I hope you guys have noticed that I have been away for a little while.
The third term of school ended last week, and so last Saturday my family and I went camping in Port Gregory. Port Gregory is a fishing town with about thirty people, a caravan park, a General Store with some seriously good fish and chips aand....not much else, all next to a BRIGHT PINK lake (it's called the Pink Lake, how ironic/imaginative) that is about thirty times bigger than the town itself. We took the dogs with us, which means we weren't allowed in to quite a few places, unless one of us stayed with the dogs - but I swear, my dogs are better behaved than your kids.
And so...I lived in a tent for four nights. We drove to Kalbarri. Our front windscreen became the final resting place of about three zillion suicidal flies who landed splat on the windscreen. We adapted my favourite card game, Uno, so that we could play it with normal cards, and we ate waaay too much fish and chips.
In Kalbarri we ran into one of my classmates from primary school, and his mother. I have known this boy since we were about five or six years old - and in my mind he's always a little blond boy, the only popular kid who ever bothered to be nice to me, the one that all the girls started drooling over the day we all turned nine (I won't say if I was one of them.)
But man he has changed. He's always been taller than me, but now he's even taller than my dad, who is nearly six foot. His voice is so low it's a bit like talking to Darth Vader. He's more man than boy, which clashes with my mental image of him - a couple of months ago I ran into another former classmate, and he had shot up too, complete with the Darth Vader voice. But, he's still the same guy. We had a little chat and he met my baby Bella, who is now exhausted (although all she ever did on the trip was sleep) and fast asleep on a pile of dirty laundry.
Oh, and I went horse riding! Like, proper cantering, on my own horse, on a trail ride. Only I was stuck behind this really slow horse so my horse was 'fast trotting' instead of 'cantering' - cantering sounds scarier but actually the fast trot is scariest because your feet fall out of the stirrups and you're bouncing up and down like a jackhammer and I nearly fell off.
Do I like the country? Yes. Could I live there? No. I haven't lived in the country since I was two years old, and two years of infancy is not really enough to turn one into a proper country girl. Although I have often dreamed of living on a ranch and owning horses and riding every day, I know now that it would probably have to be part of my English dream - the outback in Australia is wild and rustic and beautiful, but also sweltering hot and full of flies and mosquitos, something I notice is wonderfully absent in cooler climates. And, also, I'm a YouTube fiend of the highest order. I'm a lipstick and eyebrow-pencil kind of girl. I'm the kind of kid who needs fast internet and air conditioned shopping malls and I'm not afraid or ashamed of the fact. I'm a city girl who happens to like the country. I love going camping with my family, I love experiencing things that I don't get to experience in my normal every day schoolgirl life. But I'm always relieved when I get back.
At the moment I'm blogging (obviously) with a horseback-riding-induced backache and very sore legs. My face, which was breaking out epically during my trip, has welcomed my return to my Body Shop skincare products with open arms. I smell of pinetarsol because I had to take a pinetarsol bath for all the damn mosquito bites that now decorate my ankles and legs. I'm tired, in pain, but happy, so happy.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Impossible.
Don't be silly,
That can't be done
It's impossible,
Just not probable
Try and be realistic, dear.
Don't be silly,
Don't tell me it can't be done,
It's not impossible,
People have done it before,
I am being realistic, here.
Don't be silly,
Don't you know who I am?
I am woman, hear me roar.
I might not be the mighty moon
But I'm a star,
Burning just as bright.
Don't be silly,
I know it can be done
It's near impossible,
But not altogether improbable
It might not be realistic,
But they're dreams that'll come true, dear.
That can't be done
It's impossible,
Just not probable
Try and be realistic, dear.
Don't be silly,
Don't tell me it can't be done,
It's not impossible,
People have done it before,
I am being realistic, here.
Don't be silly,
Don't you know who I am?
I am woman, hear me roar.
I might not be the mighty moon
But I'm a star,
Burning just as bright.
Don't be silly,
I know it can be done
It's near impossible,
But not altogether improbable
It might not be realistic,
But they're dreams that'll come true, dear.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Asian Grocery Stores
I have spent way too much of my life in Asian grocery stores. But you must admit, they're fascinating places.
Asian grocery stores, as far as about 99% of the Asian population is concerned, are the only places that sell edible food. Asian stores are filled with strange and exotic smells. Shelves and shelves of tins of weird looking foodstuffs with Chinese labels badly translated into English. Just reading these labels would take a year and you would die of laughter halfway through anyway.
Frequent trips to Asian grocery stores are inevitable when you grow up in an Asian family, but I don't like them much. It's full of old Asian people who garble Cantonese at you, and then start yelling in more Cantonese because you don't understand a word. It's about crammed spaces, and the entire place reeks of cheap incense. People chatter away in all sorts of rough Chinese dialects, changing abruptly, disconcertingly, to English whenever convenient, then back to Chinese again. It's about little children with better Chinese than mine (which is not hard), it's about...well, it's about Asian grocery stores.
