We mean it

Potato killer

From pre-Obama. Don't worry America, you done good.

Three more days till Christmas and my spirits are soaring. Right now I am looking up vegetarian Christmas options. Its looking like a familiar scene from About a Boy mm..nutmeg loaf was it? A member of my family claimed that I had, "ruined Christmas". Yet, I am not forcing my potatoes upon them. I love my potatoes! I still cry over the time I poured mouldy cheese on a perfectly lovely cold potato, meaning I could not eat it. Sadly, I was put in charge for the menu for the all merry day. I put down potatoes, carrot, pumpkin, chicken, ham (my poor father) and mint sauce. This, apparently, does not work. From my experience with mint sauce, I thought it could go with everything, like Kelly Osbourne and her ketchup obsession. So, menu duties have been relocated to someone with a more, diligent? approach to the task. I still think mint sauce goes deliciously with potatoes, people are so closed minded.

Now comes my last minute shopping as I can never do anything on time, blessed as a procrastinator. I have no idea what to buy and have no idea what I want. Thats a first. I keep saying Johnny Depp but no one is taking me seriously.

Invisible Light

I just received my Mystery Jets tickets, delivered by a nice man in a helmet. So, I guess I can stop the worrying, the threat of crying gone and rejoice with my tiny piece of paper.

Yesterday I went to an artist talk with the wonderful Joey Piziali at the Collectors Contemporary. He gave a wonderful talk, covering all aspects of art, from inspiration, interpretation and his own works from the "Invisible Light" collection.

Piziali is sort of how you expect artists to be, seeing beauty in everything, even the mundane, quirky and very inspirational, yet still very friendly. It was a real treat, amazing, actually, to be able to talk to him and gain insight into the art world. Plus gain a sneaky signature, oops!

So go check out his work at the Collectors Contemporary till the 24th January.

She caught the wrong second of a two-second story.

I can hear my mother talking downstairs and I kind of hope she is talking to someone on the phone and not just talking to herself. Or the cat. Talking to the cat is slightly more sad than talking to yourself, as the cat cannot comprehend what you're saying, although you may think your cat is some genius and understands every word you say, really its just wondering if by looking at you in an emotional manner may lead to opening a can of Fancy Feast. Yourself on the other hand can understand what you're saying and may be able to reply. In your mind at least.

So Christmas is just around the corner. Love, peace, happiness. I know its there I just can't feel it. Even with the creepy wind up Music Carol Boxes (that make me think that when the key clunks to a stop an axe weilding murderer is going to jump out and slice us all. I explained such to others and they asked me what movies I have been watching. Well, the last was "In Her Shoes", although at times one felt like throttling some characters it was never shown or worked into the script. I believe that if this was to happen, the movie would've been a greater hit, "In Her Shoes: The Role of a Killer", something like that. I would've seen that, it sounds like the shows on the Crime Channel late at night, they're always a big hit in our family. We love our gore!) I am not a very spirited person, I need gold spray paint and acorns to feel as if I have purpose at Christmas, besides that , nothing. Or perhaps forty bucks and an attempt at finding Christmas presents that don't include a subscription to Dungeons and Dragons monthly.

If you want a dose of the excellent, I suggest you watch the English art movie, Cashback. Absoulutely stunning, soundtrack, visuals, acting, mix of comedy with drama, cutting edge stuff. I adored the movie and was utterly inspired to do something, anything, it was amazing! It follows the art student Ben (played by Sean Biggerstaff, you know the one everyone crooned over as Oliver Wood. Well, Woodys changed a whole lot) post break up with his two and half year long girlfriend. Struggling to sleep and suffering from insomnia, Ben trades in his now, extra eight hours to work in Sainsburys, trade in your hours, you get money, cashback. There his imagination and fascination with the female form, runs wild.

