening to my CD from the very beginning.
Myth 2: Secret tracks “reward” true fans with awesome songs…
Look, there’s a reason your producer didn’t want to include it on the actual album: because it’s crap. Move on.
(And, if it’s THAT good, why don’t you just release it as a single?)
Myth 3: Secret tracks allow an artist to share a very special part of themselves with a wider audience through song, even if that song is kind of lame…
Look, I’m sure it’s a very, very, “very special” part of you and all, but if it means that much to you… just sing it to yourself as you fall asleep at night. And curl up into the foetal position, or whatever.
I have no tolerance for you.
The scope and range of Tobey Maguire’s acting abilities have truly been revealed in the latest Spider-Man movie, “Spider-Man 3.”
First he is Ego Spider-Man, then Emo Spider-Man (complete with Jared Leto inspired devil-lock), then Spider-Mac (a slick and slightly greasy eyeliner-ed player who hip-shakes his way through town macking on all the ladies) and, finally, heroic Spider “You Da Man” Man, who we’ve all come to know and love.
If it weren’t so bad-ass, it would be just plain bad.
Posted at 01:23 am by tawnyfawn
Friday, February 16, 2007
You know how they play movies on planes? Well, I think they should only play really scary plane-serial-killer movies from now on.
Think about it... There was 'Red Eye' (with a crazy killer on a plane), 'Flight Plan' (with a missing child NOT on a plane) and 'Snakes on a Plane' (with, uh, snakes on a plane).
I just like to think about how the passengers could be traumatised for life.
Posted at 10:20 pm by tawnyfawn
Sunday, December 31, 2006
It's sad that a 'new year' isn't just something you can get (or keep) whenever you want. It's not like a new pair of shoes, or something. You can't just go out and buy a new one if you feel like it.
Though it does have the inevitability of shoes. It's inevitable that the new year will end, it's inevitable that a pair of shoes will wear out and die.
And I always feel quite sad when I have to throw out a favourite pair of sneakers. I usually keep them in the back of my cupboard, for nostalgic reasons.
New Year’s Eve always seemed to be a much bigger deal when I was younger. There was more food, more fireworks, more fun. There was a greater sense of anticipation about the whole thing, and the New Year seemed to be a whole new shiny fresh start. Maybe I’m just becoming cynical and off-my-lawn-ish in my old age, but it just doesn’t seem as if a few minutes can make such a difference anymore.
At least, I don’t think it’s the minutes themselves that mean anything. Obviously what you do with those few minutes can make a big difference. I should probably try and come with something awesome to do with those few minutes – something totally life defining – but I think my options are pretty limited.
I guess I could go and hug my sister or something, but that might be a little too emotional for me.
Still, I WAS going to be working to night, so thank goodness I’m not. That work-plan kind of killed the ability to make any other plans, though. I’m so lonely. I should own an Alsatian. (You know they changed ‘German Shepard’ to ‘Alsatian’ during WWII. It’s like “freedom fries.” How propaganda-esque, almost.)
Anyway, I think the reason New Year’s Eve doesn’t seem to be such a big deal is that it’s much easier to stay awake now. Like, when I was little it was SO HARD to make it to midnight. I’d have to try counting to 1047 (because that was the number I always counted to) and I read the ‘Magicians of Caprona’ by Diana Wynne Jones every year.
And now I can stay up ‘til two o’clock in the morning every night, and it’s just not the same, you know?
I love writing ‘o’clock.’ o’clock. o’clock. It’s really fun.
But, despite my slightly melancholy mood, some excitement still exists. I’ve had ‘Bohemian Like You’ stuck in my head all day. And I wore my awesome new purple gumboots, which I just can’t shut up about, and I bought an umbrella. And, okay, so maybe my rampant commercialism isn’t the best way to welcome in the New Year, but those things did make me happy.
And I saw Marie Antoinette (which was actually a really good movie, I don’t know what the critics are on about. Yes, it’s pretty, but it’s also other good plot-filled, subtle things. And I thought her character progressed, I understood her motivations, etc etc. Seriously, movie reviewers just suck, I think).
Anyway, it’s been a good, wholesome day, even if it’s not one that ushers in the New Year with promise and potential and ‘bang’. (That’s onomatopoeia, right?)
Crap. It’s eleven fifty-seven (I love writing numbers in words) and I still really cannot think of something awesome to do. I have three minutes left.
Okay, back in a moment. I might try touching my toes.
Turned out I didn’t have to hug my sister at all. She did it for me. It kind of hurt (both spine and soul).
