Chicken Gristle

Brisbane suburbs

2009-05-20T23:24:00.000-07:00

On Facebook, there is a popular quiz around at the moment called "Whereabouts in the Brisbane region do you belong?"

I got Manly. I went to school there.

Ellie completed the quiz "Whereabouts in the Brisbane region do you belong?" with the result Manly.
No one ever pays you out for living here, it's just a great place, nothing ever happens here (things like stabbings, drugs etc). People probably like you a lot, and you live close to a lot of friends.

No stabbings and no drugs? This is the suburb next to Wynnum - place of dodgy underage house parties, Bundy Rum drinkers and hoons.

The first person I ever met who took drugs was from Manly, so there you go. The quiz is wrong.

My friend Josh from 4ZZZ got this result:

Josh completed the quiz "Whereabouts in the Brisbane region do you belong?" with the result Cleveland.
Your from Cleveland. You have a lot of money at your disposal, you've probably never got in a fight, and your just pretty much safer than anyone. Except you gotta travel a million km just to get anywhere, and people aren't exactly safe at your pub - so jokes on you fucker.

I grew up in Alex Hills, the suburb next to Cleveland, place of the infamous Alex Hills Hotel (and my old workplace!). Cleveland is indeed full of mansions and rich old bastards, but "safe" and no fights? No way. I used to work in a newsagency in Cleveland and often witnessed drunken fights and public domestics on a day-to-day basis. On a Sunday morning. In the middle of town. The train station is a hotspot for young hoods on their way to a dodgy Wynnum house party.

So whoever made this quiz has obviously only been to the east side and doesn't know Brisbane that well at all.

Suburbs indeed have their own personality. I grew up on the Bayside, dated boys on the westside and northside (what a slut!), worked in the inner south side, used to go to uni and taekwondo training on the southside, and now currently work inner city.

So I'm pretty sure I know Brisbane way better than whoever made that quiz.

Match up the suburbs to your personality and see how you go.

Bayside (Wynnum, Alex Hills, Cleveland)
You may either come from a filthy rich or super poor family, had a state or private school education, but it doesn't matter - you are a bogan. You enjoy driving very old, crappy cars and putting rear spoilers made out of a few bits of scrap metal on the back. Or a ute. Anyway, cars are very important because the public transport is so rubbish where you live. In your spare time, you enjoy getting as drunk as possible, and have done so since an early age. But you're an angry drunk and you fight in public a lot. Your drink of choice is Jim Beam or Bundy Rum. You wear boardshorts everywhere. But if you escape where you live, you'll probably end up being famous and successful.

Indie rock wet dream The Grates are from the Bayside. So is Karl Stefanovic, but The Grates are prettier. Sorry Karl. My mum thinks you're hot though.

East side (Carindale, Carina, Hawthorne, Norman Park)
You are a 15 year old private school girl who is constantly at a Westfield shopping centre - especially Supre - or trendily drinking a skinny latte on Oxford St. You love fashion that doesn't last - skinny jeans, fashionable mullets, those stupid tights that don't have feet, etc. You're a bit sheltered; things like people with piercings, pubs that are frequented by old men and alternative music tends to confuse and scare you.

What's the bloody point?!

South Side (Mt Gravatt, Sunnybank, Greenslopes, Annerley)
You are a bit of a conundrum. At times you are studious, wholesome, family-oriented and avidly attend university. But other times, you're in a gang who likes beating up people other gangs and putting the footage on YouTube. You like Asian food a lot.

Inner south side (South Brisbane, West End, Woolloongabba)
You're very political or radical in some way. Basically, you're not a middle class, straight, conservative white guy. You don't have a lot of money but it doesn't stop you from making your own fun. You love music, art and getting involved in local politics. Other people try and change you to be modern and trendy but it doesn't really suit you.

North side (Lutwyche, Kedron, Newmarket)
Overall, you're a pretty peaceful, quiet sort. But others tend to ruin your day by building busways around you, or submerging you in water.

Chermside
You're a big shopping centre. Mothers are cheating on their husbands with you because you have a fine taste for fashion and you're good with kids.

Inner north (Red Hill, Kelvin Grove, Herston, Normanby)
You're the new kid from out of town, seeking your future - an education, a job, or maybe just a beer on Sunday afternoon.

West side (Toowong, Indooroopilly, St Lucia, Kenmore, Milton)
You're a university student who is doing a Bachelor of Arts... forever. Or you're a rich private school boy. Either way you will probably become a famous writer or super rich lawyer in the future.

Although the street Nick Earls's ZigZag Street is actually in Red Hill (inner north), most of the book is set in Toowong, Milton and the University of Queensland at St Lucia.

You can take the virtual tour here. Very cool!

Rebecca Sparrow's book The Girl Most Likely is also set on the west side. My favourite quote: "It's just that... we love shopping at POOwong!"

Inner city (Fortitude Valley, Spring Hill, New Farm)
You love partying a lot, having casual sex and urinating in public. On the other hand you dress well and probably have an awesome day job (graphic designer, proprietor of an independent coffee shop, radio host, nightclub DJ). You like eating expensive gourmet hamburgers.

North east side (Breakfast Creek, Hamilton, Ascot)
You are filthy rich, old, like drinking beer from a barrel and smell faintly of fish.

As for my Brisbane suburban personality? I guess because I travel around town a lot I'm a bit of everything - a bogan-ish university student who likes partying, Asian food and local politics and was once a naive 15 year old private school girl. Oh, and I've been submerged in water for the last few days

I've obviously missed out the areas I don't know that well. I've never really been northwest around Ferny Grove and the like, and even though everybody tells me that Logan and Ipswich are full of bogans, I've never actually spent time there.

If any readers out there want to fill me in on other Brisbane suburb personalities, be my guest.

Or if you're from another city, tell me about yours.

The Full Moon Strikes Again

2009-05-09T12:44:00.001-07:00

The moon is a mysterious entity. It's responsible for the tides, menstrual cycles, werewolves and general insanity.

For long-time readers of this blog you may remember this post, in which I had to put up with a suspiciously increased number of drunks, fights, super-rudeness and swearing during a shift at work when the moon was nigh.

This year was no different. The following things happened:

- Two bar staff mysteriously quit on Friday night so we were understaffed on Saturday night.

- According to the drunk girl I cut off from the bar, I "ruined her night" because "she washhn't ddddjunk k?" Poor diddums.

- Had to explain to a woman that Coopers Pale Ale was not a dark stout. And neither is Coopers Sparkling.

I believe the key word here is "pale."

- Observed an increase of people milling about aimlessly at the and had the following conversation for every 2nd person I served:

Me: "Hello. What would you like to drink?"

Customer: "...Duuuuhhhh?"

- Not sure if this one is true, but I'm very sure the Mustang Bar caught on fire. I heard a fire alarm (the back of my work is across the road from it) and saw a fire engine parked outside. More alarmingly, heard groups of patrons scream "Woooooo!" Burning to our deaths, how exciting!

- The soft drink guns stopped working so I had to tell people that they couldn't have soft drink for a while. It was fixed within 15 minutes but most people just didn't understand.

Customer: "Can I have a vodka and soda?"

Me: "Sorry, the soft drink guns aren't working."

Customer: "But I want a vodka soda."

Me: "The soft drink guns aren't working. So I can't give you soda."

Customer: "Oh okay, can I have a vodka and coke then?"

- A girl I work with cut off two drunk dudes. One started screaming, "I KNOW YOUR MOTHER AND I AM GOING TO TELL HER" (oh noes). He raised his fist and I ran to get security.

- No less than 5 minutes later, the same girl told a patron to move because a glassy needed to sweep up a broken glass. The patron swore abusively at her. I ran off to the get the security guard again. The angry patron bitch-slapped him furiously. Sigh.

- Was myself very very angry. The peak of my anger hit when a man changed his order 3 times in a very confusing way and still wouldn't tell me how many scotches he wanted altogether.

He told me to "smile."

I responded using words that were not very nice. Sorry Mum.

- But despite the existential rage and tiredness building inside me, I got heaps of tips. Just like last year. Weird.

10 things I like about bartending

2009-05-06T22:46:00.000-07:00

This is my bartending face.

Kristine Bottone of one of my favourite blogs, LA Bartender Examiner, emailed me and asked me 10 things I hate about bartenders and customers - research for her newest article.

After sending off a long, ranty e-mail, I decided to counteract all that negativity with...

10 things I like about bartending.

1. When I manage to remember what the regulars drink. Good for my terrible short term memory, and the customers really like it too.

2. Getting high fived by friendly drunks.

3. Free drinks. Knock-off drinks are great and my boss is a pretty generous lady. Not to mention the rad sort of customers that buy you one so you can drink with them!

4. Customers who make the effort to leave tips. Tipping isn't compulsory here in Australia so it's pretty exciting when it happens. I usually manage to make around $20 (about an hour's work). The most I've ever made was $60, which I promptly spent at the bar the next night. Awesome!

5. Being constantly surrounded by music. Bartending is one of the few jobs where it's not just okay to dance at work - its encouraged. I also get to see a lot of bands and meet the musicians at the bar.

The Mercy Beat - a rad band and some of the nicest bar patrons ever
(photographed at my old workplace, the Clarence Corner Hotel)

6. Flirty glances over the bar.

7. The pride of making a tasty, well-presented cocktail and watching the customer get excited.

8. Other bartenders are, on the whole, pretty cool. Most of them are friendly and a bit eccentric in some way - hospitality does that to you - which is a good thing if you're working with them. The crap ones usually don't stick around for too long anyway.

9. Watching drunk people dance when you're stone cold sober is way more entertaining than it sounds.

10. Meeting people and making new friends. Not all pub-goers are drunken idiots, you know.

What I have learnt about marriage from STFU Marrieds

2009-04-24T21:46:00.000-07:00

Marriage. It's not on the top of my list of priorities in life and I could live without it, but I do like the idea of having a big party to celebrate loving someone for the rest of your life. Mainly because I like parties, especially cake.

Mmm, cake.

Josh and I are not traditional romantics. We would both rather have a messy, beery night at Inferno than go out to a fancy dinner. We give each other a cuddle as often as we smack each other over the head when one of us makes a terrible joke. We say "I love you' as often as "You're a douchebag". In a loving, juvenile way, of course. And that's the way I like it. Sure, we have our mushy, sentimental moments, but I'd rather keep those private because that's how they're supposed to be.

So I'm fascinated by the discovery of a blog called STFU Marrieds, a blog that chronicles the Facebook activities between married couples.

I'm pretty crap at relationships in general, so I guess it does no harm to learn about the institution of marriage. Doesn't look like it'll get any better in the future if this blog is anything to go by.

- You're not allowed to stay the night at your friend's house. That's a bummer. I used to stay over at my mate's house all the time after work and would pass out on his couch after getting disgustingly drunk. Josh never had a problem with it, mainly cuz this was at 3 in the morning and he was usually asleep. Can't say he's ever thrown me out of the house because of it either.

Husbands who work are obviously neglecting their wifey poos, too.

NO EARNING MONEY OR HAVING OUTSIDE INTERESTS FOR YOU, MR HUSBAND!

- Sniffing your husband or watching your wife sleep is romantic, not creepy.

- You must update your Facebook whenever you're doing anything with your loved one.

"Here you go babe, I made breakfast in bed because I love you so much."
"Awesome! (stuffs toast in mouth) I have to tell everybody on Facebook! (whips out laptop out of nowhere and munches on bacon)"
"Um...babe? Hello?"

Even on your honeymoon!

- It's totally okay to air your passive-aggressive relationship problems that most people would struggle to say in private... on Facebook.

Do these couples not have mutual friends? Pretty sure Josh's friends on my friends list wouldn't be impressed if I posted on Facebook every time we had a fight.

- There is nothing to do in life except wait for your husband to come home.

- Forget going to the movies, to the pub, out for a drive, out to dinner, or to a show... All married couples do is watch TV on the couch together. I barely watch TV. Obviously I will be a crap wife.

- It's not TMI if you're married. Everyone on Facebook needs to know about your sex life, cuz you're married and it's very very special.

- But I guess the crux of all this Facebook married business is that married couples think everybody on the Internet wants to know everything they're doing and that they're married.

- And that marriage destroys every piece of individuality you have to the point where you cannot function without them.Hobbies? Interest in the world around you? Personality? Nah, the only thing that matters is anything your significant other says or does. You're not two people going out with each other. You're one being - a couple.

We...are...denim.

- Moreover, saying inimate, loving things to your partner should be splashed all over Facebook for everyone to see, even when they're right next to you.

Remember, Romeos and Juliets: One person's "romantic" is another person's "nauseous."

Please slap me if I ever get married and make Facebook posts like that.

He Died with a Bowl of Mould in his Hand

2009-04-21T20:41:00.000-07:00

I recently went to see the stage production of He Died with a Felafel in His Hand, an adaptation of one of my very favourite books.

"Oh god," I muttered after watching various actors dance around giant joints, passing out on the couch with empty bottles of scotch and singing the praises of milk crates. "It's our house."

In case you haven't seen/read it, Felafel is an autobiographical story by John Birmingham about all the nutty housemates he's lived with and their crazy antics. Drug addicts, militant vegans, a dominatrix, porn addicts, crap rockstars, moon tanners, etc.

Moontanning.

It's easy to think it's an entertaining work of fiction. When I read it at the tender age of 17, while I was still enrolled in private school and living in my mummy and daddy's house, I merely thought it was a very funny story and there's no way people could be that weird.

Now that I live in a sort of share house situation and found half a bowl full of mould, flies and ash sitting on the sink, it suddenly hit home that the myths of weird housemates are ALL TRUE.

Take my housemate who lives with my boyfriend Josh and I. Let's call him Dexter (for he enjoys watching the show)(and has significant social problems).

The first time I met Dexter I thought he was a nice chap, but gave off some weird vibes. Not watching-you-shower-creepy, not I'm-going-to-kill-you scary, just...weird. He kept bringing up his ex-wife randomly in conversation. Apologising, he explained that they'd been married for a few years but had since gotten divorced. But he was over it. Totally over it. Yeah right.

We felt a bit sorry for the lad, so his weirdness and tendency to sit on the couch for days on end and never actually sleep in his bed was excused.

Until I found out that they'd separated years ago and he had since gotten a girlfriend, so my sympathy went out the window.

It was the little things at first. Like the way he'd walk past me while I was sitting at the computer in the middle of the house and make a succession of clicking noises every time he walked past.

Every.

Time.

Or that he watches Fox News and actually believes every word they're saying, especially Bill O'Reilly. As an aspiring journalist who subscribes to the the idea of objectivity, ethics, and sanity in the media - plus I think Barack Obama is adorable - Fox News offends my intelligence more than A Current Affair.

Or the way he'd leave food out, or start making a cup of tea, and completely forget about it until it was crawling with flies.

Or when Josh decided invited him out to the pub with us one time and, for some odd reason, he ran off without telling anybody. I thought he'd gone to the bar or to the loo, but he was gone for some time so I went to look for him. I found him round the corner, talking to some completely random people.

Trying to be sympathetic to the guy who is letting Josh and I live in his house for very little rent, I decided to overlook it. But it just got worse.

The first thing that happened that seriously annoyed me was running out of milk when I was trying to make a coffee. Not really a big deal, except that I'd bought a litre of milk the day before and the next morning it was completely gone.

Considering I'm lactose intolerant and barely drink any milk and my boyfriend doesn't drink it either, I concluded that Dexter had drunk an entire litre of milk in less than 24 hours.

No milk and no coffee makes Ellie a very angry, cranky, lethargic person for the rest of the day.

The next thing that shot my blood pressure through the roof was when Dexter was talking to his girlfriend, who is from the Phillipines, over Skype.

As he strolled through the house, carrying his laptop, he nudged me conspiratorially and giggled. "Doesn't she sound funny?" he asked.

"Um. What?" I replied.

"She has a funny voice."

"... Why do you say that?"

"Cuz, um, you know, she has an accent."

"Isn't she Filipino and lives in the Phillipines?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I don't understand why that's funny."

"Er. Oh."

In case you didn't know, I am Australian but of Korean descent. Not terribly sure why he thought that making fun of his girlfriend's Asian accent to his Asian housemate would be a good idea, but it wasn't.

And then I saw this sitting on the sink the other day. It is not mine. Josh uses an ashtray when he smokes, as opposed to a bowl half-filled with food. I was so enraged that I left a note. Unfortunately, I forgot to take a photo of it, so here's an MS Paint representation of what I saw on the sink.

Amazingly, he washed it.

I have never seen Dexter clean in the three months we've been living here. Ever. I wash the dishes most of the time. After I finish washing piles of dishes that have accumulated over the last few weeks, Dexter will sail in with a pile of dirty bowls, plates and coffee mugs, plonk it on the sink and go back to the couch.

I don't mind washing dishes. But I draw the line when the dishes are not mine and encrusted with something that looks like, and will cause me, to vomit. So I was very, very angry that he actually expected me to wash his disgusting bowl of mould.

My friends reckon I should just dump it on his bed (well, couch, he never sleeps in his bed) the next time it happens.

Then the other night, I heard Dexter talking to his friend on the phone. I couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but I sort of got the gist that his friend was upset about something. To cheer him up, Dexter decided to blast cheesy Neil Diamond ballads to him from his stereo over the phone.

At 1 in the morning.

Apparently Dexter's girlfriend is coming round to stay soon. He described her as "stubborn", which I hope means she is a martial arts expert who will kick his arse and make him get his shit together before I commit housemate-icide.

But on second thought, perhaps I'm being a bit too hard on Dexter. Perhaps we are the shit housemates.

We constantly get intoxicated next door and occasionally stumble back into the kitchen and play Iron Chef: The Near-Empty Fridge edition.

At the moment I can see empty bottles of tequila, scotch and a Tooheys New tallie sitting on the table.

We are goon enthusiasts. Last weekend we held the Drinklympics. I did not participate because I had to work later that night, but it basically involved noisy beer pong, using a nasty mix of fruit salad and Coolabah dry white. A larger friend of ours broke a flimsy chair, which my mate Bob tried to fix, failed, then threw out the window.

Preparing for goon pong

To top it all off, we're noisy. It's not uncommon to have all three radios on, all playing Triple J. Either that or Dutch hardstyle techno blaring from Bob's subwoofer speakers. Josh also recently acquired a turntable for some vinyl-scratchin' good times and plays the drums. Prefered style? Heavy metal.

And Josh and I are, um, a couple. We're both fairly young. You can figure out the rest.

Dexter came round to me the other night with a big box. It was full of peanut M&Ms. And they were for me! Perhaps it was a peace offering.

"Oh, thankyou!" I said. "That's really nice of you. Where did you find them?"

"Well, they're from my vending business. They've been sitting under the house for a while."

Uh oh.

I checked the date on the side of the box.

Then I ate one of the M&Ms. It tasted like cardboard and the peanut had gone squishy.

Who knows. Maybe funny ol' Dexter wants to commit some serious housemate-icide too.

Things that have made me cringe as of late

2009-04-07T23:58:00.000-07:00

- Sunday Telegraph editor Neil Breen's decisions and quotes during the whole Pauline Hanson debacle.

I knew on Saturday when I had those photos and I knew that if I published something like that and they're wrong then I'm in huge trouble.
(Radio 2UE, Breakfast with Mike Carlton and Sandy Aloisi, 16th March, 2009)

- Particularly when 90% of Australia realised the photos were fake, but Breen kept insisting they were real.

Less than a week later...

...Pauline, I'm sorry. We should never have published them.
(from the Sunday Tele)

Well, no, it's usually not an awesome idea to publish incriminating photos coming from a man who can't get the dates of his lies right, and who also claims to have dirty pics of other female politicians and is probably crazy.

Photos from Sunday Telegraph. Photographed in the 70s? Yeah right...

- Tabloid journalism at its lowest: Paula Murray in the UK's Sunday Express condemns teenagers who post drunk photos and rude messages on their social networking profiles. Not just any teenagers, but ones who were killed in a massacre.

...some have them have boasted about alcoholic binges.

Bad idea, Paula. The team at Bloggerheads are outraged, and are getting their revenge by posting classy photos from her own Facebook profile.

And this is why I try not to post too many drunken photos of myself on Facebook.

- A Twitter exchange, in which Demi Moore says something dumb that will cause glee for atheists all around the world.

@Pathofreason: "Prayer: how to do nothing and still feel like you are helping."
@mrskutcher: "Everything is energy my friend, that is science."
@megsandbacon's reply: "That isn't science actually. That's faith. All great and stuff...but not science."

- When it's painfully obvious that the person leaving hundreds of little messages and "Like" clicks on someone else's Facebook has a crush.

- Especially when the commenter writes "I dreamt about you the other night..."

- And the recipient never replies.

- Ever.

(*Disclaimer: Before anyone replies saying "OMG YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME", please note that I have seen this happen on a few different profiles. So this isn't a personal attack)

(Though it is very funny.)

(Sorry, sorry. I'm going to hell.)

(Feel free to make fun of me for Facebook stalking to find out this information.)

Why I'm a Twit OR How many twitter users can I link to in this post?

2009-04-06T00:21:00.000-07:00

As you may have noticed from my spiffy gadget on the right side of my page, I have become addicted to Twitter.

It seems like everybody else is too. Spencer Howson from ABC radio station 612 Brisbane confessed to my journalism lecture that he is a Twitter addict. Major news services like The Courier Mail, ABC News and the New York Times provide on-the-go news on Twitter. Triple J Super Request takes requests from Twitter now. Even my journalism lecturers dig it!

As with any new hyped-up technological thing, it receives a fair bit of criticism.

“Why would I want people to read about my every day life? Why would I want to read about what other people do? This is pointless. I’m so angry that I’m going to go outside and go clubbing, get laid and play contact sports, you geeky basement-dwelling losers."

Etc, etc, we've all heard it before.

This video sums up a lot of criticism about Twitter (Twittercism?)
As hilarious as that video is, I think a lot of people are missing the point. Twitter is not like Myspace and Facebook. The point is not to meet friends or internet girlfriends on it. Its strengths lie in professional networking, self-promotion for freelancers and collecting information. A lot of media types have added me to Twitter, which is handy, networking-wise, for an aspiring journalist/dirty new media yuppie like myself. I have gotten a few little interesting news stories from Twitter to put into 4ZZZ news bulletins. It makes my job a whole lot easier, which is pretty awesome.

They tend to post journalism industry happenings, interesting links and news. I am also following some very excellent comedians, very funny bloggers and generally some other cool or interesting Twitterers who always seem to write something entertaining. QUT students love it too, which is great for solidarity when I’m lamenting over my latest uni assignment. Brisneyland is great for chatting about stuff happening locally. The QUT Lolly Shop used to have a Twitter account (until it unfortunately got shut down by the Student Guild) which talked about what was happening around campus – handy things to know, like the busway elevator was broken (again) and pop tarts were for sale!

I do have friends on there, but that is because I am genuinely interested in what they have to say. Why would you add someone very boring that you don’t know? A few people I don’t know, who live in completely different areas and have very little in common with me are following me on Twitter. Here’s a hint: You can ignore them.
That’s not to say there aren’t boring Twits out there. That’s not the fault of the application itself, but rather the people using it. The critics are right in a way – why would you update the internet with every boring, mundane detail of your life? It’s easy to fall into that trap I suppose. I try to put a bit of thought into it. Will people be interested in what I have to say? Would anybody find it worthy to respond to? Is it funny? Is it informative? If not, then I don’t bother. Here's another hint: You don't have to update your Twitter every five seconds for the sake of updating it.

I suppose Twitter is not for everybody. If you are interested in the world and people around you and have something to say, by all means Twit away until your fingers fall off. But if you only believe that Twitter exists to tell people when you’re on the toilet, trimming your nose hair, purchasing a bag of cheese or anything else that happens in your immensely boring life, then you should probably not get a Twitter account.

Because nobody's forcing you to get one.

Advice for the broken hearted (or anyone about to get their wisdom teeth out)

2009-03-26T14:40:00.000-07:00

Having your heart broken is like having your wisdom teeth taken out.

On the first day, you vomit blood, can't move and the pain is excruciating. Because you know, you've had something torn out of your body. Of course it's going to hurt.

For the next few days, it's hard to eat, talk, or do anything except sleep. It still hurts. You end up doing odd things to compensate for your pain, like solely eating disgusting jelly or ice cream instead of normal food. It's not much fun at all and you feel pretty miserable and sorry for yourself.

That's okay. Everyone feels like this when it happens. It's all part of the healing process.

But after a while, if you take care of yourself, the pain subsides. You're able to move again and do the old things you used to be able to do. The pain is still there. It's more like a dull ache, but you're able to do things now.

The pain doesn't last forever. It goes away more quickly than you think. You never forget it, but it doesn't hurt any more.

When band-whoring goes wrong.

2009-03-20T02:11:00.001-07:00

Myspace is great for keeping up with bands. That local band that you saw at the pub last week will most likely have a myspace so you can listen to that rockin' tune you danced to, put a name to it, find out when they're gigging next, if they're recording a sweet EP, etc.

Some bands post bulletins every now and again announcing such news.

A local band added me recently. They were pretty good so I added them back.

Unfortunately they are the biggest online whores on the planet. I constantly received comments, messages and bulletins from them.

Saying the same thing.

They're not the only bands who do this. I have deleted a few bands off myspace for doing the same thing, which can't be doing much for their fanbase.

I posted the following rant on myspace (via a bulletin, ironically enough...):

I just deleted a band off my friends list for posting 5 bulletins.

In a row.

Saying the same thing.

This is a real bummer because they're actually a pretty good band but seriously, I do NOT need that many bulletins saying THE SAME FUCKING THING on my page.

Seriously, if you have some cool shit going on, post like one bulletin or something and put the info on your main page. If you have decent fans who have half a brain, they will look at your actual site if they wanna know what's going on. If they don't know how to do this then TOUGH FUCKING BISCUITS, THEY MISS OUT BECAUSE THEY ARE TOO STUPID TO USE THE INTERNET.

Or do the old fashioned thing - posters, word of mouth, street teams, merch stands at your gigs, whatever. If people are interested they will check it out. Getting in people's faces online will drive people away because NOBODY LIKES SPAM.

Conclusion: All bulletins and no music make Ellie a very pissed-off music fan. End rant.

Word to your mother.

2009-03-18T01:36:00.000-07:00

Anyone who’s been following my Twitter or Facebook lately will have seen me express my rage at the word “alcopop”.

For any non-Aussie readers, the Australian government introduced a tax on pre-mixed drinks (eg. Vodka Cruisers, Bundy and Cola, my old favourite Smirnoff Blacks, etc) to reduce binge drinking last year. It was definitely not put into place so the government could get more money and has actually done nothing to reduce binge drinking, but I digress. This week the bill is being reviewed again. Naturally, everybody is talking about it.

It occurred to me as I was reading the news that the word “alcopop” was really bothering me. I think it’s because it’s not a word!

I’m not going to lie; I did partake in drinking activities when I was a young ‘un, and it’s pretty much a given that the underage drinking kiddies enjoy pre-mixed drinks. Who could blame them? The sugar content gets you drunk, there's usually more than one standard drink in one can/bottle which gets you drunk, and knocking down a few that pretty much taste like coke or juice gets you drunk. Did I mention they get you drunk?

But at no point in my early drinking career did I ever use the word “alcopop” and I have never heard any other 15-year-old on the train to a Wynnum house party use it.

Here I am at the tender age of 16, about to stab my friend with a Midori Illusion. Oh, the horrors of underage binge drinking!

So this means I never had this conversation:

Me: I am going to a fully sick party, man.
Male friend over 18: That is rad to the max, dudette.
Me: Like totally, homie G. Could you do us a favour and pick up a 6 pack of alcopops?
Male friend over 18: Fo shizzle, my nizzle.

I think this word was invented by Kevin Rudd, and merely indicates how out of touch with the youth he is. Yes K-Rudd, I know you have a pimped-out myspace but come on, you’re not fooling anyone.

The government are the kings of made-up words. Take for instance, the Cronulla Riots. Awful business that was, and it got about eight thousand times more awful when some clever clogs declared that it was “un-Australian”.

It’s not a word! Plus that word has been bantered about the press so much that I’m not actually sure what it means any more. It seems to be applied to when someone does something naughty. I mean, obviously you’d hope that beating up minorities wasn’t part of the national psyche. But considering it’s applied to matters of general human morality rather than nationalistic values, I don’t think it actually means anything. Probably because it’s not a word!

Luckily, these girls don't have to worry about being called "un-Australian".

Hugh McKay sums the debate up quite nicely in his article in The Age: “So let's not get carried away by hubris: Australians are no better than anyone else when it comes to occupation of the moral high ground”.

Also see Queensland Opposition Leader Lawrence Springborg’s use of "de-necessary" – which is not only grammatically incorrect, but also not a word! Good effort at trying to distract angry unionists from the fact that you’re cutting jobs in an unstable economic climate, Mr S! It didn't really work because they ended up making an entire campaign website about it.

I am also doing a subject called New Media. It is basically about using the internet, which I thought would be cool because I’m geeky. It’s not. I try and be a good student and read my ridiculously overpriced textbook but it’s very hard to when it’s full of many long, obscure words that have obviously been invented by someone who is VERY VERY CLEVER.