Asian grocery stores, as far as about 99% of the Asian population is concerned, are the only places that sell edible food. Asian stores are filled with strange and exotic smells. Shelves and shelves of tins of weird looking foodstuffs with Chinese labels badly translated into English. Just reading these labels would take a year and you would die of laughter halfway through anyway.
Frequent trips to Asian grocery stores are inevitable when you grow up in an Asian family, but I don't like them much. It's full of old Asian people who garble Cantonese at you, and then start yelling in more Cantonese because you don't understand a word. It's about crammed spaces, and the entire place reeks of cheap incense. People chatter away in all sorts of rough Chinese dialects, changing abruptly, disconcertingly, to English whenever convenient, then back to Chinese again. It's about little children with better Chinese than mine (which is not hard), it's about...well, it's about Asian grocery stores.
Acting Good.
Our school has become somewhat of a tourist attraction, our visitors comprising largely of prospective students and their parents, most of which can be divided into two categories: impatiently demanding Asians and ex-privates who have realized that belief in God does not necessarily link to academic excellence.
School is hard work, but there are some times when we are doing something but looking like we're doing nothing, and there are some times that we look like we're doing nothing because we really are doing nothing. It is in these times that we condone the 'heads down, bums up, pretend to be good' approach.
It's actually quite funny, you know, putting on this charade of deep thought and intelligent discussion, hiding iPods and juiceboxes and all the rest under the table.
The thing is, our school is a normal school. Of course people fall asleep at the back of class. Of course we have classes where we don't do anything. I don't see why we should hide that, photoshop it out of the picture.
But that's just how things go these days - if you don't like it, don't change it, don't even get rid of it, just pretend that it's not there.
School is hard work, but there are some times when we are doing something but looking like we're doing nothing, and there are some times that we look like we're doing nothing because we really are doing nothing. It is in these times that we condone the 'heads down, bums up, pretend to be good' approach.
It's actually quite funny, you know, putting on this charade of deep thought and intelligent discussion, hiding iPods and juiceboxes and all the rest under the table.
The thing is, our school is a normal school. Of course people fall asleep at the back of class. Of course we have classes where we don't do anything. I don't see why we should hide that, photoshop it out of the picture.
But that's just how things go these days - if you don't like it, don't change it, don't even get rid of it, just pretend that it's not there.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Audiences.
As a performer, I must admit audiences are highly annoying.
There is always a screaming baby. What is the damn point of bringing a baby?
There is always a dad with a really noisy camera and a really tall tripod.
There is always a mum that waves her arms like a windmill and calls 'HEIIII HUNNYBUNS I'M HERE!!!!' to a poor unfortunate child on stage.
There are always whining five year olds waging world war three in row J.
There is always an old folk preaching an 'in my day...' speech to another old folk.
There is always a parent that goes, during my item (Chamber Strings): 'Is this THE Perth Modern School Orchestra?' and there is always a parent that replies 'No, this is the lower one.'
There is always a blonde trophy wife that goes 'Why is an Asian leading the orchestra?'
There is always a misogynistic asshole that goes 'Why is a girl leading the orchestra?'
There is always a family that leaves immediately after their child's item is finished. This family is normally huge and Asian. Talk about giving us a bad name.
There is always a family that arrives just before their child's item is starting.
There is always a person who says 'Isn't the concert dress lovely? (It's not. You try wearing it.
There is always a person who says 'Doesn't that girl at the front look kind of chubby?' (You try looking skinny in the aforesaid concert dresses.)
There is always a person who says 'I don't understand why they're allowed in here' (the refectory during intermission for snacks). You try performing on an empty stumach.
There is always a person who says 'What a pity Perth Modern isn't a music school anymore.' Last time I checked we're still one of the top music schools in the state.
There is always a parent that goes 'Did you see my son? He in fifth grade already lah.'
And the list goes on. That's school concerts for you - and that's just the audience.
There is always a screaming baby. What is the damn point of bringing a baby?
There is always a dad with a really noisy camera and a really tall tripod.
There is always a mum that waves her arms like a windmill and calls 'HEIIII HUNNYBUNS I'M HERE!!!!' to a poor unfortunate child on stage.
There are always whining five year olds waging world war three in row J.
There is always an old folk preaching an 'in my day...' speech to another old folk.
There is always a parent that goes, during my item (Chamber Strings): 'Is this THE Perth Modern School Orchestra?' and there is always a parent that replies 'No, this is the lower one.'
There is always a blonde trophy wife that goes 'Why is an Asian leading the orchestra?'
There is always a misogynistic asshole that goes 'Why is a girl leading the orchestra?'
There is always a family that leaves immediately after their child's item is finished. This family is normally huge and Asian. Talk about giving us a bad name.
There is always a family that arrives just before their child's item is starting.
There is always a person who says 'Isn't the concert dress lovely? (It's not. You try wearing it.
There is always a person who says 'Doesn't that girl at the front look kind of chubby?' (You try looking skinny in the aforesaid concert dresses.)
There is always a person who says 'I don't understand why they're allowed in here' (the refectory during intermission for snacks). You try performing on an empty stumach.
There is always a person who says 'What a pity Perth Modern isn't a music school anymore.' Last time I checked we're still one of the top music schools in the state.