In those twelve minutes from one year to another I got a glass of water, a hug, my hair pulled, annoyed, and corn chips. I also discussed the choreography of fireworks.
I feel quite hopeful about the New Year, now.
Songs that feel like New Year’s Eve:
‘Evil’ by Interpol for a Reflective Mood.
‘Bittersweet Symphony’ by The Verve for a Future Mood.
Colour of New Year’s Eve:
In retrospect, the past year has been varying shades of green.
Right now I feel royal blue contrasting with canary yellow.
The coming year will be red, I think.
However, red will only kick in once the school year actually starts. I think I might be royal blue/canary yellow for the rest of the holidays, at least.
New Year’s Resolutions:
1. Find a way to slip the words ‘solipsism’ and ‘soliloquy’ into every day life.
2. Do something awesome with my life.
3. Eat more peaches.
Man, it’s times like these I wish I had a horrible addiction to overcome.
Happy New Year, and may everyone get all the joy that those capitalised words bring.
Posted at 05:36 am by tawnyfawn
Sunday, December 24, 2006
1. In which I talk about Christmas.
It’s Christmas today! That special time of year when we all attempt to put aside our cynicism and selfishness, and share good will and cheer among friends and family. It’s a time of Christmas trees (of which I am a huge fan, because I love the scent of pine) and tacky decorations. Fairy lights and pudding. Crinkled wrapping paper that probably isn’t recycled as much as it should be, and kills thousands of trees.
Personally, I just love the red baubles. Don’t you think a red bauble just represents everything that is Christmas?
Anyway, I’ve had a good day despite the lack of build-up and anticipation. I actually kind of forgot Christmas existed until about 9:00 last night, and then I was like, ‘Whoa, when did that happen?’ Seriously, one moment it’s just the beginning of the holidays, and I have an entire month to do Christmas shopping, and the next my sister is insisting I wake up early to unwrap presents. My, how time flies.
I gave some gifts, and received plenty in return. Many books, mostly, the Serenity movie on DVD, and chunky purple gumboots. I’m wearing them right now (the gumboots, that is, not the books), even though they clash terribly with my black’n’red stripy socks. It’s kind of killing me a little inside, how UN-colour-coordinated I am, but they’re just so darned comfortable I can’t even help it.
But just the excitement of knowing it is Christmas makes the day fun, no matter what. I think it’s some kind of subconscious conditioning left over from primary school, where they hyped the event weeks in advance, and made us make cut-out Santas pretty much constantly. Maybe that’ll pass, as I get ever older, but for now it still has a lingering effect. Well, enough of an effect that I don’t find listening to ‘Flutes at Christmastime’ a painful experience, and am actually kind of enjoying it. ‘Rudolph’ is a pretty catchy jingle.
So yeah, I had fun worshipping Santa.
I hope everyone else had similarly satisfying days. Even the impoverished children in Africa, despite the fact I couldn’t buy them chickens. (I still feel really bad about that.)
2. In which I babble about holidays.
The holidays are upon us once again, and how I rejoice in that! It's the holiday season, the season of holidays. Which, I guess, means that within the school holidays there are other specific holidays, presumably Christmas and New Year's. So how are we supposed to distinguish between Christmas and just regular-weekend-type holidays? What is somebody asks me "What are you doing for the holiday?" Do they mean what will I be doing with the obscene eight weeks of freedom I am given, or do they mean will I still be eating turkey come Boxing Day? And, most importantly, does the distinction really matter at all? (Answer: no.)
Still, I love the holidays. The fact that there's absolutely nothing I have to do, and I can sit with Devo (my dog, not the band) on my sun-deck and enjoy the sun, and I can see almost every movie that comes out this holidays because I am (for once) not completely and utterly broke. Though perhaps the thing I love most: the amount of custard that will be left in my fridge after Christmas... We bought, like, an entire litre! As if anyone could eat/drink that much! (Except for me, that is, a statement I will prove when I eat/drink the leftovers. Though, seriously, how DO you consume custard? Eating or drinking? Really, I think it's somewhere in-between. It's kind of glugging.)
It's the summertime thing that is awesome though. Just the connotations connected with summer. Like the sand, and the warmth and having salt stuck to your arms. I just love THINKING about those things. Though, in all honesty, I kind of hate actually EXPERIENCING them. The summer heat is painful, and I dislike sand getting stuck in my shoes and I detest swimming.
... Okay, so even though I HATE everything about summer, I still like the idea of it. Shut up.
It’s all good fun.