Take this sentence, for instance:
“Overly optimistic or pessimistic accounts of the impact of new media, or ‘cyberbole’, have been countered by approaches that seek to identify a middle ground between extreme positions.”

I think this is basically about people who either hate or love the internet. I’m not sure because I am obviously not academic and clever enough to understand.
But really, ‘cyberbole’? CYBERBOLE?! Oh look, it’s a clever play on words with ‘cyber’ and ‘hyperbole’. In case you didn’t pick it up already and were confused because it’s not a word!

Today in class we also discussed “folksonomy”. I’d never heard of the word until now. I thought it had something to do with folk music, but alas I am wrong.

Apparently it's one of those new buzzwords that has come along with "Web 2.0" (never quite understood that, I don't remember someone saying "Look! I made a new internet!"), "social networking" (when is networking not social in some way?) and "convergence" (which was already a word, but has been whored out in academic circles like a prostitute born with extra genitalia. Made of crack.).

We then had to answer the following questions in the tutorial. Here are my answers:

3. What are the limitations of folksonomy?
It’s not a word!!!

4. What are the strengths of folksonomy?
Confusing simple-minded journalism students.

I just heard that the "alcopop" tax was voted out. Thank goodness. I'm going to celebrate by knocking back a 6-pack of Midori Illusions, for old times sake.

Nipple St terminology

2009-03-11T23:00:00.000-07:00

I love my living situation at the moment.

I currently live in Nipple St. That's not its real name. Our street name has odd spelling and I mispronounced it as "Nippy". But I thought Nipple St sounded better, so that's what I call it.

The Nipple St house is a huge Queenslander which has been divided into two homes. Josh, a housemate and I live on one side and Josh's (and mine now I spose) good mates Bob and Brendan live on the other side. Bob's girlfriend Kristi pops in a fair bit and I occasionally see a few randos (see below) partying on down on the couch. It's a fun house full of beer and barbecue.

The beer of choice at Nipple St. Can we get a sponsorship now please?

We spend a lot of time together. For the interests of sociology, I started to document the new emerging linguistics in the house, mainly due to Toowoomba and Bundaberg influences. There are a lot of words we use around each other that I don't think the general public use.

Here are my favourites:

Ruckus: n.Origin: Bob and Brendan.
Chaotic, usually refers to partying or some sort of alcohol.
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"I dunno, I might drink some beer and cause a ruckus."
Sometimes an adjective.
"Dude, that's ruckus!"

Ludicrous, luda: adj. Origin: Bob and Brendan, possibly some guy they know.
Crazy, overwhelming. Something cool.
(while watching the guy from Jackass shove a toy car in his arse) "Woah...ludicrous."

Barpet, Rumpet, Scarpet: n. Origin: Josh's old sharehouse in Toowomba.
For when you spill an alcoholic beverage on the carpet. Barpet is spilt beer, rumpet is spilt rum, scarpet is spilt scotch, you get the idea.
"Look out for that rumpet! It's sticky."

Atom: n. Origin: Josh, apparently a Toowoomba thing.
Refers to Automatic Teller Machine
"I have to get some money from the atom..."

Slutwitch: n. Origin: Everybody who lives on the northside.
The suburb of Lutwyche, which is near Nipple St. Does not have any slutty witches at all.
"Let's go to the bottle-o at Slutwitch."

Rando: n. Origin: Kristi.
Short for "randoms", meaning various people of a miscellaneous nature.
"Hey, there's some rando passed out on the couch."

Cabbage: n. Origin: ??
Cab.
"We'd better call for some cabbage before we all pass out and die."

Episodes: n. Origin: Bob and Kristi?
TV shows.
"Wanna come over and watch some episodes?"

Cobber: n. Origin: Very old Aussie slang word, revived by Bob and Brendan.
A friend.
"Hey cobber, could you pass me a beer?"

Gee-Day: expression. Origin: Josh
A different way of saying G'day.
"I thought I'd pop round and say gee-day."

What's crackin'?: expression. Origin: ??
A more excellent way of asking "how are you?"

Herro shitty wok, you want some shitty chicken?: expression. Origin: South Park.
A common greeting in the Nipple St house.

Imagine my joy when I found an honest to goodness City Wok in Brisbane!

Bobtunes: n. Origin: Josh
The music Bob plays on his electronic drumkit.
"Oi! Play us some Bobtunes!"

Balls: expression. Origin: Me
The perfect word for just about everything.
"Oh, balls."
"Holy balls!"
"Well I ballsed that up, didn't I."

There are many other words but most of them are fairly incriminating, so let's keep this blog PG for now.

Eventually you end up saying things like

"Gee-Day cobber, what's crackin'? We're causing a ruckus at Nipple St with some randos, watching some episodes and listening to some Bobtunes. Ludicrous! Don't worry about driving, I'll get you some cabbage. Mind the scarpet though."

Uni Student Nightmares

2009-03-09T17:59:00.000-07:00

At around lunchtime today I was growing more and more hungry.

I wandered around the kitchen, searching for leftovers that could be cooked in 3 minutes in the microwave, and was struck by a brilliant idea of brilliance: Two minute noodles!

Inside the pantry I found a big bag of sugar, tomato sauce, a bag of rice and some biscuits... but no 2 minute noodles.

This guy would probably go on a homicidal ninja rampage if he ran out of 2 minute noodles.

I gasped in horror and immediately my brain started descending into a pit of insanity. Insanity meaning that I was readily considering strolling down the road to our local Disgusting Fried Animal Restaurant to eat. This is not good.

I realised that I was experiencing a Uni Student Nightmare.

As I munch on a poor unfortunate but delicious creature (sorry RSPCA), I thought up some more Uni Student Nightmares...

- Running out of beer/coffee.

- The pub no longer takes your student discount card. Or in my case, it burns down soon after you have scored said card.

- The guild bar is closed.

- Lecturers who don't put their lectures online, thus screwing you over when you have to skip your lecture due to sleeping/procrastinating/killer hangover...

- Centrelink.

- Listening to a fellow student who lives at home, wearing trendy clothes, bitching about how they can't afford an iPod.

- Pretentious students who actually put up their hand and talk for a very long time or ask complicated questions in lectures.

- When someone's phone rings in a lecture.

- When your phone rings in a lecture.

- Finding out that the dude who's been stalking you for the last semester is in your lecture/tute.

- Finding out the guy you're stalking isn't in your lecture/tute.

- 8am classes.

- The idea that eventually you won't be able to be a uni slacker any more, but rather a contributing member of society with a real job...

Terrifying!

Heard from the mouths of babes

2009-03-04T22:54:00.000-08:00

Kids crack me up sometimes.

Little Boy: (pointing) "Mummy, what's that?"
Mum: "That's a (whatever it was)"
Little Boy: (in New Zealand accent) "Awww... true bro."

Yeah broo!

Dad: "Could you go put these in the car?"
Kid: "Yeah okay... BRB"

Brother: (looking at miniature Buddha statue) "Who's that?"
Sister: "That's Buddha."
Brother: "Who's he?"
Sister: "I dunno, I think he eats children."

Son: "Daddy! Daddy! Look what I can do!"
Dad: "What's that?"
Son: (makes fart noises with his armpit)
Dad: (cracks up laughing)

Facebook 5

2009-02-18T18:17:00.000-08:00

I post a lot of stuff on Facebook - videos, excellent links and photos. So much stuff that I realised I should post it on my blog rather than annoy everybody on my friends list.

1. A video game bar to be opened in Brisbane
This is way too cool. It combines two things in life that I love - video games and drinking. I am so excited that I think I will drink there every night. Either that or I'll work there, as a bartender or undisputed Mario Kart champion.

2. Sausage thief
This is the funniest story I have read all day. All week even. Firstly, the word sausage is hilarious. Secondly, the person who finds the Sausage King will be rewarded...with 10kg of sausages. Thirdly, he is being called "the icon of Toowoomba". The Toowoomba Chronicle's version is chock-full of puns and gets funnier and funnier as you read on.

“I hope the King hasn't been snagged anywhere or is not being given too much of a
grilling.”

3. In other news of immense hilarity...

4. Kittens Inspired by Kittens

A young girl chirpily provides the strange dialogue between pictures of kittens eg. "I'm a magician!" Obviously someone has nerdy parents who look at too much Lolcats. Hency why if I ever have a daughter, she should be exactly like this girl.

While on the subject of cats...

5. Russian lolcats

Translation: Cease your protests, the deal is done! You are to make a fine wife for uncouth American businessman!

I don't think I have anything to add to this.... just click it.

In conclusion, facebook is excellent.

Queen of Awkward

2009-02-10T23:42:00.000-08:00

I am the Queen of Awkward. Seriously. See this facebook group? Read that entire list. I have done all of them.

I have done all of these too:

- When you are in the loungeroom with your parents/housemate/someone you don’t know very well and suddenly, out of the blue, a dirty sex scene starts playing on TV. With very loud moaning.

- Singing very loudly along to a song, then realising halfway through you’re singing a completely different song to the one you’re hearing.

- Making a potentially offensive joke that you think you’ll get away with but you don’t.

Eg.
Me: “And I was like, you stupid bitch, I hope you get run over by a steam roller.”

Guy: “My uncle was run over by a steam roller :(”

Me: “Um, oh dear.”

- Pressing the button on the bus but realising you’re a few stops too early. And then the bus stops and it just so happens that no one else on the bus wants to get off there and you sink into your seat and pretend you didn’t press it.

- Interrupting intimate moments between couples through silliness. Like when Mr Chicken and I walked through the Botanical Gardens last Friday night, chasing possums, and interrupted about fifteen couples mid-nookie.

- Or when I’m looking deep into his beautiful blue eyes, about to tell him how much I love him and he says something like “I really want a pet flamingo.”

- Laughing really hard and accidentally spitting on someone.

- Having to explain to a computer repair man why your keyboard isn’t working. There are worse examples out there, but mine was very seriously informing him that I had spilt beer in the keys and ants had gotten into it.

- Seeing someone across the pub you want to crack on to, but you’re too nervous. So you have about five vodkas in ten minutes and muster up the courage to say something. But instead of saying, “Hello, having a good night?” you end up saying “Blaaarghhhhh!” and being glared at by their girlfriend (who you just noticed).

- When you bump into someone you know but you don’t really like. And you’ve looked at each other and you know they recognise you too, but you don’t want to talk to them. So you’re left with one option: Pretend you’re someone else, and give them a weird look like they’ve recognised the wrong person.

- Being rushed to hospital for a very unsexy female-related emergency and being examined by a very attractive, young male doctor.

- Someone walking in on you doing something weird. I don’t mean like wanking, I mean cleaning out your ears with a cotton tip. Or plucking the hairs from your upper lip with tweezers. Or very, very carefully popping a huge blister on your big toe.

- When your parents invite their friends over with their children and you’re forced to make small talk with each other. Thankfully, it’s not so much of a problem these days thanks to moving out of home and the wonderful invention of alcohol.

- Answering the phone, when you’re reduced to rolling around on the floor in your state of non-sobriety, and it’s your mother calling for a pleasant chat.

- Or it’s your boss calling you in to work. But at least you sound convincing when you say “I’m in no state to work”.

- Having an intimate moment alone with your man in the kitchen, then looking out the window to look into the shocked/disgusted/aroused eyes of the guy that lives in the flat next door.

- And then your boyfriend waves to him.

- Putting your media player on “random” a song like “Freestyler” comes on… while in the middle of having sex.

You can rock MY microphone, BABY.

** BONUS STORYTIME **: When I was going out with my then-boyfriend a few years ago, we were doing what most teenagers with hormones do. Hurriedly, he put media player on random so as to disguise suspicious noises from his parents. In the midst of the throes of awkward, teenage passion, Tenacious D’s “Wonderboy” started playing.

It was very hard not to sing along or throw him off so I could crack up laughing when Jack Black says “That’s telekenesis, Kyle! How about the power…to move you?”

"Riga-doo-doo, riga-doo-doo..."

and now, a word on racism from a chinky gook from commie land

2009-01-28T14:05:00.000-08:00

On Australia Day, I spent the day under a beautiful mango tree with some friends, eating barbecued meat and drinking beer. I wore my Big Day Out shirt from last year (which has a stylised Australian Coat of Arms on the front) and we listened to Triple J's Hottest 100.

Days before, I had an infuriating conversation with a patron at the pub. He demanded to know where I was from,and whether I "loved Australia."

I have this conversation every so often with some deluded old fart who is convinced that I am a dirty, slanty-eyed illegal immigrant who has just walked straight off the boat and taking the jobs of ordinary, hard working Aussie battlers, blah blah blah. To this day I'm unsure as to what they think they'll achieve by having this conversation.

Herro herro dis is Shitty Wok, you want some Shitty Chicken?

Despite the fact that I am an Australian citizen and can speak English just fine (except when inebriated), this old dude just did not get it. Our exchange ended with me mishearing what he said, his triumphant juvenile mockery of my alleged lack of English skills and myself promptly tipping his beer down the sink.

Now for the twist. You'd think this would be an entry whinging about how awful and oppressed I am, being an Asian female, in a land of thong-wearing white Aussie dudes.

Well, even though that exchange with old mate made my blood boil, I must say that racism is on the decrease. Conversations like that happen, but not very often out of the hundreds of people I talk to every week. And when they do, they're from people who couldn't be taken seriously by any intelligent life form. Like my obese, hairy, pokies-addicted friend I mentioned.

Sure, you meet the occasional person who can't get past the fact that you're not white, but I put that down to upbringing. Most people are merely curious and mean no harm, even though most of the time it comes across as offensive anyway. Other than that, 95% of my friends are white Aussies and none of them particularly care that I'm Asian.

Hell, Mr Chicken is a blue singlet-wearing, self-proclaimed "bogan" from Toowoomba whose idea of a rad time is wandering around in the bush, and he still reckons I'm allright.

One could argue that the loopy old bat I talked to was just a product of an old upbringing. Yet a lot of old people nowadays have lived through wars and the immigration boom. Many of the regulars at the pub are old men who are quite friendly to me and totally understand the whole "I'm Asian but I've grown up in Australia, mate" deal. In fact, most people in general understand, or even go the other way and are concerned about racist fuckwits giving me a hard time.

But what of events like the Cronulla Riots? I say that in the grand scheme of this country, it was a small group of people who were widely condemned by any Australian with a brain. Thank god for that. Imagine if the entire nation condoned racial violence.

Basically what I'm trying to say is that racism, in some form or another, is always going to be around. It's human nature to fear or hate something different. But the world - particularly Australia - is a lot better than it used to be, and it can only get better.

Not too long ago, it used to be perfectly okay to say "nigger" in everyday speech. Now the American president is black and an Aboriginal man is Australian of the Year.

It's a small start, but it's a good one.

Many people realise that racism, on a public level, comes from the truly ignorant or hateful. Racist comments, if they're not a joke already, are very rarely taken seriously. I try not to anyway. If I got upset every time an idiot said something insensitive, I wouldn't have time to go to the toilet.

Basically, if someone wrote a very serious letter to The Australian saying something like, "All Koreans are dog-eating communists who should be culled immediately", I hardly think a political leader would put down his morning coffee and call a meeting about it...

"Koreans are a serious problem in Australia."
"My god, you are right. They're everywhere, speaking in some crazy language I don't understand, cooking tasty food with lots of chilli, studying quietly in universities, drinking our beer and dating our sexy, sexy Australian men! Plus they're all Communists."
"Isn't that just the north?"
"Huh? Anyway, I suggest an overhaul of international relations. We must close all tasty Korean restaurants, blow up Kias and Daewoos, outlaw any eating of dogs of any kind..."

...and enact an Anti-Korean Bill of 2009.

All this talk about unnecessary racism reminds me of a certain ranga politician...

So all things considered, I don't mind being an Asian in Australia. Sure, some of our political leaders make my head hurt, the phrase "un-Australian" makes me want to slap somebody and the more nationalist bogan Aussies scare me.

But on the other hand, Australia has some good beer (well, not all of them), Triple J, crazy stoned Queenslanders (which is another blog entry altogether), a majority of fairly decent people and a prevailing sense of humour.

One of my favourite TV shows to ever come out of Australia is Fat Pizza. A thoroughly politically incorrect comedy, Fat Pizza exploits and exaggerates the stereotypes of wogs in gangs, bad Asian drivers (cheers Ahn Do), insane Italians and disgustingly racist white Aussies to make people laugh - ultimately to realise how silly it all is.

Hopefully one day, everybody will.

Great Musical Mysteries

2009-01-15T20:51:00.000-08:00

What is music? For some, it is a creative outlet for personal self expression. Others use it as a means to make profit by mass-marketing consumer popularity. Some just like making a shitload of noise.

But sometimes music doesn't make sense at all.

In no particular order, here are my personal Top 5 Great Musical Mysteries!

1. Rihanna and the Numa Numa song.

Many internet geeks know about "the Numa Numa song", otherwise known as "Dragostea Din Tei" by Romanian pop group O-Zone. It was made famous by Gary Brolsma - your average nerd who thought it'd be a laugh to upload a video of himself singing and dancing along to it, way back in 2004. The video became a hit and had 13 million views by 2006.

Imgine my surprise when I heard the familiar lyric "Mi-a-hi, mi-a-ha", digitalised and sung to a hip hop beat by none other than Miss "Umberella, ella, ella" Rihanna herself.

The great mystery: Why Rihanna's producers thought it would be a good idea to cash in on a song made famous by a fat, dancing nerd.

Maybe it was so "Umberella" would sound less annoying by comparison?

2. Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue's duet

The darkest Australian musician meets "the singing budgie" with a fondness for gold hot pants and writes a song.

I must say I'm not a fan of either Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue. It also seems highly unlikely that any Nick Cave fan would like Kylie Minogue, and vice versa. Yet here they are singing a song about falling in love and killing each other. And it works.

The great mystery: Why is this song so goddamn good?

3. The lyrics to "My Humps"

What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my humps,
Humps, my humps, my humps, my humps, my humps,
My humps, my humps, my humps, my lovely little humps (Check it out)

"How do you know what that means?"
"No one knows what it means. But it's provocative."
"No it's not!"
- Jon Heder and Will Ferrell in "Blades of Glory"

It doesn't really take a rocket scientist to figure out that "humps" refers to curves (or boobies).

But why "humps"? There are thousands of words for female body parts and she chose "hump", which makes me think of "heffalump" or someone who is horribly disfigured.

This particular verse:

They say I'm really sexy,
The boys they wanna sex me.
They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin' a feel my hump, hump.
Lookin' at my lump, lump.
You can look but you can't touch it,
If you touch it I'ma start some drama,
You don't want no drama,
No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama
So don't pull on my hand boy,
You ain't my man, boy,
I'm just tryn'a dance boy,
And move my hump.

... could easily sound like Fergie is singing about a disgusting tumour growing out of the side of her body.

The great mystery: Choosing the most unsexy word to sing about sexy you are.

4. The video clip to "Total Eclipse of the Heart"

I adore this song. Ever since I saw an old man singing it (really well!) in karaoke at the Victory Hotel, I love it. Bonnie Tyler has an amazing voice. The song itself is about the doubts and fears somebody can have in a relationship, but ultimately realising that love overpowers all.

So can anyone explain to me why Bonnie Tyler is wandering around a spooky old boarding school with creepy boys doing extra-cirricular activites around her?

The great mystery: What I just mentioned above. Plus, seriously, there are ninjas fighting in the middle of it!

5. Avril Lavigne's self-censorship
Oh, Avril Lavigne. You are hardcore like a 14 year old girl wearing an Emily the Strange shirt.

Ms Lavigne released an incredibly annoying song last year entitled "Girlfriend". I'm sure you all know it. In case you don't, here it is for your viewing pleasure! (Youtube won't let me embed the video for some reason).

At some point in her tirade to get some dude to cheat on his girlfriend, she declares "I'm the motherfucking princess!". Radio stations usually bleep these words out for the general public and to shield the kiddies from such naughty words. You can usually hear the uncensored, naughty version on the CD.

My ex worked in a CD shop around the time Avril's album came out and had to play the dreaded harpy's music all day. He noticed something a little off.

Indeed, you never hear "motherfucking" in the song at all. Avril sings "motherffffking" on the recording itself.

The great mystery: Avril Lavigne fails at being hardcore, even when she says "motherfucking".

It's not me, it's you

2008-12-29T15:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Fortitude Valley,

I am writing you this letter to say that we should break up, yet remain friends. Acquaintances, maybe.

As what happens with many long term relationships, I have begun to see your flaws. And sadly, some of those flaws are things I cannot live with.

Firstly, you are high maintenance. Your standards of wealth meet at such a high level that spending a night with you empties every cent from my wallet and bank account. And then you insist on staying up til the wee hours of the morning.

Your associates are also really beginning to annoy me. I don’t like your friends who are grown men but insist on wearing fluro, and your screechy female friends with their bums hanging out of their dresses. Either that or sad old seedy men who hang out in the pubs by themselves, waiting to latch themselves onto some poor unfortunate lady. The last time I saw you I was trying to watch The Pretty Boys from the outside of Not Quite 299 but was driven away because a rather annoying man kept obstructing my view and enthusiastically telling me to come inside.

A typical inhabitant of the Valley.

But we had a lot of fun in the early days, dear Valley.

Remember the tequila sunrises at Club 299, when I used to think it was a legitimate alternative venue and before it was “Blink” or “Trash” or whatever?

Remember vomiting in the mall after too many vodkas at Ric’s?

Remember dancing about at the cocaine-caked sausage fest that is the Mustang Bar?

Remember cocktails at the Glass Bar? (actually, that place is still pretty cool and makes the best Long Island Iced Teas ever)

But maturity makes us all move on to bigger and better things. Like a beer under $5. Waiting at the bar and being served within five minutes. Competent bar staff that are not hired for their extensive knockers. Being able to sit down with a beer and talk to someone, rather than being forced to shake your rump to shitty house music on a stinky dancefloor. Being able to walk around and not being hassled by guy who thinks his sexy dance moves will get me in his pants.

But do not fret too much of my absence, my dear, for I shall visit when you choose to host sweet bands and drum ‘n’ bass nights. You still have many good points like the Step Inn, Not Quite 299, The Jubilee and The Tivoli.

Apart from that, I could only really enjoy you if I was two years younger, fashionable in any way and pumped full of pingers. But I’m none of those things.

Just understand that my love for you is over.

Love,

Ellie

PS. Before you ask, no, there is no one else. But I find myself becoming closer and closer to The City these days, and the promise of the Victory and the Brewhouse eventually reopening is something that will possibly lead to a greater commitment.

lets get political. political!

2008-11-02T15:49:00.000-08:00

It's starting to get exciting on the American front as the election starts to wind up. Admittedly, I haven't been avidly following the campaign trail and I wouldn't have the slightest clue what policies the presidential candidates have put forth. But it's all exciting in the last 48 hours or so. Those Americans sure know how to put on an election campaign. Plumbers and Barackrolls and hockey mums, oh my!

You've just been BarackRoll'd. Lols and such.

Silliness aside, this election is quite important. I mean, let's face it. If aliens invaded earth and said, "Take us to the KING OF THE WORLD", you'd take them to the White House. You wouldn't exactly introduce intergalactic space bodies to Kevin Rudd as representative of Earth, would you?

"Are all earthlings this geeky and full of milky goodness?"

The main concern I have with the election is that, again, it's between an old white guy with an appetite for warfare and, to quote the wise Weebl and Bob, Hopey McChangePants.

I have, uh, heard rumours on the internets that the smart guy will win. But if the last few elections are to go by, it looks like the old white guy is going to win.

Oh well, we'll soon see. Good luck, America!

Fuck you, phone monkeys!

2008-10-22T20:22:00.000-07:00

For the last four days, I have been waking up at stupid o'clock every morning, trudged my arse through morning traffic to QUT and produced various news stories for the uni's radio station.

I would like to vehemently state that I want to be a print or online journalist and want no part in this broadcasting tomfoolery whatsoever. Please feel free to slap me over the head with a novelty-sized giant fish if I ever say, "I think I'll go for a radio job..."

(I'm listening to my own story on the radio at the moment. I'm doing the entertainent wrap-up but I sound like I'm reading a eulogy).

Anyway, enough of my lack of radio prowess and the fact that I don't sound like Sandra Sully. I would like to talk about phone monkeys.

My news stories were written at the very last minute, making deadline (or not) by a hair. A nose hair.

It wasn't because I'm a slow writer (or slow in the brain even). It was because it would take at least two hours to finally get someone on the phone.

Here's how 95% of my interviewing went...

Phone monkey: Hello?

Me: Hello, I'm Ellie from QUT News and 4EB radio. I'm putting together a story on cheese smuggling and was wondering if I could talk to the Minister of Cheese.

Phone monkey: What is this about?

Me: Cheese smuggling

Phone monkey: For who?

Me: QUT News and 4EB radio.

Phone monkey: He's in a meeting.

Me: Oh... do you know when it will be finished?

Phone monkey: No. But I can put you through to our media representative.

Me: Okay, sure.

Ring ring...ring ring...

Media representative: Hello, Captain Twat, media representative of Twat Enterprises, how may I help you?

Me: Hello, I'm Ellie from QUT News, blah blah blah.

Media representative: I'm busy. Can I call you back?

Me: Sure, our phone number is blah blah blah. If you could call back before 11 o'clock (before deadline, you smarmy motherfucker) that would be great.

Media representative: Okay, sure.

Many hours later, ten minutes before the story is going to air and after I've picked a completely new story altogether...

Ring ring... ring ring...

Me: Hello QUT News, Ellie speaking.

Media representative: Hello, it's Captain Twat here. I'm ringing you back to tell you that I don't want to be interviewed.

Me: ... great. Bye.

And this happened even, I shit you not, when I was putting together the entertainment wrap-up. I went through a secretary and two media representatives before I got onto one fellow who said that he was not allowed to be quoted to the media. Considering that all I wanted to ask was what was happening at the museum this weekend, I find it all to be a bit ridiculous.

The only times I got a good interview was when I somehow managed to get a hold of the source's direct line and talked to them first, without the secretaries and PR bastards in the way telling me that everybody I want to talk to is overseas, interstate, in a meeting, or can't talk to the media. Even then, this one woman I talked to was so sour and grumpy (because talking about farmers' markets is a sensitive topic apparently) that I didn't end up using her grab for fear of her voice destroying the souls of anybody who listened to it.

So, fuck you phone monkeys.

Thankyou for making my job harder.
Thankyou for telling me I can read what your CEO said on your website, even though I just told you I'm doing a radio news story and need an interview.
Thankyou for being an absolute bitch for no reason. I hope you tell your boss about it and he fires you on the spot for not letting him talk on radio.
But mainly, thankyou for inspiring me to seek news stories from community groups, activists, and real people in the future rather than go through the bullshit of bureaucracy at a government level.

It's a book for your face.

2008-10-06T16:53:00.000-07:00

Ah, facebook. I got one last year because a friend of mine wanted to show me some photos. For some reason I could only view them on facebook. Go figure. And my facebook profile was born.

Facebook is an endless source of amusement. Not because I play Dope Wars or send sheep to people or whatever, but for the social aspect of it all. That news feed tells you everything, from where people went on the weekend to if their relationship is complicated or not. Fascinating.

Here are some things that amuse me about facebook:

1. The hot friend in the profile photos
I have most of the girls in my grade added to facebook. There is one particular girl who was rather popular back in the day (and still is I suppose). Pretty and smart, heaps of people wanted to be her friend. So I couldn't help but giggle when I noticed that about five or so girls on facebook had this particular girl in their profile picture. Perhaps they were hoping they would appear pretty and popular by default? Or maybe some random facebook babe would add them? That would be a strange conversation.

"You look beautiful in that photo."
"Oh, why thankyou."
"You have really cool blonde hair."
"Oh, no, that's my friend. I'm the fatter, greasier, pimplier, less attractive one on the left."
"...oh."

2. Passive-aggressive status updates
I saw one the other day saying something like, "[name] wishes SOMEONE would get off their lazy arse". I have a hunch that the person they were talking about was their housemate. Who is on their friends list and, via the News Feed function, would have seen it.

I now realise that this entire entry (nay, this entire blog really) is pretty passive-aggressive in itself. But that's okay, because I'm a dirty hypocrite.

3. Um, who are you again?
I occasionally get a friend request from someone I have never seen in my life. On closer inspection and a bit more stalking, I usually find out that we have a very tenuous link - usually
that we went to the same school but weren't in the same year and never once spoke to each other or socially interacted in any way.

Why? I just don't understand. Why would you want to communicate with someone who was two years above you in school? It's bad enough when girls in my grade add me, and they're people who I either didn't talk to or thought I was a freak. Ah, the joys of an angsty youth...

4. Facebook addicts who are obviously new at using the internet.
There was a fellow who added me a while back. He was a regular at my work. Anyway, I had to end up deleting him because I had about 200 requests from him to grow plants, send chocolate, take sexy quizzes etc. And then there were all those SuperPokes. Innappropriately dirty ones too, which was a bit worrying. On closer inspection, I realised that he sent the same things to everybody on his friends list.

What's the point? If I had accepted all of his requests, my profile probably would have crashed and the internet would have exploded. It's not cute or fun to do 200 facebook things; it's annoying. I use facebook to send messages, upload photos, play poker and stalk people. That's it. I really cannot be bothered to join a facebook mafia or race cars or grow teddy bears or whatever.

