Hello, wish list.
*nb: the picture of Leighton Meester, though she is adorable, is me longing for brown hair.
*nb: the picture of Leighton Meester, though she is adorable, is me longing for brown hair.
Monday, April 12, 2010
I never sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death
"A life, Jimmy, you know what that is? It's the shit that happens while you're waiting for moments that never come."
I tried to write what I feel about The Wire after I finally finished it, and tried to sum up how I don't even need to watch any other hyped shows because I've already seen the best piece of television I will ever see, but words don't really do it justice. If you haven't seen it, see it right away. If you're not interested, get interested. If you've tried and failed, it's probably way above your intelligence level. If the subject matter is not your thing, look again. Either way you're a loser: watch it and every TV show you watch after will be sub par; don't and be blissfully unaware, but be warned: you are being deprived.
Dense, novelistic, painful, funny, real and transformative all at once. "The Wire" is the best television series ever made. Period.
The greatness of The Wire comes from a combination of themes - the life of a city seen through characters allowed to breathe and expand, through plots which unfold in deadly waves of doomed human motive, blind circumstance and economic force, and in luxurious amounts of time.
In The Wire's view, the world is not divided cop-vs.-robber or black-vs.-white so much as machine-vs.-individual; officer, teacher, drug soldier or pol, people are screwed by institutions that discard them when they're used up and reward inertia over innovation...Occasionally, it even offers a glimpse of something like hope, which is all the sweeter for being harder earned.
BAM!
"There go a life that had to be snatched, Avon." So intense. How their relationship starts to deteoriate is just.. fuck, too good.
"It makes me sick, motherfucker, how far we done fell." Oh Bunk, what a guy.
I wouldn't recommend you watch any of these if you've never seen The Wire before. They are moments to enjoy along the way and some of my favourite ones.
After my long-winded praise before, this is probably the last time I'll do it in a while (until I rewatch Season 4, that is) but I miss it terribly and felt the need to share. So fuck you, go watch it and then tell me I'm a massive nerd. I am :)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Back to school and I hate it there, I hate it there...
It's difficult to find the time, the patience or the right words sometimes. I worry that with a blog you can come across like a) illiterate or b) boring as fuck. When you're writing stuff for people that you haven't seen in 9 months, these kind of worries are completely rational.
So this is my excuse for delaying updates. That, and I always think hearing what people are doing while they're travelling and you're not must be the most dire fucking thing to read. It's one of my pet peeves when I log on Facebook, have a notification, squeal in obvious delight only to find it's from one of my friends from home (love you, guys) saying "Hey! How's Australia?!". And that's it. What exactly are you supposed to say here? Are you supposed to go "Oh, fine thanks! How's the UK?" and ignite the obvious small-talk that will ensue when neither of you give a shit, or launch into a tirade about where you are, what you've been doing, who you've met in the small hope that they care about any of it or that you don't come across like a really fucking irritating bragger. "Hey, so I'm having the BEST TIME EVER doing things that you're not in REALLY BEAUTIFUL places in REALLY AMAZING SUNSHINE". Ohmigod, vom. So that is generally why I leave it a while to reply to such Facebook comments, and hence why I rarely update this little blog of mine.
I've nearly been in Australia for 9 months, and I gotta be honest, it feels it. I have successfully travelled by combination of bus, car and plane from Cairns down the east coast, across the south coast and deserts to the west coast, up to Perth. There is nothing else I want to do here. I don't want to visit the rock (expensive, and let's be honest - it's a rock) and the only other thing I'd quite like to see (the Kimberley, thanks for asking) is an absolute mission to get to. Instead I will embark on a nice trashy trip back to the Gold Coast and save up all my cash to fuck off and head to Bali and Fiji before New Zealand. At least, that is the master plan. Every Wednesday, this horrible thing happens where I get fucked out of mind and spend money that is quite clearly screaming "NO, don't do it! You have flights to pay for! You have places to go.. don't wast- ah, she just swapped me in for Jager. Too little, too late." It happens to the best for us, but if I don't pull my act together soon I will not leave before June and that is not what I want. It's been pretty fucking rad over here but I don't want to overstay and end up resenting somewhere I've loved. I'm back at the Argyle to save up the cash and with hosp you just fall into this silly little trap that's so desperately hard to get out of: go to work, get paid, get shitfaced, sleep. It's too much fun to resist. I am working 6 days this week to try and not do the above, to avoid temptation, and to work my arse off to continue the extended holiday I never want to end.
I've been thinking a lot about what I'm gonna do, the 'Big Picture' if you will and I swear as you get older, you get even more indecisive. I don't want to go home. I miss it...well, maybe not it, but the comfort of it, and the people of course. But it's like, what am I going home to? I realise that the UK is probably where I'll settle first off, where I'll try and forge a path in an actual career and what not. Alas, I am not ready. Still. I am bored and I need to be stimulated, don't get me wrong, but I still don't know what to do. I am contemplating doing a PGCE in London and doing some work in underpriviledged schools for a bit before turning my full attention to film, like I know one day I will. The thought of teaching actually really appeals to me. To reiterate the cheesy spiel I've been giving everyone I've spoken to about it: if you can help one kid, one kid who suffers from abuse at home, comes from a disadvantaged background, one kid who is wrapped up in drugs and gangs and violence, if you can inspire them and try and show them another side, then you've done a whole world of good. I know it'll be one of the most difficult things to try and do - I remember the fucknuts I used to go to school with, but I dunno, it seems like a way to try and do something good for them. They are, after all, our retarded making, and therefore, our retarded future. Which is comforting.
