Wednesday, November 29, 2006
In Cold, Unanswered, Bloody Prayers
“More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.”
Granted, I pulled that quote not from In Cold Blood, but from Answered Prayers, Capote’s final, unfinished novel. But I thought it was such a beautiful quote, and certainly not out of context for In Cold Blood.
*edit: that epigraph is attributed to Saint Teresa of Avila.
Yes! I’ve finally finished In Cold Blood! Penguin calls it a ‘seminal work of modern prose, a remarkable synthesis of journalistic skill and powerfully evocative narrative’.
Well, who am I to disagree? Capote is mind-bogglingly good. I’m amazed I hadn’t heard of him till last year, when I was looking at the blurb of my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and saw a quote from his review printed at the bottom of the back of the book. I can’t remember what the quote was, but (for some strange reason) his name stuck with me. I truly am ashamed. If Capote was one of the most famous writers of the 20th Century, then I am a bigger ignoramous than I think.
It’ll probably too pompous to write a review or an analysis, and certainly very odd, especially since I’m on summer holidays. (No more homework for 3 months, woohoo!) But the book did affect me, more deeply than I had thought it would. Also being non-fiction, it was impossible to dismiss the account as a figment of someone’s imagination. I don’t know how many literary liberties Capote took but I’m pretty sure this book is quite faithful to reality. The investigators, the townsfolk who were neighbours with the slaughtered family, the killers, and the unspecified but always there Capote – they’re characters you care about, some more so than others. I have to admit that reading about Perry Smith, one of the killers, terrified me, not because he was scary or ugly or whatever, but because his life story simply tells me: you cannot escape the tyranny of your past. His a soul damaged and wounded beyond repair, condemned to amorality due to a childhood of abuse and abandonment. The Penguin edition blurb calls him (and the other killer, Hickock) “reprehensible, yet entirely and frighteningly human”. In my much less eloquent way, I say he’s you and me in another time, in another place, and in another life.
Granted, I pulled that quote not from In Cold Blood, but from Answered Prayers, Capote’s final, unfinished novel. But I thought it was such a beautiful quote, and certainly not out of context for In Cold Blood.
*edit: that epigraph is attributed to Saint Teresa of Avila.
Yes! I’ve finally finished In Cold Blood! Penguin calls it a ‘seminal work of modern prose, a remarkable synthesis of journalistic skill and powerfully evocative narrative’.
Well, who am I to disagree? Capote is mind-bogglingly good. I’m amazed I hadn’t heard of him till last year, when I was looking at the blurb of my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and saw a quote from his review printed at the bottom of the back of the book. I can’t remember what the quote was, but (for some strange reason) his name stuck with me. I truly am ashamed. If Capote was one of the most famous writers of the 20th Century, then I am a bigger ignoramous than I think.
It’ll probably too pompous to write a review or an analysis, and certainly very odd, especially since I’m on summer holidays. (No more homework for 3 months, woohoo!) But the book did affect me, more deeply than I had thought it would. Also being non-fiction, it was impossible to dismiss the account as a figment of someone’s imagination. I don’t know how many literary liberties Capote took but I’m pretty sure this book is quite faithful to reality. The investigators, the townsfolk who were neighbours with the slaughtered family, the killers, and the unspecified but always there Capote – they’re characters you care about, some more so than others. I have to admit that reading about Perry Smith, one of the killers, terrified me, not because he was scary or ugly or whatever, but because his life story simply tells me: you cannot escape the tyranny of your past. His a soul damaged and wounded beyond repair, condemned to amorality due to a childhood of abuse and abandonment. The Penguin edition blurb calls him (and the other killer, Hickock) “reprehensible, yet entirely and frighteningly human”. In my much less eloquent way, I say he’s you and me in another time, in another place, and in another life.
Labels: Capote, Literature
Sunday, November 26, 2006
On the spur of the moment
My attempt to make chocolate truffles was a dismal lesson in LEARNING HOW TO READ INSTRUCTIONS PROPERLY. For, instead of adding condensed milk, I added evaporated milk instead. The differing consistencies of these two types of milk should have alerted me; but NO, I just had to add the evaporated milk and spoil my truffle batter, which took me more than an hour to prepare.
No worries. Spoilt truffles to go to mother and her friends. For make benefit glorious lunch after church service. (Sorry, couldn’t resist!) I watched Borat last night, on the spur of the moment. I put on my zebra flats and wandered over to the ‘ol Pick n $ave, to buy a new packet of Marie biscuits. Cute-Box-Hill-Tafe-Indian-Cashier was there, and I had to duck behind the pasta shelf to keep from giggling. He looked amused. At least from what I could see from between the cheesey macaroni boxes and the leggo tomato sauce containers. The search for the condensed milk was pretty unsuccessful, so slightly ashamed, I crept up to the counter and asked –
Me: Erm, do you sell condensed milk?
Him: Sorry, what?
Me: Condensed milk.
Him: *shakes head* erm what?
Me: Con-DEnsed mik.
Him: Try looking at the milk section.
D’oh! Condensed milk would be in the milk section, right? Yeah well, you’re wrong, Box-Hill-Tafe-genius-boy. Pick n $ave does not sell condensed milk. He still had a huge smirk on his face when I paid for the Marie biscuits, though.