5. Friendship: DELETED
You know you've really pissed someone off in this day and age when they delete you from their friends list. OH NO! Now who will I throw Pokemon at?

And I haven't even gotten started on myspace. It's more or less the same really, though you tend to see more passive-aggressive bulletins. And more weird friend requests. Please enjoy viewing this person, who attempted to start a myspace friendship with me.

On hiatus

2008-09-21T16:48:00.001-07:00

Just letting you all know that I'm not going to be blogging, facebooking, myspacing, etc for a while.
Basically, I ruined my own life through something I'm not going to be able to forgive myself for and I'm far too ashamed to be sociable on the internet at the moment.

I mean, I'll still be online for my fix of stupid YouTube videos and things like that but I'm mainly going to be lurking. If you have a pressing need to talk to me or send me gratuitous hate mail, my msn and e-mail address is ellie.freeman@gmail.com

a must-read for every man on the internet

2008-09-03T22:50:00.000-07:00

“I’m looking for a lady in public, but a shameless hussy in private.”

This tender line was written in a 50-year-old man’s RSVP profile. Clearly, he knows the way to a girl’s heart.

My good friend Jasmine and I have a great hobby: combing through profiles on online dating sites and laughing at the terrible ones.We do this because we’re horrible, horrible people.

But really, if you’re a balding goth that craps on about Norse mythology, or you upload a photo of your obese, hairy self wearing only tiny rugby shorts, you really should expect to be laughed at.

I must say, I’m glad that I’m not single and to the point where I’m trawling these online dating sites, otherwise I’d be extremely depressed. The good men are obviously socially interacting in the outside world and the other ones are trying to find a lady on the ‘net.

Anyway, profiles tell a lot about a person. I’ve learnt to read between the lines and see who the real man is behind “a nice guy looking for the girl of his dreams”.

1. On Interests
A lot of profiles are quite insistent on “an active lifestyle”. Basically, there seems to be a lot of single jetskiers/rollerbladers/tennis players/etc looking for love. And they’re looking for a lady to do all of that with. Here I was thinking that these guys were looking for a root, but they’re actually really looking for a chick to play badminton with.

Manblading can disturb your perfectly balanced beer, not to mention your libido.

What he’s trying to say: I’m not a fat nerd that sits around on the net all day, even though I’m on a dating site.
Reality: NO FAT CHICKS.

On the flip side, a lot of online dating wannabes also mention that they don’t like going out to pubs/clubs and would rather stay at home and watch DVDs. Now I have nothing against that, but its said like us pub-going folk are horrible sleazy people who will be lonely for the rest of their lives, because they like have a schooner or two down at their local. That's not true! Only about a third of pub-goers are sleazy, lonely old men.

What he’s trying to say: I’m a gentleman because I don’t get wasted and grind up on random ladies. I’ll even watch girly movies with you. How sensitive and lovely of me.
Reality: I probably can’t handle my liquor.

I find this very depressing because I am not an active lady and I enjoy tequila shots.

2. On being a gentleman or a nice guy
Based on personal experience, nearly every guy who says that they’re “gentlemen” or “nice guys” are the complete opposite. Be wary of words like “chivalrous”. Sure, the gentlemen of old did nice things like open doors and pull out chairs, but then again women used to be exchanged for real estate and people used to think the world was flat. So-called "gentlemen" often do not understand concepts like women standing up for themselves, having lives of their own and enjoying themselves without having dinner bought for them. They're about as fun as going out with your Dad. If your Dad was the dude from 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Nice guys” are a different kettle of fish altogether. You know those guys who whinge that “nice guys finish last” and neglect the fact that their wooing techniques are outdated, annoying or just plain creepy? Rather than go on about it, I shall direct you to this incredibly accurate livejournal entry on the topic.

“Romeo! Romeo! GET THE HELL OFF MY BALCONY BEFORE I SLAP A RESTRAINING ORDER ON YOUR ASS!”

Let’s just say that I’ve met my share of “nice guys” and “gentlemen”. They’re all the same. They disguise themselves as super sensitive guys for some reason, because apparently, as a woman, I’m into guys who spend more time crying and styling their hair than I do.

You know what I like? Guys who don’t need to explain how nice they are and just do it naturally. It’s like when people have to explain a joke; if it needs to be explained, it’s probably not funny.

Indeed, why do girls go for the bad boys?
Because they’re better in bed.

What they’re trying to say: I’m a gentleman and a nice guy.
Reality: Women exist to be girlfriends and make my life complete. I’m going to buy you flowers and if you don’t praise me like a god and let me have sex with you, I’ll stab you in the face. Oh no, where are you going? Please don’t leave me, I love you. FOREVER.

3. On coming across as mentally unstable
Online profiles are hard to write. How do you really capture the true essence of your being in a few words?

There’s a golden rule of dating that says: Don’t talk about the ex on the first date. Some guys seem to cancel themselves immediately by talking about the ex and other such heartbreak on their profiles.

Seriously, when I was single, a few prospective internet daters decided preface them asking me out by telling me their girl problems. The bitch that fought with him, the whore that manipulated him, the beautiful woman that rejected him, the “women are awful” rant…followed by “So, wanna go out sometime?”
What do they reckon girls would think? “Ooh, he’s a misogynist with emotional baggage. Take me now.”

They’re usually the same sort of guy as the “nice guy” above. Watch out!

What they’re trying to say: I’m a beautiful, wounded soul with a broken heart that only you can heal.
Reality: I’ve got issues.

4. On what they’re looking for
Obese, crusty old men with neckbeards have no right to specify that they’re only looking for a slim, attractive, possibly Asian woman ten years younger than them, and that bigger girls need not apply. End of story.

Beware the dreaded neckbeard!

What they’re trying to say: I like pretty ladies.
Reality: I have unrealistically high standards.

5. On being a wanker
I’ve only come across a select few of these profiles but they exist. Basically, they’re indie dudes who pride themselves on not being conventionally masculine and patronising anyone who is. Their favourite movies/music/books reads like somebody compiled a list of alternative pop culture to namedrop in order to sound cool. They effectively patronise people by saying things like, “if you’re the type of girl who ‘lykez having fun wif her friends lol’, don’t talk to me.”

If you’re the type of guy that wears berets and ‘adores post-modern arthouse movies and T.S Eliot’, don’t talk to me.

There was a fellow that Jas and I looked at who rambled on about how his dream girl has to match his level of intelligence. It’s a long story, but basically this fellow was going to ask me out over myspace, despite the fact I’ve never met or talked to him. I seem to attract a lot of unstable men, for some reason. Anyway, said fellow is coincidentally in some of my uni classes (small world again); his “intelligent” contributions to the lectures are so utterly banal that I’m embarrassed for him. Imagine if I had gone out with him! I can't see that relationship lasting beyond a single wanky comment in a lecture, followed by me throwing my laptop at him.

Again, if you have to explain to people that you’re intelligent, you’re probably not.

The irony of this is that no matter how intelligent and cultured and so goddamn different you try and appear to be, you can’t escape the fact that you’re advertising yourself for romance on a commercial dating site.

What they’re trying to say: I’m a very interesting person.
Reality: I have a massive ego. Massive. My god, I just do not understand why women don’t flock to me at the thought of my enormous, throbbing…brain.

6. On Being "Open Minded"

What they're trying to say: I am open minded.
Reality: I like kinky anal sex.

And I haven’t even gotten started on the women. They’re more or less the same anyway, but without neckbeards. That’s a blog for another day…

And with my powers combined, I am… A BAD DATING PROFILE!

"Why don’t girls like nice boys?”
Hi, I’m a nice guy looking for a nice girl. A nice girl is someone who is nicer than my ex-girlfriend, who is a SELFISH BITCH WHORE WHO NEEDS TO DIE.

I’m into paragliding, lacrosse and curling. I’m looking for a girl who likes doing all these things with me. I hate going out to bars, clubs, parties, or any event where people are talking and smiling and whatnot. When I’m not paragliding, playing lacrosse or curling, I like watching DVDs at home.

My favourite movies are anything foreign and anything that David from The Movie Show likes.

As you can see in the picture, I have auburn hair, brown eyes and broad shoulders.

I’m a chivalrous gentleman who is into holding open doors, buying dinner and not letting you vote. Drop me a line ;)

Who I'm looking for:
I’m looking for a girl who is petite, has the body of Jennifer Hawkins, around ten years younger than me and can keep up with my witty, intelligent banter.

DISCLAIMER IN CASE YOU MISS THE POINT OF THINGS AND ARE ABOUT TO SEND ME AN ANGRY COMMENT ABOUT HOW HORRIBLY SEXIST I AM:
This isn't a rant against ALL men. I quite like most men, and I find I get along with the opposite sex better than other women. Most of them are kind, fun and wear nice cologne. This is an entry mocking men who are obviously trying too hard in the dating game and put ridiculous things on their profiles that drive women away without them realising it. And I think some women are pretty stupid too. Just so you know.

this short story doesn't have a title. hope you like it though.

2008-08-26T05:34:00.000-07:00

Nothing to report. Here's the short story I wrote for one of my classes - with bonus author's notes!

Sue was lucky. She got to wake up next to the man she loved every single morning. “Good morning, darling,” she whispered, gazing into her lover’s eyes.
Takeshi Sato, singer of Japanese rock band Cold Hearts (and undercover ninja), was silent as Sue beamed at him. His dark eyes stared back, slightly obscured by his long, silver hair. A samurai sword hung from the studded belt around his hips. He held a spiky, red guitar in his gangly arms. Sue sighed, patting her miniature true love affectionately. It was well worth spending that little bit extra for an authentic Takeshi Sato action figure on eBay Japan. Such care was taken to carve Takeshi’s slender yet muscular torso: the thin singlet hanging off his shoulders, and the intricate buckles adorning his pants. No Western toymaker could ever truly capture his delicate, fragile beauty.

Takeshi is based on Sephiroth from Final Fantasy VII - a character that turns anime fangirls into rabid, drooling beasts.

Sue stretched her arms as she got out of bed, which was covered with a pretty blue Cold Hearts doona that she bought last year. She moved a large poster flag of Takeshi Sato away from the window, letting the morning light shine in on her bookshelf. In chronological order was her collection of the Cold Hearts manga comics, from Issues 1-50 – except for Issue 49, which was rare. It apparently featured a sex scene, death and an illegal drag race. Anybody lucky to have it cautioned other fans that Issue 50 was not understandable without reading Issue 49. Sue hoped again that somewhere under the piles of discounted manga comics at NihonCon, Issue 49 would be ready for the taking – at any cost. Sue needed it. She’d spent so many years following the story of a young, talented, good-looking musician who constantly battled with bad producers, evil robotic groupies and the ghost of Jim Morrison, all the while trying to lead a normal life as a high school student. She had to know how it all ended.

The Cold Hearts anime calendar featured a bold red circle over tomorrow’s date. Sue eagerly crossed out today’s date. The NihonCon – a convention for fanatics of Japanese pop culture – was one sleep away! Held in the big exhibition hall in the city, NihonCon was a plethora of stalls selling manga comics, anime DVDs, video games and merchandise. Every year, Sue would save up money she earnt from her job at the bookstore to buy all the new Cold Hearts stuff she could find.

There were also competitions at NihonCon. This year, Sue was entering the Cosplay Competition. For the uninitiated, cosplay is the art of dressing up in the costume of a character in pop culture. The more elaborate the costume, the better. She had nearly finished sewing her costume of Midori Osaka, Takeshi’s love interest in the series. Sue couldn’t help but think how remarkably similar they were; Midori and Sue both had blonde hair and blue eyes. If she wasn’t a Year 11 student in Australia, Sue would definitely be a petite, sixteen-year-old Japanese schoolgirl with psychic powers, like Midori.

As well as being a rather pleasant melon flavoured liquer, I got Midori's name from Guitar Hero.

And of course, her true love would be Takeshi Sato. The difference was that Sue was much smarter and mature than Midori; she’d go out with Takeshi in a second, get married, have his silver-haired children…

Sue switched on her stereo, which already had the Cold Hearts Original Soundtrack (in English) in the CD player. She decided to play the album from Track 1, “Shadows of my Soul”:

In the dark night, I bleed
It is your love I need
To bring light to my window
And take away my shadows

I had a H.I.M song stuck in my head when I was writing these lyrics. Go figure. No offence, H.I.M fans.

Sue paused as she poured milk into her cornflakes, letting herself get immersed in the mournful tune. His deep vocals were beautiful, soulful… sexy. Behind that striking voice was a troubled, lonely man with the burden of fighting against the evil organisation, TokyoPopCo. A lonely, devilishly handsome man that needed the love of a kind woman to bring a smile to his face.

The best part about the cosplay competition was that the winner would be awarded a prize by Takeshi himself. Well, not quite – he was the voice actor for his character in the anime. Sue spent hours imagining what he looked like. She came to the conclusion that he looked like – no, he was – Takeshi Sato himself. There was no other alternative in Sue’s mind. Surely, the possessor of that dark, yet beautiful voice could be no one else.

“My soul is a never ending, sha-a-dow,” Sue sang, as she sat down at her computer with her breakfast.
She checked the updates of her favourite websites. The Takeshi Lovers message board was fresh with new questions and arguments. Sue checked for reviews on her 44-chapter fanfiction, Heart of Gold. It was an epic love story between Takeshi and an original character - a fan named Susie. Takeshi was captivated by her beauty; her sparkling, azure ocean eyes were set on creamy porcelain skin, peering out from beneath her long, sunshine-golden hair. He spent his every moment daydreaming about kissing her, even writing lengthy love ballads. It had just gotten to the point where Takeshi had finally asked Susie out on a date.
“I really don’t think Takeshi is the type to fall totally in love with your ridiculous character. Even if she’s thin, busty, blonde and can travel to the astral plane at will,” said user ColdHearted01.
“Shut up,” was Sue’s angry reply. Some people could be so rude.
After checking for updates on the message boards (“What do you think Takeshi’s favourite sushi is?”), Sue sat down to embroider Midori’s school emblem on her blouse.

--

For what must have been the hundredth time that morning, Sue pulled the elastics out of her hair and fixed them into higher pigtails. Like most anime characters, Midori’s hair defied gravity and logic by having her pigtails pinned to the very top of her head. NihonCon was crowded, as usual; samurais, spiky-haired ninjas, schoolgirls and the odd cyborg were frolicking about the exhibition hall, caught up in the colourful costumes and excitement of meeting other like-minded fans.
As she skipped throughout the stalls, giggling happily at nothing (staying in character, of course), Sue looked out for other Cold Hearts cosplayers – her competition. Cold Hearts had a relatively small fan following; she only saw two other Midori cosplayers and a rather poor attempt at Takeshi. People who look nothing like the character shouldn’t even bother, thought Sue as she saw the Takeshi-wannabe’s big pink ears protruding from his cheap silver wig. The other two Midori cosplayers, Sue noted, would definitely not win the cosplay competition. One of them wasn’t even blonde and the other one… shouldn’t wear short skirts, thought Sue, frowning in disgust.

This guy probably shouldn't cosplay.

She rummaged through several manga stalls in search for the elusive Issue 49. No, still not there. Oh well, maybe there would be some more merchandise for sale. A girl dressed as Sailor Moon growled menacingly as Sue tossed Limited Edition Sailor Moon Action Figures to the side of the stall.
“The Cold Hearts Cosplay competition will begin in ten minutes,” announced a voice over the loud speaker.
Sue dropped a plush toy cat as her stomach lurched. This was it! The moment had finally arrived. She pushed through the crowd towards the stage, flinging shoulders and arms out of the way as she went. Nobody was going to get in the way of meeting her true love.

The competition had already begun by the time Sue arrived at the stage. The nerdy guy dressed as Takeshi had just finished his skit. He brandished a plastic sword as he stared dramatically out into the crowd. A small group in front of the stage applauded wildly. “Thankyou, and that was Jordy, our Takeshi cosplayer,” said the announcer. “And now onto the girls…”
Next up were the two girls dressed as Midori. For the next five minutes, they skipped around the stage to the song “Daggers in my Heart”, occasionally stopping to pose. Sue shut her eyes, blocking out the sight of the ugly Midori cosplayer and concentrated on her skit.
“Our next skit is another Midori cosplayer,” announced a familiar, deep voice that caused Sue to freeze.
Takeshi! He was watching her! There was no time to look for him on the judges’ panel. Sue ran up onto the stage quickly, staring at the floor.

Although the exhibition hall was full of people, all Sue could hear was silence.

The familiar opening guitar riff of “Shadows of my Soul” buzzed out of the cheap stereo. Sue took a deep breath and shakily switched the microphone to ON.

In the dark night, I bleed
It is your love I need
To bring light to my window
And take away my shadows

Sue shut her eyes as she sang, pigtails flying, lost in the passion of the song. The plea for help, the heartbreak, the pain… her pain was Takeshi’s, his was hers, it was all so beautiful…

“Sha-a-a-a-a-do-o-w,” finished Sue, taking a ladylike curtsy and running off the stage.
The previous cosplayers clapped enthusiastically.
“Well, that just about wraps it up for the Cold Hearts cosplay competition,” said one of the judges. “And now we’ll announce the winner…”
Sue clutched the sides of her skirt. She squinted at the judge’s table off to the side of the stage. Where was Takeshi? He must be hiding behind something…
“The winner is our Midori cosplayer, Sue!”
In a daze, Sue made her way over to the judges’ table. This would be it. A comic book voucher and meeting the love of her life.
“Heyyyy!” boomed the deep voice from before. “Congrats, babe!”
Sue slowly looked up. She saw dirty old thongs and camouflage pants. She saw a pot belly strained by a garish Hawaiian shirt with topless hula girls on it. She saw long, scraggly black hairs erupting from underneath the collar. Her eyes met beady black ones, set into a chunk of pink flesh that was almost completely hairless, save for a few patches of missed stubble. He smiled and began to speak.
“Here’s your voucher,” said Takeshi’s voice.
Sue could only stare as the fat, bald, hairy man thrust a $30 comic book voucher into her hand.
“I… I…” Sue’s voice faltered.
“What’s wrong babe?” asked the strange man. “Don’t be intimidated just ‘cause I’m famous.” An unexpectedly high-pitched laugh screamed out of his mouth, causing everyone around him to jump.
“You’re not Takeshi,” muttered Sue wildly, her eyes darting around nervously. “Who are you?”
The man laughed that horrible laugh again. “Of course I’m not Takeshi, silly!” he cried. “I’m Max Sharpe, the voice actor. But hey, I sure sound like him, don’t you think?”
Sue whimpered quietly as Max launched into his own impromptu rendition of “Shadows of my Soul”. He was a good singer. So good, that Sue shut her eyes and opened them again, hoping that the real Takeshi was standing there. He wasn’t.
“No… no…” moaned Sue. “This can’t be happening!”
Clasping her hands to her face, she ran out of the stage area, through the oblivious crowd, and out the door to the street.

She fumbled with her mobile phone, trying to remember the phone number for a taxi. For a second, she caught a glimpse of Takeshi’s face – a sticker on the cover of her phone. Screaming, she peeled it off and ripped it in half.
“Are you okay?” asked a nasally voice from behind her.
It was the Takeshi cosplayer from earlier, Jordy.
“I just wanna go home,” mumbled Sue, jabbing at random numbers on her phone.
“Do you have any way of getting home?”
“No… my mum drove me here this morning but my parents don’t get home for a few hours…” Sue tried calling for a cab again, only to hear hold music. She let out a little scream in frustration.
“Hey, don’t stress,” Jordy patted her arm. “My brother’s picking me up. We can give you a lift home if you want.”
“Oh, no, it’s probably out of the way…”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” said Jordy. “Just as long as you’re okay.”
Sue wiped away the tears from her eyes. Jordy smiled back, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“So… I can’t believe that big fat guy plays Takeshi,” said Jordy.
Sue laughed, a little too loudly. “I thought he’d look… well, a little like him,” she admitted, blowing her nose.
“He looks like The Big Pink Monster.”
Sue paused, trying to think of who the Big Pink Monster could be. Which issue was it? Which episode was it?
“You know, the one who challenges Takeshi to the drag race?”
Drag race?
“You…” Sue’s eyes widened. “You have Issue 49!”
An old red car pulled up next to them.
“I can lend it to you if you like,” said Jordy, opening the door for her.
Sue got into the car and pulled the elastics out of her pigtails.
She was lucky.

An epic day

2008-08-12T07:48:00.001-07:00

Two rather interesting things happened to me today.

1. I met John Birmingham.
2. I saw an awesome gig (I've become interested in reviewing as of late after giggling at the bitchy user reviews on my247.com.au, so I'm trying to write my experience in that format)

1. I met John Birmingham. You know, the author of one of my favourite books which I quite possibly count as a major influence behind why and how I write? Yeah, that dude. After he randomly came across my blog a few entries back, Dan had emailed him and asked him to sign my book for my birthday (I turned 20 on the weekend, by the way). It conveniently turned into a lunch meeting. Holy cow! I slipped into "quiet, softly-spoken and socially retarded" mode due to pure shock of meeting someone whose life I've repeatedly read about in He Died with a Felafel in His Hand and a few of his other autobiographical books. Knowing a bunch of intimate details - deeper things than you'd find on a myspace profile - about someone before you meet them is a very bizarre feeling.

Nevertheless, John turned out to be a really friendly guy and I quickly got over my "oh my god I'm stuffing my face with spicy Chinese food in front of one of my favourite authors". It was great to meet him, even though I was concentrated on not coming across as a dickhead the entire time. Hey, I guess I just don't meet many famous people.

2. Tonight was the Gyroscope concert, supported by the Shihad and Sugar Army. You know it's been a good gig when you declare to anyone who will listen that "I'm going to marry everyone from Gyroscope."

This prestigious event took place at the Arena, which I've never been to before. Performance-wise, there wasn't much to complain about; vertically challenged people such as myself had the option of viewing the bands from an upstairs area, and the lighting was meticulously perfected, which added a real bang to the show. Now I might just be being a bar nerd here, but the Arena's bar service is awful. I understand that the Arena is a music venue, not a bar, but the bar staff seemed like a bunch of random kids that were chosen for their indie charm rather than skill or experience. One girl looked positively terrified as she slowly and carefully measured out the shots, and I earned a "oh my god I can't believe you're drinking that" look of disgust from another girl when I ordered a Corona. I'm terribly sorry, should I have ordered one of the many cans of VB in the fridge? I gave up after that.

Yuck!

Oh, and the floor was sticky.

Sugar Army started the night off with what I first perceived as intense indie rock. Unfortunately, they quickly ran out of steam by the third song. After playing one of their songs that I vaguely remember hearing on Triple J, the songs all seemed to melt into an ocean of mediocrity; the highs and lows were predictable, the ambitious progressive guitar riffs didn't make sense, and the singer sang out of tune.
I was also put off by the way they danced. I usually enjoy when band members move around when performing, but this was ridiculous. The guitarist's signature move was bouncing around in a circle as though he lacked knees, while the bassist assumed a move where he looked like he was attempting the splits while pelvically thrusting at the drummer. I put this down to the fact that they were both wearing extremely tight pants.

Shihad were on next. I admit that I don't know many songs of this immensely popular New Zealand heavy rock band, but I was greatly entertained as they made up for Sugar Army's lacklustre performance and then some. Singer Jon Toogood announced that Shihad had been together for 20 years this. That's right. This band are as old as I am, and they still bloody rock. It's great to see a band that obviously loves performing. A most impressive feat was Jon's journey into the crowd, up the stairs, pausing to play guitar over the balcony, run behind us (!!), run around to the other side of the stage and jump off a speaker stack back onto the stage. Followed by a leap into the air on the final guitar riff of the song. Brilliant!

Just when I thought that Shihad had topped everybody in the "most energetic band of the night' competition, Gyroscope ripped through a set that left me awestruck, euphoric and smitten. There's a certain harmony to explosive guitar riffs combined with the sugary sweet vocals of singer/guitarist Daniel Sanders. It's interesting to see the differences between their old and new songs; their older songs have a very strong punk influence, while the songs off their newest album Breed Obsession are more melodic, with a moody grunge feel to them. You could tell that every lyric that Daniel sang or screamed was genuine - even when he unexpectedly launched into a cover of Midnight Oil's "Beds are Burning". You could tell that there must be something special about this band when everybody in the audience sings along to every song, word for word. Gyroscope performed with a passion that left everybody smiling, hugging, dancing and reaching out to touch the amazing band members as they shook the hands of some lucky punters in the audience. Their final song, "Snakeskin", made the entire Arena turn into a moshing, singing frenzy.

I emerged from the Arena dazed, happy and full of love. Which is how everybody should feel after any good gig.

You are viewing all of my future husbands.

And i thought Eloise was bad enough...

2008-08-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

Look at this. Isn't that awful?

I don't understand how parents could be so selfish. I'm not sure what it's like in New Zealand, but Australian children have a tendency to make fun of everybody's names, especially if they're slightly unusual. Hell, even if they're normal! Why do you think every male in Australia has a ridiculous nickname?

My full name is Eloise. El-oh-weez. A name dating back for centuries, though it is somewhat uncommon. It is constantly misspelt, mispronounced and inspires dippy teachers to trill "Ooh, that's a lovely French name!" which is highly irrelevant, because anyone looking at me would know how French I am. It is a name that I constantly associate with annoyance.

This is the 12th century abbess, Heloise, one of the most well-known women in history with my name. Here she is writing the correct spelling of her name. "No, it's not Louise with an E, you uneducated fuckwit!"

A (not anymore) friend in primary school suddenly realised that the word "wee" was in my name. "Haha!" she screeched. "Hello ELLO-WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"
It wasn't hilarious the first time and it certainly wasn't hilarious the next ten thousand times after that. So I forced everybody to call me Ellie. Then I became Ellie Smelly. Goddammit, why couldn't I have been called Kate like everybody else I know?

But that's nothing on how much worse it would be if your name was Midnight Chardonnay. Really, I think their mother must have been sculling the stuff when she came up with that name. Pseudo-sophisticated names are awful and tend to be the product of a bogan who's trying to be classy. Schappelle and Mercedes, anybody?

Schappelle Corby was imprisoned in Indonesia for having a crap name.

I once had a friend who wanted to name her future son Bailey. Which is a nice name, except that she was naming him after the Irish cream variety (most commonly found in Cocksucking Cowboys). I thought it was quite cute at the time, but it's a bit skanky now that I think about it. Imagine going through several hours of labour, looking down at your softly, weeping newborn, and saying, "Oh, she's beautiful. I will name her Fruit Tingle."

"Mummy, where did I come from?"
"Well, I took one nip of vodka, and one nip of blue curacao, shook it in a cocktail shaker and poured it over ice with some red cordial and lemonade..."

Though I still think the worst name I have ever heard of was a woman who named her daughter Vagina.

Poor, poor students. Wait what?

2008-07-30T18:45:00.000-07:00

As a student, I was quite interested in this article in the Courier Mail.

I've heard this story a few times before. In fact, I do recall a story on A Current Affair (my favourite news program) a few years back about a girl who had to support herself by being a part-time clown at children's birthday parties while studying. It got to the point where she had to miss classes for work. That's pretty terrible, isn't it? Working to go to uni, but not actually going to uni.

The kid in this story lives off the Student Allowance and had to eat bread and rice for eight months. How horrible! (but at least he was getting a lot of fibre in his diet).
At first I was quite sympathetic to the plights of these poor, poor students, but then I thought, "Wait, I'm a poor, poor student, and I'm pretty sure I had a stir fry for dinner last night and polished it off with a block of chocolate."

Before I moved out of home, I was scared that juggling enough work to pay for rent and food as well as pass a journalism degree would not work. But it did. Last semester, I worked, was able to pay rent, phone bills, taekwondo fees, petrol, groceries and the odd drinking adventure. I also passed my subjects and was quite pleased with my marks. My rent isn't exactly cheap either.
There's a student in the article who had a 16 hour per week job and ended up having to skip classes. This somehow evokes little sympathy on my part, as I work over 20 hours a week and can easily still attend my classes.

At first I thought, "Maybe it's because I'm doing a bludgy-arse journalism degree while majoring in creative writing." But then I thought of my good friend Jasmine, who is a nursing student. She lives out of home, has a car, works two part-time jobs and mainly gets 6s and 7s for her subjects.

I'd love to know why some of these students have to live off student allowance and can't even get one shift for a part-time job a week, or how some of these students work so much and can't study. I'm not the smartest kid in town, but surely if I and other people can do it, there's no reason why a journalism student should be living off bread and rice. Time and money management go a long way. And it's really not as hard as some students make it out to be.

I know some students pay their own tuition fees and so I think, well, that is pretty sad that they're not earning enough to live. If that is the case of the students in this article, I am judging quite harshly. But if they are Commonwealth-supported, like me and many other students are, then my views still stand.

The Full Moon OR How I earnt $10 of Hatred

2008-07-18T11:07:00.000-07:00

I’m posting in my blog at 4am to tell all of you out there in blog-land about my worst shift at work ever.
As interesting as my workplace is, I don’t like posting about it too much. I’m sure everybody’s sick to death of reading about work rants in blogs as it is anyway. Anyway, I usually have a good time at work. Some day, I plan on writing a book about my misadventures, the history and culture that goes on at the pub I work at because it truly is fascinating. But that won’t be until I have well and truly stopped working there and when I figure out how to publish the most interesting bits without getting sued or arrested.