So, a little itinerary.. stay in Australia long enough to save up cash, maybe another 6-8 weeks at absolute MAX. Then, off for a month holiday, 2 weeks in Fiji, 2 weeks in Bali. Then off to New Zealand in May time to go back to my beloved barwork for a ski season. And I WILL attempt to ski and I WILL attempt to snowboard. I am actually looking forward to some cold weather, but don't tell any Australians because I'll get beat up. Fo' real. Then I might do SE Asia on my way home. Might. Probably. Why not. I'm trying to come up with a nice end date to appease my Mother's poor mind.. perhaps home for this Christmas, and probably definitely home for S/S 2010. Hoo-fucking-ray. I wonder how it'll be going home. I always wonder that if you're gone for so long, do people just forget? Out of sight and all that. I go on Facebook sometimes and my Newsfeed alights with all these statuses about moving, new jobs, relationship statuses changing and you feel like you've been gone a million years and nobody even notices. Except I know that's not true because nobody can live without the staunch really, though they might pretend otherwise. S'ok, I miss you guys too.
This has been a bit deep hasn't it. I promise the next one will be more fun and jolly and I will recount instances where I've done fucked up things while fucked up.
Next installment: the time I returned from my trip, met Sylvia and consequently got kicked out of the bar I work in. I will also tell about my new love for hip-hop that's wildly escalating out of control and how I finally finished The Wire and my life changed.
Until then, nerdlingers..
So this is my excuse for delaying updates. That, and I always think hearing what people are doing while they're travelling and you're not must be the most dire fucking thing to read. It's one of my pet peeves when I log on Facebook, have a notification, squeal in obvious delight only to find it's from one of my friends from home (love you, guys) saying "Hey! How's Australia?!". And that's it. What exactly are you supposed to say here? Are you supposed to go "Oh, fine thanks! How's the UK?" and ignite the obvious small-talk that will ensue when neither of you give a shit, or launch into a tirade about where you are, what you've been doing, who you've met in the small hope that they care about any of it or that you don't come across like a really fucking irritating bragger. "Hey, so I'm having the BEST TIME EVER doing things that you're not in REALLY BEAUTIFUL places in REALLY AMAZING SUNSHINE". Ohmigod, vom. So that is generally why I leave it a while to reply to such Facebook comments, and hence why I rarely update this little blog of mine.
I've nearly been in Australia for 9 months, and I gotta be honest, it feels it. I have successfully travelled by combination of bus, car and plane from Cairns down the east coast, across the south coast and deserts to the west coast, up to Perth. There is nothing else I want to do here. I don't want to visit the rock (expensive, and let's be honest - it's a rock) and the only other thing I'd quite like to see (the Kimberley, thanks for asking) is an absolute mission to get to. Instead I will embark on a nice trashy trip back to the Gold Coast and save up all my cash to fuck off and head to Bali and Fiji before New Zealand. At least, that is the master plan. Every Wednesday, this horrible thing happens where I get fucked out of mind and spend money that is quite clearly screaming "NO, don't do it! You have flights to pay for! You have places to go.. don't wast- ah, she just swapped me in for Jager. Too little, too late." It happens to the best for us, but if I don't pull my act together soon I will not leave before June and that is not what I want. It's been pretty fucking rad over here but I don't want to overstay and end up resenting somewhere I've loved. I'm back at the Argyle to save up the cash and with hosp you just fall into this silly little trap that's so desperately hard to get out of: go to work, get paid, get shitfaced, sleep. It's too much fun to resist. I am working 6 days this week to try and not do the above, to avoid temptation, and to work my arse off to continue the extended holiday I never want to end.
I've been thinking a lot about what I'm gonna do, the 'Big Picture' if you will and I swear as you get older, you get even more indecisive. I don't want to go home. I miss it...well, maybe not it, but the comfort of it, and the people of course. But it's like, what am I going home to? I realise that the UK is probably where I'll settle first off, where I'll try and forge a path in an actual career and what not. Alas, I am not ready. Still. I am bored and I need to be stimulated, don't get me wrong, but I still don't know what to do. I am contemplating doing a PGCE in London and doing some work in underpriviledged schools for a bit before turning my full attention to film, like I know one day I will. The thought of teaching actually really appeals to me. To reiterate the cheesy spiel I've been giving everyone I've spoken to about it: if you can help one kid, one kid who suffers from abuse at home, comes from a disadvantaged background, one kid who is wrapped up in drugs and gangs and violence, if you can inspire them and try and show them another side, then you've done a whole world of good. I know it'll be one of the most difficult things to try and do - I remember the fucknuts I used to go to school with, but I dunno, it seems like a way to try and do something good for them. They are, after all, our retarded making, and therefore, our retarded future. Which is comforting.