Features a lot of nudity, that makes sense in the art world, but would still cause an entire male class room to burst into giggles or mother into saying "pervy boy, such a pervy boy". Yet, I highly recommend this movie on so many levels. It received an Oscar nomination for its beginning as a short film in 2004, that with such positive feedback developed into a feature film. Go now!

Then we come to the other end of the spectra. Twilight. Don't go see this film. You thought the books were bad, the movie is worse, it actually made me disappointed. I set the bar oh, so, so low and I was disappointed. The ads looked reasonably okay, despite her "you're super strong blah blah blah" speech, that is just a complete squirm in your seat in embarrassment moment. Well, the whole movie is like that. Bella never looks happy, no emotion, looks as if she was just kicked and breathing through her mouth, the entire time. Not even when little lost vampire Edward states shes his "heroin". (Kudos to Kirsten Stewart for making Bella some what likable though.)Edward, well, your attempt at acting like Bella smelt, literally stank (har har har PUN!), although chemistry was some what evident, I always felt that Edward was a wide eyed idiot and Bella was a stuck up tosser, so there we go. This interpretation of Bella may be my biased opinion due to reading the book where shes so plain and clumsy and must tell us over and over again, but who cares, this is a rant, dammit. They're meant to be intelligent, this is not obvious, despite Edwards massive music collection, a sure sign of intelligence.

Carlisle and Esme slightly saved the movie but Jasper? What, Stepford? Stick up ass? What happened there? And that cut to allude to Dracula, was that warranted? I felt like hitting my head on the front of my chair. When did "spider-monkey" become a term of endearment? Scenes of them talking, supposedly romantically were truthfully boring making you wonder if they are in fact saying "pink elephant", thank you Oprah. I know its meant to be romantic, the abstinent beauty of true love but c'mon, Bella is a hormonal crazed girl who actually has Edward, like all the fan girls crave for, she wants the sex, end of story. Plus, Edwards supposed "sparkling" was like that of a European in Singapores humidity. Basically, sweaty.

The villains, were boring, not scary in the slightess manner and just proved Bella's stupidity. The end made no real sense besides to Twilighters (oh man, I am a Twilighter) and just showed the angry, ginger walking off all teary eyed in bad fur, hint, hint sequel? Really? I would have never guessed! Despite the continuous writing spirit of Stephanie Meyer to produce not one, not two, but four books of torturous romance that end rather astonishingly terribly. Basically, don't go see this movie.The lady behind me that snorted her phlegm back into her mouth was more interesting.

Time to Pretend

My 17th year on the planet. Its really amazing when you think about it, how we age and exist and such but then my mind goes all whiz-bang so I won't explain my theories to you.

At 12am on the 12th I was dragged downstairs and drunkenly sang Happy Birthday to. After, I was served cheap champagne which made my throat feel all warm and fizzly and attempted the Soulja Boy dance. Attempted being the operative word. After I went upstairs and danced to some Ska with my failed sense of timing and felt very mature. My sense of maturity differs greatly to everyone elses, it takes "Too Much, Too Young" to feel the year pass over me, creating lines in my forehead.

The next day I played twister, celebrity heads and made chocolate crackles. This made me feel slightly less mature. But still good. Except when I spent the main part of the evening with my ass in the air. This perhaps, was not a good look for me.

I finished the night with my 24th screening of About a Boy, in true birthday spirit.

In other news: The formal (public humiliation night) actually was, fun? Oh! What mess is this? Having fun at a school event? Never! But truth. I actually never got off the dance floor, mainly because that would mean walking in heels which I very nearly failed and toppled over in. The music wasn't my taste (That of the MTV generation), yet I still belted out a version of "Disturbia" knowing the lyrics consisted mainly of the creative genius of Rihannas entire song writing team to come up with "bam bam bi dum bam bam be dum dum".

Later, the night ended in a lovely bit of groping, most definetly not on my part, cheesecake and walking around sitting at bus stops yet not waiting for a bus. Which might sound poetic. But its not.