Anyway. The worst shift at work ever. I figure that posting about this and cracking a few jokes would be much better catharsis than bursting into tears and wailing “I JUST HAD THE WORST NIGHT EVER” to Dan (who is asleep).

My manager, Nathan, mentioned that it was the full moon and people had been a bit weird lately. He wasn’t wrong. The night started off consistently busy – enough to be constantly serving, but not so insanely busy that my head would explode. However, I always take this as a sign that it will just get busier and I’ll end up being completely exhausted quickly.

I was right. It got progressively more insane as the glasses piled up and I bounced back and forth between the bar, the bottleshop and the gambling facilities. Damn understaffed-ness.

At around nine or so, we got a group of drunk men. Fantastic. After they downed some shots of Drambuie – which is a very disappointing way to drink a liquor that should be savoured – they proceeded to piss me off by stealing a beer. I had began to pour the drink then realised the keg needed to be changed. When I came back, Drunk Dude #1 was holding it and saying that he had no idea where it went.
I like to think that I have a lot of patience. But who needs patience when you have a security guard?
“Can I have rum and coke?” asked Drunk Dude #2.
“Hell no, I’m kicking you out,” I said, as I brought the security guard over to them.
“I hope you feel proud,” slurred Drunk Dude #3 self-righteously.
“I hope you do too!” I replied as he was manhandled out the door.

A co-worker of mine, who wasn’t on shift that night, brought her ex-boyfriend and his friend over for a drink. Said co-worker of mine is lovely. Her ex-boyfriend, however, needs to die a slow and painful death.
He whistled to get my attention. After I jokingly told him that he’d mistaken me for a puppy, he said, “Puppies don’t respond when you whistle. But dogs do.” His friend high-fived him. I fantasised about punching them both in the face. I don’t even care if my co-worker reads this. Actually, I hope she does. Dude, he’s a douche and has a bad moustache. Stop hanging around with him. And by “stop hanging around with him”, I mean disembowel him.

Yep, my patience was not only gone, but it had hopped on a spaceship headed straight towards the sun, never to return again.

“Can I have a Jack Daniels and Coke?” asked Burly Dude.
“Sure,” said I, and poured it.
A millilitre of Jack Daniels splashed out of the glass as I poured it. “Look, you spilt it!” said Burly Dude. “Could you give me a bit more?”
“Um, no,” I said. “But you can pay me $6 for that.”
When he did this the third time, as though sincerely believing that I would give this extremely rude man more liquor, my response was different: “Shut the fuck up and pay for your goddamn drink.”

The co-worker who was rostered on with me tonight was complaining about a fellow who was very rudely yelling “GIVE ME SHOTS” at her while she was hurriedly serving other people. To relieve her, I went over to give this man his shots. “Hey babe!” he screeched after I handed him his change. “You gave me the wrong change.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, giving him the right money. “By the way, if you call me babe again, I will break your spine.”

It was 1am and everybody was pissed. “Be careful about intoxication,” warned my manager.
A group of rowdy men wandered up to the bar and took about 10 minutes to slur that they wanted a beer. “You’re all cut off!” I said diplomatically.
“Why?”
I actually said the professional thing, which was, “Because you’ve had too much to drink. But you can have a glass of water.”
“Oh! Okay,” said one.
Apparently, one of the men in the group was quite offended and decided to accost me as I was stacking up chairs at the end of the night.
“I’m talking to you!” he snapped at me suddenly.
“What?”
“I said hello.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“YOU HAVE A FUCKING ATTITUDE PROBLEM! HOW DARE YOU TELL ME TO FUCK OFF WHEN I ASK FOR A FUCKING DRINK!”
The irony of this is that out of all the people I swore at tonight, I didn’t actually swear at him.
“I didn’t hear you. God!”
“I WAS GOING TO GIVE YOU THIS TEN DOLLARS WHICH I WOULD HAVE PAID YOU FOR GIVING ME A DRINK!” He waved a ten dollar note in my face. “BUT YOU HAVE A FUCKING ATTITUDE AND YOU’RE NOT GETTING IT.”
Hell, this dude was beyond wasted, and having fun with wasted people is hilarious. “My mighty heart is breaking!” I cried, swooning dramatically.
“YEAH… WELL… IT BETTER BE!” He dug into his pocket and retrieved the ten dollar note. “HERE, HAVE THE TEN DOLLARS, BUT YOU HAVE A FUCKING ATTITUDE-“
“Woohoo!” I grabbed the note from his hand and skipped over to the bar, leaving the security guard to deal with him.

I’m not sure what to do with the ten dollars. It is the ten dollar note of pure hatred. I feel like whatever I buy with it will bring me bad luck, or that I only have to buy something diabolically evil with it. All I know is that some drunk guy yelled at me, then gave me money. Amazing.

(Disclaimer:
Before you think either, “Wow, she sure KICKED SOME ASS!” or “What a self-righteous bitch!”, I must say that I’m not proud of how I responded to those people tonight. I have a short temper that really should have no place in the hospitality industry and really need to deal with things like that more calmly and in a more mature fashion (ie. Not provoking drunk people).

And it’s not always that bad at work. In fact, I mainly enjoy going to work because I’ve become friendly with the regulars, most people are generally sociable and fun after a few drinks, and I usually get to see cool bands. It's usually a fun place full of love, dancing and giggling over beer.
But tonight was different. It was the worst it had ever been.
And it was all because of the full moon.

I shat bricks.

2008-07-09T22:11:00.000-07:00

Like the many nerds on this planet, I find Japanese pop culture to be completely fascinating. The weirder, the better. My recent fascination is with Japanese horror or surrealism, most of which are home-grown projects I have found on the internet.

There's something very unsettling about Japanese horror that sets it apart from Western horror. For one thing, a lot of popular Japanese horror like The Ring for example, take place in a comfort zone for most people - in front of the TV at home. I find the idea that a creepy girl can crawl out of my TV when I watched an unmarked video far more scary than a bunch of stupid teenagers getting lost in the country and spending the night in haunted house. It's much more subtle with only a faint hint of creative gore. Fear is mainly based on imagery. As opposed to most Western horror where the threat is "That big scary monster is going to eat me!", the threat in Japanese horror seems to be "What is that, it shouldn't be there AND IT'S LOOKING AT ME."

Speaking of looking, I've noticed that deformed eyes seem to be staple imagery for Japanese horror, possibly playing on the fear of being watched. Paranoia, claustrophobia, death, myth and the supernatural are played on without ever coming across as blatant.

See Sadako's giant eye at the end? SHE'S WATCHING YOU. Oh, and if you watched that, you'd going to die next week. Sorry.

Another thing I like about Japanese horror is that it fully embraces modern technology. As mentioned before, The Ring features a television. More recently I have found works that use the internet as a portal for the paranormal. I'm sure there's a name for this genre and I'd love to find out what it is.

Hmm... it's really hard to explain what it is I like about Japanese horror. I'm not expert on the subject really. So without further convoluted explanations, I present to you my findings of superb Japanese horror.

WARNING: This video seriously frightened me when I first watched it, so be careful.

"User: 666"

On first watching, this appears to be a screencapture of a glitch on Youtube.com. By typing in the link to a user called "666" and refreshing the page over and over, the Youtube site eventually turns red and takes on the appearance of rotting flesh. Eventually, a single Youtube account appears with several surreal, bizarre video clips on it. The user suddenly realises that they cannot stop watching the video or turn off their computer.

Spoiler Alert!!:
This is obviously not real - it is the creation of an artist at this site. She used a clever combination of photoshop and an animation program.

I think this video works well because people tend to hate when their computer does unpredictable things. Combined with the supernatural element of, er, Satan, this video is enough to make any geek tremble in their boots. Like, not only is my computer going to crash, but i'm going to DIE as well. Great! The comfort zone thing I mentioned before comes into play again. Most people tend to muck around on Youtube as a relaxing thing. It would be the last place you'd expect to have the pants scared off you.

Tanasinn
"Don't think. Feel and you'll be tanasinn."
This is a website made up of gibberish and Shift_JIS (the Japanese version of ASCII code) images. Some of these images are fairly innocent, such as cartoon characters, animals and children. Some are more sinister, like aforementioned cartoon characters being mutilated, and featureless faces with beady, staring eyes. I can't remember which page it was on, but I do remember seeing an image of a girl hanging from a noose. This page really sums up the tanasinn experience - you can view the images with the sound of a distorted voice speaking with strange electronic noises.

Apparently it started as a project on the imageboard 2ch. There's an imageboard on the tanasinn site where people post strange photos. According to Wikipedia, tanasinn is not clearly explained, but it seems to be an effort to display surrealism and provoke a sense of fear and anxiousness.

Yume Nikki
This is a game that was created using the program RPGmaker by Kikiyama. You play as a young, mentally disturbed little girl named Madotsuki and you can explore her dreams. The landscapes her dreams take place in are vast and almost endless, full of bizarre creatures and imagery. Most of the game is just very strange, but there are some parts which I found to be quite disturbing.

Disturbing bit #1: UBOA

The beginning of this video is mainly of a fellow making Madotsuki walk in and out of a room. Apparently you have to do this many times to see Uboa. So skip to about 6:45 ARGH WHAT THE HELL IS THAT FACE THING. Keep watching - he ends up in another extremely creepy place where there are huge black, smiling ghosts with five arms vomiting blood everywhere. Eek.

Disturbing bit #2: Freaky red thing

Skip to about 1:15. Phallic monsters with eyes are watching you! Then she sees a dead body (Jesus, what a messed-up child) and suddenly OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT. Again, this really plays on the whole "something is watching you" thing (well, it does have three eyes) and the fact that it shouldn't be there. Actually, there are a lot of "that shouldn't be there" moments in this game. What on earth happened to this girl to make her mind conjure up so much frightening stuff in her dreams? Little girls don't usually think about things like dead bodies and monsters gushing blood everywhere.

Or perhaps we should ask, where did the maker of this game conjure up this bizarre imagery?

You can download the game here(needs WinRAR to open). Alternatively, you can watch the most important moments on LoudMan01's Youtube channel.

That's all I have for now. I apologise if you're slightly disturbed now. To cheer you up, here's a picture of Sadako from The Ring, bursting out from an Eeepc.

so, i know your sister through my primary school friend's brother's girlfriend

2008-07-02T07:27:00.000-07:00

In my favourite book, "He Died with a Felafel in his Hand", John Birmingham said:

"The thing about Brisbane is that everyone knows you or knows about you. In small world theory, there's only six points of separation between any two individuals, but you can trim down the numbers in Brisbane. Everyone's stories intersect, crossing over and through each other like sticky strands of destiny and DNA."

As it's becoming easier and easier to find people on social networking sites like myspace and facebook, I'm starting to see how scarily accurate this quote is. The instances of 6 degrees of separation - or in this instance, two or three - are becoming ridiculously frequent.

For example, let's look at Dan, my boyfriend, as a case study. I met Dan fairly randomly - not through friends. He used to work with a fellow called Jay. Jay's best friend is Amy, a girl I've known since grade 9. Another person Dan has worked with, Sandra, knows my good friend Rob. One of Dan's friends is good mates with a fellow that I partied with back in high school.

How? Why?

And wait til you see the local music scene. It's completely incestuous. Let's look at my friend, Ash, who reviews metal bands for various publications. A few of the people who drink at the pub I work at are in local metal bands that Ash has reviewed. One band, Dead Letter Opener, is playing a gig with a band called Screaming Dawn, who I helped make a film documentary about for uni. Ash is friends with a fellow from a band called Phalanx, which plays with a band called Into the Ocean. My friend Callum, who lives in Toowoomba, is friends with a few members of the band.

I find that all metalheads know each other. The Brisbane metal scene is pretty small, I guess. If you haven't met someone at Phoenix, then you've seen them at the Step Inn. That's about it really.

In person? It's hard to walk into the city or uni without bumping into someone you know, or someone who you drunkenly talked to at the pub from a few years ago, or the sister of the girl you went to school with. And they show up in weird places too. A friend of mine from way back that I hadn't seen for years suddenly turned up on TV for diving in the Commonwealth Games. He's off to the Olympics soon. Gosh.

I don't know if this extended family thing is a good thing or a bad thing. It's nice that Brisbane is sort of a community where everybody knows each other. It could be a bad thing if everybody knows that you slept with that girl's ex-boyfriend or was mean to the friend of a friend or something. I'm waiting for the day when all my fuck-ups suddenly become public and I will be forced to skip town. I think that's why heaps of Brisbane people move to Melbourne.

According to facebook, Dan's ex-workmate Churv is friends with the older sister of a boy I dated four years ago. Total and utter coincedence. I told said ex-boyfriend about this bizarre connection, to which he simply replied, "That's Brisbane for you."

edit:
Oh oh it gets better!
Today I was at work and talking to some friends of Chris (my manager). Upon finding out that we went to private schools, we realised we knew the same people. BUT IT GETS EVEN BETTER. One of the fellows I talked to turned out to be, erm, the friend with benefits of a girl I used to be friends with. I'd even talked to him randomly on the phone once when he was on the piss!

Wow. Just wow.

Everybody is crazy

2008-06-02T21:10:00.000-07:00

My mother was telling me about Judith Lucy's new book, "The Lucy Family Alphabet". This book is about the crazy people that make up her family.

Her father, for example, was an alcoholic Irishman who wore makeup. And her mother was a pathological liar. Her family was only allowed a bath once a week. Judith didn't find out until she was a grown adult, at Christmas while everybody was drunk, that she was actually adopted.

Put in this context, Judith's family sounds absolutely insane. But now that I think about it, everybody's family is a bit insane in some way.

For example, I was visiting my parents the other night when my father got a phone call during dinner. His screechy cousin from rural NSW informed him that their elderly aunt had the flu. As a result, the family was currently raiding my aunt's house and putting Post-It notes with their names on it on the stuff they wanted when she carked it.

"The poor woman only has the flu!" replied Dad incredulously.
"We've put your name under that lovely lamp in the loungeroom that you liked," said his cousin.

My aunt might die and my father's family is trying to score furniture. As awful as it sounds, it is so absurd that it's hilarious.

"I wonder how much I could get if I sold that lamp?" pondered Dad.

There's not as much insanity on my mother's side of the family, although she apparently has an aunt who is "mad as a hatter". When I was a baby, this crazy aunt followed my mother around, demanding that she "hold the baby". It got to a point where mum started running, and the crazy aunt's sister was running after her to stop her from abducting me.

Everybody is crazy and weird, when you break it down. Take the crazy women in my uni tutorial group, for instance. I met with one of them to chat about our assignment. There was something a little off about her face, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. She seemed swollen, like my mum looked when she ate a mango once (she's allergic to mangos).

Eventually, she said something like "It's really hard to drink this waterbottle with my new lips."
Indeed, my fellow peer had gotten $2000 collagen surgery. I was absolutely fascinated, horrified and amused at the same time.
"Why did you want to get it done?" I asked.
"Oh... I've had thin lips all of my life," she said. "This is my 21st birthday present. The problem is that they injected more in the top lip than the bottom lip."
I told another girl in my group about the conversation and how bizarre the whole thing was. "What does she look like?" she asked.
"Hmmm, a bit like a duck," I said.

And then there's the other girl in my tutorial who, as well as unable to ever stop talking, lusts over every man in the class. Her face literally fell when my tutor divided us into groups, and she found that there were no boys in our group.
She has a crush on one of the other boys in our class who, quite frankly, looks like he might actually like other men. I'd met this girl a total of three times when she hurriedly whispered to me, "Oh god, he's so hot. Sooo hot. I just love that whole piercings thing, it's sooo hot. And he's so nice too. I've talked to him a few times and he's so nice. I love when guys are hot AND nice. I can't remember his name, but he looks like his name should be Phillip, don't you think?"

She later had a chat to a creepy long-haired boy in my class (who keeps staring at my friend). I caught a snippet of their conversation as I was doing some work: "Have you ever, like, considered the idea of infinity? It's just way too much to comprehend! Or have you ever tried to think about nothing, like you were nothing and you just didn't exist? And how that would feel?"

I'd like to end this post by saying "I'm normal and everybody else is crazy", but it's just not true. What I will say is that if I catch the flu, you can have my stuff.

What the fuck is this song about?: "4ever" - The Veronicas

2008-05-27T20:53:00.001-07:00

Have you ever listened to a song - really listened to it - and thought, "Wait, what the fuck is this song actually about? Love? Death? Partaying all night?" Have you ever tried to logically break down a song and realised that it makes absolutely no sense? Welcome a new segment in my blog called "What the Fuck is this Song About?"

First up, I shall analyse the lyrically masterful song "4ever" by esteemed musicians, The Veronicas. My boyfriend went to school with the Veronicas, true story. Apparently one of them was a massive stoner. That may help us understand the meaning behind these lyrics.

Here we are so what you gonna do?
Do I gotta spell it out for you?
I can see that you got other plans for tonight
But I don't really care

The song is conflicted from the start. The singer is asking someone (I'm going to assume it's a boy) what they want to do. I would assume that the boy would reply with, "Well, I have other plans for tonight." However, the singer replies, "I don't really care." How inconsiderate. What if that boy wanted to visit his dear old grandma?

Size me up you know I beat the best
Tick tock no time to rest
Let them say what their gonna say
But tonight I just don't really care

What are they going to say? "Gosh, that girl sure is rude for not caring about that boy's dear old grandma."

Come on baby we ain't gonna live 4ever
Let me show you all the things that we could do
You know you wanna be together
And I wanna spend the night with you
Yeah, yeah with you, yeah, yeah
Come with me tonight
We could make the night last 4ever

This chorus makes me think of metaphysical poetry, particularly that of John Donne. Most of his poetry was concerned with the transience of life and his own, erm, sexual desires. His poetry follows the theme of "Carpe Diem" - seize the day. In the Veronicas case, they're seizing the day by spending the night with someone. Hello gentleman!

"Seize the day, by bonking me."

Another point of contention in this chorus is the line "We could make the night last 4ever". Let's hope that the boy this song is directed to doesn't suffer from premature ejaculation.

I've seen it all I've got nothing to prove
Come on baby just make your move
Follow me lets leave it all behind tonight
Like we just don't care

Let me take you on the ride of your life
That's what I said alright
They can say what they wanna say
Cause tonight I just don't even care

"Let me take you on the ride of your life" is pretty blatant isn't it? I dare you to use that as a pick up line at the pub. I think that's why she says "That's what I said, allright"... while the boy is staring at her in pure shock.

Lets pretend you're mine
We could just pretend, we could just pretend, yeah yeah
You got what I like
You got what I like, I got what you like
Oh come on
Just one taste and you'll want more

Ooh, I see now! "Pretend you're mine" might mean that the boy in the song has a girlfriend. Ah, it all makes sense now. She's worrying about what 'they' might say, which might be, "You're a horrible bitch for making this boy cheat on his girlfriend and neglect visiting his grandma!"

I wonder what it is this boy has what the singer likes and what the singer has what the boy likes. That's a very confusing sentence. I have a feeling these lines might relate to physical appendages, if you catch my drift.

So tell me what you're waiting for

"I'm waiting for you to stop making me spend the night with you when I have a girlfriend and I want to visit my grandma!"

In conclusion, this song is about a crazy woman with a blatant disregard for the relationship committments of a boy. The crux of "4ever" is "We ain't gonna live forever" - a metaphysical urge to seize the day by forgetting girlfriends and grandmas and being ridden all night long.

I hope that clears things up for everybody.

Talk Nerdy to Me

2008-05-14T03:06:00.000-07:00

(wrote this a while ago, but recently finished it for a tute exercise)

It's official. I have a nerd fetish.

They're babes and you know it.

Characteristics which attract the opposite sex are usually quite generalised. Some women like the studly, muscly type, with sculpted stubble and a bum that can crack walnuts. Some women are into the arty, sensitive type, who wear poor boy caps, waffle on about politics, and drink imported beer. Some women are even into the effeminate emo types, like some girls like squealing over plush toys.

I've gone out with a few different types of guys. From a Filipino break dancer to a gothic weightlifter, it would seem that I have a rather eclectic taste in men. However, I have recently realised what my taste really is, and why I've picked the right man.

My friend Katey recently showed me this epic video - Ryan Vs Dorkman. They're two young men duelling each other, lightsaber style.

You may notice the part in the video when Dorkman slashes Ryan's leg. Ryan stumbles for a second, then assumes a ready stance. The camera zooms in on Dorkman, who wields his lightsaber, adjusts his glasses, and fixes a steely glare at Ryan.

"Mmm," I said. "Dorkman's dreamy."
"I'd hit that," agreed Katey.

Wait a minute. I was swooning over a bespectacled, lightsaber-wielding nerd. Aren't I supposed to be salivating over Justin Timberlake or something? Squealing orgasmically at Zac Efron? Humping the air at Orlando Bloom?

It's simple; I love nerd boys. Yes, that's right. The ones that get excited about video games and swordfighting. The ones that indulge in internet humour and call each other n00bs. The ones that have spirited debates over whether Wiis are better than Playstations and if pirates could beat ninjas. The socially awkward ones that stammer when they talk to girls. The pale, slightly plump or slightly skinny and glasses-wearing ones. I found myself watching the bumbling, socially awkward boys in Superbad and declaring, “They’re all babes. Especially McLovin’.”

Of course, you get the odd horrible nerd who will think you're pathetic because you haven't watched all the Star Wars movies, and hates women because they spurn his creepy, stalkerish advances. Not to mention the ones that look at Asian girls (like myself) and associate them with ditzy, submissive anime girls who wear gravity-defying short skirts. But they're a minority.

I think it's because I'm a bit of a nerd myself. I'm instantly comfortable around a nerd because nerds are less likely to snub you because you're into retro video games, B-grade horror movies and saying "LOL" in public. “Normal” guys just don't understand.

Nerds are fantastic to date. Most of them are intelligent, have an unpredictable sense of humour and can fix your computer. And picking up a nerd boy is a piece of cake; you don’t have to dress like a catwalk model. In fact, you’d get more of a response if you wore a shirt making an obscure reference to an old Nintendo game.

Most girls dream of a muscly Prince Charming who will dress like he just walked off the set of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy”, take them out to expensive restaurant, then light rose-scented candles when they take them back to their high-rise city apartment. It sounds nice, but I can't help thinking that I'd die of boredom in the middle of it. I can't be the only girl like this. Give me a nerd guy who will take me to see a Tarantino movie, eat pizza then take me back to his messy bedroom to play Wii Tennis anyday.

Ladette to Lady

2008-04-29T18:59:00.000-07:00

Last night was the finale of Ladette to Lady. I am ashamed to say that I watched a fair few episodes of this show. That's right, I have finally succumbed to reality TV. How tragic.
Anyway, in case you haven't watched it, Ladette to Lady is about a bunch of unladylike, binge-drinking, boob-flashing, blokey British girls going to an old-fashioned finishing school to learn how to become ladies. Their lessons include elocution, flower-arranging, cooking, sewing, and general etiquette.

The school is run by some formidable ladies who remind me of some of the teachers at my high school (which was an all-girls school). The sort who do not yell or scream, but rather scold misbehaviour in dignified rage - which is the far more terrifying - and cause even the most blokey ladette to hang her head in shame.

The teachers are the three women out the front. If curled lips could kill...

I found the show absolutely fascinating. Firstly, reality shows tend to ridicule one group. In this show, it was hard to tell who was ridiculing who. Was it the brash, crude ladettes who got completely wasted all the time and used bad grammar? Or was it the uptight teachers at the finishing school who would seem very upset over a bad flower arrangement and had a certain technique to fluffing pillows?

Upon looking up some information abou the show on the internet, I found a few blogs criticising the show. It was labelled as "sexist" and "old-fashioned." I personally don't think it's all bad. While I don't think that all females should be posh housewives who speak like the Queen, I don't think they should be drunken slags either. There's a delicate balance. Girls should be able to get a bit pissed and be silly, but not the extent that they end up vomiting all over the pub and flashing their boobs at everybody. At the same token, girls should be well-groomed for a special occasion, be polite to people and respect men like they'd want men to respect them.
Come to think of it, everybody should be like that, male or female. Maybe there should be a show called "Lad to Gentleman".
As blatantly cringe-worthy as some of the old fashioned values are in the show, there's a point; females shouldn't be like drunken boys.

As for me? I'm pretty sure that I'm a ladette. I dress for comfort, I drink too much when I go out and end up swearing loudly and I have burping competitions with Dan. But on the other hand, I can cook a mean marinated lamb, my calves look wicked in heels and my vase of fake gerbaras on the bedside table looks marvellous, thankyou very much.

Vicky, the winner of Ladette to Lady. She was my favourite - seemed like a nice person and had a fantastic Yorkshire accent.

The daily telegraph =/= playboy

2008-04-02T18:52:00.000-07:00

The Daily Telegraph website looked quite interesting today:

Bum rush - Supermodel Gisele bares cheeky side in barely there shorts. See the pics (complete with a thumbnail photo of her bottom)
Bikini babes on parade - Girls, check out these hot bikinis, guys, just enjoy the view. Pics
Dita lesbian porn past revealed - BURLESQUE stripper Dita Von Teese has a secret lesbian hardcore porn past, revealed by explicit clips of the stripper in bizarre sex scenes that were leaked online. Gallery: See Dita's burlesque strip-teese

And the main story of the day is leaked photos of swimmer Stephanie Rice (who?) from her facebook. She's shown wearing 80's gear for a party. Apparently there were some "raunchy " shots of her and her boyfriend on there, as well as her dressed up as a sexy cop for a party. And of course, the Telegraph has posted up Stephanie's photos. Because it's not like these sort of photos are readily available on any young woman's social networking site.

Look, I'm not the sort of girl who's going to whine "that's sexist!" because girls who are prettier than me are in the media. But I do wonder what this sort of thing is doing on a newspaper site. It just reeks of blokey magazine. There's nothing wrong with blokey magazines - hey, sometimes I find their articles much more entertaining than the tripe in women's magazines - but I don't think that pictures of Gisele's arse belong next to a story about a grisly murder.

If I wanted to look at boobies and bums, I'd buy a copy of FHM, not the Telegraph.

(On a side note: How is Dita Von Teese starring in porn with ladies really so shocking? She's a burlesque star who's starred in Playboy, talks openly about her promiscuity and was married to Marilyn Manson for god's sakes. I think it would be a much more interesting news story if Dita Von Teese had a secret fondness for knitting socks for orphaned kittens, for example.)

Moving out

2008-03-30T04:51:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in a previous entry, I moved out of home. Such a step is a leap forward in maturity and adult life.

I have learnt many things about living independently, which I wish to share with you:

There's no need to have dining chairs when you have two computer chairs and beanbags.

Saying "I'm moving out" is an invitation for people to dump their spare crockery onto you.

Not having gas connected due to bureaucractic idiocy is not just a simple matter of not having an oven. Taking cold showers for a week is not as fun as you might think.

Some people like watching TV at 2am, like our nextdoor neighbour.

Chicken thigh fillets may be cheap, but it tastes like bum. In conclusion, breast is best.

Crunchy Asian Noodle Salad from Woolworths is a cheap, tasty snack.

Crunchy Asian Noodle Salad isn't crunchy any more after it's been in the fridge for three days.

Bottle of Cold Power laundry detergent > Huntsman spider

Cold Power detergent bottle: 1. Huntsman spider: 0

When I'm angry, I clean.

The meaning of life: Sitting on our balcony on a beanbag while using this laptop and eating cake.

Australia commands you to be sober!

2008-03-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

You may be noticing that the Federal Government is planning to crack down on liquor licensing laws, due to a "binge drinking crisis" and a spate of alcohol-fuelled violence.

This may involve a $20,000 increase of purchasing the license if the premises stays open after midnight, reducing the number of bars in Australia and cutting funding to sporting clubs if they don't address binge drinking. There will also be an increase of patronising ads which encourage responsible drinking (ie. Doing what my high school did - which was tell people to never ever drink, otherwise they'll die and go straight to hell).

I watched a report on 60 Minutes tonight about the victims of violence at pubs. They also did an experiment, where they got one of their reporters to order drinks while acting very drunk. He was still served alcohol.

While I am saddened that the lives of these men have been cut short due to this sort of violence, I think that putting most of the blame on pubs is taking a step in the wrong direction.

As of when I took my Responsible Service of Alcohol course last September, the law stands that you cannot serve alcohol to anybody who is:
- Underage
- Disorderly
- Intoxicated

The first two are fairly clear to me. The "intoxicated" part is a grey area. Of course people are going to be intoxicated at a pub. That's what they go there to do! The difficulty is trying to figure out when to cut somebody off to avoid a bad situation.

At my previous workplace, a girl who bought many shots off me during the night ended up in a fight and punched a few people. Yes, she was quite tipsy, but I otherwise thought she was quite harmless, so I kept serving her drinks. However, this was a very serious matter and I decided to discuss with one of my more experienced co-workers. The employee, the owner and the licensees can be fined a few thousand dollars for breaking this law.
"Am I going to get in trouble?" I asked, as the drunk girl slurred angrily to a manager in the next room.
"No," my co-worker said. "You had no way of knowing that would happen. We can do the best we can, but we can't babysit everybody."