So, a little itinerary.. stay in Australia long enough to save up cash, maybe another 6-8 weeks at absolute MAX. Then, off for a month holiday, 2 weeks in Fiji, 2 weeks in Bali. Then off to New Zealand in May time to go back to my beloved barwork for a ski season. And I WILL attempt to ski and I WILL attempt to snowboard. I am actually looking forward to some cold weather, but don't tell any Australians because I'll get beat up. Fo' real. Then I might do SE Asia on my way home. Might. Probably. Why not. I'm trying to come up with a nice end date to appease my Mother's poor mind.. perhaps home for this Christmas, and probably definitely home for S/S 2010. Hoo-fucking-ray. I wonder how it'll be going home. I always wonder that if you're gone for so long, do people just forget? Out of sight and all that. I go on Facebook sometimes and my Newsfeed alights with all these statuses about moving, new jobs, relationship statuses changing and you feel like you've been gone a million years and nobody even notices. Except I know that's not true because nobody can live without the staunch really, though they might pretend otherwise. S'ok, I miss you guys too.
This has been a bit deep hasn't it. I promise the next one will be more fun and jolly and I will recount instances where I've done fucked up things while fucked up.
Next installment: the time I returned from my trip, met Sylvia and consequently got kicked out of the bar I work in. I will also tell about my new love for hip-hop that's wildly escalating out of control and how I finally finished The Wire and my life changed.
Until then, nerdlingers..
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Been training vipers to come for you in your sleep
I don't have time to update this with words of wisdom for two reasons:
1) I don't have much credit left
2) I am very sleepy so my words would probably be lacking in the wise-factor.
But just know this, I am alive and safe and somewhere in Melbourne's CBD. Over the last six days we have crossed 3 state borders, seen 4 gorgeous beaches and drove hundreds of kilometres (I cannot be bothered to count, so eff off). And camped. With flies and giant cockroaches that could eat babies and bonafide Ozzie blokes and shark fishers and screaming children. Today I got up at 8am when the sun made it too painful for me to stay in my tent of hot air any longer. This time last week I was working at the Argyle, making mojitos, moaning, worrying about packing and generally being staunch.
How times have changed.
I'm still staunch, so I am still the Francesca everybody knows and loves.
I know one thing though: I'm debating just 5 weeks of travelling, not 6. Because if I'm being truthful with myself, I ain't no fucking camper.
Check Facebook for the photos, they are swish. Off for cocktails.
(No Jager for over a week. I miss thee, cruel mistress.)
1) I don't have much credit left
2) I am very sleepy so my words would probably be lacking in the wise-factor.
But just know this, I am alive and safe and somewhere in Melbourne's CBD. Over the last six days we have crossed 3 state borders, seen 4 gorgeous beaches and drove hundreds of kilometres (I cannot be bothered to count, so eff off). And camped. With flies and giant cockroaches that could eat babies and bonafide Ozzie blokes and shark fishers and screaming children. Today I got up at 8am when the sun made it too painful for me to stay in my tent of hot air any longer. This time last week I was working at the Argyle, making mojitos, moaning, worrying about packing and generally being staunch.
How times have changed.
I'm still staunch, so I am still the Francesca everybody knows and loves.
I know one thing though: I'm debating just 5 weeks of travelling, not 6. Because if I'm being truthful with myself, I ain't no fucking camper.
Check Facebook for the photos, they are swish. Off for cocktails.
(No Jager for over a week. I miss thee, cruel mistress.)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The game's out there, and it's play or get played (a love letter.. )
Dear The Wire,
I realise we haven't known each other for long, probably a good 6-10 months at best, and I know this may be slightly premature, but I just wanted to put it out there and tell you something that may come as a surprise. It may be foolish, especially as our relationship still has about ten hours to go before we reach our natural end, but I feel the time is right. I have seen enough and know enough about you to reach a forgone conclusion: I love you. A serious statement I know, and one I have mulled over continously on bus rides, over Lupe Fiasco playlists and while having conversations about the state of society, American culture, drugs, gun violence and lots of bad things that happen in the world (granted, the last thing doesn't happen too often these days but I'm almost positive that if I could speak in an intellectual manner while drunk on Jager that these are the subjects I would broach).
And I think that I really mean it.
It is so difficult these days to find somebody like you: somebody that is so thought-provoking, intelligent and somebody that doesn't dumb down for an audience and most importantly, doesn't talk down to us. Somebody that always has something to say, but isn't arrogant or too sure of themselves, too caught up in their own hype and the overbearing compliments that go hand-in-hand with being so totally brilliant. I realised this today, as the thought of us parting becomes so unbearable. I don't even know how long we have left together, 9-10 hours at best. And then it is finished. All that will be left is memories rehashed, old quotes and scenarios that may get played over in my mind. I want to reach the end more than anything, I want to see if you live up to expectations and the overblown compliments you receive. If it truly is this great ending everybody says it is, if everything can duly be wrapped up (if it ever could be, which I know it can't..) if the ending is satisfing enough to know there will be no more. I won't lie to you, I worry.
It is types like you that make me wish I could do something as big of as an achievement as your creation. If I could write scripts and stories, and if I had the adequate resources to go and do painstaking research, I would want to be like yours. If I could characterise so perfectly the flaws and paradoxes of human nature, I would endeavour to be like you. If I could sum up the fragmentation of a broken and corrupt society and the lost fight that people face everyday in a world of drugs and guns and violence, I sure would want to do it like you. If right now I owned you on DVD and could play out the remaining ten hours we have left and then go straight to work and work all night knowing we were all done, all over, I would do it. I can't, but know I would if I could.