So, now, Happy Birthday to my mother and after they're dedication of "Little Ray of Sunshine" for me on my Birthday, I dedicate this to you:

In life we're all duffers chum!

Please, please, please let me get what I want.

Last time a band was sold out (damn you Death Cab For Cutie!) I began crying at the ticket counter. So lets hope for the best ey?

Much love, public humiliation tomorrow and aging rapidly Saturday.

I am David Bowieval

"Isn't it funny how Hungary is next to Turkey?"
"Em...its not"
"Shut up, its a joke, you ruined it"

TRUDY TRUDY TRUDY

Its time again, for Cats music rant.
This time I am going to comment on the some what new, English speaking French pop/rock groups and my love for them.

First I will start with the obvious.
Nouvelle Vague (New Wave).
The lovely French band that cover songs from the 80s with Latin/Caribbean infused Jazz/ Pop. The songs covered range from the beautiful "In a Manner of Speaking", smooth, brushes and light yet stunning vocals to the Echo and the Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon", which incorporates bird calls in a non-tacky way, which is a skill in itself. With Nouvelle Vague it is possible to know that they're French due to their accents and, not odd, but different pronunciations of the English language. This differs to the next band:

Neimo
The born cool guys of Neimo, despite their name reminscent of a animated clown fish, are like how rock stars should be. Stylish, assertive, definetly cool and if not a tad arrogant, but thats all the stage. I found this band whilst searching through my work experiences system, hard at work. They don't sound in the slightest French but they look French, which is a very nice thing to look.

Tahiti 80
I originally thoguht this band was English, they just felt English, sounded English and looked like a scruffy lad from Oxford, and then boom! French formed since 1993. Apparently they're very popular in Japan, they're "Big in Japan"..har har har. Basically they're kind of bubble gum pop, but still very cute, I guess thats what bubble gum pop is for. But check out they're latest song. The whole time I worried about the hamster and then at the end! Ah! Adorable!

But now from something slighty different, my favorite French band who actually speak in French, the completely fantastic and fun NAAST. Nobody, I mean nobody, well nobody I know, which means kind of nothing, know them! Unless I have hounded them to listen. They're completely underrated because they're absoulutely amazing! The best song for a good kick and jump around the house is "Tu Te Trompes", the video makes it all look so easy and carefree. I wish I was in a rock band, I mean, I long for it more than anything. This could happen if I didn't have such screwy short fingers though, I can't make the F chord, my genes have stuffed me up. Like my father, who actually has talent and is a drummer, I have drummer hands meaning the instruments I want to play, I can't because nine year olds have fingers longer than my stubs. This is true, as proven today by my Miley Cyrus worshipper friend. I can't mainly blame my so called fingers, I should also blame my laziness and procrastination of about everything, plus the fact that I spend about 90 percent of the time thinking of a band name (Bangers and Mash? No? I think its truly groovy, like the chimps, yeh?) instead of actually getting down and doing anything. I've writtens songs but they're mainly about clowns, which could work, if they're wasn't about 20 of them (borderline obsession). So I could blame that, but that would mean owning up to my faults, not things like my genes and parents so there, its my fingers fault.

Well, before I depart I shall leave you with the movie I am desperate to see showing that music CAN bring you together, perhaps only if you live in a movie but heres hope for us all. Nick and Norahs infinite playlist:


Have a good weekend. Plus this, if you see this you will have the best weekend ever.

My weekly photoshop fix

After the Bill Henson ordeal, we made images protesting about freedom in art.
Ta dah!

Images from art this year, in the unit, defining yourself, this is "me" according to me.

My basis for the print, I love photoshop:

Just check out my lycra pants

My school dance is drawing in. I guess its not just a dance, a dance is casual, easy going and shit music. The only thing that will be in this so called "dance" is the latter. That, I'm counting on.