3. In which I complain about work.
Oh, goodness gracious good gravy me. I have been working a lot. A lot, a lot. That’s a lot of a lot, if you’re beginning to catch my drift. And, as consequence, I am exceedingly, painfully, shockingly, brain-numbingly tired. Just to clarify that’s (again) a lot tired.
Seriously, on Saturday? I worked TWELVE hours. That’s as much as TWO school days, and let me tell you, work is a helluva lot more strenuous than school. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated school so much. I mean, seriously, how hard is it? We get to sit around in generally cool (temperature wise) classrooms, tune our completely and talk over the top of teaches, cementing the reputation of teenagers as being rude and surly. Hello, what’s NOT to like about that?
Okay, okay. It’s not actually that bad. Or really bad at all. And I did bring it upon myself, so I don’t really have a right to complain, no matter what happens.
Then again, I think I will anyway.
(On a slight upside, though… Think of the money I will be getting!)
4. In which I have no life and watch all of Firefly/Serenity.
Gah. What a great show. If I were into shipping incest (which, I admit, I am on occasion) I would totally ship River/Simon. How skanky. (But then, ‘skanky’ is very close to ‘swanky’ and, as far as I’m concerned, swanky-ness is totally okay.)
5. In which I have no life and watch Jane Austen movie adaptations.
I watched the recent ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the ‘Emma’ with Gwenyth Paltrow, ‘Mansfield Park,’ ‘Persuasion,’ and ‘Sense and Sensibility.’ All very good.
Of course, then my brain died and I now don’t think I can tell one movie apart from another, but it was worth it. Sacrifices must be made.
6. In which I wish I were a gumnut baby.
You know those babies created by May Gibbs, like Snugglepot and Cuddlepie? How cool would it be to be one of those? I mean, once you got over the constant state of nakedness and spectacularly crap names, it’d be shiny! Like, if you were a girl gumnut baby, you’d get to wear blossoms as hula skirts! And then you could hula!
Just imagine the hijinks that would ensue!
PS. And I'm not even joking about that gumnut baby thing. Imagine!
Posted at 04:26 pm by tawnyfawn
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
People who are good at maths are kind of like break-dancers. I have no idea how they do it, and I totally respect them for it. And they’re always defying the laws of gravity. (Those crazy maths geeks… always defying gravity.)
(My parents went and saw The Grates live (goodness, I hate them. My parents, that is. Not The Grates. I love The Grates). Anyway, they got me a tshirt. That's the exciting news of my life.
You should get their album, "Gravity won't get you high."
This whole thing is in brackets, because I'm not sure how important it is... But there was the word 'gravity' in this paragraph, so I figured it should immedietely follow the previous, you know? Like, order due to shared words.)
Gravity is a really weird word.
1. the attraction due to gravitation that the Earth or another celestial body exerts on an object on or near its surface
2. solemnity and seriousness in somebody’s attitude or behavior
Though I guess those two things can kind of go together. I wonder if it has some latin origin. I bet it does - all space words do.
Have you ever lightly-warmed milk and then thought it tasted kind of like caramel?
Because I wonder if that’s a psychological thing, or a scientific thing.
I’ve wanted to go running recently.
Not in a “I’m so full of life and free like a bird - I need to move like the wind” kind of way.
And not in a “my life is so bad, oh woe is me, I need to run to get away from it all, I want to be emancipated from my family” kind of way.
Not even because “I need to push myself to feel alive again, I need to feel my calves ache and my blood boil because I am so unfeeling because I am a teenager.”
Just because I kind of feel like running, you know? Maybe because I romanticise the idea and I want to run in a “look at me leap across the grass like a startled deer through the early morning fog, flying like some kind of pale, pink and gangly butterfly” kind of way.
But then, I don’t really want to run. Because that would involve effort. Let’s just not, and say I did. That way I get the best of both worlds: no effort AND I get to be a startled deer.
Last night there was a spider in my bathroom, and it was a really big and scary one. But I didn’t want to leave the room to get the bug spray in case it ran onto one of the bath towels and laid it’s scary-spider-eggs there. And I couldn’t find any jar to take it outside in, either.
So instead I did one of the least logical things possible.
I got the cheapo plastic liquid-soap dispenser (which is concaved on the base), and put it on top of the spider, and vowed to release it into the wild in the morning.
The next morning, the soap dispenser was still there… But when I lifted it up, the spider was gone.
I am very, very worried. I think I may have made an enemy.
I should really make myself a ‘reading blog’ just where I can list every book I read and my general comments about it, etc. Not because I think anyone would be interested, but because then when I’m old and purple-haired I could look back on it and say to myself “Check it, bitches! Did I read a lot or what?”