Truth is, I've had feelings like this before. Albeit not on the same scale, but I have had a few lustful and longing trysts. Lost will always have a very special place in my heart, one that has been going for years and we still have unfinished business. But don't be jealous, you are on very different scales and you will always trump. Rest assured.
Today, I indulged in some 5.02 with you and you brought me the return of Avon, just for a few precious minutes. I could feel how close we are to the end; you are destroying boundaries and rules: Avon and Marlowe, Bunk and McNulty, the FBI (!)... and I can barely tear my eyes away. In all seriousness, I don't think I have the spunk or the ferocity to go off and try and help in a situation I think is completely redundant. The problems that you highlight in American culture and society are ones I find really fascinating and are ones that I'm sure make other people think I'm a massive sad act and grade A dork. It's why I always wanted to travel North America first: there's something about it that makes my ears prick up and take an interest and that is no mean feat.
I don't know where the rest of our road together will take us, but know this: at this moment in time, in my eyes at least, you are about as flawless as a TV programme can ever be.
Always,
Francesca.
P.S. The pictures are for pretty-purposes only, and to draw attention to two of the most KICK-ASS moments in the game so far.. dare you to disagree.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Anything to declare? Yeah. Don't go to England.
Boy, do I know how to neglect a blog. It has been approximately 49 days since I last posted something that I like to think was intelligible but possibly nondescript writing and I think it is high time I rectified my quite frankly shocking attempt at updating you home folk on what the fuck is going on in my life.
1. My name has informally been changed to Frankie. It wasn't my choice, it just happened. I remember one sunny day in Cardiff (I may be exaggerating for dramatic purposes) Guy told me I was going to be like one of those Tourism Australia adverts: "She left Fran. She came back Francesca." That has happened. Just my name sounds more like a pet, small child or yappy boxer.
2. I quit work experience. To cut a long story short to spare you, I had been working my arse off in two jobs for two months and I was beginning to blame something I love for how tired I had become. I looked in the mirror and I couldn't even see that I looked like a haggard bitch because I had hollows where my eyes used to be. It was a blessing in diguise, all the more time for Jagermeister.
3. Jagermeister. My new frenemy. This thing happens when I drink it that can only be described as common sense blackouts.
4. I moved house. It's a sweet fucking deal.
5. I have a camera. That's exciting. Except all I do is take photos of us blind drunk instead of photos of the pretty city I live in. Every so often I get a big excitable splurge of energy (one such splurge happened tonight while I was flicking through an Australia book - "Ohmigod, what even is a Chinese Friendship Garden? Wait a second, I haven't even been to the Botanic Gardens yet...hey, you can do a walk from Hyde Park to Circular Quay through them... I am so totally doing that! Next week on my day off, definitely!") where I think I am going to go on fun day trips. I am almost certain this will happen some time soon, when I am not nursing a disgusting hangover of epic proportions and can barely go outside for fear of vomiting over strangers.
6. HEAT. HEAT. HEAT. Christ almighty, I nearly had a heart attack on Melbourne Cup day. Melbourne Cup is the like Grand National, except all the Australians go fucking bonkers and get fucked up. It's dubbed 'The Race that Stops the Nation'. Give me a break. Anyway, I had to start work at 10am and as I am notoriously bad at getting up I set about 1,053,490 alarms. I woke up at some point, panic stricken because it was so hot it felt like it was about 1pm. I consequently flew out of bed in a mad, sleepy haze, scrambling to get ready. I then decided to check the clock. It was 7.30. AM. And it was boiling. And I wasn't impressed. I spent the rest of the day sweating profusely and complaining about the fact my hair was sticking to my head in an unflattering fashion and my face decided to melt off. Since this day, we have had a few days of 41 degree heat. Sometimes I forget this and go out in jumpers and leggings. Needless to say, there is room for adjustment.
7. I am actually genuinely starting to like bartending. There is not even a hint of irony or sarcasm in that statement. It's true. Go figure.
8. I leave Sydney in one month for Perth. It is going to be an approximately 5,442km trip. We have a car and a new buddy joining us. It's actually getting real. I'm still shitting bricks I won't be able to afford it and I'll have to cut it short, but I am prepared to be at one with nature, sleep under the stars and slaughter kangaroos to stay on the road because I can't fucking wait.
9. I think I'm going to come back to Sydney when the six weeks are up. Originally I was going to carry on up WA but I definitely will be out of funds by this point. Which means, new job, new living arrangements, new pals, and another transition period. Not sure I want to do all that again when I quite bum Sydney already. I figure New Zealand will be another big transition so as long as I get to see everywhere I want to see while I'm in Australia then I am all good to come back. It's quite a nice feeling.
10. I've been gone 5 and a half months. 6 and a half in Australia to go. It feels like forever but like two weeks at the same time. I got excited today when we went to Cris' new house because there was a British pound on the floor. That is how removed I feel from the UK. When I spoke to my Mum a few weeks back I said about two words to her and she instantly went "What's happened to your accent?". I have since been extremely self-concious and try and sound more British than normal to over-compensate. I will never say things like 'heaps', and I'm trying not to say 'no worries' or 'pash'. If I come back with even a twinge of an accent, I give somebody, not fussy who, permission to backhand me. Hard.
