{A Change In The Weather, I Love This Time Of Year}

Translating? Not so easy!

Sat, 26 Dec 2009 06:41:34 GMT

Here is my attempt in translating the lyrics of a French pop song into English. I obviously hit way off the mark, but I think this end result is funny enough for it not to matter. The line 'I was already a scent you love' actually sounds quite romantic and I think that must be the closest I got to a clean translation, but the line after it absolutely wrecks that notion to the highest degree. Well, I think it's funny anyway.

My room did the farm cage
Sun sank passes through the window
My hunters in my door as the little balance
That worm wed taken

I do not work
I do not want breakfast
I forget
After I smoke

I was already a scent you love
As I have had by me has had it with me has
My house and two flowers but surrounded
But patient

Young 'm not doing its eight how you and I
It's beautiful and very nice
But never house

Oliver the Spontaneous Duck

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 04:23:56 GMT

I have bought a duck.

His name is Oliver and I didn't plan on buying him until I was already in the car being told by Nick we were driving an hour north to buy some five dollar ducks. All the same, I'm glad I have him. He's a great little guy.

Novels and Neon Signs

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 12:27:46 GMT

I hate to return to livejournal after being away for so long, only to immediately pollute it with flash toys, but this flickering neon sign is actually pretty neat! At least I managed to get rid of the logo and advertising at the bottom. Yeah! How HTML savvy am I?! (answer: not very)

Here's another graphic to cheapen up my journal page, but it's within my belief that it is worth it. I won't blow it right away, but if I remind you that today is the last day of November, I think you'll probably guess:

That's right! I actually finished this time! It's such a wonderful feeling, and an unfamiliar one too, but dash it, I like it! I've been looking at that banner for a while and now all I can see is a clownfish.

The next thing is, I promised myself that I would post an excerpt here once the month was over, which seemed like an easy promise to maintain, because no one would read it here anyway. Let's see if I'm right.

Choosing excerpts is really hard for me, because it's such a tiny, limited representation of a big, varied thing, and it's hard to choose the part that best represents its entirety. So I didn't. Instead, I simply scrolled up, stopped, and chose the scene I had landed on. Luckily, it's not one of the most terrible ones. If you're wondering why they're 'talking funny', it's because they're English. I suppose a little backstory would help; Hugo is a doctor who has just gotten the news that he's dying, Father Miller is a corrupt priest who constantly tries to 'sell God'. That should be enough for this scene.

No sense beating around the bush, then (what on earth does that saying mean??), here it is:

(oh! one more thing! It's unedited. 50,000 words in a month, you think I have time to edit? No. So if it's not very good, that's why. I hope. The alternative is that I can't write for beans, so I hope it'll look better after editing.)

* * *

I can’t say I felt all that much better the next morning when I arrived at the Rye Medical Center - suffice it to say things were actually going downhill. I didn’t exactly wake up in a dumpster, but if I say that I spent what was left of the night using my doormat as a pillow, I think you’ll probably guess the rest. In all honesty, I felt worse than a man who had just been caught under all eighteen wheels of a semi, only to find out in the hospital that his wife had run off with his university room mate and taken all the health insurance with her.

As I walked up to the old, rusted sliding doors and they screeched their way open (the budget committee wouldn’t let us replace them with new sliding doors that didn’t screech. Honestly, I think they liked the sound. It must have sounded like their mating call) I saw someone standing at reception talking to Mary. This particular someone would have been very welcome about seven hours ago, but here he was now, and I suppose it was as good a time as any.

“Father Miller,” I greeted the priest as I entered the medical center. “What are you doing here?”

The priest turned warmly towards me, hands clasped perpetually in the ‘let-me-mend-your-soul’ position. “I’m here to give a spiritual consult to some of your patients who,” he lowered his voice respectfully “may soon be joining us on the other side.”

“I came to see you last night at the church,” I mentioned “but I suppose I was too late.”

“Well, you know you’re always welcome to rouse me from my chambers if there is ever a crisis of faith, Hugo.” He said, and I was surprised that he knew my name. I was just about to ask how priests always tended to know everyone’s names, when I realized that the lab coat I had slung over my shoulder was embellished with a little metal clip on the breast pocket that read; DR. HUGO BASILDON-WILDE. I reddened, feeling glad I had caught myself. Clearly, with only two and a half hours sleep, my wits were not about me.

“No, Father, I wouldn’t have wanted to disturb you.”

Father Miller smiled that peaceful, God-fearing smile that men of religion seem to practice in front of the mirror until they all look the same. “You are a good man, Hugo. I’m glad the church is finally working it’s way into your busy schedule. What was it you came to see me about?”