For every idiot who gets into a punch up outside the pub, there's many other people who drink the same (or more) and do not harm others. The reporter in the 60 Minutes segment, for example, was acting "drunk" by high-fiving the bartender and rambling about getting double shots loudly. In my opinion, he was acting like a happy drunk, and they don't cause trouble. The drunks who are abusive, aggressive and look like they're about to fall asleep where they're standing are the ones you cut off because they're going to cause trouble. And of course you take action when people are starting to look visibly ill.

My point is that it isn't a pub or bar's fault if people can't handle their liquor properly and end up getting violent. That duty of care can only go as far as the best of their abilities.

If any preventative action should be taken, bars and pubs should have well-trained security guards who can keep the violence under control.

It's also impossible to stop people from getting drunk altogether. I find the "Just Say No!" ads completely irrelevant. It's not a far cry from those dodgy videos we watched at school, where underage adolescents are confronted with the horrors of peer pressure. Nobody pays attention to things like that. We're basically being told that staying near to sober is the only way to stay safe, because getting drunk means that we'll end up in a fight and vomiting on some random guy you just slept with (remember those old ads from the mid nineties?). It's an insult to the intelligence of people who know how to do it properly.

If you want to drink enough to do such things like laugh loudly, dance like an idiot and actually get the courage to sing "I Touch Myself" at karaoke, then do it right. Drink lots of water, get plenty of rest and eat food during the night. When you start feeling bloated, your head hurts and you feel your brain beginning to lose grasp of what is happening around you, that's your body's way of saying "Put down the vodka for five seconds, okay?" Binge drinking is stupid anyway. Drinking is about having fun, not making yourself so sick that you wake up in a pile of your own vomit the next morning. I don't know why anyone would actually find that enjoyable.

The Federal Government needs to wake up and realise that what my co-worker said was right. It's up to the individual to wise up and take care of themselves.

I'm here with all of my people

2008-02-12T16:35:00.001-08:00

This morning at 8am (9am in Canberra), Prime Minister Kevin Rudd said sorry to the Indigenous peoples of Australia.

Dan and I listened to it in the car while I drove him to work. It was quite a good speech - short and simple. That's the way we like it.
After it finished, we were silent. Nova's announcers resumed speaking. I changed the radio station to Triple J and The Preset's "My People" was playing. Oddly appropriate song, really. As well as being an ace dance track, it's a song about refugees - another displaced ethnic minority in Australia.
Dan and I danced for a bit, then started talking about the speech. "Well, that's something to tell the grandkids," I said.

Then i got thinking. What will I be telling people when I'm old? Everything that's happening now will be history in the future. Nothing but nostalgia.

My parents were around for the moon landing. They stopped lessons at school to watch it on TV. Mum remembers her auntie, when she was little, running into the kitchen to tell my grandmother that John F Kennedy had been assasinated. Dad went to the Australian Woodstock. They remember when John Lennon and Freddie Mercury died. They witnessed firsthand the after-effects of the Vietnam war. Dad had long hippie hair and Mum wore flares. Mum remembers buying a pair of jeans for $3 and Dad realises that he wouldn't be able to get away with driving home after drinking nowadays, like he did when he was younger.

What my dad looked like in the 1970s

What will I tell my kids, if I ever get over my hatred for screeching brats and actually decide to have any?

I remember watching the Saturday morning cartoons when I was little and being quite annoyed when the news interrupted my viewing - Stuart Diver, the survivor of the Thredbo disaster, had been found.

I remember being awakened by the frightened calls of my mother early one school morning when I was in Grade 8. She was rambling on about a plane crash in New York. Then she said something about Twin Towers, and I thought she meant the hotel in Tweed Heads. Then she said "terrorists". I was very confused and tired, so I sat down and watched the news to find out what was going on. Over and over again, I saw planes that looked like toys crash into skyscrapers. I felt like the world was ending when I saw solid buildings crumble and people jumping head first out the windows.
That day at school, I remember my science teacher said, "I believe that in the end, good will prevail out of evil". We also did a French exam. Then I went home, turned on Sky News and watched the buildings fall down all over again. I heard the name Osama Bin Laden for the first time.

I remember watching George Bush tell the world that they would invade Iraq, and thinking, "Why?" I remember going to watch an anti-war protest in the city.

I was watching a late-night movie with friends in Noosa when Saddam Hussein had been captured. We kept groaning whenever the newsreader said, "Salt-and-pepper beard".

You could have just said "black and white". God.

Petrol was once 70c a litre. A new CD used to cost $20. Water restrictions weren't always this extreme. There used to be a drive-in cinema at Capalaba, a mini-golf course at Carindale and King George Square used to have a fountain. The Simpsons was once considered to be wildly offensive and rude. We all recognise the noise a 56k modem used to make whenever you wanted to go on the internet.

We are the internet, mobile, iPod and myspace generation. We wear retro fashion because we're out of ideas, and too much fluro. We are gangstas, emos, indie kids, electro pill-poppers and techie nerds - a product of the pop culture around us, and certainly not around in our parents' days. We do not hero worship celebrities, we watch and judge.

And now I can tell my grandkids that I was there when John Howard was voted out and Kevin Rudd said sorry.

Big Day Out review with bonus rant!

2008-01-24T17:35:00.001-08:00

(Firstly, I apologise that this blog entry is about a week late. I have been working my bottom off for the last few days. That's right. I have no bottom now.)

Big Day Out was on Sunday. I haven't been for three years so it was all very exciting.
After three hours sleep and ingesting a caffeinated mix of coffee, V and No Doz, our little gang set off on our Big Day Out adventure.

The first band we saw was Something With Numbers. Their sound leans a little to the emo side, as proven by the kids in black lining up to see them) so I wasn't expecting anything terribly exciting. I was wrong! Arriving on stage in cute matching blue outfits, Something With Numbers rocked all over the place. The lead singer, Jake Grigg, was hopping and dancing around and having a wonderful time. He also has long, permed, glorious hair which seemed to move organically on its own.

Jake Grigg and his amazing hair.

As well as being a passionate singer and guitarist, he has sweet tambourine skills. A great start to the day.

We hustled on over to the other side of the main stage to see Operator Please. I don't understand the hate for these kids. Sure, some of their song are ridiculously overplayed, but that's not really their fault. They're a bunch of incredibly talented kids, especially for their age. Admit it; if you were around 16 years old, your band would either sound like generic pop-punk crap or Operator Please.

As well as playing crowd favourites "Get what you Want" and "Just a song about Ping Pong", they launched into a cover of Devo's "Whip it". This mainly excited Dan, who was a mad Devo fan way back.

I was expecting to see a fairly crazy set. Unfortunately, even though they sounded great, the members of Operator Please mainly stood stock still the whole time - except the keyboardist, who danced around in between riffs. If they had put a bit more energy into their performance, it would have been great. Oh well. They've got a fair way to go yet.

We shuffled back over to the other side of the main stage to see American punk band Anti-Flag. What a show! What a mohawk!

These guys sure know how to put on a show. As well as leaping about and doing the splits mid-air while playing guitar, the band talked and encouraged the audience to go completely mental through the set. I also like a punk band who's friendly - lead singer Justin Sane encouraged the crowd to look out for each other and generally be nice. At one point, he told every body to shake the hands of the people next to them in the pit and "make some new friends". How sweet. One thing I love about Big Day Out is that there are rarely any fights, which is amazing when you consider huge crowd of drunk or drugged people walking around with sun stroke all day. We sang along, clapped our hands, and danced like maniacs.

We waddled over to see Gyroscope next.

The sound in the V tent was fantastic and did such a rockin' band great justice. When your ears feel like they're bleeding from the blistering sounds of crunchy guitar riffs and howling vocals, you know you're at a good gig.

We left early to catch Regurgitator. That was a highly disappointing set. They all looked tired and bored. I thought of a lot of songs they could have played which would have made it much better. The only good song they played was "Polyester Girl", which sounded rushed and lifeless. At one point, the band segued into the beginning of Guns n Roses "Sweet Child of Mine". They stopped as soon as the verse began, yelling "HA HA! Got you there for a second!" It was a shame, really. I think playing "Sweet Child of Mine" would have really improved their set.

This was the only highlight of the Regurgitator gig:

This man stood near us, wearing this fantastic hat. Sometimes it's fun just to sit on the grass and people watch. You see all sorts of weird and wonderful outfits (especially near the dance tents - the neon was blinding).

Next up was the Hilltop Hoods, I think? Can't quite remember. At Big Day Out '05, the Hilltop Hoods were in the tiny Boiler Room. This year they were at the main stage! The crowd waved their hands and faux gangsta signs in the air and bounced around to the funky band playing as backup.

A string quartet helped play "Recapturing the Vibe", which was originally performed with the Melbourne Orchestra. It's great to see real instruments being used in hip hop. It just makes the live experience that much more exciting and special. We caught Ben dancing and grooving along at some point. For a boy who's more into metal and screamo, this surely means that the Hilltop Hoods were pretty rockin'.

After the Hoods finished their set, mega Aussie rock bandGrinspoon started up next door. Oh, how my enthusiasm was short lived. Phil Jameson stumbled on the stage drunk, swaying, and visibly sweating behind a greasy emo fringe.

He whined his way through a few songs while clutching his microphone for dear life. In between songs, he strummed random notes on his guitar like he'd never seen one before. The crowd was getting visibly agitated.. It was getting a bit aggressive, so we got out of there. Very disappointing, Grinspoon! Thumbs down.

After spending a lot of money on food and shirts, we went over to see local band Dead Letter Circus. This was really the first proper and insane mosh pit I've been in. The band arrived on stage to do a soundcheck to the sounds of cheers. I think they were pleasantly surprised at the number of people who showed up.
First and foremost, they were fantastic. Their songs really came alive.

I mean, look at his eyes! You can't fake that sort of passion.

It also helped that hardcore Dead Letter Circus fans were moshing like there was no tomorrow. The crowd swayed and pushed together in a mess of sweat and screams. The more daring punters crowd surfed, with the help of supportive fans underneath. Dan described it as very gentlemanly. There weren't many girls in the mosh - huge men would bump into me, turn around and say "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. Are you allright?"

I lost my hat, but it was totally worth it.

Next up was Karnivool, more for the boys than myself. Again, the sound in the V tent does wonders for hard rocking bands. We were standing near the back, but everyone around us was jumping around like they were in the middle of the mosh. It was getting dark by then. I found myself staring up at the top of the tent, watching the strobe lights dance off the lighting equipment and listening to the strangely ambient sounds of roaring guitars. It was a surreal moment, perhaps brought on by my lack of sleep, or the amount of second-hand marijuana smoke I'd inhaled that day.

The last act for the day was, of course, Rage Against the Machine. Of course, there was no way to get ino the D barrier, so we perched ourselves on the hill and waited for Bjork to finish. By this time we were tired, sweaty, and fairly impatient.
"What the hell is this bloody shit?" roared Ben, not appreciating the screeching sounds of Bjork's voice.
"BJORK IS WEIRD," I screeched, getting mildly terrified by the weird electronic sounds and strange things dancing about on the stage.

I rabidly protected my view from where we were. For I have terrible luck at concerts - EVERY time I go see a band, I inevitably get stuck behind someone very tall. No way was that going to happen when I saw Rage Against the Machine.

We had a fairly good view of the big screen and army-men sized band members. I have no idea how Zach De La Rocha can remember all those words, much less fit them all into their various parts AND sound passionate at the same time. No wonder he laid down on stage near the end! I also don't know how Tom Morello makes those sound on guitar. I figured out that it's got something to do with wah-wah and delay effect pedals, but some of it will remain a complete mystery to me.

I didn't get close enough to take a good photo, obviously, but here's a photo from their Sydney gig:

It had certainly been a very political Big Day Out, with Zach De La Rocha thanking us for voting out John Howard.

There's nothing like watching about 53,000 people with their hands up in the air screaming, "FUCK YOU, I WON'T DO WHAT THEY TELL ME!"

Smelly, sweaty and about ready to drop dead at Roma St when the bus got back, I concluded that it was most certainly a very good Big Day Out.

**BONUS RANT**

As I mentioned before, I would occasionally take some time out to sit on the grass and watch the people go by. It became apparent to me that there were many people out there who were either very new to festivals, or were obviously not there for the music. I was reminded of a rather stupid girl at school, who said that she went to Big Day Out "because of the atmosphere".

People, people. It gets HOT at these things. Your eyeliner and eyeshadow will melt off. Your fake eyelashes will be all over your cheeks. Your GHD-straightened hair will turn into a frizzy mess. Hey, little emo girls over there in the punk mosh - it gets rough. You might break a nail. Or get punched in the face. Stop your whinging. Hey dude, nice jeans, but they're going to be stuck to your arse with sweat after a while, and it will take you ages to peel them off when you get to the portaloo. Oh, and wearing thongs in a mosh pit is a horrible idea. Your toes are going to look horrible!

The only way to keep yourself looking good is to sit on the hill under an umbrella the entire time. Basically, you're paying $125 to have a picnic. Stupid much?

Proper Big Day Out attire: shorts, singlets, t-shirts, sneakers/boots, togs, stupid hats and silly costumes. Get sweaty, look shit and get in amongst it. Otherwise, go get dressed up, sit in your bedroom, and listen to a CD.

I am a great dispenser of advice

2008-01-11T23:26:00.000-08:00

Scene: The bar I work at. It is about 2am. A middle aged man stumbles over to the bar.

Man: Allo love!

Me: Hello. What can I get you?

Man: Smirnoff Double Black!

Me: Rightio. $8, please.

Man: (while looking for his change) I hope she doesn't bite me this time!

Me:... What? (laughs)

Man: (laughs)

Me: Your girlfriend bit you?

Man: Yeah! Look! (shows me a bite mark on his arm)

Me: That's awful!

Man: I know!

Me: Bite her back.

Man: (giggles)

Me: Well, she bit you first!

Man: OK! I will! (walks away)

I need this:

2008-01-09T16:33:00.000-08:00

JOB VACANCY

Awesome Bar is looking for bartenders. Some experience required, but not necessary. Job entails standard bar work, especially making a lot of tasty cocktails. We really like uni students, so we will try and fit in around you as much as possible. We will never make you work past 1am. We're so damn flexible that we can give you time off whenever you want.

Awesome Bar often attracts big tippers. In fact, Richard Branston often stops by and gives a $100 tip to anybody who brings him a beer.

We pay our staff over $20 an hour, because we can.

Apply now!

Beach emo, the newest trend to hit this summer!

2007-12-25T23:42:00.000-08:00

I write this blog entry to you directly from Paradise Prison.

Sure, a week-long vacation to the coast doesn't sound too bad. Sun, surf, shopping, no responsibilities... wonderful.
Sadly, it has been raining or overcast, windy, and apart from a charming main strip of shops in Caloundra, everything else is an entire highway away. Did I also mention that I am exiled here with my loud, drunken relatives who insist on associating with me wherever I go?

So I've been sitting in my bedroom with my laptop, surfing the internet and watching Little Britain. Ridiculous.

I did attempt one visit to the beach. Instantly, I was transported back to the Gold Coast holidays of my childhood.

Sure, it was fun at first. All I concentrated on was dragging my lone fluro boogie board through the foamy waves, to a point where I could zoom back out onto the shore. Repeat until the sunburns start hurting.

But at some point, I realised how lonely I really felt. Holidays aren't much fun when you don't have a sibling to play with, or far too shy to ask a friend to stay with you. They'll see my family! What's going to happen if I run out of things to say? Will they get bored?

I was reminded of a thousand things. I can't surf. I can't bodysurf. My favourite thing to do at the beach is to swim out past the breaks to the gently rising walls of water, jumping over or diving under. Here, I was safe. I wouln't feel the sharp crash of waves on me, or be swept off my feet and be dragged to shore. Blowing air out my nose, and being mortified at the contents that would come out at the same time. No one else seems to understand it. That's why I hate going to the beach with friends, who swim out across the rolling waves and don't seem bothered by it. I am. I'm a weak, slow swimmer. Come on, Ellie, hurry up! Let's catch the wave! No, let's not.

When I'd had enough of swimming, I'd sit on the sand and listen to a Punkorama CD on my bright yellow Discman. Why can't my tummy sit flat when I sit down, like all the other girls? My legs are hairy and my thighs are flabby. Everyone can see everything because pretty much all I'm wearing is Lycra underwear. Mum screeching at me to wear a hat or a shirt. I always had some ugly cap that belonged to Dad or a hideous fluro 'rashie' shirt.

Walking a significant distance away from my parents - not only because they were like oh my god, soo embarassing, but because I was afraid that strangers would see the little Asian girl with two Caucasian adults and assume all sorts of things. No, I'm not an exchange student! Dad keeping close to me in the surf, because I wasn't a strong swimmer. Embarrassment and trying the best I could to sneak away from him, because he wears Speedos. Why can't you wear board shorts like everyone else, Dad?! Making every effort to make sure the rip didn't make me bump into anybody. Falling down dizzy after a child would boogie board en into my skull.

Wishing so hard that the group of kids near me who looked around my age would just say, "Hi", and we'd be fantastic friends, and go on all sorts of adventures together while I was there. Just like in movies and books.

But nothing in the movies or books actually happens. I never made friends on holiday.

And the sand. The bloody sand that you can still find lodged behind your earlobe a week later after you've come home, in your underpants, or even worse - still in your togs the next time you go on holiday. Getting bitten by sea lice and feeling even more self conscious about my body, which was now covered in scabs. Gross.

Feeling lonely. So, so lonely.

I crave the city at the moment. I don't understand why people want to move to remote, isolated places. It is around other people and surrounded by constant stimulation when I feel the most alive.

Brb, going to slit my wrists while building a sandcastle.

SEX! Now that I've got your attention....

2007-12-19T05:57:00.000-08:00

Let me set the scene for you.

It was 3am. I was lying in a strange park, alone, where my supposed friend had left me to go have sex with a stranger.

"It's 3am. Do you know where Ellie is?"
"I told you for the last time, no!"

I wish I was making this up, or it was a scene in an American frathouse comedy, where we all laugh at the girl being left behind in the park as her totally hot and popular friend gets it on with a football player and they find true love.

Since then, I've been feeling hurt, angry and a little lonely. Mainly, I've been completely disgusted with humanity in general. Myself and some other people I know have lost good, potential life-long friends... through sex, and the drama that follows it.

It's usually the "I'm really drunk" or "I'm just really horny" sort of sex. I personally don't understand that sort of thing. The times I've had sex were in relationships. There have been times where I have had the opportunity to have casual sex, but refused. I'm not comfortable enough with my body to show my nudity to many people. I also have a habit of getting a bit too attached when somebody shows interest in me.

Basically, I'd be the sort of girl who would cuddle after sex, ring them the next day and hold their hand in public. Then it would inevitably end in tears, with me sobbing "Why don't you LOVE me? WE MADE LOVE!" and him screaming "STOP CALLING ME, YOU STALKER". Yep, casual sex isn't for me.

Me: The Bunny Boiler.

But that's not really where my disgust lies. We are all human, after all. I could really care less about other people's sex lives.

My disgust lies in the way that casual sex seems to be prioritised above so many things in people's lives. As mentioned before, it has destroyed some good friendships. Nearly everybody has had that one (or two) friends who have pursued their ex, who still has a place in their world; or more seriously, the person who agrees to helping their friend’s significant other cheat.
I just don't understand how these things happen.

I was once in a relationship where due to various circumstances (mainly, both of us being completely dysfunctional), I barely saw my friends and my boyfriend was put above everything else. It wasn't healthy and I was extremely lonely. After the ex and I broke up, I methodically went to get my friends back. I was much happier. I learnt my lesson - that friends are far more important than being able to kiss a boy, any day.

And so, I thought, from the nagging I had gotten from my friends when I came back to them, I supposed that everybody else knew this as well. Everyone needs friends. Part of friendship is looking out for each other and, well, not hurting each other.

How is it okay to prioritise getting some cock over considering your friend's feelings and safety?

I'd rather go hang out with my friends than get intimate with a cock.

The aforementioned friend in my horribly ridiculous tale claimed that I spent time with my boyfriend when I should have been spending time with her. Yet, I got in trouble for not entirely supporting her when she went to go have sex with that fellow.

Has humanity really gotten to a stage where a drunken shag is deemed more significant than a healthy, long-term, romantic relationship? Have the single people vomiting upon the sight of a couple finally won out the competition of “What is the status quo”?

I'm beginning to feel like a freak. We’re told to “have fun” because we’re young so we’d better go out, get paralytic-drunk, take lots of drugs and go have sex with everybody. Because we only live once, and live fast die young, etc.

I don't see the appeal in that lifestyle. Moreover, I feel like what I believe in is right, in some vague universal way. But at this moment, in this generation and while I’m at this age, it’s not.

But I’m sure that as ambiguous as moral values are now, it’s still wrong to leave your friend alone, just so you can go be young and have the drunken, sexualised mess that constitutes as “fun”.

Rita

2007-12-09T02:11:00.000-08:00

As I sat here on my laptop, nerding away, I was suddenly struck by the desire for a fruity, alcoholic refreshment. A margarita seemed to satisfy this craving, so off I popped downstairs to put my new found bar skills to the test.
Traditional margaritas are made up of the following:

(according to the book Retro Cocktails)

Margarita
2 parts tequila
1 part Cointreau or triple sec
1/2 freshly squeezed lime juice.

Shake with ice and strain. Rim the glass with salt. Easy, right?

Not for my liquor deprived household. My parents are predominantly beer, wine, and scotch-on-the-rocks drinkers. I either drink when I'm out or at other people's houses, so my liquor stash is very minimal. It consists of a bottle of blue label Smirnoff, Jose Cuervo tequila and a horrible honey flavoured vodka.

We do not own a cocktail shaker. We do not own standard shot glasses. We do not have Cointreau or triple sec and Mum had used the last lime to cook!

I ran around the house grabbing things that could be useful. I had to make do with what looks like the love child between a wine glass and a cocktail glass, a double shot glass and a bunch of glasses to make do as a cocktail shaker. I grabbed a bottle of Jose Cuervo's finest, a lemon, orange juice, Cotttees lime cordial and a bottle of Jose Cuervo margarita mix Dad had gotten for Christmas a few years ago.

This man is responsible for many a drunken night. We salute you, Senor Cuervo!

I poured in the ice, tequila, the margarita mix, squeezed the lemon (I suppose it was a bit rich to expect that we owned a fruit muddler) and splashed in some lime cordial over ice. I squeezed a big glass over the thinner one.
"Brilliant," thought I, and began to shake.
I then discovered that there was a particular reason why cocktail shakers were invented, and that was to stop the contents from splashing out all over the floor in a sticky, tequila-y mess.

Nevermind. I tried again, this time mashing everything around with a wooden spoon. I am so professional.

Yup.

This,

instead of this:

I poured the contents into the weird glass over more ice and filled the rest with orange juice.
It tastes like a sweeter, fruitier version of a real margarita. It's weaker, of course, without the Cointreau/triple sec, and I only used one shot of tequila (hey, I'm only at home, after all. And tequila is precious).

Dan said it's a girlyrita. I prefer to call her Rita.

And there you have it. The story of how an amateur bartender made a pretty nice drink out of minimal household objects.

Note to self: Buy a cocktail shaker next time.

2007-12-06T04:21:00.000-08:00

I recently quit the newsagency to work at the bar. To celebrate this milestone, I found a retail rant in my old livejournal. I shall repost it here in its slightly edited glory.

HOW TO PISS OFF A SHOP ASSISTANT

1. Meeting and Greeting

- Make sure to ignore all social niceties displayed by shop assistant. It is preferable to make eye contact for long periods of time to give the impression of boring your eyes into their soul. Grunting is a great way of communicating too! If anyone doesn't understand it, they are clearly stupid or foreign.

- How DARE that shop assistant say hello to you when you're looking at something! They usually ask devious things like, "Hello, how are you? Can I help you with anything?" but they really just want to sell things to you. Selling things, in a store! How perfectly horrible. To fend off such barbaric approaches, it's best to screech, "I'm just LOOKING" before they can launch their evil plan.

- Plastic bags are destroying the environment! It makes Greenhouse Effect stronger and the whales explode and Nazis take over the world. If a shop assistant is offering you a plastic bag, you must realise that they are actually offering the destruction of the natural world. Not to mention fascism.
This is why a suitable greeting is screaming hysterically upon first sight, "I DON'T WANT A BAG!!!!"

- It's a good idea to pick whatever it is you want to buy when the shop assistant serves you. They really don't mind when you stare straight ahead with your mouth open and say, "Uuuhhhh" for a few minutes while you're thinking.

2. The Transaction

- Throw or thrust your purchases at the shop assistant. After all, you are the Customer. You are being served by an absolute scum of nature. It is advisable to think of the shop assistant as a form of vending machine - cold, mechanical, devoid of human emotions and social contact. They are your bitch. Thrust away.

- Make sure to pay for EVERYTHING separately and sound disgusted at the very thought of all your purchases being efficiently put through as one transaction. Also, after you have made your purchase, randomly find something nearby that you want to buy too. Repeat several times.

- After waiting patiently for the shop assistant to process your transaction, randomly offer the remaining change of your purchase. This apparently makes the shop assistant's job easier, but we all know that all it does it make sure your wallet is a bit lighter.

- If the register decides to freeze randomly and the EFTPOS machine isn't working, you must always remember that it is not because the register computer is old and the EFTPOS machine won't accept your credit card with a bite taken out of it. It is definitely the shop assistant's fault because they are obviously making the machines break down out of pure spite. Accusing glares and impatient sighs are recommended.

- Assume the shop assistant is a mind reader. When they ask, "Is that all for today?" and you have not mentioned that you would also like a pack of ciggies and a $5 Instant Scratchie, they are obviously inept at reading your mind, which is a virtue that shop assistants should not lack. You have every right to be angry that they cannot read your mind, so feel free to be abuse them. A disdainful, "Uh, NO" is most suitable.

- This is a good time as any other to get rid of unwanted change. All those 10c and 5c coins that have been accumlating in your wallet for the last few years should be used to pay for a $10 purchase right here and right now. Even if you have been waiting in line for a long time, do not use this time to actually count the coins. This is where the shop assistant comes in. Dump the coins all over the counter and say, "I THINK it's $10, but count it for me." This works well especially when the shop assistant is the only person at the register and there are 8 other impatient people lined up.

- If the shop assistant so much as hands you 5c less change than what they're supposed to give you, go absolutely ballistic. After all, they are trying to rip you off. What if you were abducted by Communists, tied up and left hanging by a rope over a pit of poison-tipped shards of glass and forced to watch "Norbit" on repeat for the rest of your life, and the only way they would let you go is if you gave them 5c?
They are obviously part of a secret communist conspiracy. Ignore any apologies and attempts to ratify the situation. After you have flown into a rage and righted this severe injustice, disgusted sighs should signal your departure.

3. Socialising

- Respond to everything the shop assistant says with your life story.
eg.
SA (shop assistant): "Would you like a bag for those?"
You: "Yes, I have to go to Woolworths later, I completely forgot to buy a leg of ham and I have a dinner party today where my relatives from Melbourne are visiting..."
SA: *brains leak out ears*

- Tell the shop assistant hilarious jokes.
eg.
You: I would like a lotto ticket.
SA: Sure, which one?
You: The winning one. HA HA HA HA HA HA! *slaps knee* I bet you get that all the time.
SA: Trust me, sir, I do.

- Ask the shop assistant if a certain item is in stock. eg. "Do you stock any butt plugs?"
If it isn't, describe the item in great patronising detail. "You know, they're plugs, about this big, and you insert them into your rectum?"
When the shop assistant says no, keep asking. "But do you have them? DO YOU?!!"
All stores also have a tendency to hide any product you actually want in the mystical realm of Out the Back. Make sure you ask them if it's there. Oh yeah, and all shop assistants are lying when they say no. You'd better ask their boss as well.
Then compare them to another store to make them feel guilty. "Well they sell them in the Butt Plug store, I just THOUGHT you'd sell them HERE!" Shop assistants care so much about your purchasing habits that this deeply offends them. Teenage part time workers have taken to sobbing into their pillows late at night over things like this.
Continue to ask them if they stock the item. Unless your excessive questioning causes the item to magically appear, walk off in a disgruntled huff.

- When your child is throwing itself on the ground, screaming, it is definitely a good time to take them into a shop. Make sure to buy them lollies. Sometimes it's best to buy them a big chocolate icecream or milkshake beforehand. Melted icecream handprints on the displays? Spilt milkshake? Psst, who cares. The shop assistants have to get paid for doing something!

SHOP ASSISTANT WEEPING FOR HUMANITY OR YOUR MONEY BACK!

Back in my day, we didn't have these fancy "DVD" things!

2007-11-28T04:35:00.001-08:00

"I'm a 16 year old trapped in a 40 year old's body."
"16?"
"Oh shit, shit, 19."

That was the conversation I had with my best compradre Georgia the other night over pizza.

I'm getting old and it's starting to scare me.

I still feel like I just graduated from school. I feel like the kids who just went to Schoolies are my age, not two years younger.

I read articles about 15 year old girls doing stuff like drinking and having sex and think, "How disgusting!". Then I remember that I did stuff like that when I was that age too. Then I realise that I'm saying phrases like "when I was your age."