There is always a parent that goes 'Did you see my son? He in fifth grade already lah.'
And the list goes on. That's school concerts for you - and that's just the audience.
Kiss Me Like You Mean It.
This is sorta kinda inspired by Annabelle Crapp's latest column on the ABC website.
Girls are big fans of 'kiss me like you mean it'. Boys don't understand 'kiss me like you mean it'. So I'll explain it.
Kiss me like you mean it is basically, I don't care what the end product is, just do it with love. Us girls are so crazy over this idea that we have actually written a song about it:
Boys don't get it. It's the whole men are from Mars, women are from Venus, and Lady Renegade is from Pluto thing. The thing is, according to dear Miss Miley Cyrus:
It doesn't matter what you do in life, as long as you appear to enjoy yourself on the way. Men in particular don't actually care how they get some, they just want some. This is a main disfunctionality in many heterosexual relationships.
Woman: Chrissy's husband always gets her flowers. You never buy me flowers.
Man: Fine, I'll get you flowers. What kind of flowers do you want?
Woman: Forget it. I don't want any damn flowers.
Man: Then why did you ask for them?
Woman: I shouldn't have to ask, that's the thing. Chrissy's husband always gets her flowers. You never buy me flowers.
etc, etc.
You see, women expect men to read minds and men expect women to tell them what they want, but there's a catch: they're not meant to look too needy, and so women don't ask and therefore men don't get and then we start the whole cycle again. The resolution from my point of view is that all men should be Edward Cullen and all solarium booths would go out of business.
I'm not really making a lot of sense here. I'll blog a bit more today. I feel like writing.
Girls are big fans of 'kiss me like you mean it'. Boys don't understand 'kiss me like you mean it'. So I'll explain it.
Kiss me like you mean it is basically, I don't care what the end product is, just do it with love. Us girls are so crazy over this idea that we have actually written a song about it:
Boys don't get it. It's the whole men are from Mars, women are from Venus, and Lady Renegade is from Pluto thing. The thing is, according to dear Miss Miley Cyrus:
It doesn't matter what you do in life, as long as you appear to enjoy yourself on the way. Men in particular don't actually care how they get some, they just want some. This is a main disfunctionality in many heterosexual relationships.
Woman: Chrissy's husband always gets her flowers. You never buy me flowers.
Man: Fine, I'll get you flowers. What kind of flowers do you want?
Woman: Forget it. I don't want any damn flowers.
Man: Then why did you ask for them?
Woman: I shouldn't have to ask, that's the thing. Chrissy's husband always gets her flowers. You never buy me flowers.
etc, etc.
You see, women expect men to read minds and men expect women to tell them what they want, but there's a catch: they're not meant to look too needy, and so women don't ask and therefore men don't get and then we start the whole cycle again. The resolution from my point of view is that all men should be Edward Cullen and all solarium booths would go out of business.
I'm not really making a lot of sense here. I'll blog a bit more today. I feel like writing.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Big Girls, You are Beautiful.
I'll admit it. I'm curvy.
It took me a long time to start to love my body. I grew up in a world of stick thin blonde barbiedolls. I grew up with lots of athletic girls and lots of girls who didn't eat anything. It's not hard to feel fat in this world.
And when you look at the red carpet, you feel as though if you have a belly, or a bum, or boobs, you'll never be successful. Sure, there are curvy women strutting their stuff (some are below), but they're swamped by peroxide-blonde skeletons, that look as though they'd disintigrate if you blew on them. Those stick insects that make you feel like you'll never be one of the rich and famous. It's demoralizing, really.
But now I'm proud to say that yes, I've got hips and yes, I've got boobs and a stomach and a bum. I have stretch marks, I have scars of all sorts. My legs get hairy when I don't shave them. I'm a woman, and I'm a human being. Hear me roar.
And so, for all you big girls out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!
Kelly Clarkson, former American Idol winner
Jordin Sparks, former American Idol winner
America Ferrera, star of Ugly Betty
Scarlett Johansson, actress
...Just some of many stars proving that the odd meal and the spotlight can go well together.
BIG GIRLS YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!!!!
It took me a long time to start to love my body. I grew up in a world of stick thin blonde barbiedolls. I grew up with lots of athletic girls and lots of girls who didn't eat anything. It's not hard to feel fat in this world.
And when you look at the red carpet, you feel as though if you have a belly, or a bum, or boobs, you'll never be successful. Sure, there are curvy women strutting their stuff (some are below), but they're swamped by peroxide-blonde skeletons, that look as though they'd disintigrate if you blew on them. Those stick insects that make you feel like you'll never be one of the rich and famous. It's demoralizing, really.
But now I'm proud to say that yes, I've got hips and yes, I've got boobs and a stomach and a bum. I have stretch marks, I have scars of all sorts. My legs get hairy when I don't shave them. I'm a woman, and I'm a human being. Hear me roar.
And so, for all you big girls out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!
...Just some of many stars proving that the odd meal and the spotlight can go well together.
BIG GIRLS YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!!!!
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Burn a Koran Day.
This really makes me feel sick.