I hesitated, oohing and umming. “I don’t think this is really the time or the place, Father. I’d just gotten some bad news yesterday. It’s alright, I can deal with it on my own.”

“No, you can’t, Hugo.” Father Miller argued, now smiling as if he was talking to a small child. “That’s what God is there for, you know.”

“Ermm...”

“Look,” Father Miller pulled out the lapel of his robes and fished in an inside pocket. “I have some promotional brochures here of different services God offers. Some of them can get a bit pricey, but they’re worth it in the long run.”

I took the brochures and stared at them incredulously as the priest continued. “If you want to join our twelve-month Christianity program, there’s an application form on the back, and you’ll get a ten percent discount if you refer a friend. There are all sorts of membership options, all which offer varying degrees of spiritual enlightenment. I think this would be the best thing for you, Hugo.”

“Well... erm, I-I’ll think about it.” I replied haltingly. “I guess.”

“Good boy.” Father Miller patted me firmly on the shoulder. I suppose it was meant to be reassuring, but all it felt like was a salesman’s death grip. “And you call call the church any time during our office hours of 9am-5pm if you have any questions regarding your membership or future purchases. God looks forward to seeing you at his meetings.”

I stared after the man as he left, clutching the brochures and wondering if I had unwittingly just signed up to Christianity.

Studylink rides a pale horse

Wed, 09 Sep 2009 04:15:36 GMT

Studylink, thou hast slay'n me. Today, I received from you two letters; one requesting more information regarding my financial status to ensure that not a penny is overpaid to my allowance this year, and one encouraging me to start my application for next years allowance.

Is this what real life is like? Say it ain't so!

I find that it's very often the ironic occurrences that move me the most into either action or deep frustration. If something is so absurd as to strike me as both infuriating and hilarious, that's when it stings the most. If it can't make me laugh, it won't make me cry, so to speak.

Therefore, I have hereby enclosed for release to you indefinitely - and to replace the last set which you lost - , the deed to my house, my aunts house, my fathers house and the deed to my Swiss Bungalow (purchased specially on your request). My birth certificate, my high school diploma, a copy of my drivers license, three examples of proof of residence including the CCTV footage recorded from inside my home and all my bank account and credit card details including pin numbers and security codes (all signed, stamped and dated by an approved Justice of the Peace). You will also find enclosed all the payslips from all my previous employers over the last ten years and a detailed criminal background check on each of them and their immediate families, a swab of the inside of my cheek for DNA testing and of course, my soul.

I look forward to receiving my $150.

Goings about and such

Fri, 04 Sep 2009 09:21:26 GMT

I'm now a fairly decent seven days into mid-semester break, and what do I have to show for it? Well, I have the memory (which will probably never leave me) of Jennifer and I, knees drawn up under two umbrellas, unable to see more than three meters through the torrent while biggish lakes ran into each other on our picnic blanket. I have about 150 of 2000 potential words saved on my computer, and an email sent to two of my university professors asking if it's acceptable to hand in a typewritten essay. I have sat in the front seat of Hailey's new car, white-knuckling the dashboard as she surged up and down her driveway in alternating first and reverse gear at a surprisingly terrifying 20/kph. I have nearly a full new wardrobe to replace my paint-stricken previous one. I have a promise from Nick to pump up my bicycle tyres which has not yet been fulfilled.

Leaving out the details of a reasonably successful tea party and finally having seen Casablanca, none of that really seems like anything at all. I do, however, have a meeting for costume hands working on the musical 'Tommy' this coming Sunday, and immediately after am going to The Manor to meet with a girl who I'm shooting a corset party for on the eleventh. Hopefully after that, the promises of my first free week will come away looking a little more fulfilled.

Sorry, Livejournal

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 01:17:22 GMT

Livejournal, I miss you!!

I know I haven't been here as much as I could be, and I know that I've been other places instead, with other blogs. I wont deny this, I'm sorry for it! We both know the main reason I haven't been around... Twitter. It's not that I prefer Twitter over you, it just has something different, that you can't offer. Younger, faster, easier... but it also doesn't give me that mental workout that I get from you. So, I'm sorry Livejournal, and I hope I'll be around more.

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 10:56:18 GMT

This is actually a good one. See if you can guess what the song is! Part of the title still even came through in the translation, so I've starred it out.

1. Randomly pick a song from your music library.
2. Find the lyrics for the first four verses/chorus
3. Go to Google translation and translate the lyrics from English into German.
4. Take the new German lyrics and translate them into French.
5. Take the new French lyrics and translate them into English.
6. Post the NEW English lyrics and have people guess the original song.