So I finally gave in. After a worthy fight, shouts, pleas, begging on knees, I am going to my school formal. It slightly sickens me, but I'm leaving, so its kind of my last thing as a friend. Can I say that? Could I say this is a service to my friends? Is that a worthy excuse? No, there are no excuses, I have given in, surrendered. At this point, I would be called French.

Unfortunately, above all things I could possibly be worried about, I am worried about the dancing. This, as I have stated before, is because I cannot dance. After ten years of formal dance lessons, I possess no skills, no grace (I fell up stairs last week. That should not even be possible.) and no apparent ability in moving "ma body". I have attempted to practice dancing naturally. I stand in front of a mirror, click my fingers, sway and sort of stamp, whilst attempting the "provocative" hair flick. I look stupid, I feel stupid and the only thing I would be "provocative" to is a wilderbeast, and even then I'd be second pick. So thats not working.



Hoping that with the good, electro tinted music (I can't take full electro and I know that my dance will be chocked/tainted/choked with it, so I better slowly ease myself into it) of Ladyhawke (tis "Dusk till Dawn", shes one of those people who were born cool) the mood might take me and I would be the next John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever. Whilst strutting my so called "stuff" I noticed that through a gap in the window, my neighbor was watching me. I don't think she was impressed as I hoped for. Soon things will be scrawled over my mailbox, "you suck, you ginge, my grandmudda dance better dan you". Maybe not with the bad spelling/grammar, but I am compensating for gangsta speech. So then I'll reply with "your mum" in yellow spray paint across her car, because, in todays world, theres no need for witty repertoire, "your mum" seems to solve everything.

I think I'll just stand there and sway, pretending that I'm cool, indie, apathetic person, not that I can't dance for anything. Maybe, like some sort of cliche music based 80s movie, the music will take me. I'll start convulsing, unable to control myself, moving amazingly, hitting the beats, twisting, wiggling, being utter ace. A crowd will form around me, cheering, clapping, mouths on the floor. Then before I leave, everyone will be able to say my name and say my name with pride, "shes the chick who can mooooove, shes got da groove" before carrying me out on their shoulders.

That won't happen. Maybe I could pay someone to do it.

The magical, green cat

Haven't blogged in a while. I think I've developed this thing called "a life". Perhaps, maybe I'm just still lazy.

Last week was work experience, which was strangely highly insightful. I shall give you a brief run through:

Day One: Given desk. Desk had bottle of honey tucked behind the computer, I thought not to question, just to stare continuously and think of the many possibilities of its use. Briefing on company and orientation. Told that I would not be a slave and be told to make coffee. This sucked due to the fact I practisced making coffee for this. Tried to remember everyones names after giving my "firm handshake" that I worked on.Everyone had names like George and Fred, I failed and just nodded some what convincingly (most likely not convincing, more like nodding head and backing away slowly)Edited video on Cambodian monkeys. Discovered the wonders of free milo.

Day Two: Met more people, shook more hands. Created a diagram to remember names. Felt pathetic in doing so and chucked it out. Sneezed continuously but felt embarrassed to blow nose so kept sniffing. Realised this was annoying so kept tissue on nose. Realised this looked unprofessional. Went to bathroom and blew nose. Was sent home with a nice "I think you should go home". Left but not before pressing the free milo button a few times. Anarchy!

Day Three: Given breifing on everything about photojournalism. Made a cup of tea yet burnt lips thus having no feeling in them for the rest of the day. Researched photos taken in Adelaide, statement "no results were found". Went out for dinner with friends. Felt all professional asking "how was work?"

Day Four: Went on photography trip to a golf press conference. Was meant to photograph famous golfers in front of their scoreboards. Instead photographed a fly attached to a maggot on the green grass. These were later presented to my minder, perhaps more interesting than the press conference. "You have a broken arm. How does this affect you?" "mmmm...Let me ponder on this extremely obvious question"

Day Five: Mumbai attack. Enormous story. People shouting at screens. Stressed out of their mind. More cigarette breaks than usual (everyone smokes. I mean everyone.) Scared out of my mind. Read every story on anything to do with current events/trends/news on the internet to keep out of the way. Said my goodbyes. Went out with friends. Fell asleep at dinner table due to my raging partying ways. Woo!