I see girls in my school uniform walking around shopping centres and I have no idea who they are because they were probably in primary school when I was at school.

I felt extremely naughty when I smoked a damiana cigarette in public the other day, even though I'm over 18 and perfectly allowed to purchase and use smokable products.

In fact, I still get a thrill when I do over 18 activities, like buy booze. It's so fun finally being 18... but wait. I'm 19. I've been over 18 for more than a year.

I find myself hesitating when people ask for my age because I keep going to say "seventeen". That year dragged on far too long.

It's getting to a point where people are talking about marriage, moving out, having babies and earning truckloads of money as something other than a McPartTimeWorker, and it doesn't sound weird or like some unrealistic far-off dream anymore. It's the near future.

My mum got married when she was my age.

It's scary to think that if I had started my course last year, I would be graduating next year.

Pretty soon, I'll be moving out. I'll be finishing uni in two years and then looking for - gulp - a real job. After that, who knows? It's bizarre to think that I might end up getting married and you'll have to call me Mrs, and before you know it, I'll be someone's Mum and shouting down a teacher at a parent-teacher interview because they've said my kid doesn't speak loud enough.

Don't get me wrong. I hope I'll still be the same sort of person I am now. I still want to play video games. I still want to be involved with pop culture and other nerdy endeavours. I still want to go on boozing adventures in the Valley.

But at some point soon, I'm going to be an adult. I've been looking forward to this moment for all of my teenage life, when I'd finally be free of living in the not-so-real world and be a real person in society.

Now that it's rapidly approaching, I'm frightened as all hell.

I now understand why Dan groaned and buried his head into my shoulder in horror when I said, "You're 20 tomorrow! Are you excited?" the day before his birthday.

Can I vote for the "I dont give a shit" party?

2007-11-15T02:52:00.000-08:00

Two things have annoyed me lately.

First port of call: Radio.
I do not have a CD player in my car, nor can I be bothered to buy a stereo. So I must listen to the radio. There's nothing wrong with this, really.
EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.
When I'm on a long drive and I'm doing the flicking between radio stations, I'm looking for some music. It frustrates me that more often than not, there is no music playing on any of the four radio stations I listen to. Instead I am treated to impotence ads where Gary can now go all night long, or the pure comedic genius of the hosts making witty observations like:

- Men and women are different
- Sometimes, they have sex.
- Paris Hilton/Britney Spears/silly famous blonde woman is pretty dumb.

Men and women are different? Wow! That's so refreshing.

That's nice. Not. I don't listen to the radio to hear people talk, I listen to it so I can dance me some funky tunes. I can't sing along to your voices, can I?

(Note to people who will go, "Omg, you should stop listening to commercial radio": No. Triple J is just as bad in the afternoons. Yes, I think Dools and the like are quite hilarious, but I would still rather listen to the new Hives songs than a bunch of silly jokes and plugging various upcoming music festivals.)

If this wasn't bad enough, this mindless banter has been replaced with one topic and one topic only.

That's right kids: The upcoming federal election! Oh, joy.

And that brings me to my next point.

That was a pretty awesome segue into my next point, yes?

I am getting tired of hearing about the election.

I turned on the radio today to do my radio station flicking exercise while driving to taekwondo. One station was interviewing Julia Gillard. The others were all talking about the election (Oh wait, there was one radio station laughing about impotence or something). Eventually I screamed in rage, turned off the radio and sang loudly to myself instead.

There was an election ad before the movies. Uh, I want to see pretty people sing Beatles songs, thanks, not smug Australians telling me how awesome John Howard is.

I couldn't stand watching the TV the other night because there were at least two election ads for every ad break. God, I'd rather watch tampon ads.

And most of all, I tire of people asking who I'm voting for, then telling me who they're voting for, then telling me that I should vote for whoever they're voting for. It's starting to get to a point where I'm afraid to actually tell people, just so I can avoid a big debate over something I don't actually care about.

But wait! Am I not a journalist student? Should I not have my ears to the ground, following the election coverage with bated breath? Shouldn't I be concerned about the future of this country?

Yeah, I should. But to be honest, I really couldn't give a flying George Bush about politics. Oh yeah, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm much more interested in ordinary people than politicians. I find the entire affair incredibly frustrating.

Let's make my reasoning a bit clearer.

This election is between...

this wanker

and

and this douchebag.

I have this somewhat annoying compulsion of mine to see the good and bad in everything. This isn't very useful when I have to choose one or the other.

Some of the wanker's policies are quite good and work well for certain areas. Some of them don't work so well with some others. Some of the douchebag's promises will benefit some people, but not work so well for others. Neither of the leaders will ever do anything that will realistically benefit every single person in Australia. Oh, and to make things more confusing, both of the main parties are copying policies off each other.

Some unions are good, some unions are bad. Get over it.

Politicians are told by PR to avoid certain questions in interviews. There's a lot of information we're missing. Most of the good things we hear about politicians are from their own mouths. Most of the dodgy things they do are well-publicised. Reading the paper is painful for me. It depresses me that such idiots are in power of this country. And that's not just with one politician; it's all of them.

And of course, they break promises. Who could forget the wanker's promise that there would be no GST and low and behold, there's a GST? And who knows if the douchebag will keep his promises?

You may have figured out by now that I am having a bit of trouble with who to vote for. And no, engaging in lengthy debate with people who proudly proclaim who they're voting for and try to "help me decide" is not helping one little bit.

I have seen heaps of good friends fight nastily due to political preference. This disturbs me. What happened to tolerance and respect of other people's beliefs? Not many people like fundamentalist religious types who proclaim loudly that they are born again Jewish Christian Wiccans Cow Worshippers and anybody who isn't will burn in a tub of sulpheric acid for eternity. This is exactly the same thing.

Either way, whoever's elected will make some things good and some things bad. All it boils down to, really, is who you are in society and whether it will benefit you or not. But there are a lot of different people in this country, and not everybody is going to be happy with everything.

To be honest, I can't see much changing either way. Money will be thrown at things, but I can't see a major upheavel in the system without people getting up in arms over the change in infrastructure and the sacrifices made.

Vote Labour. Vote Liberal. Vote for the Communist Party. Hell, vote for the "I hate Asian girl bloggers with red glasses" party if you want.
I don't care.
I really, really don't care.
Just take notice that when I say "I don't care" in regards to the election, this is not an invitation to engage in lengthy political debate with me. It is the proclaimation of a very confused, exasperated, cynical girl who has to choice between a wanker and a douchebag to lead the country in the next election.

PARTAY!

2007-11-11T01:23:00.000-08:00

I like going out and partaying like it's 1999. Yes, like when I was 11, except with more alcohol.
My idea of going out and having a good time consists of a lot of alcohol, good company, and something to preoccupy myself with (usually dancing).

My going out experiences have ranged from unbelievably lame to epic nights of awesome. The unbelievably lame nights out have been a result of either myself or others making fatal partaying mistakes. Today, I would like to share with you how to have a good night out and how to avoid having a lame time.

How to Partay like it's 1999

Comfortable clothing is a must. You don't want to cut your night short because your ankles have collapsed from the stripper heels you've been wearing or your skinny emo jeans have ripped at the bum. Plus, it's really hard to dance in a dress that threatens to expose your areolas everytime you move.

This can't be comfortable.

Leave your issues at home, please. Emo drunks are no fun. If i wanted drama, I'd stay home and watch The OC. I don't even watch The OC. That's how much I hate drama!

Don't go out with "I'm gonna pick up!" mentality. You'll end up coming off as desperate. And most human beings can smell desperation a mile away. And before you know it, you'll be chugging tweny jagerbombs and asking if you said they had a beautiful body, would they hold it against you, and then leaving with a red handprint on your cheek.

Don't bail on people at the last minute unless you're sick. It's common courtesy. Give whoever you're supposed to go with plenty of notice. There's nothing more lame than excitedly picking out a sexy outfit, having a few drinks at home and trying out your dance moves in front of a mirror then finding out everybody has decided to stay home instead.

Have a plan of where you want to go and what you want to do. It's good to have a backup plan too, in case the first one doesn't work out. Plus, it saves everybody standing around arguing about where they want to go. Talking is wasting precious drinking time.

Don't be too picky about where you want to go because somewhere doesn't play "your" music. I've been to skanky clubs, top 40 type bars, emo clubs, indie bars, metal bars, jazzy cocktail lounges and techno clubs. I've had a good time at all of them. The idea is to have a positive mindset. When you're in a group and they want to go somewhere you don't, either get over it or don't bother coming. Majority rules, and it's selfish to expect everyone to go where one person wants to go. And if going somewhere you don't want to go is really that horrible for you, go away. Nobody wants to party with a sulk. (This is why pre-planning a night out is a good idea).

Hey, don't look at me like that. So we're not at a totally alternative hardkore goffik club and you can't relate to any deep and meaningful lyrics. Cry me a river.

This goes for other times when you're not partaying : if you meet up with someone else along the way during your partay adventure, introduce the people you're with. There's nothing worse than being with someone, only to have them start chatting to someone and wonder whether you should jimmy in on their conversation or stand around like a dickhead until they're finished. Introducing people is good. Hell, maybe everybody will get along and you can call partay together. The more the merrier, right?

Know your alcohol limit. I know that when my stomach feels really full, I will probably throw up and cry tears of bitter, bitter vodka if I have anymore. This stops terrible and embarrassing things happening, like throwing up in the middle of the Brunswick St Mall, narrowly missing your friend's shoes.

I hope that helps. Happy partaying, everybody!

Quick personal bit:
I met Gotye! Well, not really. I went to see The Basics the other night, the band he drums for. You may know him from winning the Best Male award at the Arias and performing "Learnalilgivinalovin'.

A very talented man.

Whilst waiting for a drink at the bar, I saw a good looking man in a grey suit walk right next to me to the bar, get his drink, then walk away. Gotye, or Wally DeBacker, IN THE FLESH.
"THAT WAS GOTYE, OH MY GOD," I whispered at Dan.
Later, we sat out in the beer garden and drank. Erica pointed out that Wally was sitting a few tables away from us.
"Go buy him a beer," suggested Dan.
I seriously debated whether I should go over there and say hello or not. Although I would have liked to have shaken the hand of an Aria award winner who wrote one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard, I knew that in my drunken state I probably would have stuttered, said something weird, spilt my drink on his nice suit and stepped on his toes. Plus, it was just a bit odd, considering the many nights I've spent howling along to "Heart's a Mess".

So, there is my story of how I sort of, but not really, met Wally DeBacker.
But I did meet Kris, the bassist. So there you go, that's my connection with fame right there.
The Basics put on a damn good show too!

etiquette dilemma!

2007-10-23T20:27:00.001-07:00

OK, apart from the egg sandwiches, I am bothered by an issue of etiquette. I want to know what you, the reader, thinks of this situation.

My good friend Jooby is having a going away party later this week before she goes on a long trip around Europe. It is a cocktail party and everybody is to bring a bottle of something and some food. Georgia is providing extra liquor from her own stash and helping to set up the party. I'm bringing vodka from my stash, buying a bottle of tequila and some nibblies. Jooby is going to buy some wine and champage. It should cost around $40 for each person. A little bit pricey, but far cheaper than going out. Besides, our contribution to giving her a good party is her goodbye present.

Two girls have decided that they do not want to drink, so they're not going to bring alcohol. Instead, they are bringing bottles of soft drink. This will cost them about $10 each.

Is this fair?

On one hand, if they're not going to be drinking alcohol, then I suppose it is fair.
I think that if everybody is paying $40 for Jooby to have a good party, they should too.
For example, I bought my friend Amy a bottle of vodka as a birthdya present. Did I drink the vodka? No, because it was a present. Isn't buying a bottle of liquor for a party the same thing?
Also, for every bottle of liquor not bought, somebody else will have to make up the lost numbers. My co-worker, Emily, had a similar issue. She and her boyfriend were to hold a cocktail party. She instructed all the guests to bring various bottles of liquor so they could make certain recipes. One girl was told to provide the tequila. At the last minute, she decided that she did not want to drink, so she didn't want to buy the tequila. This meant that Emily had to buy (as well as food and other bottles of liquor) the tequila herself. She was pretty annoyed.

"Was that rude of her?" she asked me. "I don't know why it's bothering so much. But it is."

What do you guys think?

Oversmelt at Uni

2007-10-23T19:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of substantial posts lately. I've got uni work leaking out of my ears.

I was sitting in the amphitheatre at uni before doing my uni work on this here laptop. A fellow sat near me with his friends and began eating a sandwich. Nothing wrong with that, really, except it was an egg sandwich. It smelt like raw fart. Whimpering in horror, I packed up my things and moved over near the library.

I am now sitting at a bench. A lady is sitting near me eating a salad.

What kind of salad do you ask?

An EGG salad.

And yes, it smells like a baby's pants after it's been eating curry.

What are the odds of that? I just cannot escape the farty smell of egg wherever I go, it seems.

YOU CAN JUST FUCK RIGHT OFF, EGG SANDWICH.

Overheard at Uni

2007-10-16T18:46:00.000-07:00

Welcome to a new regular segment in my blog called "Overheard at uni". This is exactly like "Overheard in NY" or "Overheard in the Office" except at uni... obviously.

Last week I heard someone in a cafe looking in a pastry cabinet and ask, "What's a filo?"
How you could grow up in a country with bakeries and not know what a filo is, I have no idea. What was even more silly was the response to her question.
"Uhh... I think it's the stuff inside the pastry."
Er, no, that would be the spinach and fetta. But an A for effort.

Yum.

But today I heard a fantastic gem being screeched across the amphitheatre.

"Everybody wants to have sex with me, but I don't want to!"

NO!!

Thankyou and good night.

Fashion is pretty stupid.

2007-10-03T21:33:00.000-07:00

Whilst browsing Target before Dan finished work yesterday, I have decided that fashion has hit an all time low. Every decade has its major fashion faux pas; the 80's had big shoulder pads, for example. The 90's had high, high pants. This decade? At the moment, there seems to be a horrible 60s/80s revival and it's going pretty downhill.

Here are my pet peeves of current fashion:

Pinafore dresses

There are a few variations on the pinafore dress but the trendy style at the moment is usually sleeveless, cut under the bust - or sometimes not cut at all - and billow out from there.

I have worn these sorts of dresses before... when I was five!

I don't understand why these dresses are so great. The majority of them are so shapeless that they either take far too many years off your age or make you look like you're pregnant. Sure, I suppose they're quite ideal for those not terribly comfortable with showing off too much of their figure. But because these dresses are so trendy, it's hard to find any other style.

I am a fairly curveless woman. Dresses that cinch or are cut at the waist (like NORMAL DRESSES) are most ideal for me. When I tried on a pinafore dress, I looked even younger than I usually do and like I was about to go pretend to be a fairy. UGH.

Bring back the 50s housewife dresses. At least they make you look like you have A BODY.

Stripper Heels
I was browsing the shoe section and came across some very hideous looking high heels. They were seemingly normal from the front but at the back... oh god no, the heel was transparent plastic. Kinda like...

stripper shoes! Oh no! The thought of middle aged bogan women tottering around with grimy heels and giggling "hurr hurr, i'm a stripper" frightens me.

WTF shoes

Katey in Kmart: "These shoes have tentacles!"
Although I don't wear them, ballet flat shoes look quite comfortable and easy to wear*. So why add unnecessary ribbon bits/tentacles to wrap up your leg?! They look quite elegant on actual ballet dancers, but otherwise they look like your leg is a piece of meat and its being wrapped up at the butchers.

By now you're probably thinking that I am a big fashion snob. Not to worry, I have some confessions.

- I was admiring some cute black and white dresses and tops at the Red Circle Boutique, relieved that at last I found some readily available, cheap clothes that I actually like. Then I looked at the label.
They were clothes from The Veronicas clothing range.

I felt so dirty.

- I bought a pair of high waisted black shorts. Pretty awful in its concept but by god, it's 30 degrees and I'll be fucked if i wear jeans.
Plus, they're comfortable. And not to worry, even though they are high waisted, there is no camel toe.

None of this.

- I actually kinda like the hypercolour shirts and skinny jeans look. Wouldn't wear it, but it looks cute. Sue me.

* if you didn't pick up that pokemon reference, you're clearly not nerdy enough.

Video Clips that scared the shit out of me when i was a kid

2007-09-30T03:06:00.000-07:00

If you were an Aussie kid growing up during the 90s, chances are you got up or stayed up until odd hours to watch rage.

I was a highly impressionable young kid and remember sitting there in the dark, quivering, remote tightly clenched in hand, as some frightening videos played on screen. Back in the 90s, trance/techno crossover songs weren't as sexualised as they are today. There was something dingy and dark about them, conjuring up thoughts of dark places where strange people would go. (I learnt later that these places were called "nightclubs".)

Click, I'd change the channel to a bright, happy sitcom, hoping such images I'd seen wouldn't give me nightmares.

After watching "A night at the Roxbury", I was reminded of such songs from my childhood rage watching, particularly that of Brainbug's "Nightmare".
"That's the alien song!" I yelped. "That song scared the shit out of me as a kid!"

With the help of Youtube, I uncovered these songs of memories past.

Video Clips That Scared the Shit of out Me when i was a kid

Brainbug - Nightmare

The song itself is fairly sinister sounding, but I'm relatively sure I had nightmares (har har) about this video clip when I was a kid. I wasn't wrong about the aliens. This also reminds me when I watched the terribly authoritive show "A Current Affair" one night when they interviewed a man who had apparently been abducted by an alien. They even showed obviously real footage of an alien! It never occurred to me that it was just a recreation of what the fellow supposedly saw. It didn't stop me from telling people in Year 4, very seriously, that aliens were DEFINITELY REAL because I saw them on TV!

Great song though. You gotta laugh at the awful costumes and flying saucers on strings flying about. Maybe I was scared of the dodgy special effects.

Chemical Brothers - Hey Boy, Hey Girl

Again, another somewhat sinister-sounding song with an equally terrifying video clip. Well, now that I watch it, my initial reaction is "HAHA CGI SKELETONS HAHA". But for some reason I remember completely crapping myself at the sight of skeletons dancing at a nightclub. I mean, argh. SKELETONS. I WANT MY MUMMY.
It's still a little bit creepy to this day. However, all fears are quashed at the end when that dodgy taxi driver/skeleton says, "Where you going, baybeh?"

Hooverphonics - Mad about you

When I saw this video clip as a youngun, I had a fairly basic understanding of love and sex. Men and women fell in love with each other. Sometimes men and men, or women and women. NOT WOMAN AND PLANT. This video clip definitely tugged the "this is wrong!" sensors in my brain. Later, I would find out that compared to beastiality, pedophilia, hentai tentacle sex, foot fetishes etc. it wasn't really that weird at all.

Still disturbs me a little bit though.

Green Jelly - Little Pig

Man, you try hearing the story about the Three Little Pigs then seeing this video clip. Mind warping for sure. I think I was also against bad, squishy claymation that seemed to be quite the novel special effect back then too.

X-Files Techno Remix

Ok, so this isn't the original video clip for the song. But seriously, what was the scariest thing you ever watched when you were a kid growing up in the 90s? That's right, the X-Files. Listening to the techno remix just made me think of the show, and I'd say this fanvideo pretty much sums up my thought process.

Well, I hope you enjoyed that. I'll add more if I can think of any.

For now, enjoy a video clip that scares the shit out of me TODAY>

Look at those high waisted pants! Camel toes galore. It makes me cringe, cross my legs, and thank god that I was not of clubbing age during the 90s.

Lies! Damn, dirty Lies!

2007-09-16T23:23:00.000-07:00

I am an awful liar. If I lie to you, I’ll break down and tell you the truth eventually. The very most I do is exaggerate things for narrative effect, or cover up things to save my ass (Erm, no mum, I'm not hungover, just a bit tired. And i have a headache. And i'm throwing up vodka). But I could never look you in the eye and tell you something completely false. Don’t ever ask me to play a practical joke on someone.

So it was with great disaster that I told a huge porky to my boss today.
“I can’t work next Monday morning,” I said, “as I have a uni exam.”
“Oh, okay,” said my boss. Then she stopped and looked at me strangely. “Aren’t you on uni holidays then?”
Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, said my brain, as I metaphorically soiled my pants.
“Erm,” I stumbled, “it’s, um, yeah, I have an exam that day for some reason.”
“It’s a bit odd,” she said pointedly, and left it at that.

I’m relatively sure she knows I’m lying. You see, I don’t have an exam next Monday at all. It is my best friend’s birthday party on Sunday night and I plan to get properly inebriated with her. The funny thing is that my boss is quite a nice lady and probably would be okay with me skipping work for my friend’s party. But there is then the discourse in truth. If I had said, “Sorry boss, can’t go to work next week because I plan to par-tay hard with my best friend on Sunday night”, she would probably wonder what kind of idiot would tell that to her boss.

Definitely not what I will be doing next Monday morning*

I felt sick for the next few hours as I tried to convince myself that if my boss found out I was lying, I wouldn’t get fired. Probably just a stern talking to. I hope.

In my ideal world, everyone would tell the truth. Lies and bullshit would be outlawed. It just causes unnecessary drama. Imagine, if you will, instead of this situation, which I have heard many times:

Boy: You are an amazing and truly beautiful human being. Do you want to go out with me?
Girl: Alas, I cannot be with you. I believe our romance would destroy the beautiful friendship we hold. My fragile heart is jaded from past relationships and I would only break yours.
Boy: Boo hoo, emo fit waaah.
Later, Boy bitches and psychoanalyses the girl’s mysterious comments to all his friends. Ad verbatim. Ad fucking verbatim.

We would have a far less convoluted explanation here:

Boy: I need someone of the opposite sex to validate my self-esteem. Do you want to be that person?
Girl: No, I’m not attracted to you in the slightest.
Boy: Damn.

In this world, we could tell girls they look fat in that dress and never see bums hanging out of hotpants ever again.
Employers would have to resign themselves to the fact that their employees have lives too and need time to live them, and thus have realistic expectations of the worker.
I truly believe people would respect politicians more if they told the truth, even if that truth is not what eveybody wants to hear (At least I would know who to vote for. I am so very conflicted at the moment that I plan to vote for the Shooters Party and the Fishing Party so I can shoot fish).
Infidelity wouldn’t exist. People would say, “I want to go shag this other person” and instead of being busted on ‘Cheaters’ and screaming like fat black women, the other person would realise that the one they love isn’t worth it, and such a relationship would end with both parties somewhat satisfied.

If everybody told the truth, there would be no need for fat people taking off their clothes on Jerry Springer**

Real friends would be easier to identify and again, people would have more realistic expectations
(It's not that I don't want to hang out with you, it's that I just want to some 'me' time, okay?)
In this world, truth would be universally accepted and everybody wouldn’t get so angry about things. Subsequently, people would put more thought into their actions rather than relying on lies to get out of trouble.
Life would be so much easier. I think that would be wonderful.

* As a side note: When I looked up "exam" on Google Images, all the photos on the front page were of testicular or vaginal exams. What.
** As another side note: When I looked up "cheaters" i got porn, and that is why I chose a Jerry Springer picture instead. And you should have seen what I got when I looked up "big black woman"

A letter to everybody in America

2007-09-12T20:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Americans,

I formally offer an apology for making fun of you all being fat.

Whilst in Montville, Dan and I visited a wonderful lolly shop. This lolly shop sold a wide variety of sugary sweets, including ones imported from America.

Dan purchased a little packet of Reese's.

For those who don't know, Reese's are a delicious little cup of chocolate filled with peanut butter.

After eating many of these the other night, I now understand why Americans are fat. How could you not eat these delicious morsels, so fortunately available to buy?

I empathise, my lucky American friends. If I lived in your country full of delicious lollies, I would be obese too.

love from an Australian fan of American lollies.

I am a whore

2007-09-11T17:26:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I'm a dirty internet whore.

I have the following on the interwebs:
- This blog
- An inactive LJ and a separate (also inactive) account to comment on friend's journals
- A myspace which I use a LOT
- A facebook which I've just started using.
- A deviantart account (haven't used it for a while)

Bloody hell! I'm such a nerd. Mum was saying to me last night that when I was little, I would run over to those touch screens at schopping centres and press all the buttons.
Also, on my birthday in history, a South Korean dude died from playing too much Starcraft. How fitting.

*sigh* I really should do some uni work.

dream of californication

2007-09-10T04:58:00.001-07:00

I'm a bit slow.

I have started watching Californication and have been rather enjoying it. Basically, it's about a divorced, slightly alcoholic writer named Hank (David Duchovny...phwoar) trying to get his life back together. Crude sexual jokes, lightning quick insults, odd sex scenes and David Duchovny make for an enjoyable show.

In the first episode, Hank has sex with a girl called Mia. Mia, we find out later, is the 16 year old daughter of his ex-wife's new boyfriend (wtf?).

Anyway, the episode shows a quick scene of Mia humping the living christ out of Hank (and punching him in the face, for good measure), complete with boobs bouncing about.

"She's pretty hot," my non-lesbian-but-appreciation-of-the-female-form part of my brain said.

Mia is the girl on the far right.

Imagine my astonishment, then, when I was informed that Mia is played by Madeleine Zima.

You've heard that name before, haven't you.

Yes! She's none other than Gracie, the sweet little kid from The Nanny.

And I've seen her nipples.

AAARGH.

The Stupid Test

2007-08-07T19:00:00.001-07:00

People are very stupid. Are you stupid? Take this test to find out.

1. You see a sleep-deprived retail worker walking towards you with a heavy trolley filled with hundreds of cheap paperback novels to take to the other store. The pile is so tall that she can barely see where she’s going. You are walking in a wide, mostly empty hallway. Do you:

a) Walk on the other side of the hallway
b) Scream helplessly as the trolley bashes into you

2. You are a QUT student on your way to your next class. You are walking on Ring Road when a car approaches. The driver is a stressed girl trying not to miss her lecture and hoping not to get fined because she hasn’t had time to buy a parking permit. Do you:

a) Move onto the pathway
b) Somehow not notice my car is right behind you and keep waddling on. Gosh, those ‘97 Barinas struggling to get up a hill sure are quiet, aren’t they?

3. You have organised a week prior to meet a very good friend of yours who is keen to see you. Before seeing them, you wake up sick and hung over. What do you do?

a) Try and make an effort to see them, at least for a few hours, or call them as soon as possible \to apologise and explain that you can’t see them because of your irresponsible actions from the night before.
b) Let them know, half an hour after you were supposed to meet them, that you would prefer sleeping, then somehow blame your girlfriend. Your friend and her boyfriend have just spent an outrageous amount of money on cooking a great lunch for you, but you’ve been up since 8, dammit!

4. You like a girl. Ooh, you saucy beast. After getting to know her a bit, you decide to tell her that you like her. She tells you straight out that she is not attracted to you in the slightest. Do you:

a) Feel a bit bummed, but get over it and continue being friends with the girl.
b) Constantly bring up the fact that you used to like her, especially when she has a boyfriend and you have a girlfriend. Maybe your obsessive stalker tendencies will win her over!

5. You are quite lost at the bus stop. How do you find out which bus to catch?

a) Try and work it out on the maps and timetables provided at the bus stop, or ask a local.
b) Stop every crowded bus you see, driving through peak hour traffic, and ask the ones going to Chermside if they stop at the Mater Hospital.

6. You find the blog of a girl you don’t like. Oh, how you hate her! What do you choose to do with your discovery?

a) Nothing. Who cares what some silly tramp has to say about things? You’ve got better things to do with your time.
b) Leave snarky anonymous comments on her entries which attack her personality rather than what she has actually written. THAT WILL SHOW HER!

7. You are at the shops with your toddler son. For some reason or another, he starts crying and screaming, quite possibly because he is possessed by the devil. Either that, or he is protesting the fat ladies in red dresses singing opera outside David Jones. Do you:

a) Go outside and try to calm your son down.
b) Walk into the newsagents and take ages deciding what lotto ticket to buy. Meanwhile, your son is screaming loud enough to summon Satan from the depths of hell. Your tiny brain cannot handle the many different types of lottery tickets so you give up. Suddenly, you notice your son jumping up and down, punching you and screaming, and decide to buy him a sugary treat.

I hate when kids do this.

8. Your children are playing on a giant art installation. Suddenly, you watch in horror as another person’s child falls off the installation to the ground, lying in a pool of blood. After the medics arrive to take him away, you:

a) Tell your children not to play on the art installation
b) Let your children resume climbing on it and are completely dumbfounded when your children fall off and injure themselves.

9. You have had your period all over a chair in a restaurant. How embarrassing. What do you do?

a) Discreetly ask for some napkins and clean it up.
b) Demand that the restaurant staff mop up your menstrual blood.

Now add up your answers!
Mostly A’s: Congratulations, you’re not stupid! You may proceed with living.
Mostly B’s: I’m afraid that you are stupid. Please proceed to the castration room.

The worst thing about this quiz is that all the situations and the stupid answers are true. Good old retail and hospitality.
Damn you, humankind.

Also, it’s my birthday soon. Inquire within on how you can get drunk with me on Friday night!

One last thing: I hear from a few people that they and their friends read this blog. This is a bit freaky because I didn’t think anybody read it! If you are reading this, I would love to read your comments. A mere “I’m reading this!” would be good. I just want to know who actually reads this crap!

University!