The whole idea is that in remembrance of the 9/11 victims, this stupid church in America is going to burn 200 copies of the Koran. Way to go, assholes. I think all the 9/11 victims just died again.
First of all, blaming Muslims for the 9/11 attacks is like, I dunno, blaming the entire Asian population because that crackhead called Chairman Mao happened to be Asian. I've said this over and over, and so has like HALF THE FREAKING WORLD, but people still don't get it. There are good men and bad men. There are good women and bad women. There are good whites and bad whites. There are good blacks and bad blacks. There are good Christians and bad Christians. There are good Muslims and bad Muslims. There are good people and bad people, and good and bad are not connected by race, religion or sex. Why can't people get that already?
Second of all, the Koran is a sacred book for the Islamic community. Burning 200 copies of the Koran because of the 9/11 is like burning 200 Bibles because of, I dunno, I can think of heaps of shit some Christians have done. I'm not religious and I don't like religion, but this is going way too far. Oh, and by burning Korans not only do you piss off the Muslims who did do the 9/11 attacks, you'll also piss of the Muslims who didn't. Way to go, guys.
Why are people so narrow minded? I'm me, you're you. I have my beliefs, you have your beliefs. Why do we provoke what ought to be left alone? Why do we do what we ought not to do? Why don't we jump to conclusions, condemn a million for the evil act of one? Two wrongs don't make a right, I thought we all knew that.
I say again and again, Islam is not a violent religion. It is not a religion that endorses bloodshed or warfare or carnage. Just like Christianity does not. But, inevitably, all religions get caught in some battle or another. What are we going to do, hate Christians for the Crusades? Hate Europe because of the colonization? Hate others just for being?
For everybody involved in the Burn a Koran Day, here's a big **** you. If you're Christian, then you'll believe that we are all Children of God, so why do you fight your own brothers in Christ? There is no earthly justification for provoking violence from a community you neither respect nor understand. If you burn a Koran, of course shit is going to happen, just like if I burned a Bible I don't expect to walk away from that hate-free.
But then, I also have a message for you extremists. Look at what you've created. Are you proud, now that you've sparked people into burning your sacred book? Are you proud?
Think about it. A bloody fourteen year old has more religious tolerance than anyone involved in this stupid Burn a Koran Day bull. A fourteen year old with no rights, and no voice, thinks beyond the childish I burn you burn that's being going on for ages between Christianity and Islam. You're no better than a fourteen year old. A good deal worse, in fact.
The whole idea is that in remembrance of the 9/11 victims, this stupid church in America is going to burn 200 copies of the Koran. Way to go, assholes. I think all the 9/11 victims just died again.
First of all, blaming Muslims for the 9/11 attacks is like, I dunno, blaming the entire Asian population because that crackhead called Chairman Mao happened to be Asian. I've said this over and over, and so has like HALF THE FREAKING WORLD, but people still don't get it. There are good men and bad men. There are good women and bad women. There are good whites and bad whites. There are good blacks and bad blacks. There are good Christians and bad Christians. There are good Muslims and bad Muslims. There are good people and bad people, and good and bad are not connected by race, religion or sex. Why can't people get that already?
Second of all, the Koran is a sacred book for the Islamic community. Burning 200 copies of the Koran because of the 9/11 is like burning 200 Bibles because of, I dunno, I can think of heaps of shit some Christians have done. I'm not religious and I don't like religion, but this is going way too far. Oh, and by burning Korans not only do you piss off the Muslims who did do the 9/11 attacks, you'll also piss of the Muslims who didn't. Way to go, guys.
Why are people so narrow minded? I'm me, you're you. I have my beliefs, you have your beliefs. Why do we provoke what ought to be left alone? Why do we do what we ought not to do? Why don't we jump to conclusions, condemn a million for the evil act of one? Two wrongs don't make a right, I thought we all knew that.
I say again and again, Islam is not a violent religion. It is not a religion that endorses bloodshed or warfare or carnage. Just like Christianity does not. But, inevitably, all religions get caught in some battle or another. What are we going to do, hate Christians for the Crusades? Hate Europe because of the colonization? Hate others just for being?
For everybody involved in the Burn a Koran Day, here's a big **** you. If you're Christian, then you'll believe that we are all Children of God, so why do you fight your own brothers in Christ? There is no earthly justification for provoking violence from a community you neither respect nor understand. If you burn a Koran, of course shit is going to happen, just like if I burned a Bible I don't expect to walk away from that hate-free.
But then, I also have a message for you extremists. Look at what you've created. Are you proud, now that you've sparked people into burning your sacred book? Are you proud?
Think about it. A bloody fourteen year old has more religious tolerance than anyone involved in this stupid Burn a Koran Day bull. A fourteen year old with no rights, and no voice, thinks beyond the childish I burn you burn that's being going on for ages between Christianity and Islam. You're no better than a fourteen year old. A good deal worse, in fact.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
2010 Federal Election: Updated
Okay, so some of you may remember one of my earlier posts in which I detailed the people and events of and leading up to the election.
The election is now considered over, and so, here's an updated account.