11. I applied for my NZ visa eligibility and I'm all good to apply. Whey-o. Still figuring I'm going to head over for a ski season when my Australian visa runs out in June. Because, by this point, I should get all my tax back and be rich beyond my wildest dreams. Know why? Because Australia is taxing the absolute SHIT out of me. When I begin to complain I have to remind myself that I GET IT ALL BACK. EVERY CENT. IN YOUR FACE TAXATION OFFICE.
12. Is it wrong that I fancy Matt Damon a little bit?
13. I dyed my hair again. As luck would have it, as soon as I did it I started pining for my light brown, sun-has-made-it-go-retarded locks. As more luck would have it, Australia is pretty fucking sunny about now so I think it's already fading. Way to go, 41 degree heat. I knew you'd be good for something.
14. As the months go by and I realise I've been gone for longer, the more I realise that I can't imagine life at home anymore. And I've come to accept that life goes on for everybody back there, and, as much as I hate to admit it, I've gotten over the fact that it's gotten to the point where nobody even notices you're gone anymore. I've been getting pretty pissy with some people back home who, no matter how hard I try to keep in contact with, just aren't reciprocating. It was, and still is, a bit difficult when people you care about so much are being shithouse. It kinda pangs in the heart a wee bit, know what I'm saying? But I am slowly getting over the hard, cold fact that the world does not revolve around me. And according to Google, I am 10,666 miles away from home. Pretty omnious, hey. Anyway, I suppose what I'm getting at is that (this is as deep as this blog will get, promise) you begin to learn what and who is important while you're gone. I will continue being mad about the lack of effort until one day that anger and frustration will simply no longer exist, and that will be the precise moment I stop giving a shit. I look forward to it. More the fool you.
15. I STILL haven't changed my flight back to London. My current flight leaves on 31st December 2009. Which is about 18 months too early. Whoopsie. Must get on it. I really, really, really don't want to go home. You can't make me BA, I will go kicking and screaming. I can be quite fierce when I set my mind to it so don't test my limits. I reckon I'd have the ability to make a 23hour flight a living hell for everyone on board. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Bart Simpson, you are my idol.
I realise my fighting talk is somewhat to be desired.
16. There are other things I would love to discuss to provoke lively debate but I am too scared to because I know my Mum reads this blog and although she may be 10,666 miles away, she still managed to evoke fear (Hi, Mum!).
17. I don't have a fucking clue why I did this in numbers. Must be my penchant for lists.
Not a whole lot happening to tell you about travel wise, but that will all change come January 2nd and we hit the Great Ocean Road for our mammoth road trip across SA. Then I will have photos that aren't documenting a night of common sense blackouts and me hanging out with my ex-friend Jager. We actually all managed to do semi-sober dinner and drinks last night, maybe we're all growing up. On second thought, maybe not.
1. My name has informally been changed to Frankie. It wasn't my choice, it just happened. I remember one sunny day in Cardiff (I may be exaggerating for dramatic purposes) Guy told me I was going to be like one of those Tourism Australia adverts: "She left Fran. She came back Francesca." That has happened. Just my name sounds more like a pet, small child or yappy boxer.
2. I quit work experience. To cut a long story short to spare you, I had been working my arse off in two jobs for two months and I was beginning to blame something I love for how tired I had become. I looked in the mirror and I couldn't even see that I looked like a haggard bitch because I had hollows where my eyes used to be. It was a blessing in diguise, all the more time for Jagermeister.
3. Jagermeister. My new frenemy. This thing happens when I drink it that can only be described as common sense blackouts.
4. I moved house. It's a sweet fucking deal.
5. I have a camera. That's exciting. Except all I do is take photos of us blind drunk instead of photos of the pretty city I live in. Every so often I get a big excitable splurge of energy (one such splurge happened tonight while I was flicking through an Australia book - "Ohmigod, what even is a Chinese Friendship Garden? Wait a second, I haven't even been to the Botanic Gardens yet...hey, you can do a walk from Hyde Park to Circular Quay through them... I am so totally doing that! Next week on my day off, definitely!") where I think I am going to go on fun day trips. I am almost certain this will happen some time soon, when I am not nursing a disgusting hangover of epic proportions and can barely go outside for fear of vomiting over strangers.
6. HEAT. HEAT. HEAT. Christ almighty, I nearly had a heart attack on Melbourne Cup day. Melbourne Cup is the like Grand National, except all the Australians go fucking bonkers and get fucked up. It's dubbed 'The Race that Stops the Nation'. Give me a break. Anyway, I had to start work at 10am and as I am notoriously bad at getting up I set about 1,053,490 alarms. I woke up at some point, panic stricken because it was so hot it felt like it was about 1pm. I consequently flew out of bed in a mad, sleepy haze, scrambling to get ready. I then decided to check the clock. It was 7.30. AM. And it was boiling. And I wasn't impressed. I spent the rest of the day sweating profusely and complaining about the fact my hair was sticking to my head in an unflattering fashion and my face decided to melt off. Since this day, we have had a few days of 41 degree heat. Sometimes I forget this and go out in jumpers and leggings. Needless to say, there is room for adjustment.
7. I am actually genuinely starting to like bartending. There is not even a hint of irony or sarcasm in that statement. It's true. Go figure.