---------------
Crown at night is every city boy/girl’s dream and every photon-phobe’s worst nightmare. Luisa and Becky’s birthday is on Tuesday, and having bought Luisa but not Becky’s birthday present, I decided to take a walk in Crown out of sheer desperation. Well, even if I don’t get anything there, surely I’ll get some good ideas for presents, right? WRONG. I passed by the movie section, saw that Borat would be showing at 8.50pm, and promptly bought a ticket. It isn’t the first time I’ve watched a movie alone, an experience very insecure people would find horrifying. I’ve got to admit, when the people swarming around you are chumming around with the pals or significant others, it can be a terribly lonely experience. You know, the tyranny of loneliness even when you’re surrounded by a million other people. The prim cashier at the ticketing booth looked at me archly when she said, “Now, it’s numbered seating, so are you with other people, or just alone?” Sheepishly I replied, “I’m alone.” And then she had to repeat out loud, just so people behind me could hear, “Alone? Ok.”
I went in 10 min early regretted it. On my immediate left an aussie-accented Chinese couple were playing sudoku, which was abandoned five minutes later for another (lover’s) game of “Romantic couply behaviour to embarrass single person on our immediate right”. I felt a bit awkward, sitting next to the lovebirds when there were three empty seats to my right, It felt like I was deliberately choosing to perve on them. But as ticketing booth cashier lady had reminded me, limited seating means I shouldn’t plant my ass on a seat that I haven’t paid for. To my far right I was horrified to see another snogging couple. “Oh my Lord,” I thought. “Will this entire cinema be filled with couples who can barely keep their hands off each other? Am I a prude if I blush for them?” The three seats on my right were a source on consolation; even if another couple came humping along, at least there would be another single person. Unless… unless those three are the open minded, adventurous sort who like to engage in triple hanky-panky. Oh you randy rabbits, leave me alone!
*Well, lucky for me, the three were just a bunch of friends. There is a God, after all.
No worries. Spoilt truffles to go to mother and her friends. For make benefit glorious lunch after church service. (Sorry, couldn’t resist!) I watched Borat last night, on the spur of the moment. I put on my zebra flats and wandered over to the ‘ol Pick n $ave, to buy a new packet of Marie biscuits. Cute-Box-Hill-Tafe-Indian-Cashier was there, and I had to duck behind the pasta shelf to keep from giggling. He looked amused. At least from what I could see from between the cheesey macaroni boxes and the leggo tomato sauce containers. The search for the condensed milk was pretty unsuccessful, so slightly ashamed, I crept up to the counter and asked –
Me: Erm, do you sell condensed milk?
Him: Sorry, what?
Me: Condensed milk.
Him: *shakes head* erm what?
Me: Con-DEnsed mik.
Him: Try looking at the milk section.
D’oh! Condensed milk would be in the milk section, right? Yeah well, you’re wrong, Box-Hill-Tafe-genius-boy. Pick n $ave does not sell condensed milk. He still had a huge smirk on his face when I paid for the Marie biscuits, though.
---------------
Crown at night is every city boy/girl’s dream and every photon-phobe’s worst nightmare. Luisa and Becky’s birthday is on Tuesday, and having bought Luisa but not Becky’s birthday present, I decided to take a walk in Crown out of sheer desperation. Well, even if I don’t get anything there, surely I’ll get some good ideas for presents, right? WRONG. I passed by the movie section, saw that Borat would be showing at 8.50pm, and promptly bought a ticket. It isn’t the first time I’ve watched a movie alone, an experience very insecure people would find horrifying. I’ve got to admit, when the people swarming around you are chumming around with the pals or significant others, it can be a terribly lonely experience. You know, the tyranny of loneliness even when you’re surrounded by a million other people. The prim cashier at the ticketing booth looked at me archly when she said, “Now, it’s numbered seating, so are you with other people, or just alone?” Sheepishly I replied, “I’m alone.” And then she had to repeat out loud, just so people behind me could hear, “Alone? Ok.”
I went in 10 min early regretted it. On my immediate left an aussie-accented Chinese couple were playing sudoku, which was abandoned five minutes later for another (lover’s) game of “Romantic couply behaviour to embarrass single person on our immediate right”. I felt a bit awkward, sitting next to the lovebirds when there were three empty seats to my right, It felt like I was deliberately choosing to perve on them. But as ticketing booth cashier lady had reminded me, limited seating means I shouldn’t plant my ass on a seat that I haven’t paid for. To my far right I was horrified to see another snogging couple. “Oh my Lord,” I thought. “Will this entire cinema be filled with couples who can barely keep their hands off each other? Am I a prude if I blush for them?” The three seats on my right were a source on consolation; even if another couple came humping along, at least there would be another single person. Unless… unless those three are the open minded, adventurous sort who like to engage in triple hanky-panky. Oh you randy rabbits, leave me alone!
*Well, lucky for me, the three were just a bunch of friends. There is a God, after all.
Labels: Baking, Boys, Impulsiveness, People Watching
Friday, November 24, 2006
Charlie the Unicorn
Nancy Boy
I don't think I'll ever find someone who truly understands me.
Not because I'm some kind of genius or even remotely hard to understand, but because no one has gone through the exact same experiences I have; my neuroses make perfect sense to me and no one else. On the flip side, I don't think I can ever understand anyone else. I can think I do, tell myself I fully grasp the full life story of any one person who appears to be as stupid and shallow as pudding. But that's an arrogant assumption. Some people just hide their pain a lot better.
For anyone keeping tabs, you can flip to the page titled "existential angst" and put a check mark there.
-------------
I went back to the gelato shop yesterday with four other people. While everyone was giggling and digging into ice cream, I felt like I was in a dream. A couple was sitting at the table I sat at 3 months ago. They were sitting side by side. One wasn't towering over the other. Their affections were equal. And as they sat next to each other, not touching, not talking, just looking straight ahead, the flickering shadows from people walking by made their expressions unreadable. They were as apart from the crowd as I was. The only difference was that they chose this, this silent, personal world; while I sat miserably on the outside wanting to be let in.