The rules: There are 150 electorates in Australia, and each is represented by an MP which means that there are 150 MPs in the Federal Lower House - so, 150 MPs from 150 electorates sit in the 150 seats in parliament. In order to win power one party must have the majority - that is, 76 MPs (half, plus one.) The recent election was so close we ended up with something like 72 seats each to the two major parties ALP and the Liberal/National Coalition, with Greens and Independents holding the balance of power. So the two major parties has spent a good week or more trying to woo the said Greens and Independents. Now they've finally decided, so perhaps it is a good idea that we get to know them and their decisions.
MEET THE MOST POWERFUL MEN IN AUSTRALIA AT THE MO':
The Honourable Bob Katter, Independent MP for Kennedy: also known as 'Katter the mad Hatter', this extremely eccentric politician was originally a member of the National Party, but had a massive dispute and is now an Independent who hates the Nationals, in particular Barnaby Joyce. Despite being eccentric, Katter is extremely conservative and represents an extremely conservative electorate (his electorate, incidentally, is massive - about the size of Spain, I am told. Geographically, not, like, population wise). So, despite his dislike of the National party, he's sided with the Coalition.
The Honourable Adam Bandt, Greens MP for Melbourne: ousted the ALP in the super hip and trendy inner Melbourne electorate. Adam Bandt was (I think) the first of the Greens/Independents to declare his support of ALP (the ALP and Greens have strong ties - not quite a coalition, but still, strong.)
The Honourable Andrew Wilkie, Independent MP for Denison: Tony Abbot made a big boo-boo here in offering billions for Andrew Wilkie's two requests: refurbishing a hospital and a resolution to problem gambling. Nobody knows where the hell Tony Abbot is going to get this money from. Julia Gillard's offer was in the millions, but it comes out of her proposed Health scheme, and she's also promised a commitment to reducing problem gambling. Tony Abbot now has a reputation of a reckless try-hard weirdo (amongst other things), but Julia at least is taking a sensible approach.
The Honourable Rob Oakeshott, Independent MP for Lyne: Another independent. I don't know much about him other than he came to his senses and voted for the ALP. Former National.
The Honourable Tony Windsor, Independent MP for New England: Another former National, Tony Windsor has a particular dislike of the party, especially it's former leader, Barnaby Joyce. Supports the ALP.
To get an idea on how crazy this week has been, with 'the useless duck mounted on a faceless man' (Julia) and 'the stutterer mounted on his twelve-speed' trying to woo these MPs, here is a song from the last Yes We Canberra! episode, about dear old Bobby Katter:
...which shows that even one of the most powerful political men of the time still don't get any respect in Australia.
Some things about the song:
The election is now considered over, and so, here's an updated account.
The rules: There are 150 electorates in Australia, and each is represented by an MP which means that there are 150 MPs in the Federal Lower House - so, 150 MPs from 150 electorates sit in the 150 seats in parliament. In order to win power one party must have the majority - that is, 76 MPs (half, plus one.) The recent election was so close we ended up with something like 72 seats each to the two major parties ALP and the Liberal/National Coalition, with Greens and Independents holding the balance of power. So the two major parties has spent a good week or more trying to woo the said Greens and Independents. Now they've finally decided, so perhaps it is a good idea that we get to know them and their decisions.
MEET THE MOST POWERFUL MEN IN AUSTRALIA AT THE MO':
The Honourable Bob Katter, Independent MP for Kennedy: also known as 'Katter the mad Hatter', this extremely eccentric politician was originally a member of the National Party, but had a massive dispute and is now an Independent who hates the Nationals, in particular Barnaby Joyce. Despite being eccentric, Katter is extremely conservative and represents an extremely conservative electorate (his electorate, incidentally, is massive - about the size of Spain, I am told. Geographically, not, like, population wise). So, despite his dislike of the National party, he's sided with the Coalition.
The Honourable Adam Bandt, Greens MP for Melbourne: ousted the ALP in the super hip and trendy inner Melbourne electorate. Adam Bandt was (I think) the first of the Greens/Independents to declare his support of ALP (the ALP and Greens have strong ties - not quite a coalition, but still, strong.)
The Honourable Andrew Wilkie, Independent MP for Denison: Tony Abbot made a big boo-boo here in offering billions for Andrew Wilkie's two requests: refurbishing a hospital and a resolution to problem gambling. Nobody knows where the hell Tony Abbot is going to get this money from. Julia Gillard's offer was in the millions, but it comes out of her proposed Health scheme, and she's also promised a commitment to reducing problem gambling. Tony Abbot now has a reputation of a reckless try-hard weirdo (amongst other things), but Julia at least is taking a sensible approach.
The Honourable Rob Oakeshott, Independent MP for Lyne: Another independent. I don't know much about him other than he came to his senses and voted for the ALP. Former National.
The Honourable Tony Windsor, Independent MP for New England: Another former National, Tony Windsor has a particular dislike of the party, especially it's former leader, Barnaby Joyce. Supports the ALP.
To get an idea on how crazy this week has been, with 'the useless duck mounted on a faceless man' (Julia) and 'the stutterer mounted on his twelve-speed' trying to woo these MPs, here is a song from the last Yes We Canberra! episode, about dear old Bobby Katter:
...which shows that even one of the most powerful political men of the time still don't get any respect in Australia.