I decided that I have ages to decide my life. I am interested in so many things and I know this is cliche and as they say, once you have to make money you change you'll change your mind but here it goes, "I'm not in it for the money". My plans in year seven consisted of nothing but a badly drawn picture of a magical cat with an arrow pointing to it, "green" it said. I can't remember if I was taking the piss, angry due to the school insisting "think of you're future speech" of if I was serious. I really, really hope I wasn't serious.

And now brings on Christmas. I should've said this earlier. Christmas decorations were put up on November 1st. Like that of an About a Boy re-run (I'm up to 26- its not obsession its just a really, really good movie) I claimed "November the 1st. November the fucking 1st!". Halloweens over and Christmas rolls in, its not holidays its just marketing. After all, as my friend stated yesterday:

"Christmas is about getting presents and a little bit about Jesus".

Now I'm not particularly religious but what is wrong with the world? I blame coca-cola and its creation of the overweight, bearded man in the red suit wearing fur lining who sneaks into our house, steals our food and has young children sitting on its lap, leaving gifts to woo young boys and girls alike. In normal terms, this man would be an eccentric weirdo, prosecuted for a number of violations against the law. Instead we praise him, encourage kids to contact him and make films about him. Its all rather sick and I am thankful that due to my older brother, dear old Santa Claus didn't exist for very long.

I guess its just because we're the consumer culture, nothing else matters. Yet perhaps life could turn out to be a Hallmark movie were we rejoice in the spirit of giving with shiny white teeth and hidden religious undertones. I'd probably hate that too but at least I'd feel some what holy.

Although, getting in the true Christmas spirit I lugged at two metre pine tree home on the public bus the other day. Usually we get out this old crappy plastic thing that after 7 years has begun to disintegrate and has lost most of its branches. On the spur of the moment, seeing these trees we bought one. So now this beautiful tree sits staring back at me and I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Its nice.

Sometimes I think about nothing

I love this website. It is utterly amazing and sums up a lot of my views on everything, especially movies (New Bond?). Plus I like this song, its Justin Heazlewood, my favorite Tasmanian.

I would blog more but I am in work experience period (not now, I am not that unprofessional) which is very, as I said "insighting ...INSIGHTFUL!! Thats what I meant to say..yep" to a colleague. Hey! First impressions count but not forever..and ever. Its pretty fun, editing videos, writing scripts and offers endless supply of bananas and milo, so heck, I'm convinced.

Now I am going to nap.

Not before my mother told me my favorite top doesn't suit me. At all. You know, after I've worn it, adored it and practically framed and bolted it to my wall, it "doesn't suit" me. Now that my friends are all becoming lawyers (I know, what is this? I despise lawyers and they're all my friends. I would say this is leading somewhere but that is a mean and cruel thing to say) I reckon I could sue for violation.

Have a good one

I wish I was a reaper

"I'm so smart, I'm practically retarded"- Mason



Possibly one of my favorite scenes. This amazing bloke also created the lovely Wonderfalls and Pushing Daisies, and of course-ly, Dead Like Me. Thank you Bryan Fuller for rooting for the freaks.

Tomorrow we have a mufti-day. But oh no, can't just be a normal mufti-day they have to give it a theme to boost the supposed fun. The theme is Rubik Cube. Yes, our dress code is that of a crappy toy created for the soul purpose to annoy you. We must dress in all one colour. For fun. Heck I am excited.

I would blog. But I'm too lazy, have a good weekend.

The primative survived. I can too.

A play set in normal house. Daughter enters. Picks up sports top. Notices red pattern on top-jumps to conclusion:

"Whys there tomato sauce on my top?"