------------
Jealousy is a terrible emotion. So crippling, so paralysing, so bitter. And when you have a bitter, defensive outlook on life, you convert anything sweet, (whatever precious little there is of it,) through a process of over-analysis and irrationality till it becomes a sour little addendum to your stockpile of "bitter thoughts to turn me into a mothbally old hag".
------------
Yesterday on the tram, I had the pleasure of telling a Edison Chen lookalike (with an adorable patch of uneaten ice cream at the corner of his mouth) that the ticketing machine on the tram wasn't working. He seemed slightly befuddled, because the machine appeared to be working, it accepted your money, only without issuing tickets. Becky and I got worried that we were mistakenly telling people not to buy tickets. Surely the next tram inspector to come along would make a huge killing and we would be the focus of everyone's rage when they find themselves slapped with $250 fines. So we decided we wouldn't inform the next person who went to the machine to buy a ticket to see if it worked when he tried; his money got swallowed up. We felt bad. But life's never fair. Someone always has to suffer for the good of everyone else.
Not because I'm some kind of genius or even remotely hard to understand, but because no one has gone through the exact same experiences I have; my neuroses make perfect sense to me and no one else. On the flip side, I don't think I can ever understand anyone else. I can think I do, tell myself I fully grasp the full life story of any one person who appears to be as stupid and shallow as pudding. But that's an arrogant assumption. Some people just hide their pain a lot better.
For anyone keeping tabs, you can flip to the page titled "existential angst" and put a check mark there.
-------------
I went back to the gelato shop yesterday with four other people. While everyone was giggling and digging into ice cream, I felt like I was in a dream. A couple was sitting at the table I sat at 3 months ago. They were sitting side by side. One wasn't towering over the other. Their affections were equal. And as they sat next to each other, not touching, not talking, just looking straight ahead, the flickering shadows from people walking by made their expressions unreadable. They were as apart from the crowd as I was. The only difference was that they chose this, this silent, personal world; while I sat miserably on the outside wanting to be let in.
------------
Jealousy is a terrible emotion. So crippling, so paralysing, so bitter. And when you have a bitter, defensive outlook on life, you convert anything sweet, (whatever precious little there is of it,) through a process of over-analysis and irrationality till it becomes a sour little addendum to your stockpile of "bitter thoughts to turn me into a mothbally old hag".
------------
Yesterday on the tram, I had the pleasure of telling a Edison Chen lookalike (with an adorable patch of uneaten ice cream at the corner of his mouth) that the ticketing machine on the tram wasn't working. He seemed slightly befuddled, because the machine appeared to be working, it accepted your money, only without issuing tickets. Becky and I got worried that we were mistakenly telling people not to buy tickets. Surely the next tram inspector to come along would make a huge killing and we would be the focus of everyone's rage when they find themselves slapped with $250 fines. So we decided we wouldn't inform the next person who went to the machine to buy a ticket to see if it worked when he tried; his money got swallowed up. We felt bad. But life's never fair. Someone always has to suffer for the good of everyone else.
Labels: Growing Pains
Sunday, November 19, 2006
"He's creating whole worlds over there! I bet he grows up to be an architect."
Lately I've been frequenting (lurking, actually) a feminist philosophy forum, and I have to admit, I'm addicted. There are about five or six regular posters, and after reading hundreds of posts, I've started to recognise their writing styles, get to know a bit of their personalities and backgrounds, and understand their particular (and some are rather peculiar) stances.
'A' is a staunch American feminist who paints nude potraits of people, surfs the internet for pornography for research purposes, is married to a sensitive 'non-he-man' and has children. Oh, she also loves harping, over and over and over again, the definition of 'feminist' and tends to be very emotional and reactionary. She also tends to miss the whole point of the argument. A lot.
'B' is a man in a mixed marriage with what can be deemed as very conservative views (anti-porn, anti-make-up, against 'mutton-dressed-as-lamn' behaviour, dislikes 'herd mentality'). I really do like his posts. This guy is intelligent as hell.
'C' is equally if not more so intelligent than 'B', tends to take on what most people would call a liberal position, advocating pornography (provided it is consensual) and I apologise (to him) if I get this wrong, eugenics. He has this habit of quibbling over semantics and thus quickly and easily slides into tangents.
'D' is a New Zealander mountain climber who has happens to have a view that infuriates and angers many (especially 'A', who he went into a 3 page long debate with) - he seeks to understand and de-stigmatise paedophiles. My intial reaction would have been utter, utter repugnance. But he writes with reason and logic and anyone who doesn't let his/her prejudices get in the way can appreciate, if not his position, then his empathy and compassion. 'Paedophiles are people too' - is the gist of his message. He doesn't advocate sexual abuse of children but he once had a mentor who got in trouble because of his (the mentor's) sexual attraction to children and is trying to de-construct and examine the very reactionary attitudes of society towards the notion that children are sexual beings and sometimes actively seek sexual comfort, a society that finds it acceptable to villify paedophiles. Whoa, I have to admit I wouldn't have had the guts to put forward such an argument.
'E' is a woman in her 50s or 60s and is particularly interested in the objectification of women by society, especially by the media. Her primary areas of concern (according to what I have read of her posts thus far) are in the depictions of women as sex objects in pornography and the media, women starving to fit a particular 'image', women spending huge finanacial resources attaining plastic surgery and cosmetics. etc.