Some things about the song:
- The song: Is a rendition of Waltzing Matilda, the unnofficial national anthem of Australia (the official anthem is Advance Australia Fair, which replaced the British anthem God Save the Queen).
- Madman: Bob Katter is known, amongst other things, as 'Katter the Mad Hatter'.
- Camping by billabongs: Bob Katter is a country MP, and a grazier.
- Acubra (or three): Bob Katter's trademark are his ridiculously enormous hats.
- Permits for billy-boiling: One of Katter's most recent quotes is that he complains that you 'cant even boil a billy these days', or words to that effect - reference to the super-strict fire-prevention rules in Australia.
- Faceless men: nickname for the people who ousted Kevin Rudd, and have basically hijacked all power in the Labor government, but we don't know who they are but Julia has to keep them happy or she'll get ousted too.
- Banana imports: most Australian farmers are strongly against importation of...anything, really.
- Courting: unofficial term for the ALP and the Coalition trying to win the support of the Independents.
- Stutterer: Tony Abbot is known for being a bit of a big mouth: this in turn has earned him a reputation as a heartless sexist psychotic weirdo. So during this campaign, in which he had to woo everyone he had pissed off in the last decade or so, he constantly had to watch his tongue, which led to some pretty spectacular stutters.
- Twelve-speed: which is a bike, btw. Tony Abbot is known for doing ridiculous amounts of exercise but not having the body to match.
- Climate-deniers: people who don't believe in climate change caused by human activity (i.e. most of the Coalition).
- 'jolly dumb(beep): All the Independents hate Barnaby Joyce. So do I. So does the entire nation, really.
- Camping, fishing, shooting: all of these activites are strictly controlled by environmental laws, and all the old-fashion folk think it's impinging on culture or whatever. Do you know Australia has the worst track record when it comes to species suddenly dying on us?
- Billybong: slang for drugs.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
I came, I saw, I wrote.
You may have surmised by now that I really, really, like writing.
I also like to think I'm quite good at it.
Writing is not something everyone can do. Just like I can't wrap my head around chemical equations and algebra, some people are simply born to write. Others...not. A simple fact of life we all try to overlook is that we're all born for something. I was born to write.
I've been writing since I was a little girl - I read Harry Potter when I was four and I have been endeavouring to write since. Most of the stuff I wrote was utter rubbish, but it was the fun I had whilst doing it that counted. Nearly all of my academic achievements I put towards my writing ability.
When I was little I had a stutter - my grandfather, who didn't speak a word of English but knew I was stuttering nonetheless - used to say that it was because my thoughts were too fast for my mouth. And that still holds true, sometimes - my mind and my mouth are horribly out of sync - this leads to stuttering, random brain farts, jumbled sentences that make no sense, and the wrong thing coming out at the wrong time resulting in lots of crying oversensitive teenagers. My brain did not have a cable, an output, fast enough until my hands learnt how to touch type - and that's how I write these days, just touch typing very fast and very badly - murdering the backspace button is my speciality, and the 'N' on the n key has nearly entirely rubbed off :(
I write all sorts - I blog, obviously, whenever I can, and I also write songs (but I'm hopeless at the music) and poems. I love poetry, it's my excuse to be dramatic. My blog has helped my writing significantly as it has made me write on a regular basis (a very important thing when it comes to writing) and also helped me to gage what people find interesting and what people do not.
The reason why I haven't been posting in the last couple of days, and the reason why, sadly, I may not be posting as frequently as I used to, is that I am actually writing a book, which I hope will be aimed for the publishers. It is my biggest project, and I consider it my best - I mean, most of my projects crash and burn after about two chapters - and I'm really enjoying writing it, because it explores lots of psychological, moral, ethical, religious, social and legal issues concerning unorthodox relationships. That's all I'm going to say about it, except for one other thing: the inspiration for one of my main characters is Sam Worthington (see my shrine) and the other character is based on me and a little bit on my life. That's all, my lips are sealed until hopefully (fingers crossed) I get to see my book on the shelf of a bookstore, hopefully being bought by somebody.
A lot of people ask me tips on writing - I'm not quite sure why, because I'm not a published author nor a very experienced one, but because people ask me so much, well, here goes:
I also like to think I'm quite good at it.
Writing is not something everyone can do. Just like I can't wrap my head around chemical equations and algebra, some people are simply born to write. Others...not. A simple fact of life we all try to overlook is that we're all born for something. I was born to write.
I've been writing since I was a little girl - I read Harry Potter when I was four and I have been endeavouring to write since. Most of the stuff I wrote was utter rubbish, but it was the fun I had whilst doing it that counted. Nearly all of my academic achievements I put towards my writing ability.