2007-07-31T22:13:00.000-07:00

I'm back at uni. You know, you'd think that universities would be a plethora of knowledge and intellectual debate, but the conversations I heard today made me rethink this theory.

1. After reading a highly dull chapter on law in the creative industries, I took a nap on a comfy sofa in the library. However, I was rudely awakened by two girls sitting right next to me (would YOU sit next to a sleeping - possibly snoring - person who hadn't washed her hair for many a day? I think not) and discussing... potatoes. Unfortunately, I am not joking.

They then proceeded to debate about a great event in history - the Irish Potato Famine. "Wasn't that, like, when there were too many potatoes in Ireland?"
No, I think the key word here is "famine".

After attempting to go back to sleep, I awakened yet again by an obviously studly fellow (judging by the sudden increase of giggling) coming to join the two girls. You would think they would talk about other such worldly matters, like politics, philosophy, or how many Jagerbombs they drank on the weekend. But no... They continued their lively discussion about potatoes.

Good lord. I don't deny that potatoes are very tasty, but it seems like a rather odd thing to talk about. Well, at least the youth of tomorrow are passionate about something.

2. I was in the bathroom before, contemplating the complexities of life and cursing my lactose intolerance (I just wanted one coffee!) when I heard two friends having an conversation that obviously summed up their love and affection for each other:

Girl 1: (whining)Why are you taking so long? Why do I always have to wait for you?
Girl 2: Mary?*
Girl 1: Wha-a-at?
Girl 2: Get over it.
Girl 1: Shut up. Fat mole.
Girl 2: Fuck off.

*not real name

Mmm... how sweet.

Pimping Prime Ministers and lurve

2007-07-12T18:48:00.000-07:00

Two items on the blogging agenda today.

1. Federal Opposition leader Kevin Rudd has a myspace. You can view it here. Apprently he's been getting into it and running around adding people. A Daily Telegraph article said, "At the launch of MySpace's Impact channel, Mr Rudd was talking about "adding friends" and "pimping" his profile, which is MySpace speak for sexing up his webpage with photos, videos and music."" The possible future prime minister of Australia using the word "pimping". Fantastic!

I'm not a massive supporter of Kevin Rudd but I think it's great that he's risking looking like a complete dag to get votes from the youth of Australia. You know what I mean, it's like your dad going down to the pub with his mates and saying, "Yo, I'm going to chill with my homies" while he's wearing a shirt tucked into his board shorts and socks with sandals.

The comments on Kevin Rudd's myspace are a bit of a laugh too. One has simply said, "THE RUDDMEISTER!", another says "You will pwn at the next election." I wonder if Kevin Rudd knows what pwn means? Will he find out? If he wins the election, will his opening statement be, "I am very happy that I pwned John Howard's little n00b ass"?

He also lists liking Monty Python, Family Guy and The Chaser's War Against Everything. I suddenly got a mental image of him saying, "I am the Prime Minister who says... ni!" He should, he'd get the Australian nerd vote for sure.

Ni!

2. Dan and I have been going out for three months! Exactly three months ago I dashed off to the city to meet this lovely man to see Pan's Labyrinth, where I was promptly kissed and fondled on the ankle. Sigh! I love you, Dan. You pwn my heart.

Awww.

How not to Fail on the Internet pt 1: Internet Dating

2007-07-11T23:18:00.001-07:00

I started writing a guide on How not to Fail on the Internet and it's getting rather long. I decided that instead of posting a novel, I'll post the guide in installments.

Today's topic - Meeting Pedophiles, I mean, Internet Dating

Some of you may know that I met my man of choice over myspace. I am clearly a sad, pathetic loser with no social skills and he is a sexual predator. Ahem. Before I met Dan, other fellows on myspace were keen on meeting up with me. I took my gut feelings most of the time. A lot of them gave off creepy vibes and I wisely cut contact with them. I shall tell you how to tell which ones are worth crossing the barrier from internet to real life and which ones are in it to lure you into a van with the promises of sweet, sweet candy.
(Unfortunately, the examples I am providing are true – the good ones AND the bad ones).

Contrary to popular belief, not everybody who meets someone from the internet looks like this.

It’s a lot like real life, I suppose, except that you can’t tell whether they have bad BO or not. The first thing someone says to you can tell a lot about them. I have a rule about creepy people; if they act like they’re very close to you when you first meet them, they’re creepy.

Correct:
“Hi, how are you?”

Wrong:
“You are hot. Will you be my girlfriend? I would like to give you a sensual French massage.”

Pictures! Pictures are way important if you want to meet somebody, and not just because you want to see how big their boobies are. Avoid the ones who show you photos that look a bit professional (altered in photoshop to cover up the ugly), with their face covered (hats, sunglasses, weird lighting), or shirtless ones (eew, eew, eeeww). After all, if they can’t trust you enough to show you what they really look like, how can you trust meeting them?

An example of a failed attempt to cover up grossness with photoshop.

Eventually, you’ll start talking to them properly. Finding that you have an affinity for video games and funky fruit hats, you may wish to meet. That’s great! You should then pay attention to the way in which they wish to meet you:

Correct (after talking for a few weeks):

“Doing anything this Thursday? We should grab lunch or something.”

Wrong (after ONE conversation):
“I’d love to take you out to a candlelit dinner. Just you and me… alone.” Slurp.

The actual meeting of said person over the internet can be fraught with danger. Think of it like a blind date. Try and meet in a public area so you can run away screaming into safety if they're not the cute boy with the bulging six pack you saw in the photo, but rather a 40 year old serial killer with manboobs. And then it’s pretty much a normal date from there. Good luck and don’t get herpes!

(thankyou to Something Awful for the hideous myspace photos)

The Cheap Student Budget

2007-07-09T22:38:00.000-07:00

What is $750.50?
a) A lot of money
b) About what I would earn in a month if I didn't spend any of it
c) What somebody spent on lotto tickets today.
d) All of the above.

WHAT THE HELL. I couldn't get over it. This dude handed over $755 in a myriad of fifties and twenties. Wow. It would have been a glorious sight to behold, if I hadn't have been made to count it.

In my opinion, there are many more exciting things to spend $750.50 on. For instance, I could pay off my crippling laptop debt. Video games. Boutique fashion. One hell of a night out, with drinking, a personal performance by Eric Clapton and midget strippers imported from Mexico. Damn, a trip to Mexico with delicious taco meals every night! You have to wonder how rich this guy is to be able to spend that much on little pieces of paper with numbers on them.

I am disgustingly poor by comparison. I earn about $200 a week, most of which goes towards boring things like food (as I am a Hungry Hungry Hippo of a woman), petrol, taekwondo fees and my aforementioned crippling laptop debt.

"I don't know how you get by with $200 a week," said Georgia, my best friend and allmighty barista, whose recent paycheck made me look at her in a whole new light.

It isn't as horrible as you think. Let me explain to you, dear readers, the Cheap Student Budget.

- You can get a perfectly decent meal for $5. Asian food is a winner here.

- If you drive, fill up your petrol on Tuesdays and pester whoever buys your groceries to steal their fuel dockets. Also, try and get the environmentally friendly fuel because it's cheaper. Environmentally friendly fuel + fuel dockets = hooray. Oh, and because of the environment and stuff. Save the trees and shit.

- Sales and secondhand are your friends. Never, ever buy anything that isn't on sale. It's just not right. It's also handy to date the manager of a store (sorry guys, Dan and the Cotton On 25% discount vouchers are MINE). The red label will guide you, young one.

- Need to get drunk to forget the horrible pain that is your life? Drinking at your friend's house is cheaper than buying drinks at a club and catching a cab home. Especially when said friend is a dirty alcoholic and has an impressive liquor stash (I'm looking at you, Ben).

- Stuck between two things you want to buy? Pick the cheapest one no matter what.

- Screw supporting the entertainment industry. Download, download, download. My policy is that you should support smaller bands, particularly local acts, by buying their CDs, but let's face it -- mp3 downloading isn't exactly going to reduce the members of Metallica to starvation. Not that I like Metallica, but, you know.

Good luck, prospective tight-asses!

In related news, work was devillish today. I had the dreaded six hour shift, which is slightly short of having a lunch break and only allows me one ten minute break. Plus, I was surviving on three hours of sleep. It got to the point where I thought the till keyboard looked like a nice pillow and tried to figure out how to strategically arrange piles of Tax Packs into a bed.
I could not sleep last night for the life of me. It was one of those nights where I had too many thoughts, even when I was trying not to think about anything

"Empty your mind, empty your mind.... wow, cool, this is working. Oh crap, you're thinking about thinking about nothing. Way to completely miss the point of the exercise, idiot."

The Ultimate List of Rage

2007-07-06T17:38:00.000-07:00

I don't like driving. Perhaps it's the Asian in me, but sitting behind the wheel of a potential vehicle of DEATH and wedged in between fellow idiots on the road is a surefire way to fill me with murderous urges.

However, it is a necessary evil if I wish to visit my dear boyfriend. Unfortunately, said boyfriend lives in Chermside and I have to cross the Gateway Motorway to get there.

"Gateway Motorway" is synonymous for "pit of hell where everybody turns into a shit driver". Coincedentally, I have an acute case of road rage.

For no other reason except that it has pissed me off immensely, I am going to write a list of The Ultimate Rages. I tend to screech a variation of the following when driving.

- What's wrong, I'm not going fast enough for you? Wanna tailgate me a bit more? Oh wait, I'm not going to go any faster. I'm doing the speed limit and there are speed cameras around here, you idiot. I hope you get cavity searched with a cactus.

- Overtaking me on the left and you give ME the finger? Please don't reproduce.

- What the... are you revving your car at the traffic lights? You want to race a fucking 97 Barina?! I mean, you will win because you've pimped your shitty ride, but it's like racing a kid with a gimpy leg isn't it? I bet your penis is huge.

- Lesson in communication: when I'm waving you over, it means I'm letting you go in front of me. This is, after all, a merging lane and I am very nice. No, seriously, move over, your lane is about to run out. Move. MOVE. Oh fine, i'll just overtakeOH SHIT NOW YOU'RE MOVING. FUCK YOU.

This is what i look like when i'm driving.

- Okay, I've been indicating for the last few minutes and I would like to change lanes. Hey, here's an openingAARGHHH YOU'RE SPEEDING UP. I'm going to end up at Ipswich if you bastards don't let me change lanes because your over-inflated egos won't let me drive in front of you.

- The main reason I drive on the Gateway is because you can drive at 100km/h on it. Nice and speedy. Hmm, hey person in front of me, why are you only driving at 70? Are you behind a huge truck or something? Wait a minute, I can see in front of you... THERE'S NO ONE THERE. YOU'RE DRIVING AT 70 FOR NO REASON. Okay, overtaking you now. Oh great, NOW you speed up. Jesus Christ, go home before you hurt somebody.

- That's my parking space, you son of a bitch. No, mine. MIIIINE.

- I hate you all, please die!

World of Evilcraft

2007-07-01T20:04:00.001-07:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again - World of Warcraft is an evil game.
It doesn't seem evil at first. For those who don't know, it's basically an RPG like an old Final Fantasy game - you select from a range of classes that pre-determine your abilities, level up and go on quests. The only difference is that as opposed to solely interacting with computer generated characters, they're real people.

Sounds harmless doesn't it?

WRONG. I've noticed a trend with World of Warcraft, and that is its ability to cause evil around the world.

First of all, you have to pay to play it. Not only do you have to buy the game itself but you have to pay about $20 each month to play it. Truly satanic.
Kids around Asia have died from playing it, simply from forgetting to eat and digest. Men have left their wives for some hot elf chick they've met online. A dude killed another dude (in real life, not in the game) because he stole a sword off him.

And now a 30 year old woman has abducted a 16 year old boy she met on it.

Never has such a game been responsible for so much death and social destruction. Perhaps World of Warcraft is cursed. Or maybe there are too many bloody nerds with dependency issues. How pathetic. Some people really need to get a life.

(Sorry this blog entry took a while to write, I was playing Runescape. My combat level went up to 14 and now I can totally pwn some n00bz. 1337.)

Valley Shenanigans and Guns n Roses

2007-06-22T21:38:00.000-07:00

Well! Uni is finally over for the semester and I can update this blog for once.

I have decided to review the places I have been lately. That's right, I go outside and without my laptop sometimes. Shocking, I know!

Your Mate’s House
Your Mate’s House is a great place for pre-going out shenanigans, such as taking incriminating photos in the kitchen. Your Mate’s House is preferably near the city so you don’t have to pay a truckload for a taxi fare. Your Mate should have a good liquor supply so Another one of Your Mates, who works at a restaurant, can make excellent, too-strong cocktails for you all. Your Mate also supplies a quality antipasto platter specially imported from Woolworths.

10/10

The liquor range at Your Mate's house.

The Press Club
The Press Club is a sweet, cozy little bar near the Empire Hotel. The bar has an even more impressive liquor range than Your Mates House – the shelves nearly go up to the ceiling. Although the Press Club is quite classy, I decided it wasn’t really my type of place. It seems to be the sort of bar that city workers go after work - most of the people there were in their mid-twenties or older (I’m only 19). A relaxing atmosphere, if you’re looking for it, but I was looking to get raucously drunk and dance. And despite the extensive range of liquor, I was quite disappointed by the Press Club’s rendition of the ever-popular Jagerbomb. Served in a small, skinny glass, the barman simply poured the Jagermeister into the Red Bull, rather then plonking in the shot glass. In other words, he took the “bomb” out of “Jagerbomb” and charged us $9 for it. My friends and I agreed this was quite a poor effort and left.

6/10

What a jagerbomb should look like.

The streets of the Valley
If there’s one thing I love about big nights out, it’s the moments of utter surrealism that occur whilst you’re drunk and between bars. “Where are we going now?” Alex inquired.
“Hell,” said Jerome, pointing at a sign.
And indeed, that sign said nothing but “Hell” in drippy red letters. Ignore the legends and myths you hear about Hell. We didn’t see fire, brimstone, or foul demons demanding for our souls; Hell is a car yard. But not just any car yard. This car yard was full of vans, but not just any vans!
Hell is white vans with pictures of breasts painted on them. White breasts and black breasts for the sake of racial equality. Hooray.

I didn’t know this, but apparently walking from bar-to-bar is a good place to find love. We were approached by a group of men possibly in their 30’s.
“You’re the best looking girl in the street,” one leered at me.
“You’re old,” I replied, and we were on our way.

We were also approached by a fast-talking Russian.
“Spraken ze deutsch?” Alex asked cleverly.
“Ah! German, German!”
“No, we’re not German.”
“You meet my German friend?”
“No thanks. Er, danke.”
“Here he is!”
“RUN!”

10/10

The Fringe Bar
The Fringe Bar has lovely bouncers. Before entering the bar, my friend Georgia and I were discussing the possible words that the C in the C Mart across the road could stand for. Our suggestions were rather loud and obscene, as we were somewhat inebriated at this stage. Nevertheless, us crude young lasses were still allowed in.

The Fringe Bar’s liquor range was not quite as extensive as the Press Club’s. However, the pretty lights shining under the bottles were quite fascinating to me.

More surrealism occurred here. I went upstairs in search for a toilet to find myself in a crowd of strange people – sailors, cowboys, construction workers… It was like I had entered some parallel universe where everybody was a member of the Village People.

The music at the Fringe Bar wasn’t anything special, mainly your Top 40 pop sort of thing. Although I was drunk enough to dance, I got bored quickly.

5/10

The people I saw upstairs at the Fringe Bar.

Bad Girls
We were quite keen on pointing and laughing at slutty girls with their saggy boobs out, so off we went to Bad Girls. However, we didn’t bank on the cover charge of $15.
“Fuck that!” I declared.
I can look at my own boobs for free anyway.

0/10

The Mustang Bar
The Mustang Bar is a sports bar. This was confirmed by Alex cheering on rally drivers on the plasma TVs set up around the bar, and myself goggling at the male gymnastics which was shown later on.

I walked into the Mustang Bar with my nerd sense a-tingling. Hark! A long tabletop video game machine with Pacman on it! There was also a Simpsons pinball machine next to it. I was in nerd heaven. I liked this place already.

The music was definitely not my thing at all, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun to dance like an over-enthusiastic rapper to Kanye West and the Hilltop Hoods. Highlights were “Poison” (albeit the remix, but it didn’t stop me from growling along to it and striking rockstar poses in the mistaken belief that I was Alice Cooper) and “Freestyler”, a song I haven’t heard since I was 12 and trying to be cool at school dances. Not much has changed, except I am now drunk on alcohol rather than hyper on Coke and red cordial.

What I liked most about the Mustang Bar was that although there were your usual crew of sleazes, the majority of people there were quite friendly. We had a funny crew of boys ambushing our photos. My over enthusiastic dancing knocked over a very tall fellow’s drink. I wept for forgiveness, which was met by a high five for my dancing. All in all, I had a lot of fun here.

8/10

This is why I liked the Mustang Bar.

The Mustang Bar Toilets (Ladies)
Quite possibly the worst toilets I have ever been in. Pungent aroma? Check. Piss on the floor? Check. Strange substances smeared on the walls? Check. The fleshy insides of someone’s bleeding nose all over the floor? Check. Wait, what? Alex alerted me to the cocaine spilt on the floor. Ah. That explains that, then.

Yuck.

0/10

Quite a bit of this on the floor of the Mustang Bar toilets, sans blood and bits of septum.

New York Slice
“What shall we do now?” we pondered as we stumbled out of the Mustang Bar at 3.30am.
“NEW YORK SLICE,” roared Georgia.
At first I was spitting chips at $6 for a slice of pizza. Then I realised that these slices were huge and delicious. I did not enjoy the amount of capsicum on the pizza, so I contented myself with waving it in front of Georgia’s face. “Here comes the capsicum plane!” I cooed.
We were quite peaceful, sitting there munching on pizza and watching the colourful lights flickering in the Empire across the road. A rather frightened looking fellow running around and hiding behind our table interrupted our early morning meal.
“Will you girls take care of me?” he asked.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was with my friend, and I can’t find him,” he whimpered. “I’m from Western Australia and I don’t know where I am.”
We chatted with him about Western Australia for a little while, until he pointed at a man in a white shirt lurching up the street. “That’s him, that’s him!” he squealed.
“He’s over here!” we called.
“What are you doing?!” the man in the white shirt blustered. “Get up and stop bothering these beautiful people here.”
“This is fucking good pizza,” I said, while the men argued.
"It's amazing what some people do to talk to girls," observed Georgia.
9/10

Rose Tattoo, Skid Row and Guns n Roses

Initially I was worried about this gig. I heard that the performance the previous night had gone awry due to Axl Rose having a tantrum and storming off after three songs. However, Dan and I have a knack for seeing bands at the right time (we saw Nine Inch Nails before they cancelled a show and threw a tantrum in Melbourne) and they did not disappoint.
We arrived at the Brisbane Entertainment Centre, freezing our nipples off. “YOU’RE IN THE JUNGLE, BABY!” squealed a group of already-pissed Guns n Roses fans.
We counted 15 mullets just walking from my car into the entertainment centre. There were too many bandanas to count. I felt like I had stepped into the 80’s.

Rose Tattoo was on first. I’ll borrow Dan’s remarks on the performance – “Not bad for an old fart”. Angry Anderson was in his form, passionately ranting about freedom in Australia and calling everybody his brothers and sisters. Share the love indeed.
Skid Row was next. Sebastian Bach burst on stage, glorious, Pantene-commercial-worthy hair swishing about and donning a pair of rather tight leather trousers. He bounced and ran about the stage with the energy of a little child. His scream was perfect. “You might recognise this next song,” he said, “because it’s on our myspace page. Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that.”

A punch-up in the middle of the moshpit made Sebastian halt the song to hurl abuse at the person causing the fight. “We’re here to have fun and have a good time, you motherfucking cocksucker!” he screamed.
He demanded a security guard cart him outside. “Everybody say goodbyyyeee!” said Sebastian. We cheered. I decided I was in love.

Sebastian Bach is a man who takes matters into his own hands.

I occasionally froze, my jaw open, whenever the guitarists played a face-melting solo – which was EVERY time. “Musicgasm,” I explained to Dan.

Then the moment of glory came. Skid Row exited and roadies fiddled about on stage. Another platform with a shining drumkit was revealed. Dan and I munched Maltesers and gripped each other in enthusiasm. How romantic.
The lights dropped and so did my stomach, as though I was jumping off a cliff. We proceeded to wet our pants with excitement.
A dramatic orchestral number boomed from the stage. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of horrible song from the new album? Had Axl Rose turned into a pretentious prick and turned Guns n Roses into some DNA-mutated experimental band?
It faded into silence, which segued into the opening riff to “Welcome to the Jungle.” I more or less did a back flip in my chair in excitement as a little white spotlight shone on Guns n Roses’s new guitarist, who was wearing a hat vaguely reminiscent of Slash’s. Fireworks shot out and things exploded.

Axl and Sebastian. (Photo from Guns n Roses's myspace) (Lol, myspace)

Another expectation I had was that Axl Rose’s performance may be somewhat lacklustre. Axl Rose is, after all, an ageing rockstar who has consumed a fair few illicit substances in his time. I expected him to walk onto the stage, clutching the microphone like a life boat and croak out Guns n Roses’s hits in a decrepit fashion.
I was proved wrong as Axl ran onstage, welcoming me to the jungle. I was delighted to see that he could still do the wiggly dance he does in the “Sweet Child of Mine” video clip. He ran around the stage, jumping and leaping, even unexpectedly mounting his piano. Axl has indeed still got it.

Unfortunately, the guitarists were quite disappointing. One was quite good, but the other two proceeded to butcher various guitar solos. You may know of the technique called “tapping” – it’s basically when a guitarist uses both hands to press on notes on the neck. The introduction to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” is a good example. Tapping sounds impressive and tricky, but I can do it, therefore it can’t be too hard at all. Anyway, it only sounds good when used at the right time. The Skid Row guitarists got it right, putting in subtle flourishes when needed. The new Guns n Roses guitarists did this to excess. “Stuff this,” I said. “I can do that.”
They were the experts of fancy guitar tricks, but not much else. The guitarists were given ample time to show off as Axl kept disappearing backstage. God knows what he was doing. Dan thinks he was drinking; I think he had a bad case of the runs and needed to poo quite badly. Perhaps the poor fellow had been slipped a laxative!

Highlights were “Knocking out Heaven’s Door”, “Sweet Child of Mine”, “Patience” and Sebastian Bach returning onstage for a duet. Unfortunately, one of my other favourite Gunners songs, “November Rain”, was horribly butchered – the drums were too fast and one of the bad guitarists took it upon himself to change one of the solos. Sacrilege, I say!
The show ended with “Paradise City”, with more fireworks and red confetti exploding everywhere. I left feeling warm and fuzzy as Dan and I ranted and raved in excitement on our way back to the car. A good night was had by all.

9/10

More photos of the Valley Shenanigans will be uploaded as soon as Georgia gets off her lazy bum and sends them to me.

ellie learns about music

2007-05-13T05:10:00.000-07:00

I have been going to a fair few gigs lately. I also watched the Eurovision semi-finals last night. I have learnt things about music that I wish to share with you:

If you are a guitarist in a band, you HAVE to jump around like you have caterpillars in your pants and hump the amp wildly. If not, you suck.
Being Trent Reznor also helps.
All men in Europe are hot. However, they are also all raging homosexuals. No straight man can wear a silk, open shirt with gold chains. And leather pants. So many leather pants.
You are not allowed to be a Polish "rapper" in golf pants.
Dear Turkey: STOP THRUSTING. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP THRUSTING. love, Ellie
No matter how tight your pants are and how much camel toe you have if you can't hit the high notes then you can't hit the high notes.
Emo kids are allright when they sing cute pop-punk songs and are from Andorra.
It turns out that the portly, butch woman of questionable sexual orientation who was in my way the whole time at the Nine Inch Nails concert was the Serbian entrant in Eurovision! How about that.
You have to PUSH THE BUTTON.
Danish drag queens sing better than most girls.
You know you're at a quality gig when the band finishes with, "Add us to myspace!"
Vampires are, indeed, alive.

That is all.

the by product of liberalism

2007-05-05T07:29:00.000-07:00

I do a subject at university called "Narrative in the Creative Industries." It's about looking at how stories are told in literature, film and art. Basically, it's a load of wankery. However, the main lecturer is a man named Gary MacLennan. A crazy, gay Irishman with a passion to teach would always make the lectures somewhat interesting. Sure, I didn't agree with his political views most of the time, but because he offered debatable views on things, I found myself thinking about the contents of the lecture and paying attention to what he was saying more than I would normally.

I, along with other students in the course, received a shocking e-mail the other day.

A few weeks ago, Gary wrote a newspaper article in The Australian (as well as appearing on Triple J's "Hack" program) protesting against a controversial PhD undertaken by a QUT student. You can read it here:

http://www.onlineopinion.com.au/view.asp?article=5730

He sent the e-mail telling us that the university has placed a misconduct charge upon him and that he may face possible suspension from teaching.

It made me incredibly angry. Not only will I be losing one of my favourite lecturers (who may very well be replaced by the other lecturer, who is verbally incontinent and ends up ranting about feminism) but there is a serious flaw in QUT's logic here.

Universities are supposed to stand for freedom of speech, ideas and learning - the very ideals of liberalism itself. This is why a PhD student is allowed to make a reality TV show about disabled people.

But if a PhD student can do that, why can't a university lecture write a very eloquent newspaper rticle articulating his opinion on the matter? Why does this PhD student get praised for doing something that, outside of a university setting, would not normally be acceptable and a man gets his career threatened because he does not agree with it?

It's a classic example of liberalism, or modernism, or post-modernism or Generation Y or whatever the hell times we live in now, gone completely mad. Now personally, I agree with many liberal ideals and I wouldn't call myself conservative. But some people just take it too far. I've met people like this. The ones who declare they are open minded because they accept all religions and sexualities, but beat down the opinions of a Christian or a homophobe, for example. That's not open-mindedness at all. Feminists who hate men, even though they're meant to stand for gender equality.

Fighting for peace and fucking for virginity.

They undertake this mass hypocrisy because, like their conservative forefathers, they think they're right. But they think they're the worst kind of right - they use the worst of the other side to justify up their arguments and claim to fight in the name of freedom.

What a beautiful world it would be if everyone just agreed to disagree? Hell, we're not perfect. We're not going to join hands and hug each other and completely accept our fellow man.

Before I heard Gary protesting against the PhD, I had never heard about it. And because this PhD is something that will affect others and a wider community, I think it's good that we're now aware of what's going on. But the university doesn't want Gary to talk, doesn't want the students to know because they know a lot of people disagree with what's happening and agree with Gary. And now he's getting punished for a major ethical blunder on the university's part.

We live in unfair times.

DRAMA!

2007-04-09T03:51:00.000-07:00

A few weeks go, we got new next door neighbours. At first I thought they would be quite cool, as I spotted them moving guitar cases into their houses. Hoorah for musos.
However, their coolness was but a farce! Ever since they moved in, they have had parties on both Friday and Saturday nights, without fail. Look, there's really nothing wrong with parties. I went to a party once. It was grand.

But there is something wrong when it's 2am and all you can hear is a bunch of drunk idiots singing, "We're going to Jackson" and playing guitar over and over again. There's something wrong when you realise that they aren't musos, but rather the members of an absolutely terrible metal band that don't play melodies so much as they create a lot of whiny feedback noises.
They also have a spa. The system that turns on the bubbles is freakishly loud - it sounds like some sort of giant vacuum cleaner with teeth. They enjoy jumping into it and screeching drunkenly and loudly at each other over the noise.

A few times, my parents (gosh bless them) have gone outside to yell, "SHUT UP, YOU IDIOTS." Fair enough - they usually get up at 5am. Sometimes I have to rise at 6am for work. Usually they've complied with this.

The other night was a different story. I was online in the wee hours of the morning playing Runescape (what else?) and trying to ignore the usual round of drunken hollering next door. "SHUT UP!" I heard my mum yell at about 1am. They were so drunk that they didn't hear her. After a while of more yelling, mum and dad suddenly dashed downstairs. I missed it, but apparently they heard a fellow yell, "I'M GOING TO SLIT MY WRISTS," which was followed by a heated argument. I'm pretty sure I heard someone yell, "Put it down, PUT IT DOWN!" so I can just imagine what was going on. By this time, four people were screaming at each other out on their front yard, drunk as all hell.

A car screeched loudly, followed by a loud thud. Later, I realised that one of the four people next door had gotten into the car and driven off...drunk. Then someone else drove after them. They were also drunk!

I heard Dad telling them that he'd call the cops. Mainly because they were getting quite aggressive and two drunk people were driving around somewhere. One of the girls, who was very erm, vocal, said the following things to my parents:
(to my mum) "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FAT SLUT!"
(to my dad) "YOU'RE A FAT BALD BASTARD AND I HOPE YOU DIE FROM CANCER!"
Mmm, charming. Dad rang the cops and my parents retreated inside, quite amused by the whole thing.

The cops arrived a while later. One of the fellows who had driven off beforehand (drunk) had returned, and was now telling the cops to fuck off. Drunk driving and swearing at the police is the smart thing to do, guys. No seriously. You can't go wrong there.

In the end, the police carted the seriously drunk people off in a paddy wagon at around 3am.