Wow. I love all of them. Brilliant minds meeting in a microcosm of the real world. I sometimes feel like I'm a kid with a little ant farm, holding up a magnifying glass to examine the lives of cute little insects as they argue, debate, joke and insult (all without real malice) each other. But then, the joke's on me, surely - for they're the big giants sitting at the groaning table of intellect, while I'm one of the little ants eagerly waiting for any scraps of wisdom to drop, hoping that one day it'll rub off on me and things will start making sense.
'A' is a staunch American feminist who paints nude potraits of people, surfs the internet for pornography for research purposes, is married to a sensitive 'non-he-man' and has children. Oh, she also loves harping, over and over and over again, the definition of 'feminist' and tends to be very emotional and reactionary. She also tends to miss the whole point of the argument. A lot.
'B' is a man in a mixed marriage with what can be deemed as very conservative views (anti-porn, anti-make-up, against 'mutton-dressed-as-lamn' behaviour, dislikes 'herd mentality'). I really do like his posts. This guy is intelligent as hell.
'C' is equally if not more so intelligent than 'B', tends to take on what most people would call a liberal position, advocating pornography (provided it is consensual) and I apologise (to him) if I get this wrong, eugenics. He has this habit of quibbling over semantics and thus quickly and easily slides into tangents.
'D' is a New Zealander mountain climber who has happens to have a view that infuriates and angers many (especially 'A', who he went into a 3 page long debate with) - he seeks to understand and de-stigmatise paedophiles. My intial reaction would have been utter, utter repugnance. But he writes with reason and logic and anyone who doesn't let his/her prejudices get in the way can appreciate, if not his position, then his empathy and compassion. 'Paedophiles are people too' - is the gist of his message. He doesn't advocate sexual abuse of children but he once had a mentor who got in trouble because of his (the mentor's) sexual attraction to children and is trying to de-construct and examine the very reactionary attitudes of society towards the notion that children are sexual beings and sometimes actively seek sexual comfort, a society that finds it acceptable to villify paedophiles. Whoa, I have to admit I wouldn't have had the guts to put forward such an argument.
'E' is a woman in her 50s or 60s and is particularly interested in the objectification of women by society, especially by the media. Her primary areas of concern (according to what I have read of her posts thus far) are in the depictions of women as sex objects in pornography and the media, women starving to fit a particular 'image', women spending huge finanacial resources attaining plastic surgery and cosmetics. etc.
Wow. I love all of them. Brilliant minds meeting in a microcosm of the real world. I sometimes feel like I'm a kid with a little ant farm, holding up a magnifying glass to examine the lives of cute little insects as they argue, debate, joke and insult (all without real malice) each other. But then, the joke's on me, surely - for they're the big giants sitting at the groaning table of intellect, while I'm one of the little ants eagerly waiting for any scraps of wisdom to drop, hoping that one day it'll rub off on me and things will start making sense.
Labels: Feminism, Philosophy
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Eggs Benedict
*shakes finger at self* Mind your language, young lady.
I was reading a forum post, when I noticed one of the poster's signatures, which (I admit) took me a (little) while to get, but once I did I couldn't stop laughing.
"Wanna get laid?
Crawl up a chicken's ass and wait."
I was reading a forum post, when I noticed one of the poster's signatures, which (I admit) took me a (little) while to get, but once I did I couldn't stop laughing.
"Wanna get laid?
Crawl up a chicken's ass and wait."
Beauty in the physically unattractive
No, I'm not about to launch into a tirade about inner beauty vs outer beauty. I'm not going to re-hash the oft-hashed statement that "beauty is only skin deep". Because really, how realistic an attitude is that? Our society certainly doesn't go to great lengths to search for the inner beauties. The overtly, obviously beautiful, they are the ones we worship. And no one can blame or deny this; the human soul delights in the beautiful.
Athena from The Children's Bach and Carrie from Stephen King's Carrie are physically unattractive. Athena's got droopy breasts, 'pearl-grey radiating stretch marks' on her tummy. Carrie is variously described as 'lumpy' and 'bovine' in appearance. But I was struck (as I read a bootlegged pdf version of Carrie) by the similarities between these two characters. Both ugly/dowdy/frumpy, both beautiful.
Athena is beautiful because she appears to be content. She is beautiful, casting her 'shy, attentive calm about the room' and she is 'perfect' because everything she does for her family, she does out of love. She doesn't have great phyiscal beauty, but the other characters can sense something emnating from her, and that elusive quality is 'goodness', and 'dignity'.
Carrie, poor thing, is tortured to three inches of insanity, but I absolutey loved the scene where *SPOILER* Tommy invites her to the prom *END SPOILER*.
"She stopped and turned, and suddenly he saw dignity in her, something so natural that he doubted if she was even aware of it." - pg 66 of Doubleday edition (bootleg version, actually)
And of course, the fact that she apparently wasn't even 'aware of it' makes it all the more precious, doesn't it?
I think what makes these two physically unattractive people beautiful isn't the fact that both characters are characters that suffer; rather its their ability to maintain their dignity in spite of the prospect of a lifetime of crushing mediocrity, in Athena's case, or a relentless assault on every physical, mental, emotional and spiritual aspect of one's self, in Carrie's case.
I know this entry makes it seem as if I'm aiming for the profound here, but really, I'm not. (I'm pretty f*cking clusmsy at expressing things that leave a strong impression on me.) It's a truism that is so damn simple its one of those things that sits squarely between your eyes that you can't see it; maybe in my haste to shed labels and names I'm missing the forest for the trees. Or not. Maybe if we all see beauty as something we discern with our emotions, and not our eyes, we can fucking knock down the fucking cosmetic companies that are steadily sapping our pockets and our souls.