Though why I would be referring to myself as “bitches” (plural, note) is completely beyond me.
I just read the weirdest book called ‘Sister Kate,’ and it’s about the sister of Ned Kelly.
First of all she’s normal, and then Ned Kelly and co die, and then suddenly she’s an alchoholic and addicted to opium, and then she starts making out with trees. Seriously. (And then she dies.)
It’s all very strange. Good read, but.
"I walk. I talk. I shop. I sneeze. I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. There's trees in the desert since you moved out, and I don't sleep on a bed of bones."
Buffy, in "Restless." (Man, that episode killed me.)
Posted at 05:41 am by tawnyfawn
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Cordelia: This is all about me! Me, me, me!
Xander: Wow, for once she’s right.
Buffy - Out of Mind, Out of Sight
My life is so incredibly awesome at the moment. It’s like I picked a bazillion four leafed clovers (and how funny is that number?) and then found a rabbit’s foot lying around (preferably the non-bloody-stump kind).
I totally passed last tri/se-mester, I got two jobs (complete fluke) and the weather has been really nice. And all my new classes are really good and the new book I’m reading (‘The Messenger’ by Markus Suzak) is pretty awesome and I’m able to figure out why I don’t like the bits I don’t like. I also finished reading ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’ and now I feel all intellectual that I read a classic when I didn’t have to.
And how much of a nerd do I want to be?
And I might get to do an oral on Buffy in my ‘The Hero’ English class, and in the next room my sister is playing some terribly trashy yet fantastically fun pop-princess music. And I love Futurama.
Life is good. =P
Okay, how do cockroaches survive nuclear bombs, but not half a can of cheapo bug spray?
And also, how do we even know that cockroaches DO survive nuclear bombs? I think it might just be a dirty lie to encourage us to buy more-toxic cockroach-specialised bug spray, instead of relying on trusty ol’ Home Brand.
These are the questions I shall never get answered. Like, why is the standard for measuring how fast piranhas can eat stuff in cows? You know, in documentaries they’re always like, “and these ferocious piranhas that can devour a cow in under 3 minutes…” Like, do cows walk into piranha-infested waters frequently?
I’ve been very nostalgic lately. I was looking at photographs from year eight, and the millions I took at the end of year ten, and I’ve had Avril Lavigne’s ‘Complicated’ stuck in my head (because that was the anthem of early high school) and… and, well, I don’t really know.
It’s not that I particularly miss high school. I’ve taken to college and it’s no-uniform like a fish to some nice, clean, shiny-pebbly-bottomed water. I think my classes are better, and everything is much easier, and I think that everyone has grown as people, or whatever (man, how wanky do I sound?).
But I was still really nostalgic, you know, and now I feel all full of love. Almost like I want to hug something (ew, affection.)
Oh. My. God. Do you see that? There, right above. The ‘midge.’ Yeah? I spelt that out WITH MY NOSE!
Do I have useful skills that we be easily applied to real life, or what?
… I bet there are heaps of instances when being able to type with your nose comes in handy.
Like, just say I was kidnapped and tied up in a laptop factory. And the bad guys left their laptop sitting there, logged onto the internet, and then left. And then I managed to write a ‘help me’ email with my nose!
Sometimes I wish I were a stalker, or something. Don’t you think that would be a good way to spend your time? And you’d never be left sitting around thinking ‘man, I’m so bored this afternoon,’ because whenever you didn’t have something to do you could just go stalk your quarry.
Except then you might have to use words like ‘quarry’ in everyday life, and that’d just be weird.
I’m so old! Today I found myself saying ‘I remember when…’!!! But it’s true! I do “remember when.”
I remember when Paddle Pops were only 90 cents.
I remember when Golden Gaytimes were only $1.50.
I remember when Slick Sticks were only 50 cents.
I also remember when I first found out that ‘gay’ was another word for homosexual (don’t ask me how I was so sheltered that this is something I can remember discovering).
I remember the first time I was told a ‘scary puppet comes to life and kills people’ ghost story (a fear that hasn’t left me to this day).
I remember when my grandmother told me ‘I remember when we had to ride our horses to school,’ (and I would have loved to live back then).
And it’s all because I’m getting old. Soon I’ll be dead! I want someone to play ‘walking on sunshine’ at my funeral.
It’ll put the ‘fun’ back in funeral!
I’ve had a lot of dreams recently where I steal the car and drive around… even though I’m only an L-plater and don’t have an adult in the car! I’m such a rebel. I better jump of the crazy train before I land myself in jail.