Mother replies:
(Parent humor, sound as if caring) "I don't know, why is there tomato sauce on your top?"

"I shouldn't have to wash this. I didn't put the tomato sauce there. How did that even get there?"
"No idea"

Examining top whilst walking to laundry. Stops:

"Oh, I think its pollen"
(Parent humor)"Well, theres quite a difference. Tomato sauce, pollen"
"Meh. Alright". Proceeding to place it in bag for tomorrow.
"Aren't you going to wash that?"
Daughter shake head.

(Pleading) "Make an effort?"
"Meh."
(Over sarcastic) "Oh! What a terrible mother I am! Telling you to make an effort! How terrible am I? Telling her to wash her clothing!"

Father response: "This house would be a better place"

Daughter, undefeated:
"Meh. Damn straight. Fascists"

As mother continues to rant over "terrible mother she is".

Scene ends.

It did definitely look like tomato sauce.

This whole sarcastic terrible mother thin stems from when I woke up. Put on dirty clothing. My mother proceeded to shout at me and I left slamming the door. I was justified, the clothing had aired overnight and thanks to the invention of liquid spray (environment safe), everything smells goooooood.

The next day we had another fight and I said I was upset because she picked on my appearance and she stated that smell was not an appearance and telling her daughter to wear clothing that was clean was not something people usually protest against.

I still think I was correct. She told me to wash the pollen shirt, but I'm pretty sure I can rub it off. Plus its on the inside, wear it inside out, everything still appears clean. I would say that applies to underwear too but thats only what brothers and camp instructors do.

Only married men wear hats

"What nasty remark did Cat just say about me?"
"I am a nice person"

Probably not the best statement to say to a teacher. Before that I was fake crying by salivating on my fingers and jamming them into my eyes to then make wailing noises into my elbow. I guess I wasn't quite in the right state of mind, but apparently I am good at fake sobbing. So it all works out okay. The teacher already thinks I'm off my head, so it doesn't really matter.

In other news, I have decided to buy a beetle. By buying a beetle when I pass people in the street they are forced to punch each other and shout the colour of my car (I'm thinking pistachio or "Italian racing green", ha..ha..ha Jack Dee). Therefore I am promoting violence. Every little bit helps.

Plus, I have attempted to darken my eyebrows. For reasons unknown (although shouting "HECK! I'M ROSE TYLER!" may be an indicator of some factors), blondes have more fun but apparently blondes with dark eyebrows have the most fun. I am a ginger in denial, but now I have dark eyebrows so I should be having more fun. I don't feel any different or feel any sense of "having more fun", my eyebrows have failed me. This is like when they say, "dye your hair! You'll feel fantastic! And different!". Notice how female magazines seem to think changing your appearance will some how make you come out of whatever depression you're feeling. Why, your completely out of your job? "Dye your hair! You'll feel fantastic!" They always add little exclamation marks at the end too, for added "happiness" and "excitement" for middle aged women . Those little exclamation marks are the downfall of the female kind.

When I dyed my hair red, I did not feel fantastic. Instead my hair stayed the colour I dyed it, as if punishment. Now I must endure constant insults about my gingerness; comparisons to orangutans really boost your self esteem, I tell you.

So anyway, I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself and my eyebrows are doing nothing to improve my low mood. I think I might go listen to some Pulp and defer the meaning within Freud boundaries. You'll feel fantastic!

The gift for the gab

In an attempt to be creative for my English piece and Photographic piece, cause, gosh, I need it, I am wearing my "thinking cap", a scrungy old, rainbow beanie that was bits of tinsel knitted in. My, I feel cool.


But! I am extremely pleased to say that I have recieved a blog award from the fantastic Jesse, who has also got very good taste in music.

Unfortunately, I barely have any blogger friends, so I would simply say go check out all the blogs I follow, especially Hannahs "Mild Mild West", because Hannah is by far pretty damn awesome, plus she has fantastic taste in practically everything. Yet, I knew Hannah before the wonders of blog, so does that count? My, my, questions, questions in this technology based world we live in.