Athena from The Children's Bach and Carrie from Stephen King's Carrie are physically unattractive. Athena's got droopy breasts, 'pearl-grey radiating stretch marks' on her tummy. Carrie is variously described as 'lumpy' and 'bovine' in appearance. But I was struck (as I read a bootlegged pdf version of Carrie) by the similarities between these two characters. Both ugly/dowdy/frumpy, both beautiful.
Athena is beautiful because she appears to be content. She is beautiful, casting her 'shy, attentive calm about the room' and she is 'perfect' because everything she does for her family, she does out of love. She doesn't have great phyiscal beauty, but the other characters can sense something emnating from her, and that elusive quality is 'goodness', and 'dignity'.
Carrie, poor thing, is tortured to three inches of insanity, but I absolutey loved the scene where *SPOILER* Tommy invites her to the prom *END SPOILER*.
"She stopped and turned, and suddenly he saw dignity in her, something so natural that he doubted if she was even aware of it." - pg 66 of Doubleday edition (bootleg version, actually)
And of course, the fact that she apparently wasn't even 'aware of it' makes it all the more precious, doesn't it?
I think what makes these two physically unattractive people beautiful isn't the fact that both characters are characters that suffer; rather its their ability to maintain their dignity in spite of the prospect of a lifetime of crushing mediocrity, in Athena's case, or a relentless assault on every physical, mental, emotional and spiritual aspect of one's self, in Carrie's case.
I know this entry makes it seem as if I'm aiming for the profound here, but really, I'm not. (I'm pretty f*cking clusmsy at expressing things that leave a strong impression on me.) It's a truism that is so damn simple its one of those things that sits squarely between your eyes that you can't see it; maybe in my haste to shed labels and names I'm missing the forest for the trees. Or not. Maybe if we all see beauty as something we discern with our emotions, and not our eyes, we can fucking knock down the fucking cosmetic companies that are steadily sapping our pockets and our souls.
Labels: Beauty, Literature
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
A story of revenge and redemption. Really meh?
Job Search, Day 6 - 3 resumes dropped off, 0 calls received.
Nobody wants me. Not if I'm going to be cutting and running on 12 December, during what could possibly be the busiest time for shops and services in the entire year. No, I'll just be a waste of training resources and money. I nearly damn well got hired when I walked into Subway, but once the dirty little secret of my one month sojourn in sunnier pastures (followed by a one week holiday in equally cold and miserable conditions) comes out of my stupid stupid mouth, the shop people's faces turn black and I find myself neatly shown the door. Fine then. Well, except for that nice Subway man who asked me to come back next year and look him up. He's lovely. Best case scenario, his word bears out and I'll find myself in the exciting, dynamic occupation of slicing ham and dribbling mayo and coleslaw onto six-inch schlongs. Or a foot-long schlong if I get lucky. And hey, read it in whatever way you want to, my mind is as clean and pure as a freshly-powdered baby's bottom.
On the road to getting my Ls: I just have got to find the time to call up to register for my license. Somehow something else always gets in the way and I'm afraid I might have to do it in a fortnight. And some idiot newsagency ripped me off! I paid $18.90 for the driving theory book before I realised that the recommended retail price is actually $14! *Gasps, clutching pearls and fanning self* Daylight robbery!
Went shopping with my shopping buddy two days in a row and found myself unable to plug the holes in my rapidly depleting bank account. (Which is why I'm desperate to get a job) Went shopping again today, but with Becky, Cath and Amy and tried on some absolutely gorgeous dresses, all of which are beautiful but have the ugliest price tags attached. And I'm going apartment hunting tomorrow with a couple of people and I damn well better not be anywhere near Dotti or I'm marching in to buy the cute black and white chequed top, no questions asked. My bank account is crying for mercy. I might as well put it out of its misery.
Finally (finally!) got around to watch Kill Bill and Kill Bill Vol 2. Quentin and Uma will have you believe that it's a "story of revenge and redemption". Really? Yeah, I see the revenge bit, all 300 litres of blood and 37 severed limbs, but where is the redemption? Where? Uma's character can claim to have satisfaction, bloody satisfaction from her rip-roaring rampage, but all I can see is a hollow, de-humanised shell of a being losing even more of what precious little soul remains within with each new head she lobs off. What happened to you was terrible, lady, and maybe your enemies had it coming, but 'forgiveness' is a word you might want to look up when you're free. I'm just saying.
Veronica Mars season 3 is disappointing me. That's all I'm going to say. It's so hard to have to admit this to myself, because season 1 was breathtakingly, undoubtedly, ridiculously the best season of television I have ever watched in my life. Ah, well. These things happen. Your little angel of a daughter turns into a slut-on-wheels. Your A+ son drops out and starts shooting up. You still love them though they break your heart.
My Current Read- In Cold Blood by Truman capote: It took me about 5 pages to get hooked on this. I find myself in complete awe every couple of minutes and find myself having to re-read the blurb and gaze at the cover to convince myself that yes, this is a piece of non-fiction and that something so chilling and terrifying and wrong could happen to such good people, in reality. Look what happened to Oedipus. Look what happened to Lear and Cordelia. Shit happens to people who deserve it least. I've yet to reach the meat of the book, and I can't wait.
I loved this quote:
"If one bird carried every grain of sand, grain by grain, across the ocean, by the time he got them all on the other side, that would only be the beginning of eternity. So blow your nose." -pg 68, Penguin edition.