8. I leave Sydney in one month for Perth. It is going to be an approximately 5,442km trip. We have a car and a new buddy joining us. It's actually getting real. I'm still shitting bricks I won't be able to afford it and I'll have to cut it short, but I am prepared to be at one with nature, sleep under the stars and slaughter kangaroos to stay on the road because I can't fucking wait.
9. I think I'm going to come back to Sydney when the six weeks are up. Originally I was going to carry on up WA but I definitely will be out of funds by this point. Which means, new job, new living arrangements, new pals, and another transition period. Not sure I want to do all that again when I quite bum Sydney already. I figure New Zealand will be another big transition so as long as I get to see everywhere I want to see while I'm in Australia then I am all good to come back. It's quite a nice feeling.
10. I've been gone 5 and a half months. 6 and a half in Australia to go. It feels like forever but like two weeks at the same time. I got excited today when we went to Cris' new house because there was a British pound on the floor. That is how removed I feel from the UK. When I spoke to my Mum a few weeks back I said about two words to her and she instantly went "What's happened to your accent?". I have since been extremely self-concious and try and sound more British than normal to over-compensate. I will never say things like 'heaps', and I'm trying not to say 'no worries' or 'pash'. If I come back with even a twinge of an accent, I give somebody, not fussy who, permission to backhand me. Hard.
11. I applied for my NZ visa eligibility and I'm all good to apply. Whey-o. Still figuring I'm going to head over for a ski season when my Australian visa runs out in June. Because, by this point, I should get all my tax back and be rich beyond my wildest dreams. Know why? Because Australia is taxing the absolute SHIT out of me. When I begin to complain I have to remind myself that I GET IT ALL BACK. EVERY CENT. IN YOUR FACE TAXATION OFFICE.
12. Is it wrong that I fancy Matt Damon a little bit?
13. I dyed my hair again. As luck would have it, as soon as I did it I started pining for my light brown, sun-has-made-it-go-retarded locks. As more luck would have it, Australia is pretty fucking sunny about now so I think it's already fading. Way to go, 41 degree heat. I knew you'd be good for something.
14. As the months go by and I realise I've been gone for longer, the more I realise that I can't imagine life at home anymore. And I've come to accept that life goes on for everybody back there, and, as much as I hate to admit it, I've gotten over the fact that it's gotten to the point where nobody even notices you're gone anymore. I've been getting pretty pissy with some people back home who, no matter how hard I try to keep in contact with, just aren't reciprocating. It was, and still is, a bit difficult when people you care about so much are being shithouse. It kinda pangs in the heart a wee bit, know what I'm saying? But I am slowly getting over the hard, cold fact that the world does not revolve around me. And according to Google, I am 10,666 miles away from home. Pretty omnious, hey. Anyway, I suppose what I'm getting at is that (this is as deep as this blog will get, promise) you begin to learn what and who is important while you're gone. I will continue being mad about the lack of effort until one day that anger and frustration will simply no longer exist, and that will be the precise moment I stop giving a shit. I look forward to it. More the fool you.
15. I STILL haven't changed my flight back to London. My current flight leaves on 31st December 2009. Which is about 18 months too early. Whoopsie. Must get on it. I really, really, really don't want to go home. You can't make me BA, I will go kicking and screaming. I can be quite fierce when I set my mind to it so don't test my limits. I reckon I'd have the ability to make a 23hour flight a living hell for everyone on board. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Bart Simpson, you are my idol.
I realise my fighting talk is somewhat to be desired.
16. There are other things I would love to discuss to provoke lively debate but I am too scared to because I know my Mum reads this blog and although she may be 10,666 miles away, she still managed to evoke fear (Hi, Mum!).
17. I don't have a fucking clue why I did this in numbers. Must be my penchant for lists.
Not a whole lot happening to tell you about travel wise, but that will all change come January 2nd and we hit the Great Ocean Road for our mammoth road trip across SA. Then I will have photos that aren't documenting a night of common sense blackouts and me hanging out with my ex-friend Jager. We actually all managed to do semi-sober dinner and drinks last night, maybe we're all growing up. On second thought, maybe not.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Meet Me on your Best Behaviour, Meet Me at your Worst...
I've been meaning to update this for ages.
Annoyingly enough, I haven't really had anything to put? I'll give you a bit of a play by play to highlight how my week usually pans out:
Monday: Work.
Tuesday: Work Experience.
Wednesday: Work Experience.
Thursday: Work Experience/Work.
Friday: Work.
Saturday: Work.
Sunday: Work.
In my free time I usually do one of three things: eat, sleep or watch films. Everybody keeps asking me for fun stories of my adventures, but in truth, my adventures have been put on hold while I try and save up some cash to fund them. It's easier than it looks. Living in Sydney and trying not to save money is an absurd notion. The other day I was walking to work and came to the corner of George and Market where I stumbled upon a homeless man while I was waiting to cross the road. I gave him some change. Very nice, I thought. A good deed. As I was strolling along George I came across a second homeless man by the Apple store. Again, I managed to fumble around and find some more change. Again, I thought to myself, I outdo myself with my generosity. I carried on walking along George, trying to avoid the onslaught of suits so I wouldn't collide with one of them and find myself on the wrong side of a briefcase wielding monster. As I came to Wynard station, by Bar 333, there sat a third homeless man outside the 7/11. By this time, I had well and truly been raped of loose change and had nothing to offer. I felt horrible. I felt like I had been favouritist with who I had chosen to donate to. What if I had chosen the wrong ones? What if this third man needed my 50 cents more than the others? By this point, there was only one thing left to do: keep walking and avoid eye contact. I'm not fucking made of money.