I shall leave you with the lovely Martha Wainwright, whose beautiful lyrics mark the ending of my English piece, I am pretty sure that her powerful voice inspired me but there is a hinting feeling my rainbow beanie could have helped.

I was a 1950's film star

My photography piece for last terms work, inspired by Sam Taylor-Wood and Cindy Sherman. Extremely fun and meant I was able to use all my op-shop/vintage treasures. It was a long, long process having to set the camera up, take the shot and make sure my father/cat/fathers own little touches (random teddy bears added into the picture) weren't shown and my whole body was but still, I think, well worth it.

Weird Kid Adelaide Returns

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.19pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Overdue account

Dear David,
Our records indicate that your account is overdue by the amount of $233.95. If you have already made this payment please contact us within the next 7 days to confirm payment has been applied to your account and is no longer outstanding.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles



From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.37pm
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Overdue account

Dear Jane,
I do not have any money so am sending you this drawing I did of a spider instead. I value the drawing at $233.95 so trust that this settles the matter.

Regards, David.









Only in the SA of A, also known as Radelaide or simply, Adelaide.

Check it out fully here.

I guess its better than bashing a poor 78 year old flamingo up, poor thing.

Well Heck, I'm Open

Jarvis Cocker, my cabbie,I wish.

"but he's like killing people "

I could deal with that. Its better than the particularly odd cab drivers who ask where my boyfriend is and if I just finished my shift because I'm wearing black tights. Every time I wear black tights I get some old creep trying to pick me up, my grandmother calls it the "Benny Hill effect". My best pick up yet includes the old uncle (Singaporean slang for man older than you) at the Thieves market, in baggy shorts, singlet top and missing teeth asking my mother about my boyfriend, before saying "ahh..I give you half price!" and giving me a little wink on the side.

Besides that I get the types who, despite there being around 50 other spare seats, feel it necessary to make me move my bag and sit next to me. This really pisses me off. I know I'm doing a bad thing putting my bag there, I hate when other people do it, so I'm a hypocrite, but when I've just finished a day of school, inclusion of a compulsory 4 kilometer run for "fun", a yoga class that involved the "badly stretched pretzel" and a lesson of general maths because Mr Wise guy thought I wasn't into maths, more into art so why "strain" myself? Well, sorry, but I can calculate the average of 10/5 even if I like art, fascists. A lesson of general maths: "Hey, so, if you see a French girl and an English girl, but you don't know the French girl is French, who would you do?"- dead serious, this is the class I am in. I can feel my brain cells calling out, wailing before dying in a slow, pitiful death.

Basically, my point is at the end of a crappy day, I don't want some outstandingly odd character sitting next to me, who grunts and twitches at regular two minute intervals, who for me to get out, gets his free little lap dance as he refuses to move. That just shits me off. I will keep my bag there and you will deal with it or feel my mighty wrath of "thats not very nice".

If this continues to fail I will simply stop washing and my natural smell will repel them.

"You haven't washed anything, what is this?"
"I feel no need"
"Can't you make an effort?"
"Nope, don't care"
"I've given up, the make up, the brushing of hair, everything"

Its not that I have low self esteem, I just have low self esteem for everyone else.

Your broken records and words

Some may diss the workings of the lovely Snow Patrol but I suggest you all buy their latest cd, A Hundred Million Suns, although I may be slightly biased (whats that? "ZAAAA!! SNOW PATROL!"), it is fantastic, I don't know if they could follow up Eyes Open, the album that gave them most of their fame for "Chasing Cars", besides "Run" from Final Straw; my favorite, slightly darker, "Spitting Games". Plus, being number one on the UK album charts indicates that yes, Keane are back in the game post-rehab Chaplin, looking and sounding fantastic, I love the little stomp when the keyboard is being played, that just tingles me down the spine.