When I was little I had a stutter - my grandfather, who didn't speak a word of English but knew I was stuttering nonetheless - used to say that it was because my thoughts were too fast for my mouth. And that still holds true, sometimes - my mind and my mouth are horribly out of sync - this leads to stuttering, random brain farts, jumbled sentences that make no sense, and the wrong thing coming out at the wrong time resulting in lots of crying oversensitive teenagers. My brain did not have a cable, an output, fast enough until my hands learnt how to touch type - and that's how I write these days, just touch typing very fast and very badly - murdering the backspace button is my speciality, and the 'N' on the n key has nearly entirely rubbed off :(
I write all sorts - I blog, obviously, whenever I can, and I also write songs (but I'm hopeless at the music) and poems. I love poetry, it's my excuse to be dramatic. My blog has helped my writing significantly as it has made me write on a regular basis (a very important thing when it comes to writing) and also helped me to gage what people find interesting and what people do not.
The reason why I haven't been posting in the last couple of days, and the reason why, sadly, I may not be posting as frequently as I used to, is that I am actually writing a book, which I hope will be aimed for the publishers. It is my biggest project, and I consider it my best - I mean, most of my projects crash and burn after about two chapters - and I'm really enjoying writing it, because it explores lots of psychological, moral, ethical, religious, social and legal issues concerning unorthodox relationships. That's all I'm going to say about it, except for one other thing: the inspiration for one of my main characters is Sam Worthington (see my shrine) and the other character is based on me and a little bit on my life. That's all, my lips are sealed until hopefully (fingers crossed) I get to see my book on the shelf of a bookstore, hopefully being bought by somebody.
A lot of people ask me tips on writing - I'm not quite sure why, because I'm not a published author nor a very experienced one, but because people ask me so much, well, here goes:
- A lot of people say to write what you know and know what you write - for me that means everything I write is inevitably a rewording of Twilight. My personal tip would be to incorporate what you do know, like settings and scenarios and characters you're familiar with, with things that you don't know, to make things more interesting for both you and the reader.
- Not everybody can write. That's the long and short of it.
- Originality is very hard, but essential, especially if you are looking at having your work published or released to the public in any form. My suggestion is to read lots, but whilst you're writing something of a particular genre avoid reading anything of that particular genre until your work is finished. This way you get elements of other genres influencing your work, which makes it more interesting.
- Make sure you keep looking at your work from an impersonal perspective and make sure your protagonist isn't Harry Potter's long lost clone.
- Reading aloud is essential. The biggest mistake with writers is that we all seem incapable of writing exactly what is in our heads, and so many people think that what they've written is a masterpiece - and it is, although all the stuff that makes it a masterpiece is in their head. The words on the paper is a load of crap 99% of the time.
- Don't bug people to read stuff that is not school or work related. By all means, ask, but begging, pleading, threatening, blackmailing and obsessive-compulsive crying is a no-go.
- I used to be totally against planning my writing - and I still am when it comes to blog posts and pems and songs - but a story can easily go astray. Write out a rough outline (I write mine in chronological order, in dot points) that you can easily change, just to keep you roughly on track.
- There is no 'right' way to write. Any of my stories that end up decent and finished are on the short side (my current project is extremely long by my standards - I'm not yet halfway through but I've already written about 15,000 words) and characterized by frequent P.O.V changes and relatively short (about 1,000-2,000 word) chapters.
- A lot of authors disagree with me on this, but a good way to make a character relatable to is to keep descriptions short and to the point - only add things if they are necessary. Unless your book is about shoes that take over the world we don't need to know that his shoes were 'the same blue as my mother's apron, with a little scuff on the left heel and a bit missing from the right toe, with grubby laces and a bird-poo stain, which he wore on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays at precisely three p.m.'. If you could relate to a character like that then you've got issues.
- Boring endings are characteristic of authors, like me, who get a bit too attached to their characters and can't bear to let anything bad happen to them. Something has to happen. If nothing happens, it's not a book. It's a Bold and the Beautiful episode.
- Writing is a competitive art. I know so many brilliant writers out there who are terrified of sending their work to anyone, but then get jealous of people who get attention for their work because they did dare to put it out there for the world to bitch about. There is no place in writing for the weak and the shy.
- Characters should become part of you - you should love them like you would love a spouse, a best friend, a sibling or a parent, depending on what kind of character it is. If you're writing a romance especially you really do have to be in love with the love interest - I'm serious!
- Characters need to have faults and flaws. Nobody ever made a bestseller of a perfect, perfect protagonist, becuase perfect is boring. Obviously.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
High School
In Asian societies, people go a lot on hearsay. And because of my reputation as 'the smart daughter of the smart lady who goes to the smart school', I get asked a lot of questions about high school. What is high school like?
This is what high school is like.
High school is lots of pre-dawn starts - starts, as in, sometimes you leave the house when it's pitch-dark. School starts at the deceptively late-sounding time of 8:50 am, but most people travel by public transport, which means leaving the house at seven or earlier. Plus, you get psychotic music teachers who have no concept of personal lives or sleep deprivation and make you stay at school at all hours for music rehearsals.
High school is mountains of homework you never, ever, ever feel like doing - unless they're Mr Quin's essays in which case you actually enjoy yourself, for a change. The worst kind of teachers don't do anything but preach in class and make you do all the learning at home, but at least at my school those kind of teachers are relatively thin on the ground.