I just can't end sentences or parahraphs today. You know have you have to end with an upwards lilt? You have to let it hang in the air, and kind of be a fragment? Yeah, I can't do that. It's kind of annoying.
Posted at 11:49 pm by tawnyfawn
Friday, September 15, 2006
I just had the most profound thought of my entire life. It’s the deepest thing that I ever did thunk. And my profound thought is this:
I wonder if some people can play ‘Beethoven’ better than Beethoven could play ‘Beethoven.’
Like, maybe there’s some famous pianist who is alive today who plays all the songs Beethoven composed in an extremely kick-ass manner. And maybe he plays them even better – with more, emotion, passion, whatever – than Beethoven did… Even though B actually composed the songs!
And we wouldn’t even KNOW how these people compare to Beethoven, because there are no recordings of him or anything.
Seriously, doesn’t the idea of that just kill you?
And I mean, it’s also kind of unfair. Beethoven went to all the trouble of writing these songs, and then some young whippersnapper one hundred years after his death goes and usurps his position of being awesome. Besides, people have probably evolved slightly since then, and we have more dexterous fingers or something, so it’s kind of mean to compare the people today to B anyway.
And, even if we haven’t evolved to have fingers that can reach double octaves better, we definitely do have things like… oh, I don’t know… HYGIENE! I bet if Beethoven was able to wash his hands everyday then he would have played better, too. As it was, the grime from his fingers probably meant they slipped around on the keys a lot.
Anyway, I just feel sorry for Beethoven, poor guy. That’s all I’m saying.
Okay, fairy tales really bother me. And I know they’re SUPPOSED to be fantastical, but seriously. Couldn’t Grimm comma The Brothers have made it a little easier to relate to their stories/believe them at all?
For, example: have you ever SEEN a beanstalk? There is no way someone could climb one of those, let alone some young idiot who was stupid enough to buy “magic beans” (how did HE know they were gonna be magic?). Beanstalks curve over, for goodness sake. I mean, they grow upwards for, like, a couple of seconds, and then the weight makes them curve downwards. Definitely not sky-reaching material. I mean, hello? Have you ever heard of a tree? Big, bark-y, trunk-y things. Couldn’t Jack just have gotten an accord, or something?
Also, so much for teaching good morals or whatever. Jack is REWARDED with a goose that lays golden eggs, and a freaky half-mutant half-harp and a pot of gold when he sells his family’s only cow Bessie for three beans. And his sister is dying at the time, and they need medicine. In short, Jack is rewarded for idiocy.
Also, how do giants live on clouds? ‘Nuff said.
(Unless they’re “magic clouds.” I think there is entirely too much magic in this fairy tale.)
Also, you know that story where the donkey ends up vomiting a whole bunch of gold coins? Yeah, I don’t even know what happens in the beginning of the story, but seriously… Who wants coins covered in donkey-bile? Eww, much.
And Little Red Riding Hood? Okay, so the girl asked her grandmother about the teeth and the shiny eyes and the big ears, but what about: “Oh Grandmother dearest, why is your face so furry?” No old lady has a beard that big!
Anyway, my rant is finished. I’ve finally expelled the hate of fairy-tale from my system.
Oh, wait. No I haven’t. One more thing…
I hate the Ugly Duckling! It’s so mean. The moral isn’t like, ‘embrace your inner beauty’ or whatever. It’s ‘if you’re really ugly and nobody likes you, go and get a whole bunch of work done and then hang out with the other really beautiful people, who wouldn’t like you if you were still ugly anyway.’
And do we really want to be sending that message to all the cygnets of the world?
Posted at 03:47 am by tawnyfawn
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
So, Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter died. Killed by a stingray. You know the guy: wore khaki, heavy Australian accent, did a lot to raise the profile of Australia as a tourist destination, involved in the conservation of native wildlife… Said ‘Crikey’ a lot.
It’s not as if I’m particularly affected by his death, or anything. It hasn’t made me realise my own mortality/realise pseudo-celebrities mortality/realise how quick the Canberra Times is to have an x-number of pages special, or anything, because I knew all those things already.
I wasn’t really sure how I should write about this. My options were:
Be really mean about it, and mock the fact that suddenly every radio station had nothing else to talk about. “Steve Irwin, the controversial crocodile hunter…” Click, “… a sting ray that hit him in…” Click “… killed by a sting ray…” Click, “… his controversial career that has been sadly ended by this shocking accident…” “The nation is in shock,” “the nation is in mourning,” “he will be sadly missed by the nation.”