"Oh, it is still difficult
Life with what you do to me aha
Oh, my dreams are always strange
Let me tell you what I see
Oh, I see a man on the back
Indeed, his eyes are red as the sun
And a girl in the corner nobody ignore
Because she believes it is passion

Oh, yes, he was like a flash, everything was scary
And the music was reassuring, and they all started Parting

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
And the man on his back, "said
Each attack, and in a ballroom of flash
And the girl in the corner, said
Young people, I want to warn you, it is in a ballroom of the flash
******* Ballroom flash, the flash Ballroom"

Art School Unconventional

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 10:34:05 GMT

I'm beginning to think I'm much too much of a cynic for art school. Preferably, I would call it being a realist, but cynicism's a factor, no question. I just have a problem taking anyone seriously who lectures in other faculty's theatres asking 'Why does art have to look good? Hmm? Why does it have to look nice? Why can't we earn our living doing even less than what is already expected of us?'.

Today I saw the worst exhibition I could ever have imagined, and I'm well into the process of doubting my place in this dystopian institute. The pretension here reeks savagely. I think it's time to act like children and tag the Mondrian building.

But they would probably just call it art and give us scholarships.

An [apparently] Witty Shuffle Game

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 10:00:58 GMT

You know how these things go...

Why are you taking yet another shuffle quiz?

Song: Take Five
Artist: Dave Brubeck
Comment: Precisely, in fact. I'm taking five from my painting assignment, that's why.

What's currently in your fridge?
Song: The Boys Are Back in Town
Artist: Bad Company
Comment: ...the boys, I suppose?

Your biggest nightmare?
Song: The Ballad of Jimmy Durante
Artist: The Blanks
Comment: It would be untrue to say that acapella music scares the crap out of me, but there you have it.

What place would you like to visit?
Song: Does This Bus Stop at 82nd Street?
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: I don't know where 82nd street is, but I love how sometimes these things actually make sense

Why are we here?
Song: Khe Sanh
Artist: Cold Chisel
Comment: I... cannot comment. Scratch that last thing I said.

Something you never dared to say to anyone...?
Song: This is Your Life
Artist: Switchfoot
Comment: Quite true. Maybe if I had, more would get done.

One thing the world really doesn't need?
Song: Poison
Artist: Alice Cooper
Comment: I'm inclined to agree, student activism aside.

What's your biggest unfulfilled wish?
Song: Kickin' Ass
Artist: Hugh Laurie
Comment: This is quite frightening. A lot of these are true. I never kicked ass in primary school (bully ass, of course). It's one of the things I wish I'd done most.

If you could invent something, what would it be?
Song: Abracadabra
Artist: Blue Oyster Cult
Comment: I would invent magic! That would solve all life's problems.

What's your destiny?
Song: Stormy Weather
Artist: Django Reinhardt
Comment: That's vaguely ominous. I do like the sound of it, though.

What do you do when you're alone in an elevator?
Song: Girls in their Summer Clothes
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: Oh... so many things that could possibly mean. I'll leave that to your imagination.

Why do people go fishing?
Song: Your Own Worst Enemy
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: Because, who needs a worst enemy when you have... fish like these?

What would you do with your slaves?
Song: All You Need is Love
Artist: The Beatles
Comment: Aw... that could be interpreted as something either very sweet or very twisted.

Is there a man on the moon?
Song: Lion's Den
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: No, but there's one in the lion's den?

What does hell look like?
Song: Lebanese Blonde
Artist: Thievery Corporation
Comment: ...I can live with that.

About what would you like to write a book?
Song: Gypsy Jazz
Artist: Django Reinhardt
Comment: I actually would!

The best thing ever is...?
Song: Carry on Wayward Son
Artist: Kansas
Comment: The best thing ever is a wayward son who carries on? I suppose it could be.

Why did the chicken cross the road?
Song: Walking in Memphis
Artist: Lonestar
Comment: Well, clearly it was walking in Memphis. There must be a lot of roads in Memphis, I should think. Maybe the chicken even put on his blue suede shoes and boarded the plane before he crossed said road. Although, if he boarded the plane, he wouldn't need to cross the road, he could have easily flown over it. Although I suppose maybe he wasn't allowed on the plane... since he's a chicken... his boarding pass might have been invalid...

Why do you listen to music?
Song: Never Surrender
Artist: Triumph
Comment: Because I'll never surrender, I suppose. To... rap? Actually, that's about right.