Gosh, I am rambling on, aren't I? I'll stop here, have a quick shower, and watch the Shawshank Redemption. And then maybe I'll get round to compiling my writing portfolio like I keep telling myself to. I'm such a lazy ass!
Good luck to all you lovelies taking the As! Almost there! Jia You! And then after that I'll have to catch up with a couple of you. There's no escaping a bored, crazed, post-exam person who's lonely, insecure and insane. I'll be waiting...
Nobody wants me. Not if I'm going to be cutting and running on 12 December, during what could possibly be the busiest time for shops and services in the entire year. No, I'll just be a waste of training resources and money. I nearly damn well got hired when I walked into Subway, but once the dirty little secret of my one month sojourn in sunnier pastures (followed by a one week holiday in equally cold and miserable conditions) comes out of my stupid stupid mouth, the shop people's faces turn black and I find myself neatly shown the door. Fine then. Well, except for that nice Subway man who asked me to come back next year and look him up. He's lovely. Best case scenario, his word bears out and I'll find myself in the exciting, dynamic occupation of slicing ham and dribbling mayo and coleslaw onto six-inch schlongs. Or a foot-long schlong if I get lucky. And hey, read it in whatever way you want to, my mind is as clean and pure as a freshly-powdered baby's bottom.
On the road to getting my Ls: I just have got to find the time to call up to register for my license. Somehow something else always gets in the way and I'm afraid I might have to do it in a fortnight. And some idiot newsagency ripped me off! I paid $18.90 for the driving theory book before I realised that the recommended retail price is actually $14! *Gasps, clutching pearls and fanning self* Daylight robbery!
Went shopping with my shopping buddy two days in a row and found myself unable to plug the holes in my rapidly depleting bank account. (Which is why I'm desperate to get a job) Went shopping again today, but with Becky, Cath and Amy and tried on some absolutely gorgeous dresses, all of which are beautiful but have the ugliest price tags attached. And I'm going apartment hunting tomorrow with a couple of people and I damn well better not be anywhere near Dotti or I'm marching in to buy the cute black and white chequed top, no questions asked. My bank account is crying for mercy. I might as well put it out of its misery.
Finally (finally!) got around to watch Kill Bill and Kill Bill Vol 2. Quentin and Uma will have you believe that it's a "story of revenge and redemption". Really? Yeah, I see the revenge bit, all 300 litres of blood and 37 severed limbs, but where is the redemption? Where? Uma's character can claim to have satisfaction, bloody satisfaction from her rip-roaring rampage, but all I can see is a hollow, de-humanised shell of a being losing even more of what precious little soul remains within with each new head she lobs off. What happened to you was terrible, lady, and maybe your enemies had it coming, but 'forgiveness' is a word you might want to look up when you're free. I'm just saying.
Veronica Mars season 3 is disappointing me. That's all I'm going to say. It's so hard to have to admit this to myself, because season 1 was breathtakingly, undoubtedly, ridiculously the best season of television I have ever watched in my life. Ah, well. These things happen. Your little angel of a daughter turns into a slut-on-wheels. Your A+ son drops out and starts shooting up. You still love them though they break your heart.
My Current Read- In Cold Blood by Truman capote: It took me about 5 pages to get hooked on this. I find myself in complete awe every couple of minutes and find myself having to re-read the blurb and gaze at the cover to convince myself that yes, this is a piece of non-fiction and that something so chilling and terrifying and wrong could happen to such good people, in reality. Look what happened to Oedipus. Look what happened to Lear and Cordelia. Shit happens to people who deserve it least. I've yet to reach the meat of the book, and I can't wait.
I loved this quote:
"If one bird carried every grain of sand, grain by grain, across the ocean, by the time he got them all on the other side, that would only be the beginning of eternity. So blow your nose." -pg 68, Penguin edition.
Gosh, I am rambling on, aren't I? I'll stop here, have a quick shower, and watch the Shawshank Redemption. And then maybe I'll get round to compiling my writing portfolio like I keep telling myself to. I'm such a lazy ass!
Good luck to all you lovelies taking the As! Almost there! Jia You! And then after that I'll have to catch up with a couple of you. There's no escaping a bored, crazed, post-exam person who's lonely, insecure and insane. I'll be waiting...
Sunday, November 12, 2006
To live is to suffer, (bitch).
Now that the exams are out of the way, the situation for the Formal has been resolved (due to some happy misunderstanding I will no longer be B---'s partner), I guess it's time for me to... grow up.
It's not going to be easy. I am one of the most insecure, neurotic, self-centred, self-absorbed, pessimistic and mean persons I know.
I recall thinking, "God. I'll rather kill myself than have to deal with taxes, driving, jobs, earning money, renting apartments, buying cars, selling houses and paying bills. And fines. And getting subpoened for whatever deep dark illegal activity I'm sure I will unwittingly committ some time down the road."
So much easier to worry about homework and assignments. So much easier to wall myself up in a room and study until my mind is in a happy stupor.
And also this being very pathetic, so much easier when all you have to worry about is whether the download rate for the newest Veronica Mars episode is fast enough (it's not).
I admire those who make it seem so easy. I admire those who make it seem like another ho-hum hundrum habitual thing, just some rite of passage they slip into with their first job at Maccers, age 14, their first boyfriend at age 14 half, their second job at Target at age 16, their Learner's licence, age 16 half, their second boyfriend, age 17, their probationary licence age 18, their first (second hand) car, age 18 half, gap year to teach English in some obscure village, age 19, social work degree at university, age 20. Their first apartment, age... ok I'm rambling now. You get my point.