But then I decided that would be callous and, as much as I just wanted to listen to the top 40, I do feel really bad for his family, etc. I mean, he was just 44, or something. I think that’s younger than my mother. And he had two kids.
And besides, the radio stations were just doing their jobs, if not being a little melodramatic about it.
Talk about how shocking it is that somebody’s life could be so cruelly cut short… who would’ve thought he could die after catching so many crocodiles? Who would’ve thought that in the end it would be a peaceful, serene, sea mammal (cartilaginous fish, if you want to get technical) that would do this reptilian-wrestler in?
But then, those things don’t really interest me, either. And I don’t actually find it that ironic that a stingray and not a crocodile killed him. I don’t think it’s interesting that after surviving so many encounters with typically more dangerous creatures he would be killed in a typically less dangerous situation. I mean, if you’re going to swim with the fishes, then…
So I didn’t really know what I wanted to say about, but I knew I wanted to say something. Maybe it had affected me in some deep and profound way, or maybe just because it was on the news so much it was on my mind. (And oh man are my tenses jumping around today, or what?)
And then this morning I heard that it is most likely that Steve Irwin was allergic to the poison in a stingray’s stinging-ray-thing, and that’s why he died so quickly.
So at least we can all take a moral away from this: it’s best to know what you’re allergic to, so you can avoid those situations. And to that boy who in year three caught bees in his hands even though he WAS allergic to them: I think you can learn an important lesson from this.
(I hope his family is okay. I hope all the families in Iraq, Lebanon, and East Timor etc are okay. I hope all the individual people in those places are okay. I hope everyone in the world/solar system/universe is okay.)
I watched a whole bunch of movies recently, and you should too.
Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels – had awesome bits where people shuffled cards, was quite amusing, and made me want to gamble. I should never watch this movie again when I am of age to enter a casino. Also made me want to be involved in fun-mafia.
Snatch – made by the same guy as L,S&TSB, and who would’ve thought that Madonna’s husband would be this awesome? Made me realise why old women (anyone over 20) think Brad Pitt is attractive (before he was annoying, he starred in movies where he had a cool accent). Made me want to be a gypsy, travelling the countryside in a peaceful existence/stealing and beating people up. Also (again) want to be involved in fun-mafia.
Romeo and Juliet, Baz Lurhman version – don’t hate it as much as I used to. Good soundtrack. Mercutio so had a thing for Romeo.
Donnie Darko – watched it again to try and remember why it’s a cult-classic. It had good bits and bad bits, but aspires to be great, so that’s good enough for me. Killer soundtrack. Mainly it just has an interesting idea, you know, and I think Drew Barrymoore’s role was so… well, bits of it were un-needed, and I think she was a bit of a bitch in places, even if she was fighting for the right to give students good texts and trying to beat censorship.
Also, on a completely different note, giraffes are freaky. Their fur is just insane – kind of like a broken tile. Seriously, go look at a giraffe. Right now.
I’ve been reading ‘White Teeth’ by Zadie Smith, which has been hailed as the saviour of all literature ever, etc etc. And I mean, it’s good. But if this is the height of greatness in the adult book world, and most other books are even worse in comparison, then I am so sticking with young-adult.
And I like to think that the reason I don’t like it is because I don’t like it, instead of me not liking it because I’m so young and can’t understand what the characters are going through, blah blah blah. I mean, I’ve read plenty of books about ethnicity, ethics, the fabled mid-life crisis, etc. And I know I do understand this book, and I do get the layers, but I feel if I say I don’t like it then people are automatically going to assume that I’m just illiterate, because that’s what I think of people who don’t like my favourite books.
But I mean, it IS good. It’s just not the best thing I’ve ever read, and I don’t know why it got onto that ‘1001 books you must read before you die’ list when Nick Hornby’s ‘High Fidelity’ didn’t.
Seriously, what is up with that? I love that book.
Good thing: Spring is nice and sunny.
Bad thing: Spring means I’ll get hay fever soon.
Colour of the day: kingfisher blue. Doesn’t it have a nice name?
Song of the day: the song at the end of Donnie Darko. It’s so good!
Feel of the day: when you get your tooth filled and it goes all rough and cement-like, and months later it becomes a smooth cement and it’s fun to run your tongue over it.
Posted at 09:38 pm by tawnyfawn
Friday, August 25, 2006
“I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow
of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.”
from The Negro Speaks of Rivers, Langston Hughes
Ha! You think just because I start my blog with a potentially pretentious quote from a free-verse poem that I’m going to get all deep and meaningful on you? Puh-lease. This is ME we’re talking about. But I do like that bit about blood/veins. It’s cool. Very Pocahontas, like: “As the river cuts his path/Though the river's proud and strong/He will choose the smoothest course/That's why rivers live so long.”