What do you do when you're alone and nobody's watching?
Song: Car Wash
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: I wash my car! Yes, it's true! It's all true!

Why are other people so stupid?
Song: Minnie the Moocher
Artist: Band from TV
Comment: Because they're all moochers! And red hot hoochie-coochers!

Last thing you ate?
Song: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
Artist: Elton John
Comment: A whole road? Harsh.

Why is grass green?
Song: Man on the Moon
Artist: R.E.M.
Comment: What? There's no grass on the moon. I don't care if there's a guy there to tend it or not.

Your phone is ringing, but who's on the other end?
Song: I Wanna Be With You
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: I can't quite express how both unlikely and welcome that would be!

What should you stop doing?
Song: Radio Nowhere
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: I hardly think that's necessary

A word of advice to the readers of this quiz?
Song: Born in the USA
Artist: Bruce Springsteen
Comment: It's funny because I wasn't! And I think if they're reading this quiz, they may have missed the boat on that one.

Balls: the huge one & the red one

Wed, 22 Jul 2009 10:53:31 GMT

In weaning myself back into journal writing, I'll just make this a very quick update, showcasing just a hint of geekery. I got creative with some wool and paint, and now I have:

...and just for anyone who doesn't see the significance;

Raiding the Archives

Fri, 29 May 2009 14:32:29 GMT

After the realization (which occurred about twelve seconds ago) that I may be very close to forgetting how to write, I have formulated a plan. I don't mean I'm forgetting how to write persuasive, witty commentary -- you can't lose something you never had. What I mean is, I'm actually forgetting how to write in the quite literal sense; sentence formulation being at the base of it.

I could blame the system. I could blame the government. I could blame this world (for making a good man evil). But I won't do that. I think mostly I'll blame my university degree. What with communicating entirely in either predicate calculus or clingfilm wrapped around a banana and painted orange with a shoehorn stuck in it to represent life itself, there hasn't been much room for the English language.

So my plan is this: no one has to read this entry. I'm quite confident everyone will abide by those guidelines anyway. But what I am going to do (see? There I go, beginning a sentence with a conjunction. Damned amateur!) is raid the writer's block archives and provide a one-paragraph answer to as many as I can before I fall asleep at the wheel. Hopefully I'll slowly be able to maneuver my way back through the canyons and crags of the written word or, failing that, at least get in some good rocking spelling practise.

First prompt: Robert Frost speculated about the world ending in fire or in ice. Which do you think is likely to end us all: meteorite, global warming, nuclear weapons, zombies, or the superflu?

Thought I'd pick a nice cheery one to start things off. But then I didn't. My opinion has always been; none of the above. I'm no expert on the matter of the apocalypse, but it seems to me that with stars exploding all over the place and planets being destroyed, what gives Earth the right to think that it's exempt from the unbridled forces of the universe just because it sustains a bit of life on it? I am by no means qualified to have an opinion, but I think the universe is perfectly capable of destroying itself, thank you very much.

Our friends don't always know us as well as they think, particularly when it comes to likes and dislikes. Which popular book, movie, band, food, TV show, etc. would your friends be surprised to hear that you don't like?

My friends know very well which foods I don't like, but never cease to appear surprised. One of the great assaults on the taste-buds, in my opinion, is tomato sauce -- which obviously poses a problem, being that I've lived my entire life in New Zealand and never touched more than a rosebud of the stuff. I also don't like pasta or any other sort of food with a spaghettiesque structure. I don't like sushi, rice or baked beans. I don't like quiche or, indeed, anything which comprises itself almost wholly of a fluffy egg texture. I should stop now, before I get uninvited from all your dinner parties. To actually answer the question, though, I think my friends - those who I haven't already told - would be surprised to hear that I didn't like reading The DaVinci Code, nor do I (and this is where I really seal my fate), apart from a handful of songs, very much like Led Zeppelin as a whole. And (there I go again with the conjunctions) I really can't stand the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

If you could live in any era of history, which one would you choose?

I think I would have chosen, whilst being no historian, from the late 1950s-early 1960s onwards. I wouldn't want to go too far back, because then you've got hangings and witch-burning's to deal with knowing my luck. The middle of the 20th century seemed to have the most kick before mankind sort of tapered off into a dormant state for the turn of the milennium. People tried to get things done. I'm not saying they succeeded (clearly), but the spark of certainty that one was actually alive and functioning at a conscious level seemed not yet to have been entirely extinguished.

Do you ever do anything now which you swore you would never do when you were younger? What is it?