And that is why it's impossible to save in Sydney.
There's the resident on the corner of George opposite Supre that I really want to buy some socks for. I saw him on my way home from work the other night and he had no socks on. He had a sleeping bag and a big cardboard sign and a jacket and even a little makeshift seat. But no socks. In this weather, I struggle with my shoes on let alone barefoot. I am still contemplating whether it's patronising to buy a stranger socks. What if he thinks I'm a condescending moron and throws them back in my face? His corner is pretty busy, it would most definitely cause a scene. I may have to bite the bullet and put his poor feet first. Screw my own dignity, socks are a must. When I have come to a decision, I will let you know.
Aside from the various array of men in my life, there is another prominent reason why I find myself short on funds. It is the same reason I ended up with a 70 pound library fine at university and it is the reason I should never be allowed to borrow things with a time limit on them. On Tuesday I rented eight DVDs. Rachel Getting Married was due back Friday and it is now Monday morning. I've managed to watch a grand total of 10 minutes. I have watched two out of eight DVDs. Last week one of my housemates took Hunger back for me because he is kind and I am lazy. If he hadn't taken it back, I don't doubt it'd still be sat in the pile of unwatched gems under the TV and my fine would be verging on beating my record.
I met Krista in Bondi last week and we had a chat about January and our fun travel plans. She wants to start looking at cars next month. Oh yes, because the homeless population will have surely been housed by then, and my DVD shop will most definitely have closed down. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save with all of these lurking problems. There is always a setback: a week of rain that makes it impossible for me to walk to work. I MUST get a taxi. What's that? Umbrella? Unreliable. Bus? Unpredictable. Or maybe there is my inability to time manage. I'll get up at 1, sit down for a minute, then hey presto! It's 4.30 and I'm due at work in an hour and a half. Whoever said there aren't enough hours in the day was dead on. I will be indebted forever to the person who can conjure up a real life version of Bernard's Watch. Yes, that is a challenge. I propose you, Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof.
In other news, I've nearly finished Atonement. I manage to cram a few precious pages in a day on the way into Bondi for work experience. I hate it. I made such a fatal error by watching the film first because it's ruined the ending. I did a terrible thing when I first started reading. I actually want to punch myself in the face for it. I flicked to the back and read the end. I figured, hey, I know it anyway, it's not really cheating. But now I know what happens and it's like when you scream at some really dogshit horror film in spite of yourself.. "What is she doing?...what are you doing? Why are you going into the derelict abandoned house alone...Well now the power's gone out...Run. Go back. For fuck's sake! Run! RUN!!! Oh, now you're dead. WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU." Except in this instance it's more like "No Robbie, don't go looking for the twins alone. Go with Cecilia and Leon. No. Don't. No Robbie, don't go alone! Briony, you didn't see him, please don't say you did...you KNOW you didn't!! Oh, for fuck's sake. There goes the fucking happy ending." You know it's going to happen, it's fate, written in the stars. But that doesn't stop you willing it not to. Therefore Atonement, as beautifully written as it is, has been a horribly unpleasant experience and I almost want to do a Joey from Friends and put it in the freezer and forget about it forever.
I heard Meet Me on the Equinox and I have forgiven Death Cab for putting it on the Twilight soundtrack AND having every gossip rag in the world's new favourite awkward couple in the video. I forgive them because it's really fucking good. I forgive them because I went back and listened to Narrow Stairs after and it was like my ears had a holy epiphany.
I wrote a half post about all that music piracy shit Lily Allen started spouting off about at home but now she's decided to back the fuck off, it kinda seems a little redundant. I might finish it anyway, I felt fairly articulate. I want to do one about film journalism too. Unfortunately my mind isn't in a very clever state so I fear my blogs will get consistently less witty, more trivial and far more boring. I have succeeded with this one, I know, I know. Hush.
We watched Election today. It was good.
And also, if you haven't seen this, it's fascinating. Promise.
Targets for next post:
- Be more coherent.
- Allow less brain farts.
- At least try and be interesting.
- Up the wit.
I am going to go to some of Crave and maybe I'll buy a camera and take photos of all the cool shit going on in the city next month. Or I won't and will just post a really boring blog about some film I've seen instead. I'm also going to do a blog about things that grip my shit as a bartender. Number one is going to be when people put their crappy change ON the bar rather than IN my hand which is RIGHT THERE. Number two will be lousy tippers. Number three will be everybody else. Over an' out.
Annoyingly enough, I haven't really had anything to put? I'll give you a bit of a play by play to highlight how my week usually pans out:
Monday: Work.
Tuesday: Work Experience.
Wednesday: Work Experience.
Thursday: Work Experience/Work.
Friday: Work.
Saturday: Work.
Sunday: Work.