The next morning, the stupid neighbours put on their spa and played very bad thrash metal as some form of revenge. Which is pretty pathetic because it was 11am in the morning and didn't really bother anyone. Dad himself was mowing the lawn! Losers.

They're idiots. I hope they move out soon. Mum overheard the aforementioned, eloquent girl say that she wants to poison our dog. If she lays hands on my dog, my awesome, fat, cute dog, I swear to god I will kill her with my bare hands.

Dad reckons I could take her on.

Anyone else had wacko neighbours?

Vista woes

2007-04-04T04:41:00.000-07:00

So as you all well know, I am sitting here typing at my beautiful, shiny, glorious new laptop. I really love it.

One point of contention, however, is Windows Vista.

(courtesy of Penny Arcade)

And as a computer user who has used Windows XP extensively for, oh, I don't know, the last 8 years or so, it's a bit of a shock trying to get used to a new system. In a few years, everyone will be using it I suppose.

As much of a nerd as I am, I have to admit that I'm not completely into the niggly little tech details of computers. So I won't be able to tell you how well it utilises RAM or something.
However, I will give you...

the n00bs review of Vista.

First Impression
"Oh dear god! It's trying to be a Mac!"
It's just the little things. Like the translucent wipe when you minimise a window. Or the chunky, shiny icons on the side of the page. And apparently, the loading icon is the same as the Mac's.
Basically, the interface focuses more on graphics. I can't tell if it's a good thing or not. I nearly exploded with frustration when I used a Mac last, but I did like the pretty graphics. Sort of like an arty, attractive teen who writes nonsensical poetry which they claim to be deep and meaningful. Vista is a weird compromise between the familiarity of a Windows interface, and the pretty confusion of a Mac.

IE
Shock horror, I've actually been using Internet Explorer and not Mozilla Firefox. This is because Internet Explorer has basically included my most often-used feature in Firefox - tabbed windows. Apart from that, it annoys the living daylights out of me because of erm, the lack of File/Edit/etc toolbar. Instead, the various features of IE are accessible by little icons. Quite frustrating for the enterprising Vista n00b.

STOP. HAMMER TIME.
I'd heard that Vista was a bit over the top with security, and it doesn't disappoint. There are no less than FIVE icons in the little tray on the bottom right hand corner. Do I really need that much security? Not to mention, at least two windows pop up whenever I want to download something - it doesn't have a security certificate, do I want to continue? You're about to download something and it could have a virus! Do you want to continue?
This insanity is brought to you by a new thing called Windows Defender, a program designed to unnecessary scare the n00bs and patronise computer users who aren't dumb enough to think that downloading a program called ThisIsaVirus.exe is a bad idea. Sometimes it's useful, like when I've realised that in the midst of my clicking spree that I've clicked the wrong button, but most of the time it's pretty unnecessary.

Cool bits
Oh my god. It has Mahjong.

Also the scrolling menu is very useful. All the programs are accessible just by clicking a button and scrolling down a little section. I used to hate waiting for the other portion of the start menu to load if I had a lot of stuff installed on the computer, and then fiddling around and making sure it didn't disappear if I moved the mouse in a certain direction. So thumbs up, efficiency.

Lame bits
I had to wait 15 minutes on the bus for it to configure security settings. Not only did I look like a complete loser on the bus, just staring at this blank screen that said "Configuring security settings", but it wasted a good chunk of my laptop battery.

Some of the icons have changed. It took me a few hours to find Windows Explorer, because it doesn't look like a little yellow folder anymore.

So there you have it, guys. Vista is both irritating, yet efficient, and plagiarises other programs so blatantly that you have to wonder why, and then you realise that no one is dumb enough to sue Bill Gates. Have fun.

Love.

2007-04-01T06:09:00.000-07:00

I'm in love.

I met him this weekend. I didn't expecting that I would ever feel this way about someone.
He's beautiful. Every part of him, from his clear, bright eyes, to his sturdy body that I love to hold - so close, so warm.
He speaks to me warm murmurs, sensitive to my touch.
Everything about him is so new and mysterious. The unknown about him excites me.
When i think of him, all I feel is bliss.

And all I want to do is snuggle up in bed with...

...

MY NEW LAPTOP.

Hot damn, it's awesome. I haven't felt so excited over a new piece of technology since I got my Nintendo DS. It's a shiny, pretty Asus with a huge hard drive (hehe, huge, hard) and lots of lovely RAM. Oh and a built in webcam, for taking many silly photos I assume.

Oh come on guys, my old computer is 7 years old. And it's a Celeron (oh noes). And I can't take it on the bus with me can I?

I am currently typing this blog entry to you from the comfort of my own bed. Living the dream, as it were. Sigh.

Ellie + Laptop = 4EVA

sidenote: haha, you thought i was talking about someone else didn't you.

Confessions of a Dork

2007-03-30T18:09:00.000-07:00

I
For the first time ever, I had forgotten to put my phone on silent before entering my Newswriting lecture last Thursday afternoon. And for the first time ever, my phone rang during my lecture. My ringtone, by the way, is the Pokemon theme song.
"I WANNA BE, THE VERY BEST, LIKE NO ONE EVER WAS," sang my phone earnestly while my lecturer was talking about news sources.
Horrified, I dove into my backpack. "ShutupshutupshutUP!" I hissed, mashing the keys. Phew, I managed to hung up. Using my lightening fast mobile phone skills, I attempted to quickly change the profile to silent. Alas, just before I could do this, it rang again!
"AAAGHH," I said, and proceeded to bolt from my chair out of the lecture. I had wisely chosen to sit down the front, so everyone in the lecture could have an optimum view of me running out to the strains of, "TO CATCH THEM IS MY REAL TEST, TO TRAIN THEM IS MY CAUSE..."

I answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Ellie! Wanna come to trivia night at the Guild Bar on Sunday night with me?"
"... I'm busy that night. AND I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF A LECTURE!"

Attempting to compose myself, I decided to sneak back into the lecture as quietely as possible. I opened the door slowly. CREEEAAAK. Wow thanks, way to reverberate across the lecture theatre there.
I tip toed down the stairs like a fairy would tip toe among mushrooms and things like that. However, my plan was foiled as I stacked it, flying forward and nearly falling down the stairs. "FUCK!" I squawked eloquently, hitching up my pants.
I had cleverly forgotten to put a belt on that morning and I had a feeling that half of the KJB120 students were receiving a pleasant view of the granny undies I'd worn that morning.

As that high quality adolescent magazine Girlfriend would say, "How embarrassment!"

II
I had an Amelie moment the other day. I was walking through Carindale shopping centre en route to work the other morning, when I saw someone bent over and fiddling around with the photo booth. Curiously, I looked down. At that moment, a man with amazing green eyes looked up at me. Amelie, meet Nino. "Mmmmarf!" I squeaked seductively and walked on, trying not to let him see me blush.
How many people are having orgasms right now?
Fifteen.

III
I spent my shift's pay on a dress the other day.
Not only that, but said dress was from the portal of neon-lit, loud-head-throbbing "dance" music hell...

Supre.

I don't think I've bought anything there since I was 13. And that thing was probably something sparkly so I could wear it to an underage Blue Light disco to impress 14 year old boys.

It's okay though guys. The dress shows neither gratuitous amounts of my cleavage or my bottom, so you don't have to worry about being confronted with such visual terrors if you see me next.

IV
Despite me ranting to everybody for the last few weeks that being single is awesome and relationships are for chumps and chumpettes, I have a crush on someone. Bloody hell. One of these days I'm going to have to get my hormones removed.

Dirty, dirty, DIRTY.

2007-03-28T05:26:00.000-07:00

My friend Linda got hit on by two guys today. I teased her about it, of course, because this is the second story I’ve heard recently about men en masse vying for her affections.

“You stud,” I said.

She paused. “You know,” she said, “it’s always when I’m not looking or feeling my best. Today I was sleep deprived and stressed out from assignments. And I haven’t washed my hair for ages.”

Let’s look at case study two. My friend Aaron was having a jolly old stroll around the Queen St Mall just the other day. His self esteem was kicked up a few notches when he caught a few apparently cute girls checking him out. “You sure get all the ladies,” I teased.

“I know,” he said, “and I haven’t showered for the last three days either.”

Case study three: A man who wouldn’t look out of place as the lead singer of a band, with long scraggly hair, stubble and dirty jeans, almost always gets me swooning. I have absolutely no idea why.

I was also once chatted up on the bus (by a disgusting man I might add), on a day in which I had a remarkable blizzard of dandruff in my hair. Really, it was not me being paranoid, it was very obvious and in giant white flakes that sprinkled all over the black shirt I’d unwisely chosen to wear that morning. This did not stop the man on the bus from giving me his phone number, however.

What does this mean? It can only mean one thing, ladies and gentlemen, something that could benefit all of mankind and explain a lot of things.

UNWASHED = SEXY

Who knows why this phenomenon exists? Perhaps it is an ancient biological urge dating back to when we were Neanderthals and deodorant wasn’t invented yet. The human race got started somehow, right? Perhaps we are all too used to perfect, airbrushed, make-upped people, and dirtiness is like a secret, forbidden fetish. Perhaps BO is actually a pheromone.

What does this explain, you ask? It explains why some mind bogglingly disgusting people I know have gotten laid.

So, if you wish to attract a member of the opposite sex, do the following:

- Let them inhale your sweet, natural scent, by not showering.

- People like shiny things, and you know what’s really shiny? Greasy, unwashed hair.

- A lot of beauty advertisements tell us that looking natural is the way to go. You can’t get any more natural than unshaved armpit and leg hair.

- Let people know how much of a sexy, devilish night owl you are, by not sleeping and growing some sensuous bags under your eyes.

I hope this has been of some use to you. You’ll be shagging like wild monkeys* in no time!

* Eating each other’s nits optional.

Ellie's guide to bitchfights

2007-03-19T18:45:00.000-07:00

I am unbelievably bored at uni. I'm also on a Mac and I don't know how to use the bloody thing. At least it's nice and shiny.

I wish I could write something profound and witty about politics right about now but let's face it, Australian politics are absolutely ridiculous right now. The entire Brian Burke "drama" sounds like a particularly juvenile bitch fight.

John Howard: "Like, oh my god, you can't be friends with Brian Burke! He's such a fat skanky slut. How could you! LOL!"
Kevin Rudd: "Whatchoo talkin' about girlfriend?! We are like so totally over. I haven't seen that bitch since like, ever."
Ian Campbell: "I HAVE."
John Howard: "Oh my god you are like, SO out of here."

And if there's one thing I know well, it's juvenile bitch fights. Hell, I went to an all-girl's school for 12 years.

Ellie's Guide to the Bitchfight
In this guide, I will identify the people involved in bitchfights, and how to deal with them.

The Bitchee
A not-so exotic creature, the bitchee is the one who inevitably starts the drama. Everybody ends up ganging up on the bitchee. She comes in two varieties - the totally innocent victim of a bunch of angry bitches, or a totaly idiot.

- The Boy Stealer
She will have done a social no-no that relates to boys. OH NO, NOT BOYS. Their opinions mean everything! This means "stealing your man" (because it's not like the guy has consciously chosen to feel her up instead of you or anything like that) or hitting on a dude you like or who you are going out with. But really, the possibilities are absolutely endless when it comes to boys. The bitchee in this situation can occasionally be a total idiot who brings it on themselves.

How to deal with The Boy Stealer:
First of all, be very sure that she actually IS trying to get into the pants of a certain dude. If she's saying very obvious things like, "Well, I guess I'll just STEAL YOUR BOYFRIEND", then you can be pretty sure she's going to do something lame (seriously, this has happened to me) . Sometimes these bitchees are quite innocent and can get the rap because they're touchy feely or affectionate people. This isn't a cause for concern really, unless the dude in question is getting a boner over it, but that's his fault, not the Boy Stealer's.

So she's cracking onto your dude? That's never right. Ever.

It is an unwritten law in the social code to make moves on a guy you like, a guy you're going out with, or an ex you're not over. It's wrong on so many levels. What to do with her? First, ask the dude in question what's going on between you two. If you trust him and he says, "nothing", then that's okay. As for the boy stealer, make it very clear and very obvious that the dude is YOURS. Not theirs. YOURS. And that their association with the guy is making you uncomfortable. If for some reason they're so dense that they don't get it or that they'd rather play grab ass with some guy than be considerate towards your feelings, then they're crappy people. Don't bother with them.

- The Loser
She's the loser that some patronising dimwit felt sorry for and let into your totally kool group. She's okay at first, but she starts getting to everybody. Her terrible jokes, bad haircut, the way she tries to join your conversations about stuff she clearly knows nothing about... yeah guys, this was me at one point. Huzzah!

How to deal with The Loser:
As I'm speaking from personal experience from the Loser's point of view... I really have no idea. And I'm embarrassed to say that I've been quite rude in the past to losers in other groups. I guess the best thing to do is be polite and try not to give off any sort of impression that you want to be close to her. She'll probably get the message and move on to other friends.

The Bitch
The bitch is quite a mysterious creature. She can come in many illogical, cruel, and manipulative forms and varieties.

- The Leader of the Gang
You've wronged her, you skank! And therefore, nobody deserves to be your friend ever. She'll complain to all your friends about you about what a horrible person you are. The incident in which you pissed her off so badly will be forgotten as your bad qualities and all the lame things you've EVER done will resurface. Bombarded with this overload of evil information, your friends and even perhaps people you don't really know that well will turn against you.

How to deal with the Leader of the Gang:
Seriously, if your very own friends are turning against you, then they're pretty crap friends. Unless you've done something really bad, then you probably deserve it. The best thing to do is LEAVE. You do not need to be around people like this. Do not try and defend or patch things up with the Leader, nor the gang. It will get extremely messy. Leave them alone so they can bitch about you, who cares. Besides, you can always make new friends. There's a lot of people in the world, you know.

- The Batshit Insane Nutbar
Why is she so angry? No one knows. Some ambiguous event will trigger off her psycho button and she'll burble ill-formed reasons at you at why you fail at life. You'll hear all of this either screamed down the phone or TYPED IN CAPS!!!!LOL!!! on msn. Oh noes. You'll either have no idea what the hell she's on about, or it will be glaringly obvious that her reasons for wanting to kill you are completely wrong. Most of the time, though, she's brought it on herself, but she'll act like a victim of your evil ways.

How to deal with the Batshit Insane Nutbar:
Haha, what a psycho. You don't need to give someone like this the time of day. You can give as many excuses and logical reasons as you like, but she'll make the argument go round in a circle. Usually this sort of person thinks that they're fantastic and right all the time, and will probably ignore everything you say. Probably because she's screaming too loud. Just don't bother. Laugh at her stupidity and leave.

- The Two Faced Wonder
I probably hate these type of bitches the most because they make me quite paranoid. They act very nice to you. In fact they'll dance with you, give you hugs, tell you that you're their bestest friend ever and generally be quite lovely. But sometimes you'll detect a tiny hint of sarcasm in her voice, or just something a bit off. Later, you find out that she actually hates your guts and has the entire time. She was just being nice to you because she felt sorry for you. Or didn't have the balls to end a friendship, either way.

How to deal with the Two Faced Wonder:
Eek, this is a tricky one. Most of the time you won't even suspect that you're dealing with someone like this. And when you do, it's a kick to the gut. The most humiliating thing ever. If you do suspect someone is like this, keep your distance. Don't get too close. If it gets very obvious that they're not feeling very cool towards you, just ask what's going on because they'll most probably answer.

The Verdict
I have no bleeding clue why girls are like this. This stuff can either end in a lot of laughs at whoever was the most psycho, or something more serious like getting your car vandalised (I know a lot of people this has happened to).

That's not to say I've ever dealt with bitchfights in the best way. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I've probably been all of those things above, both the bitchee and the bitch, at some point. I'm not the most mature of people at times, and I'm sure a lot of other people aren't as well. If you're ever in a bitchfight, just try to think through things the most mature and rational way you can. Because most of the time, you'll rise above it and realise that you've got better things to do than fight about boys.

Hate!

2007-03-16T23:46:00.000-07:00

I went out shopping for 20 minutes and I have increased my hate towards where I live tenfold.

I live in a suburb about an hour away from the city. Far enough to be classified as "The sticks" and technically not a part of Brisbane. What's it like? Think of every bad redneck, bogan, lower class Aussie stereotype ever. Yep, that just about sums it up.

I hate living here and I want to move out as soon as possible.

Whilst driving to the shopping centre this afternoon, I was cut off by a singlet-wearing hoon in a ute speckled with fraying surf brand stickers. I got out of the car to nearly be bowled over by a group of scooter-riding 13 year old boys, clearly intent on exhibiting their hardk0re factor by loitering in the carpark.

Intent on buying a sparkly hat for tonight's party, I waited in Crazy Clarks for 15 minutes before I got to talk to anybody. Why? Because the entire 5 person staff walked past and ignored me, to help ONE person on the till. Then they walked past me AGAIN and had a long, loud chat (peppered by the word "farkin") at the back of the store. I finally got some help, in the form of a boy who may or may not be slightly braindamaged, who pointed vaguely at a shelf and said "guhhh, uhh, i dont think we have any."

While waiting for some attention at Crazy Clark's, I watched a group of scantily clad teens yell obscenities at another group of scantily clad teens in a bombed out old car. None were wearing shoes.

I drove home to again be cut off by zillions of guys in what look to be very bad attempts at making a shit car look "fulli sik." Urge to flip out on a ninja rampage. Rising.

I have decided that I will never, ever go out with someone who lives here. Everybody looks like they've fallen into a tub of some variety of chemical. Or maybe it's the inbreeding.
I have never once seen an attractive male in this area. Actually I worked with one very good looking fellow in the local shopping centre, but he lived in St Lucia so that doesn't really count.

There are parties almost every night here. Which normally I'd be okay with, except for the fact that they mostly end with drag racing and people screaming at each other at 3am. That can't be good for the 16 year old mothers trying to get their kids to sleep. Oh wait, they'd probably be at the party.

I was on a bus with a bunch of try hard emos who were discussing excellent ways to self-mutilate themselves.

Ugh. Why do I live in the vicinity of these people? It sucks.

ellie is a girl i think

2007-03-13T06:36:00.000-07:00

What is femininity? Apart from a ridiculous sounding word with far too many syllables, it is a word that describes the state of being female. But what is that state exactly?

There are far too many ideas to choose from.

Femininity could mean motherhood, nurturing, gentleness. That femininity, if it were embodied in an actual female, is a woman like a Pagan goddess of fertility or the Virgin Mary. She's your mum, the mum on TV who makes the best chicken roast in the world and laughs desparingly of the hijinks of her teenage sons. Not to mention has strange conversations with her daughters about tampons.

Femininity could also be busty, seductive and slutty. She's the girl you see stumbling around nightclubs in a too-short skirt and the too-blonde hair rubbing against a football player, waving her pink and very expensive mobile phone around (Hopefully, not like your mum). She has a myspace wHeRe sHe tYpEz LyK dIz.

It could mean lipstick, dresses and high heels. She's into things like getting roses on Valentine's day and dressing up to go to some fancy social occasion. In the 50's she would have been a housewife; nowadays, she'll probably be in uni and earn a respectable job somewhere. I guess a good majority of girls are like this.

There's nothing really wrong with any of those definitions of femininity (well, maybe with the slutty one. I wouldn't encourage anyone to be like that. Aids epidemic and all that).

However, today I took it upon myself to browse the shelves of Target. Suddenly, I got "Shoes" in my head. What the hell is shoes, you ask?

This very stupid music video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCF3ywukQYA

Anyway, I suddenly had a craving to buy a sexy pair of high heels. God knows why. Burst of estrogen, perhaps?

I tottered around for a bit in a particularly ugly pair of shiny black heels that, for some unknown reason, showed random bits of my toe. Unfortunately they were they only vaguely nice shoes in the whole place. My feet looked weird. I looked weird. I looked like a little kid going through their mum's wardrobe, and felt as uncomfortable as a butch girl trying to convince people that she wasn't a man.

"These shoes SUCK!" I exclaimed, throwing them back on the shelf after nearly dislocating my ankle.

I sighed with familiar relief as I put my ratty, grotty Chuck Taylors back on. What was I thinking anyway? I never wear high heels. I hate them. I threw them off halfway through my school formal.

I hated wearing a dress. I hated getting my makeup done. I picked off my nailpolish. I didn't give a toss at all at what everyone else was wearing.

And then I realised that I fail at femininity.

I hate children and you'd have to give me some pretty damn good reasons to pop some out. I feel more maternal over puppies than babies.

I am not busty. I tried on hot pants once but was instantly disturbed at the sight of my own thighs. "I FEEL NAKEY" I recall shrieking in horror. I'm painfully shy around most people, even more so if I fancy a male. Oh and I can spell.

I can count the very few reasons I'm feminine on my hand:
- I put on makeup to cover up the shininess of my face. I am like a freakin' beacon. And sometimes eyeliner because it makes me look older. You know, more so than 15 years old like everyone seems to think i am.
- I get a bit giggly over cute boys. But then again, so do gay men.
- I just bought a really sexy pair of stockings. With LACE.
- My nintendo DS is pink.

THAT IS ALL.

What does this prove? What is the significance of this blog post? The anwer is nothing. Go home. I'm tired and I dont know what I'm on about.

Ellie does not want to party til she pukes

2007-03-01T02:59:00.000-08:00

"Party til you Puke" came on the radio while driving home from taekwondo tonight. Triple J, why did you let someone request this rubbish?

I had the following thoughts while listening to it:

Andrew W.K thinks he's the Ramones. Not just Joey or Dee Dee, but ALL of them. The entire song consisted of three chords - two of which followed a natural progression, and one thrown in for fun I suppose. Classic Ramones. Except their guitar didn't sound like an over-distorted mess with too much reverb. Johnny's style was playing an unrelenting wave of chords that, when combined with the drums, gave the song a pleasing rhythm. And despite the fact that he played like that, there was still some subtlety to the whole thing. W.K's song is basically every instrument turned to 11 and never stopping, with very little regard to rhythm. I actually felt a migraine coming on after a while of listening to it.

Also, "party til you puke" was repeated thousands of times. What does that mean? What activities does the word "party" actually involve anyway? Judging from Andrew W.K's, video clips, jumping around with the cast of Jackass. So, jump around until you vomit? I imagine that is possible, if you eat a lot of food then jump around a lot. It would have the same effect as shaking up a Coke bottle. You could at least have the decency to pause partying and visit the lavatory. But no! Andrew W.K is suggesting you party until you puke, suggesting that you are partying and in the midst of your partying, you vomit. How disgusting! It will spray everywhere, and then everyone will be jumping/partying in it too. Yuck!

To sum up, Andrew W.K wishes he was the Ramones and has no regard for health and hygiene. Thankyou.

MEANWHILE, IN REAL LIFE...
Because I don't have anything better to do, and my black belt grading is coming up, I have been doing a gratuitous amount of taekwondo training.

In taekwondo, an important element is the 'ki-hap'. This, in short, means shouting while you execute a move. We do it to intimidate and scare the enemy and release energy. A lot of kids are scared to do it because they're embarrassed. I'm not anymore - our instructors encourage us to be loud, so I'm loud. I'm beginning to out-yell the boys, and even I'm getting a bit scared at how gutteral my scream is becoming.

Today, I found myself coughing a lot. "Oh bollocks," I thought, "I have some dehabilitating throat disease and now I'm going to get sick."

After taekwondo, and now that I've attempted to sing/shriek along to "Love Don't let me Go", I realised that I indeed don't have a disease. Rather, my throat is sore and I sound like a 50 ciggies a day smoker simply because I've been yelling too much.

QUT - A Fickle Mistress

2007-02-26T05:24:00.000-08:00

I say this because one of my classes changed without warning and because my first Journalism Information Systems lecture was moved to another room, without warning!

Other than that, I enjoyed my first day at a new uni. I got to see Nelle, my wife. We got married in Year 10, with a beautiful ceremony in our ugly checkered maroon uniforms. I would love to show it, but someone took a lovely wedding photo of us. I've since lost it, unfortunately. We were hugging, and I have a feeling I was doing the finger because I quite fancied myself a punk rocking rebel back then.

Anyhow, I met up with my dear wife, hung out at the Guild Bar, and ate the best wedges I have ever tasted in my entire life. I also egged her on to go talk to a fellow at a poster stall who she thought was quite rapeable. How does one break the ice? It's a bit difficult. As Nelle was saying herself the other night, our culture is generally a bit too afraid to initiate a conversation with someone. So one could say, "Hello, how are you?" but then there's the fear of that person thinking that you are a bit weird for wanting to talk to a stranger. Especially at a non-social place, like a university.

On another note, I am disappointed to note that the majority of people in my journalism classes are girls; girls in hot pants that seem to all know each other, and talk about their hair or their wildly exciting, drunken trip to Surfer's Paradise. Ladies and gentlemen, the journalists of tomorrow, and the people I will be with for the next three years. I felt a bit left out. The very few males that were there looked a bit scared. Fair enough - if I went into a course where everybody was male, I'd feel a bit intimidated too. Eye candy or not.

On yet another note, I bumped into various people from school or other people I vaguely know. Unfortunately, most are people I wish weren't there. My ex-boyfriend's best friend is in one of my classes. I don't think he liked me very much, and I'm pretty sure he likes me less now that I've broken up with my ex. A once best friend of mine goes there too. I've seen her many, many times, and I've only been to uni twice! We had a bit of a falling out a year ago. How awkward.

Oh well, if the occasion arises, I shall be an adult and say hello. What else can you do? Have a giant scrag fight in the middle of the cafeteria?

I must be e-mo!

2007-02-21T04:49:00.000-08:00

Many of you know that I recently went through a breakup. This is the second serious relationship I've had in my life (and I'm only 18) which has ended. It ended because there were problems, of course - issues that would not go away, no matter how many times we uttered "I promise" or "I'll change." But he was a great guy. We also had a lot of happy times together.

So we ended on a bittersweet note, of grieving a lost love, yet still remaining on somewhat good terms with each other.

At first, I was devastated. I thought he really was the perfect guy for me. Moving out, marriage, kids, the works. Suddenly, the future was a dark stranger.

I am not the most emotionally stable person at the best of times. I was scared for myself, as well.

But then it was all crystal clear. I had two options.

1) Be emo. Cry about it forever, lamenting "Why, WHY?!" Be in permanent funeral mode. Decide that there is no one else, no one will ever love me again, and spend the rest of my life suspended in self pity. Write thousands of acoustic guitar songs and poetry about broken hearts. Friends get sick of me sobbing into bottles of vodka and constantly bursting into tears. I serial date millions of silly men because I have so little self esteem. I end up alone - really alone - in a state of aching psychosis. My life becomes education, steady career, death.

2) Realise that it's all for the best. If it was meant to be, it was meant to be. But it wasn't, and there's nothing anybody can do about it. Yes, be sad about it for a while. It's okay to be sad. But remember that it's okay to laugh as well, and do things that make me happy. I use the opportunity to spend more time with my friends, so we can both make each other happy. I am not looking, but I am confident that one day I will find Captain Perfect. Let's face it, I am dorky, and a bit odd, but I'm not entirely hateable. I will learn from all my mistakes from my past relationships and make him the happiest man on the planet. In a non-baking-cookies-and-giving-blowjobs sort of way.

I didn't think I would, but I ended up going down the path of #2 (sans Captain Perfect). I don't know whether it's because I've been through it all before or what, but I decided that rational thinking was the way to go. It keeps your sanity in check. And just because something bad has happened doesn't mean you're not allowed to be happy. I guess you can apply that to anything. Things might seem bad now, but eventually you'll look back on it and merely see it as a memory.

So, pro tip for the dumped or the sad: don't be emo, be happy!

NOTE: This entry is not intended to take a shot at anyone, especially not my ex - I am only reflecting upon my own feelings. Also, apologies for the serious nature of this post. I just really needed to get it off my chest. I promise more humour in the future!

Gong hei fat choi

2007-02-17T21:26:00.000-08:00

Last night I celebrated Chinese New Year with one of my bestest friends in the world - Amy!
We had a fine old time.

ABOVE: Oh noes! A dragon!

ABOVE: Some shiny-headed dancing fellow.

I didn't make any New Year's Resolutions earlier this year. However, due to certain events, my life has changed radically quite recently. This time, it really does feel like a new year.

New job.

New uni.

New life.

So here are my resolutions:

- Be better at work. Remember the little things, like how many sugars the customer wants in their coffee. Motivation? More hours, and not getting stern talking-to from my large, slightly crazy boss. Yikes.

- Get good grades in uni. Will have to cease YouTube addiction immediately.

- Be more social. Make new friends. I'm shyer than I would rather be. Last night I started this by talking to a guy at a stall I thought was quite cute. We didn't exactly have an enthralling conversation, but it's a start, right?

- Join a band.

- Definitely increase amount of good times. Must see at least one good band, or go to one good show this year.

- Don't look for dates like a ravenous man-eating plant. I've decided that I would ultimately like to stay single for quite a while, but I'm not going to complain if Captain Perfect leaps into my arms (?!) and says, "Hey baby, let's go out for some frozen yoghurt. WINK."

- Become more committed to taekwondo. I was very slack last year. This year, I am becoming a black belt. I want to enter a tournament at least. And WIN.

I think that's about it. Happy Chinese New Year, or Gong Hei Fat Choi if you prefer.