When I was nine, like every nine-year-old, I swore I would never like boys. I'm beginning, now, to move away from that way of thinking.

It's Limerick Day! Share a favorite or compose your own humorous five-line poem with an AABBA structure.

There once was a student from Auckland
Who had to write a limerick in shorthand
But couldn't think up
Any aural link-up
Or anything that rhymed with 'lemons'

Based on true events

Sat, 23 May 2009 23:31:02 GMT

Looking down at the perfectly in-tact porcelain toilet on the side of the road, I knew there was only one place it would end up. I could feel the cogs turning, I wasn't making them turn. I simply could not walk past this unique opportunity without exercising the possibilities.

Twenty minutes later, at half-past ten at night, I was running down the road with somebody else's toilet (seat and cistern included), helping my cousin load it into the back of my car, then driving off with it. I will favor you with a picture of my new desk-chair when I'm done cleaning it.

Nice little bird in a nice little cage

Sat, 16 May 2009 10:58:16 GMT

A photo from my latest University project, part of a set called 'The Era that Never Existed'.

Something I didn't really plan on writing here or, indeed, anywhere

Thu, 07 May 2009 12:33:23 GMT

I have a little story.

Last Saturday, while making my rounds at work, I came across a group of three people I was fairly certain I had not yet slathered with fliers and false, greedy charm -- so I made my approach. Upon offering them a programme for the festival, they flashed their performers' passes and made clear that they were obviously quite familiar with a lot of the acts... especially considering they were some of them. I laughed good naturedly and made a comment about being embarrassed. They were very kind and said they were nice people and there was no need to be embarrassed. The fellow in the middle leaned forward to shake my hand and introduced himself; "I'm Rhys".

Wanting to redeem myself a little bit -- and those are my famous last words in the highest sense of climatic irony -- I jumped on the first opportunity my meagre knowledge of working comedians threw at me, and tossed back "Rhys Darby?"

You must understand that that was a very difficult and painful experience for me to recount.

Not more than two seconds after the words rolled so messily off my tongue did I recoil inwardly, mentally deliver a swift kick to the head and say no more about it. This fellow had a wild, curly 'white-man's' afro which I later discovered could double as a mullet under the right conditions. Rhys Darby is a little ginger chap. More importantly, I know this. I also know he's not doing a show at the festival.

The things the mind can make us do when it sees no other route of escape.

Anyway, out of some weird guilt mixed with a need for redemption (you'd think I would have learned to lay off the idea of bouncing back from a bad one by now), tonight I went to see his show. Not Rhys Darby. The other Rhys. Turns out he is a Rhys of the Mathewson variety. His show was brilliant. Not only hilarious and clever, but he ended with a dance. I don't think I have ever seen such an awful dance performed so spectacularly. When his show was almost over, he stripped down to a lime green leotard with fluoroescent pink flared tights (which he had been wearing under his clothes for the entire duration of the hour and twenty) and performed a dance, with what can only be descibed as unbridled enthusiasm, to Footloose by Kenny Loggins.

Indeed, it may very well turn out to be the best $18 I ever spent.

...oh, except that I didn't pay, I got in free with my crew pass. Darn, now I don't have a send-off line. Eh, screw it.

(Note: Although this sort of thing is in my job description, I am currently off the clock, and am not being paid for this.)

First shift for Comedy Festival tonight!

Sat, 02 May 2009 02:08:51 GMT

My boss just called me up (yes, I have a boss now!) and asked if I could cover a shift for tonight. Whoop! I wasn't meant to have my first night until Friday but now I get to work almost a week earlier than I'd expected. However that does mean that I'm a button unprepared. I recently found out that it is actually in my job description that I need to be funny. Apparently it's alarming the amount of people that come up to you with things like "Oh, you're a comedian? Tell us a joke!". It's also no good to tell them you're not actually a comedian, you just work for comedians, because that's bound to lose you a door-sale. So we're expected to have some one-liners prepared. I'm working on mine now. I have written a few down from various websites as a backup just in case I can't think of anything. They're very funny. I don't think I can match that.

100 page sprint

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 21:53:57 GMT

W o o h o o !

Engineering Revue & Goodbye Sculpture

Sun, 26 Apr 2009 04:57:59 GMT

Look at my new layout! Isn't it incredible? The very talented artist is irinafan if anyone wants to get themselves one. She's got so many! The only thing I don't like is that each entry doesn't let you have a userpic like my last one used to, but I think I'll get over that in time.
Right now, I've got a candle burning in a lantern on my desk beside my Collin's English Dictionary, a mug of hot fruit juice in front of me and outside it looks like it's about to start raining. The only way I could possibly enjoy this scene more is if I could find my other glove.