And I guess what I'm saying is that I'm scared. I'm scared and I know some people are too, but it doesn't feel like that's the case. Maybe I'm blinkered by self-absorption and a casual dimissal of other people's own problems... but I feel alone. Alone against the big bad world. And that sounds as if I stole it word for word right out of some 13-year old's 'angst'-filled diary.
To the people who struggle but make it seem so easy, you deserve quiet applause.
To the people who do have it easy... "get out of my elite, uncaring face". (sorry, couldn't resist that. RJCian, trilingual daughters of Singapore politicans with an overblown sense of entitlement do have the best sound bites, don't they?)
It's not going to be easy. I am one of the most insecure, neurotic, self-centred, self-absorbed, pessimistic and mean persons I know.
I recall thinking, "God. I'll rather kill myself than have to deal with taxes, driving, jobs, earning money, renting apartments, buying cars, selling houses and paying bills. And fines. And getting subpoened for whatever deep dark illegal activity I'm sure I will unwittingly committ some time down the road."
So much easier to worry about homework and assignments. So much easier to wall myself up in a room and study until my mind is in a happy stupor.
And also this being very pathetic, so much easier when all you have to worry about is whether the download rate for the newest Veronica Mars episode is fast enough (it's not).
I admire those who make it seem so easy. I admire those who make it seem like another ho-hum hundrum habitual thing, just some rite of passage they slip into with their first job at Maccers, age 14, their first boyfriend at age 14 half, their second job at Target at age 16, their Learner's licence, age 16 half, their second boyfriend, age 17, their probationary licence age 18, their first (second hand) car, age 18 half, gap year to teach English in some obscure village, age 19, social work degree at university, age 20. Their first apartment, age... ok I'm rambling now. You get my point.
And I guess what I'm saying is that I'm scared. I'm scared and I know some people are too, but it doesn't feel like that's the case. Maybe I'm blinkered by self-absorption and a casual dimissal of other people's own problems... but I feel alone. Alone against the big bad world. And that sounds as if I stole it word for word right out of some 13-year old's 'angst'-filled diary.
To the people who struggle but make it seem so easy, you deserve quiet applause.
To the people who do have it easy... "get out of my elite, uncaring face". (sorry, couldn't resist that. RJCian, trilingual daughters of Singapore politicans with an overblown sense of entitlement do have the best sound bites, don't they?)
Labels: Growing Pains
Thursday, November 09, 2006
What needs to be done? 1902. It has been done, by 1715 on 091106 How's that for a fricken obscure title?
It's done. 12 years of formal schooling ended with my revs paper, at 1715 hours on 9 november 2006.
The last word I wrote on the paper (last paper, ever! Not counting uni, of course.) was 'ideology'.
Not a bad way to end off, I must say. Connotations of hope/ idealism/ promise/ potential? That's beautiful. Connotations of rigidity/uncompromising attitudes/ unrealistic hopes? Uh, let's just not dampen the day, shall we?
I try to refrain from doing post-mortems during the exam period, and I'm still reluctant to do so even after my exams have ended, but I need some closure, dammit. (While I'm still writing in the style I used for my revs exam,) I might as well get all the feelings (good bad or otherwise - you know, like 'meh') regarding the exams... clean out of my system.
English - I really liked the media anlysis, and my text essays weren't the best essays I've ever written, but then again I didn't have three hours at my diposal, and how often do you write your best essays in an exam? Even if they weren't awe-inspiring, they were solid essays.
Satisfaction scale: 7.5/10
Literature - Ugh. I worked my ass off for this. I've written dozens of essays (averaging five hours each - no wonder the exam, with only an hour on each essay, felt like such a cursory exercise in "Hey! Spot the theme/ character/ technique and cross-reference your brains out!") and in the days leading up to the exam I spent hours and hours plopped in front of the computer tapping away at the keys to type out 10 solid pages of Children's Bach quotes in Times New Roman size 10. Scary stuff. So while I'm happy with the quality of my analysis, I'm not happy with the quantity. The lack of a conclusion and the weak conclusion on my Children's Bach and Lear essay respectively just sums up my disappointment in what could be described, (alongside Revs,) as my worst and best subject simultaneously. That's the thing about Arts of Humanities subjects - you can hate them with a passion, you can exult in them, but by no means are those two feelings mutually exclusive.
Satisfaction scale: 6/10
Physics - I worked my ass off for Physics as well, feeling I had to live up to my school valedictory prize for Physics (which I felt, and still feel, should have gone to Leanne. If you're reading this, know that in my and many other people's minds, you are the person most deserving of the prize. But I'll like to keep the book prize, please. Stephen Hawking and a ginormous tome on the development of Astrophysics? Count me in!!) I thought the paper was good, I would have been happier if I had left more time for checking, but overall I'm happy.
Satisfaction scale: 8/10
Chemistry - I'm happy with the amount of work I put in for Chemistry, and I hope I don't jinx myself/ curse myself/ reveal my misguided complacency if I declare Chemistry the easiest exam paper I have ever done for any subject. It was the easiest Chemistry paper even compared to any of the (15) past year practice exams I've done. Ok. I'm just asking for it, right? I'm asking to be jinxed. I'm asking for a raw subject score of 10 if I go on about how easy it is, because in my experience I usually do worse for a subject I think I did well in and much better for a subject that I think I screwed up in. There's always room for caution, and going by that logic, there's hope yet for my lit paper.
Satisfaction scale: 9.5/10 (minus half for complacency factor.)