Holy macaroni. I wonder if Macaroni could be holy, anyway? Like, the pasta. I'm pretty sure there would be some kind of religious law preventing it. I mean, otherwise they could have crazy priests and saints all over the place trying to make stuff holy. Holy nachos. Holy play dough. Holy filing cabinets.
And then there’d just be utter confusion. Anarchy, and the like. There’s be holy stuff all over the place, and people probably wouldn’t be allowed to desecrate public spaces as much. I mean, everyone knows it’s totally okay to graffiti on a bus interchange. But what if it’s a HOLY bus interchange? Is it still okay then? Or would that bring the wrath of the potential-God-like-being down onto the earth, with the fire and the brimstone and all.
Ethical problem of the day. Think it over.
I was just sitting at the computer, just then, looking at pictures of peacock feathers, when I suddenly had the urge to wear clothing made out of a hessian bag. I know, how weird is that? And not in a I’m-so-alternative-weird-I-wear-environmentally-friendly-clothing-weird, but just regular weird. I was surprised at myself. Who really wants to wear hessian? It’s itchy and gross and a horrible colour, and sometimes it’s kind of see through (because it has all those tiny holes).
And I couldn’t even figure out why I had started thinking about wearing hessian bags. It was just suddenly like – pow! – thought in my brain, and I couldn’t do anything to get rid of it. And now, even though I KNOW I don’t really like hessian, I’m going, ‘Man, I could make the most awesome, shapeless sack-like dress out of hessian. I could like a poor person from biblical times. Yay.’
But speaking of peacock feathers – have you ever really looked at them? And I mean REALLY looked at them? Looked at them until all the shiny, iridescent luminescence has disappeared, and you can see all the scratchy brown bits and fibres that look really spiky to touch. Because it’s kind of cool. It reminds me of the hairs on my arm, or my eyelashes in a microscope… It’s like trees for little people, yanno?
I am totally in love with reading poetry and the 1998 modern movie adaptation of ‘Great Expectations.’ Poetry because it’s fun, and the movie because it has an awesome green colour scheme and the paintings in the movie are awesome. (You should go look up this artist guy: Francesco Clemente. He rocks my world.)
Anyway, I was reading this ‘500 greatest poems of all time’ kind of thing and I found a whole bunch of sonnets and severely free-verse poems that I love. I also discovered that I hate E.E. Cummings, because I can’t fricken understand what he’s talking about. I’m just intolerant like that. And I love poets who write about other poets, especially when it’s about following super-famous, super-dead poets down supermarket isles.
Anyway, my point is: poetry + green = green poetry. Oh, wait. I mean love.
Man, I swear, if Joss Whedon/Joss Whedon’s child doesn’t make more Buffyverse stuff, I’m just going to become a multi-millionaire and make it myself. (There could be even more teenage werewolves.)
Word of the day: queue
Colour of the day: green
Feeling of the day: that itch you get when your ear burns
“Though shalt not kill; but need’st not strive
Officiously to keep alive.”
from The Latest Decalogue by Arthur Hugh Clough.
This is that guy's art. You know. That guy... (That guy I was writing/talking about earlier.)
Posted at 03:40 am by tawnyfawn
Thursday, July 20, 2006
It’s official. My Dad is the cruellest person on the planet. I know I’ve said it before, but there’s no doubt about it this time. Do you know what he did?
He bought our dog a new collar and lead. A pink collar and lead. A pink, sparkly collar and lead. Brand name? Barbie.
My dog is male.
I mean, I’m all for breaking down gender stereotypes (except for that whole “men crying” thing. Yeah, right) but, I dunno… Pink and sparkly? I wouldn’t even get a female dog to wear that. It just seems so… degrading. It’s like ‘look at me, I’m a stupid bitch.’ (Teehee, geddit? Bitch?) Besides, pale pink just does not go with my dog’s fur. It clashes horribly!
…Okay, yes, that’s a little superficial, but – pink!
… My father has a heart of ice.
Over the past two days I watched the entire first season of ‘Twin Peaks,’ which was like the Harry Potter/Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Donnie Darko of the early 90s. As in, it had a cult following, who watched it religiously.
There were only seven episodes in the first season, so it’s not like it was hard to watch them all, but apparently the second season went really weird. Besides which, it was never released on DVD, so I don’t think I’ll ever get an opportunity to watch it.