For those who don't already know, sculpture is over, and on Monday I start photography! I went to see the photography department on the second floor, and it needs to be said, it is way cooler than the third floor. Listen to me, I sound like a thirteen year old. That's just the giddiness and light-headedness associated with knowing I will never again have to stick a fork into a 500g block of butter and call it art. I have, however, feverishly been checking Cecil to see if any marks are up. They've been marked, I know that. I just don't know when they'll actually tell us what they are.

There was, actually, only one piece I did in sculpture which I liked at all, and that was the piece which was shoved behind the lockers and smited by my tutor. In accordance with my promise to Butul, I shall share just this one piece.

That was my tobacco plant, or at least that's how I answered the strange looks I got on the bus. In actual fact, it reminds me of some of the trees I saw on the flats of the southern North Island when I took a road-trip to Wellington, and the wind would rip right through them. If I'm to be a little more surrealist, I think it reflects a little Tim Burton influence in it's demented posture. More than that, though, it refelcts - I think - a real quality of last minute panic. A sense of just wanting to get it finished.

Also, I went to the Engineering Revue last night, which was utterly enjoyable. My friend Chip was in it and she was very good. So was her brother who, as I am told, wrote all the funny sketches. I could sit here and go through all the greatness of the show in detail, but I'm not a theatre reviewer, so I am under no obligation to do so. If I wanted, I could just stop writing mid-sente

Ten to Twelve is a lie

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 13:25:20 GMT

The entire last week in which I felt I've been careening down an impossible road, I never considered that I might just simply swerve a full 180 degrees in one. What's happened is this: I feel much better. I now work for the NZ Comedy Festival! We've been given a brief in FineArts 103 that I actually enjoy! After 11.30am tomorrow I will never again stick orange peel to an inside-out cereal box and call it art! I start Photography on Monday! I've nearly finished Script Frenzy! Acting classes start in a week! I had tonight off from teaching my three guitar classes! I have been given permission - nay, encouraged - to draw on the walls with permanent marker!

So on, so forth, and many other thrills and merriments, I can assure you. None of this, however, lies adjacent to the fact that it's quarter past one the morning before my final sculpture deadline, and I am sitting in bed, very much upright, with no desire to sleep at all. Well, maybe a little desire to sleep. But not very much.

That was my in-road. How about that?

Alright, my desire to sleep is mounting. This won't be a neatly-worded account of my thoughts, because I'm too tired to properly word, articulate or, indeed, think my thoughts. Ah, but that reminds me. I shall leave you with a quote from the ever eloquent Chipslyn (or Chip, Chippy, Achips, Chipchipchip, Chippendale or El Chippo, if you prefer);

"Hold on, I'm singing a scale. I stopped thinking years ago."

NZ Comedy Festival

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 22:17:11 GMT

Next month is the NZ comedy festival. It runs for nearly the entire month (May 1-24, I believe) and I am determined to go and see at least 3 shows. Some of them are relatively cheap (under $25) and I'm sure I can afford several tickets. Charlie Pickering's show 'Impractical Jokes' looks a good one.

Ode to a Two-Seater

Tue, 31 Mar 2009 07:22:44 GMT

Oh, beautiful two-seater
Your upholstery couldn't be sweeter
I long to nestle in your corduroy
In reclined positions that I enjoy

I nearly bought a sofa off TradeMe
Literally this very day, see
I thought that I would have to pay
For what I found in a parking space

In places your cover could be described as see-through
I have to get rid of my bed just to keep you
You're really just two chairs, in the middles a split
You're blocking my door, but damn, you're worth it

You're larger than I would have preferred, possibly
I found you on the curbside in Ponsonby
Those rich folk are always throwing out fancy stuff
I shan't complain, though -- I'm getting enough
Of it.

Cloudy, cold, looks like it might rain. I hope so.

Mon, 30 Mar 2009 23:22:41 GMT

Writing this in the carpark behind Britomart Train station while I wait for a ride. I've had quite a day, and it's still early. First, I missed the bus into town which is okay because I had a buttload of large A1 cardboard pieces to carry in as well as 3D collages. So thankfully I was able to get a ride in, and I arrived before 8am. I decided that I'd probably have to skip Philosophy 101 in order to have all my artwork up (presentation is "key", apparently) nailed to the wall by the time they start crits. So, I spent the time I should have been spending learning truth tables and propositional logic, whacking nails into useless collages. I then noticed that my Eftpos card had been stolen. Okay, well I can't prove it's been stolen, but it's certainly not where I left it, which is in my wallet. Always.