High school is wearing daggy uniform and laughing at the other school's even daggier uniforms. My school is a sort of dog-private school in that we look private, teachers act private, we have no private lives, but we're not private (if you live in the UK the previous sentence would have been 'My school is a sort of dog-public school in taht we look public, teachers act public, we have no public lives, but we're not public). We wear stiff, uncomfortable polo shirts, knee-length skirts we try to hitch up as high as possible and daggy white socks with black leather shoes which are roughly as heavy as the Great Wall of China.
High school is having to lug around ridiculously heavy bags wherever you go, and teachers yelling at you for putting them in the aisles when the reality is there is quite literally no-where else to put them. In primary school you could dump your bag and forget about it until the end of the school day - in high school 3 kilos beome 3000.
High school is about getting your heart broken again, and again, and again, until you reach this point of enlightenment as I have when you realize that the only kind of perving that is safe is drooling over pics of hot actors on Google images. High school is about cliques that collapse and regroup several times a second, and about 'extremely long and deep and meaningful' relationships that last for about twenty seconds, if you're lucky. High school is about failing everything you once passed in primary school. High school is about teachers making thinly-veiled stabs at each other. High school is about teachers playing favourites and making sure that you're that favourite.
High school is political, high school is bitchy, high school is fun and crazy and psychotic. High school is...well, high school.
This is what high school is like.
High school is lots of pre-dawn starts - starts, as in, sometimes you leave the house when it's pitch-dark. School starts at the deceptively late-sounding time of 8:50 am, but most people travel by public transport, which means leaving the house at seven or earlier. Plus, you get psychotic music teachers who have no concept of personal lives or sleep deprivation and make you stay at school at all hours for music rehearsals.
High school is mountains of homework you never, ever, ever feel like doing - unless they're Mr Quin's essays in which case you actually enjoy yourself, for a change. The worst kind of teachers don't do anything but preach in class and make you do all the learning at home, but at least at my school those kind of teachers are relatively thin on the ground.
High school is wearing daggy uniform and laughing at the other school's even daggier uniforms. My school is a sort of dog-private school in that we look private, teachers act private, we have no private lives, but we're not private (if you live in the UK the previous sentence would have been 'My school is a sort of dog-public school in taht we look public, teachers act public, we have no public lives, but we're not public). We wear stiff, uncomfortable polo shirts, knee-length skirts we try to hitch up as high as possible and daggy white socks with black leather shoes which are roughly as heavy as the Great Wall of China.
High school is having to lug around ridiculously heavy bags wherever you go, and teachers yelling at you for putting them in the aisles when the reality is there is quite literally no-where else to put them. In primary school you could dump your bag and forget about it until the end of the school day - in high school 3 kilos beome 3000.
High school is about getting your heart broken again, and again, and again, until you reach this point of enlightenment as I have when you realize that the only kind of perving that is safe is drooling over pics of hot actors on Google images. High school is about cliques that collapse and regroup several times a second, and about 'extremely long and deep and meaningful' relationships that last for about twenty seconds, if you're lucky. High school is about failing everything you once passed in primary school. High school is about teachers making thinly-veiled stabs at each other. High school is about teachers playing favourites and making sure that you're that favourite.
High school is political, high school is bitchy, high school is fun and crazy and psychotic. High school is...well, high school.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Safe Makeup
In Australia, any foodstuff must have every single ingredient must be clearly labelled, plus a 'best before' or 'expiry' date, for it to be legally sold. Of course, the big companies who put crap into the food they expect us to eat have a way around that - they put scientific names on the labels, just to get us nicely confused. But still, at least the ingredients are there.
The same cannot be said about cosmetics.
Think about it. You put cosmetics all over your face. You swallow about fifty percent of your lipstick. All your eye makeup goes right up into one your most delicate organs. Yet it is not a legal requirement to have every ingredient listed, or a satisfactory expiry date.
I have a makeup stash, like most women. And like most students, I don't have a lot of money to spend on makeup, so I can't buy all those posh brands that are perhaps a bit more reliable than the stuff you find in two dollar shops.
But just as it is my right to know what I am eating, I think it is my right to know what the hell I'm putting on my face. It should be a legal requirement for all cosmetics, skincare, haircare and other beauty products to have a full list of ingredients and an expiry date, no matter what the price tag is.
I know, I know. You're probably saying that I shouldn't wear makeup. But who are you to tell me that?
The same cannot be said about cosmetics.
Think about it. You put cosmetics all over your face. You swallow about fifty percent of your lipstick. All your eye makeup goes right up into one your most delicate organs. Yet it is not a legal requirement to have every ingredient listed, or a satisfactory expiry date.
I have a makeup stash, like most women. And like most students, I don't have a lot of money to spend on makeup, so I can't buy all those posh brands that are perhaps a bit more reliable than the stuff you find in two dollar shops.
But just as it is my right to know what I am eating, I think it is my right to know what the hell I'm putting on my face. It should be a legal requirement for all cosmetics, skincare, haircare and other beauty products to have a full list of ingredients and an expiry date, no matter what the price tag is.
I know, I know. You're probably saying that I shouldn't wear makeup. But who are you to tell me that?
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
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