History: Revolutions - the difference between Revs and Lit is that Lit comes to me a whole lot easier than Revs does. The language of literature and the language of revolution are quite different. Both have to adhere to basic grammatical structure, syntax, etc. but in terms of essay writing, the styles are not at all similar. Revs is short, sharp, to the point (although I tend to ramble). Lit has to be succint too but there is more room for expression, for flow, for exploration. Funny as hell how my writing style in the beginning of the year for Revs was more suited to literature - I remember writing a heap of crap about the role of women in the revolution that was almost poetic but only earned me half the maximum marks available; while my writing style for Lit at the start of the year was more for Revs - slavish line by line working through of the passages and rigid, disciplined cross-referencing. Somehow I managed to reverse this about two months before the exams. ANYWAY, back on track (damn I go off on tangents so easily) I was very pleased with my China questions in Section A Part 1 and fairly happy with Section A Part 2. Russia Section B Part 1 was not in any way terrible but I felt I could have whipped my answer into better shape. Section B Part 2 was good. And that's it. On par or slightly below as compared to my practice exam (93%), so no complaints.
Satisfaction scale: 7.1286542/10 (because damn, perfomance on revs papers is hard to judge)
So yeah, not going to get a 99 or even a 95 and maybe not even a 90. But an 88? Should be possible. Then I can mooch off my parents for the next 3-4 years.
F*ck I'm self-absorbed. Need a change of subject! (no pun intended)
How are the As coming along, my dears??
The last word I wrote on the paper (last paper, ever! Not counting uni, of course.) was 'ideology'.
Not a bad way to end off, I must say. Connotations of hope/ idealism/ promise/ potential? That's beautiful. Connotations of rigidity/uncompromising attitudes/ unrealistic hopes? Uh, let's just not dampen the day, shall we?
I try to refrain from doing post-mortems during the exam period, and I'm still reluctant to do so even after my exams have ended, but I need some closure, dammit. (While I'm still writing in the style I used for my revs exam,) I might as well get all the feelings (good bad or otherwise - you know, like 'meh') regarding the exams... clean out of my system.
English - I really liked the media anlysis, and my text essays weren't the best essays I've ever written, but then again I didn't have three hours at my diposal, and how often do you write your best essays in an exam? Even if they weren't awe-inspiring, they were solid essays.
Satisfaction scale: 7.5/10
Literature - Ugh. I worked my ass off for this. I've written dozens of essays (averaging five hours each - no wonder the exam, with only an hour on each essay, felt like such a cursory exercise in "Hey! Spot the theme/ character/ technique and cross-reference your brains out!") and in the days leading up to the exam I spent hours and hours plopped in front of the computer tapping away at the keys to type out 10 solid pages of Children's Bach quotes in Times New Roman size 10. Scary stuff. So while I'm happy with the quality of my analysis, I'm not happy with the quantity. The lack of a conclusion and the weak conclusion on my Children's Bach and Lear essay respectively just sums up my disappointment in what could be described, (alongside Revs,) as my worst and best subject simultaneously. That's the thing about Arts of Humanities subjects - you can hate them with a passion, you can exult in them, but by no means are those two feelings mutually exclusive.
Satisfaction scale: 6/10
Physics - I worked my ass off for Physics as well, feeling I had to live up to my school valedictory prize for Physics (which I felt, and still feel, should have gone to Leanne. If you're reading this, know that in my and many other people's minds, you are the person most deserving of the prize. But I'll like to keep the book prize, please. Stephen Hawking and a ginormous tome on the development of Astrophysics? Count me in!!) I thought the paper was good, I would have been happier if I had left more time for checking, but overall I'm happy.
Satisfaction scale: 8/10
Chemistry - I'm happy with the amount of work I put in for Chemistry, and I hope I don't jinx myself/ curse myself/ reveal my misguided complacency if I declare Chemistry the easiest exam paper I have ever done for any subject. It was the easiest Chemistry paper even compared to any of the (15) past year practice exams I've done. Ok. I'm just asking for it, right? I'm asking to be jinxed. I'm asking for a raw subject score of 10 if I go on about how easy it is, because in my experience I usually do worse for a subject I think I did well in and much better for a subject that I think I screwed up in. There's always room for caution, and going by that logic, there's hope yet for my lit paper.
Satisfaction scale: 9.5/10 (minus half for complacency factor.)
History: Revolutions - the difference between Revs and Lit is that Lit comes to me a whole lot easier than Revs does. The language of literature and the language of revolution are quite different. Both have to adhere to basic grammatical structure, syntax, etc. but in terms of essay writing, the styles are not at all similar. Revs is short, sharp, to the point (although I tend to ramble). Lit has to be succint too but there is more room for expression, for flow, for exploration. Funny as hell how my writing style in the beginning of the year for Revs was more suited to literature - I remember writing a heap of crap about the role of women in the revolution that was almost poetic but only earned me half the maximum marks available; while my writing style for Lit at the start of the year was more for Revs - slavish line by line working through of the passages and rigid, disciplined cross-referencing. Somehow I managed to reverse this about two months before the exams. ANYWAY, back on track (damn I go off on tangents so easily) I was very pleased with my China questions in Section A Part 1 and fairly happy with Section A Part 2. Russia Section B Part 1 was not in any way terrible but I felt I could have whipped my answer into better shape. Section B Part 2 was good. And that's it. On par or slightly below as compared to my practice exam (93%), so no complaints.
Satisfaction scale: 7.1286542/10 (because damn, perfomance on revs papers is hard to judge)
So yeah, not going to get a 99 or even a 95 and maybe not even a 90. But an 88? Should be possible. Then I can mooch off my parents for the next 3-4 years.
F*ck I'm self-absorbed. Need a change of subject! (no pun intended)
How are the As coming along, my dears??