So once 9am finally rolled around, they gave us an extra half hour to put our work up anyway! It depressed me rather to realize that I didn't need to skip Phil101 after all. it happens to be my favorite class. This is the second one in a row that I've missed. I asked the tutor if she could do my evaluation first, because I'm sick (another of today's gems) and I wanted to leave right after. She said yes, then promptly forgot and went in roll order. I'm an M. Although after a couple of people she remembered and came over to do mine.

It was something of an anticlimax, I have to admit. She looked at my wall, with a slight smile, and 'hum'ed and 'ohh'ed and said she liked this and quite liked that. Then she looked at my drawings, looked at me and said "Is that it?" I went red and mumbled something about actually having done two more, and I put them in the car this morning but didn't seem to have made it up to the studio. I can't even guess where I could have possibly lost them along the line of getting out of the car, walking through the door, taking the elevator up to the third floor and going into the studio. I think if I lose one more thing, my mind will follow. Or maybe it's already gone, that might be WHY I'm losing things.

She then asked if I had an A3 sketchbook. "Yes," I said "it's an old one I used for design last year, and it's kind of... all the pages are falling out, so I don't bring it in."

She didn't seem very impressed by this at all, and said "Well, you kinda have to... y'know, bring it in cause like, otherwise we kinda can't tell where you're at, and you should still be doing those three drawings a week, so it's kinda necessary cause there's gonna be this sorta big assessment next term and we need to know that you're like... on task."

I just nodded and said 'thank you' a lot.

After leaving Elam gratefully, I was nearly at the train station, and would have made the 10.13, when I suddenly remembered that I'd used up the last trip on my 10-trip ticket yesterday and needed a new one. Having lost my Eftpos car, as already mentioned, I had no idea how I was going to get home. I dug through my wallet and found a $2 coin, which for the student price of $1.60, would get me to Baldwin Avenue just fine. It wasn't until about ten minutes after that I realized I was no longer able to ride for student price on single-ticket fares. You have to buy the ten trip, or you ride as an adult.

Much more hectic activities followed in my quest to get home -- home is where I keep the throat lozenges -- but I won't get into them now. Have just seen car pull up. Will continue later.

Oh, two-seater, what might have been.

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 07:49:06 GMT

I just caught wind of a perfectly intact lounge suite on curbside just two doors down. Apparently it is neither soaked through with unidentified blood, moldy nor housing an entire community of arachnid super-beings. Taking this into account, and the fact that my flat has yet to acquire a lounge suite, or really seating of any kind, I ran down the road under cover of darkness (and rightly so) intending to drag the two-seater back home through the moist grass with my bare hands.

But when I got there, there was nothing but a pile of four or five cushions. My lounge suite was TAKEN! Probably, if I daresay & I think I dare, by someone with already two or three couches of their own! This obviously left me so distraught that I am now wallowing in my room which has precisely two seats less than what it otherwise would have boasted.

Oh, what could have been. I can see it now... me, sitting in my two seater, doing all sorts of things owners of two-seaters might enjoy doing. I'd have my special two-seater sitting gloves, sitting scarf and sitting hat. I'd be reading specialty two-seater magazines and attending two-seater 'couch races'. I may have even gotten "I [heart] my two-seater" tattooed on my bottom... but not without seriously thinking about that for quite some time first.

Reading over the last paragraph, I am clearly quite literally out of my mind with rage. Please do not take me at all seriously until I have substantially pulled myself together.

Colored Socks

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 00:18:31 GMT

Am now on TradeMe trying to find someone off whom I can buy brightly colored socks. There is NOWHERE to purchase silly shades of sock, I am certain. Everyone nowadays wants the 'sensible sock' for the workplace, and the market for anything else has just closed right up. Either that, or it's the other extreme. There's no happy medium. No good looking in the women's section, all that's there is 'funky striped toe sock!' or 'thigh-high lace garter sheer support sock with bow'. No good looking in the mens section, because it's all either white ankle sports socks with one geometric shape of color if I'm lucky, or horrible gaudy patterns on wool socks so thick you could mug someone with them. All I want are some regular cotton socks, which happen to have been dyed ONE bright color per sock, such as yellow, lime green or purple. Is that really so much to ask? May go to K-Mart tomorrow, although I doubt I'll have time as I have to be back by 3 to meet Hailey.