Anyway, the one bone I have to pick with the show is that by the end of the season nothing was resolved. Nothing. Not the main plot, not the subplots.
I mean, I could understand even if they left the main plot line unresolved. That could be seen as annoying-artistic. You know ‘oh, nothing in life is ever neat and carefully wrapped up. If you want that, you go and get a fluffy romantic comedy/Christmas present. We’re so post-modern it hurts.’ That kind of annoying-artistic.
But not only do they not resolve anything at the end of the first season in regards to main plot, but they don’t do it with anything else either! It’s like ‘oh, she’s pregnant, and this other girl is about to sleep with her father, and this guy keeps his secret possessions in a coconut and this guy keeps on licking a domino (and it’s actually pretty freekin weird) but guess what? We’re not going to resolve anything! Hahaha! This is all just one big cliff-hanger!’ And then they’d continue with something like ‘Hahaha! I mock you with my monkey pants!’
Well, you know what, Mr Movie Man? I’ve had it with you, and your un-resolved-ness! And even if the second season were ever released on DVD, I STILL wouldn’t watch it! That’s how annoyed I am at your lack of planning!
Still, the director was David Lynch so I guess I should’ve expected better.
I’m beginning to think I’m a little melodramatic.
Just a little.
After the Maths test I ranted about fire and brimstone for a while, and how painful my brief trip to the bowels of hell was.
When I couldn’t go see Pirates of the Carribbean today, I waxed poetic about the magnitude of pain I was feeling.
Just five minutes ago, when I watched Forrest Gump for the first time, I almost punched the TV when this poor guy’s fishing boat wasn’t catching any shrimp. (Hey, it was sad! Out of all the shrimp in the ocean, he only caught five/an old boot and a toilet seat.) (Oh, yeah, I guess when some of the characters died it was pretty sad, too…)
It might be a bad thing. I mean, there are children starving in Africa, and ozone layers deteriorating, and seagulls losing legs because of the rubbish is the ocean (or, alternatively, bird-eating fish). Seriously, what’s more important?
I should be putting all of that effort I waste ranting passionately about how sucky it is that the world isn’t made of jelly into ranting passionately about world peace.
Maybe I can do both? We all have our notions of romance.
Oh my goodness gracious me! I watched ‘Battle Royal’ for the first time ever I few days ago… And it’s so good! It’s, like, the feel-good movie of the year!
Except for the blood. And the guts. And the excessive death count. But apart from that, it’s so uplifting! There’s this song at the end which they should just play at every ‘what do you want to do after college’ seminar, because it’s so happy and inspiring. And even though a lot of people died, at least for some of the characters there was this sort of acceptance.
Though, I’ve got to say, I was always really worried about watching Battle Royal, because I was like ‘oh no! How will my sensitive mind cope with the violence?’ But it was pretty tame. I thought me being totally unaffected by Kill Bill was just a one off thing. You know, maybe Kill Bill is just lame as far as R movies go.
But then I watched a whole bunch of other movies that are apparently really violent, and it was kind of… whatever. I just don’t think violence scares me, so much as things that mess with your head. Like Saw 2. Man, just THINKING about that movie now and I have to look over my shoulder.
Okay, just looked over my shoulder, it’s all-good.
But yes, Battle Royal is super fun, if not a little on the violent side (though it isn’t even that graphic).
Life-Goal of my Life – for today: I’m trying to make a ‘Winter’ compilation CD. Like, winter songs that I can listen to in winter. Or listen to in summer, when I want it to be cool again. The songs don’t necessarily have to be about or named after winter/ice, but they have to FEEL like winter, you know? They have to be remote, or cold, or icy, or hot-chocolate-and-warm-blanket-y. Not necessarily sad, just – wintery.
Posted at 06:58 am by tawnyfawn
Who am I?
Freaky. Seventeen. Capricorn. Mouse-Brown-Blonde. Nerd. Excitable. Calm. Confused. Smart. Hypocrite. Active. Lazy. Persuasive. Passionate. Quirky. Whole-hearted. Free. Intriguing. Eccentric. Whimsicle. Organised. Messy. Random. Ordinary. Histronic. Crazy. Sane. Addicted. Obsessive. Hyperactive. Boring. Fun. Jaded. Fresh. Exhausted. Sleepy. Awake. Cynical. Sarcastic. Optimistic. Pessimistic. Sometimes scary. Often laughable. Slightly insane.
So who am I?
Lots of tivial drival and soap-opera problems. Hey, what can you expect? I'm a teenage girl!
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