In my free time I usually do one of three things: eat, sleep or watch films. Everybody keeps asking me for fun stories of my adventures, but in truth, my adventures have been put on hold while I try and save up some cash to fund them. It's easier than it looks. Living in Sydney and trying not to save money is an absurd notion. The other day I was walking to work and came to the corner of George and Market where I stumbled upon a homeless man while I was waiting to cross the road. I gave him some change. Very nice, I thought. A good deed. As I was strolling along George I came across a second homeless man by the Apple store. Again, I managed to fumble around and find some more change. Again, I thought to myself, I outdo myself with my generosity. I carried on walking along George, trying to avoid the onslaught of suits so I wouldn't collide with one of them and find myself on the wrong side of a briefcase wielding monster. As I came to Wynard station, by Bar 333, there sat a third homeless man outside the 7/11. By this time, I had well and truly been raped of loose change and had nothing to offer. I felt horrible. I felt like I had been favouritist with who I had chosen to donate to. What if I had chosen the wrong ones? What if this third man needed my 50 cents more than the others? By this point, there was only one thing left to do: keep walking and avoid eye contact. I'm not fucking made of money.
And that is why it's impossible to save in Sydney.
There's the resident on the corner of George opposite Supre that I really want to buy some socks for. I saw him on my way home from work the other night and he had no socks on. He had a sleeping bag and a big cardboard sign and a jacket and even a little makeshift seat. But no socks. In this weather, I struggle with my shoes on let alone barefoot. I am still contemplating whether it's patronising to buy a stranger socks. What if he thinks I'm a condescending moron and throws them back in my face? His corner is pretty busy, it would most definitely cause a scene. I may have to bite the bullet and put his poor feet first. Screw my own dignity, socks are a must. When I have come to a decision, I will let you know.
Aside from the various array of men in my life, there is another prominent reason why I find myself short on funds. It is the same reason I ended up with a 70 pound library fine at university and it is the reason I should never be allowed to borrow things with a time limit on them. On Tuesday I rented eight DVDs. Rachel Getting Married was due back Friday and it is now Monday morning. I've managed to watch a grand total of 10 minutes. I have watched two out of eight DVDs. Last week one of my housemates took Hunger back for me because he is kind and I am lazy. If he hadn't taken it back, I don't doubt it'd still be sat in the pile of unwatched gems under the TV and my fine would be verging on beating my record.
I met Krista in Bondi last week and we had a chat about January and our fun travel plans. She wants to start looking at cars next month. Oh yes, because the homeless population will have surely been housed by then, and my DVD shop will most definitely have closed down. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save with all of these lurking problems. There is always a setback: a week of rain that makes it impossible for me to walk to work. I MUST get a taxi. What's that? Umbrella? Unreliable. Bus? Unpredictable. Or maybe there is my inability to time manage. I'll get up at 1, sit down for a minute, then hey presto! It's 4.30 and I'm due at work in an hour and a half. Whoever said there aren't enough hours in the day was dead on. I will be indebted forever to the person who can conjure up a real life version of Bernard's Watch. Yes, that is a challenge. I propose you, Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof.
In other news, I've nearly finished Atonement. I manage to cram a few precious pages in a day on the way into Bondi for work experience. I hate it. I made such a fatal error by watching the film first because it's ruined the ending. I did a terrible thing when I first started reading. I actually want to punch myself in the face for it. I flicked to the back and read the end. I figured, hey, I know it anyway, it's not really cheating. But now I know what happens and it's like when you scream at some really dogshit horror film in spite of yourself.. "What is she doing?...what are you doing? Why are you going into the derelict abandoned house alone...Well now the power's gone out...Run. Go back. For fuck's sake! Run! RUN!!! Oh, now you're dead. WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU." Except in this instance it's more like "No Robbie, don't go looking for the twins alone. Go with Cecilia and Leon. No. Don't. No Robbie, don't go alone! Briony, you didn't see him, please don't say you did...you KNOW you didn't!! Oh, for fuck's sake. There goes the fucking happy ending." You know it's going to happen, it's fate, written in the stars. But that doesn't stop you willing it not to. Therefore Atonement, as beautifully written as it is, has been a horribly unpleasant experience and I almost want to do a Joey from Friends and put it in the freezer and forget about it forever.
I heard Meet Me on the Equinox and I have forgiven Death Cab for putting it on the Twilight soundtrack AND having every gossip rag in the world's new favourite awkward couple in the video. I forgive them because it's really fucking good. I forgive them because I went back and listened to Narrow Stairs after and it was like my ears had a holy epiphany.
I wrote a half post about all that music piracy shit Lily Allen started spouting off about at home but now she's decided to back the fuck off, it kinda seems a little redundant. I might finish it anyway, I felt fairly articulate. I want to do one about film journalism too. Unfortunately my mind isn't in a very clever state so I fear my blogs will get consistently less witty, more trivial and far more boring. I have succeeded with this one, I know, I know. Hush.
We watched Election today. It was good.
And also, if you haven't seen this, it's fascinating. Promise.
Targets for next post:
- Be more coherent.
- Allow less brain farts.
- At least try and be interesting.
- Up the wit.
I am going to go to some of Crave and maybe I'll buy a camera and take photos of all the cool shit going on in the city next month. Or I won't and will just post a really boring blog about some film I've seen instead. I'm also going to do a blog about things that grip my shit as a bartender. Number one is going to be when people put their crappy change ON the bar rather than IN my hand which is RIGHT THERE. Number two will be lousy tippers. Number three will be everybody else. Over an' out.
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