I really ought to go do some more work on my Fine Arts projects. According to my study timetable, I still need to do observational drawing for five and a half hours and do 2 & a half hours of work on my collage project. No, that wasn't a misspelling of 'college'... we really are getting graded on how well we cut out pictures from magazines and stick them onto paper. Not - as Nick observantly pointed out yesterday - nearly as difficult as the primary school version, where you are expected to use little pieces of colored paper to make a picture. I feel as if I spent years working up to this point and now that I'm here, am being forced backwards.

Sunny, but cold.

Sat, 21 Mar 2009 22:44:11 GMT

I'm beginning to wonder if there's something strange about finding propositional logic formulas far more fun to do than cutting up magazines and making a collage. Especially as I'm an art student, and I failed Algebra exclusively the entire time I studied it. Pfft, hold on. algebra doesn't deserve a capital 'A'. It could have something to do with the fact that I very much dislike my tutor for sculpture. He's an ass and never has anything nice to say about my work, or 90% of the others in my class. But when I was flicking through an art magazine yesterday, I found a photograph of him working on a gallery piece. I now feel faintly embarrassed, although I must keep reminding myself that being successful doesn't give someone the right to be a dick (although it's so often the way).

Although, as the art front looks down, down and further down, things in the theatre world are beginning to look up. As I've already said, I'm now doing on-and-off volunteer work at the Maidment theatre. I've also signed up for a week long sort of boot-camp sounding thing which actually presents itself as classes in theatre and improv. It sounds really concentrated, which makes me wonder how they can possibly offer it free! But it's true! I'm so glad, because by the sound of it, I'd be paying over two hundred dollars for something like that. I also submitted as an extra for what could have been quite explicitly one of two things; a short film or an infomercial for viral infections. The advertisement did seem rather contradictory in places. But it doesn't matter because that was today and I only spotted the ad last night. It was a bit of a far-fetched hope that they would spot my application in time, but I'm just glad that I sent in for it and didn't lean back with my customary '...nah'. On top of that, I've been amusing myself by writing comedic (or they're supposed to be at least) sketches, getting ready for Script Frenzy in April. I don't have a clue whether I'll be able to finish, being as how I plummeted so terribly in NanoWrimo back in November, and that was when I WASN'T kept busy with tertiary education. Nonetheless, it sounds like good fun, and it should at least add a couple new sketches to my collection if nothing else. Then after that, in May, I will hopefully be entering a short film competition if everything goes right. We still need to put together a team -- there's just two of us who are committed at the moment. There's another smaller competition prior to that in April which our team may also enter as a warm-up.

I wonder if the University of Auckland gives Fly Buys points. They probably don't, but that would be an enormous boon, wouldn't it?

A Grape among Raisins: Going to the theatre alone on Senior's Night, and why it is a bad idea.

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 10:14:42 GMT

Circumstances have changed so drastically since my last journal entry that I may as well just re-introduce myself altogether. Hello. My middle initial is 'K'. How do you do? I like Bruce Springsteen, colored scarves and flavored tea.

I am now a university student. I catch the bus in the mornings at about 7am (try catching the bus in the dark... c'est difficile!) and take the train home in the afternoons (sometimes the mornings, depending on class schedule). I am also now an adult, which is nice. I also found my phone charger! Which is also nice. And I can now speak in the language of Propositional Logic, or "PL"... which is extra nice.

I have two new volunteer jobs and though they are unpaid, I don't feel as though I need to complain since, to be fair, I am receiving free money each week for doing essentially nothing. The first job is as an usher at the Maidment theatre, which I need to confirm I'm doing for each show, and the work is not very steady, but it gets me involved in that sector of life which is really why I took it. Also, once I'm done showing people to their seats, I get to watch the show for free. The second job (and this is not arranged in chronological order) is teaching guitar at the children's center that I used to be a tutor at. I teach three half-hour classes (Beginner, Advanced-regular and Advanced-hyper -- meaning I've arranged the advanced class into two groups; those who want to learn and those who find it very difficult to refrain from pinging heavy duty rubber bands into each other's eyes long enough to remember that Every Animal Doesn't Get Banana Eggs (the pneumonic we made up to remember the string names)). I just need to take a sentence out now in order to call to attention the four different types of punctuation I used between those parentheses... I should possibly get more sleep and take up drinking decaf. Either that or jolly well hurry up and pass Philosophy 101; Intro to Logic.

Obsessive-compulsive punctuating aside, I should really get to bed now, it being after 11pm and I need to get up before 6. AND I want to read my book which I bought for a mere $5. AND I want to do a bit of writing as well. So, I really must go. But I hope I will make it a priority to update a little more often. Would hate to see my journal die out after going strong for three years or more. So, talk soon.