And so begins Cats weekly rant on music.

My playlist is as follows:

Start Wearing Purple- Gogol Bordello
In the video, just before it really kicks off, he does this sort of push on himself and falls backwards, I have to calm myself I am so excited.

Ghosts- The Jam
I wish I was as cool as Paul Weller, sheesh. If I was, I could do anything.

Inbetweener- Sleeper
Its a comedy but I love it, like "Parklife" by Blur, hilarious Englishness plus a bit of "oy! That bloke in Eastenders, innit?".

Take Back This City- Snow Patrol
Apparently, Fintan update: this song is about Belfast. Most likely as they are from Northern Ireland, but they're last two albums were all about Lightbody's infidelity so thats a change, a nice one though.

15 Feet of Pure White Snow- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
For Mo-vember the art teacher is getting this full on Nick Cave Grinderman (current period- "Pussy Love") tash. Its fantastic, not quite a Gogol Bordello or Dali mustache, if so I would be donating all my earnings plus extra if they did a push and fall down, but still.

Acrobat- Maximo Park
I did an art piece where I had to listen to this song on repeat, 500 times over and over and I'm still not sick of it. Gosh, the lyrics make me sob like someone watching Lassie for the first time and then I can full throttle the dance moves to any of their other songs, karate chops arms like Paul Smith.

I Don't Know What I Can Save You From- Kings of Convenience
I love my European pop, like "She's an Apple Pie" by Kissogram.

And there you go. I have taken the advice of Dolly (hosh! cosh!) and am bleaching my elbows with lemons. Did you know avocados were a fruit. I did not. You learn something every day, thank you Caroline. :)

Japanese Baby

And packed with my knickers, in a suitcase

Down, down, down the rabbit hole

book is a book, an artwork is an artwork








My art piece from year 8, coinciding with my Alice in Wonderland obsession

This is my angry face

I wrote these ages ago when I was in my angry phase and rather geeky, the former is hidden but I'm pretty sure the latter is still rather obvious. This was ages ago, most likely my goth period? Whats that? Doc Martens and Robert Smith pasted on your locker, angry face and crosses drawn on your wrists with biro? No, not my girl!

Anyway, onwards!

Us" being the "good girls" we are loaded with a bunch of girls we have nothing in common with to show around in our break. Usually by break these girls have already ditched us for the girls who can't spell DNA. Our record was losing a buddy in 10 minutes. Seriously, that is pretty amazing. That girl now asks in science class questions like the following:

(Doing reproduction in class)

"Miss, if you have sperm on your hand and you, like, touch yourself, can you get pregnant?"

"Miss, if you're in a pool and a guy, like, ejaculates, can you, like get pregnant?"

Yes, that is the highest science class and yes, she is intelligent, and no, I don't want to know what shes doing with her year 12 boyfriend. This is wet t-shirt girl, by the way.

My experience wasn't as bad, my buddy was "stuck" with me for around 30 minutes and in that time i realised we weren't going to get along. She had someone stuck her face in what looked like a strawberry iced cake, applied large Christmas decorations to her ears and talked like she was on speed (later my friend and i were in a group with her when she asked to borrow a "pin", for about 10 minutes this banter went on about "why would you want a pin?" "no a pin" "why would i have a pin" "no a PIN" "I DON'T HAVE A PIN" till my innocent friend broke it by saying, "i think she wants a pen", we still go on about this, what joy does it bring). She soon ditched us and marched around the school with this girl who ditched us last year to be "cool" "popular" and not too intelligent. As our ex-drama teacher said "pretty thick". There not even that pretty (this may be from the perspective of a bunch of bitchy girls, snarling and clawing) but we can relate most of them to a bunch of animals; horses, ducks, pigs, you name it, we've got it. They strutted around for about a week till they separated as one got a bit cooler than another and her skirt got a bit higher, an indicator of the social status at our school.

So that girl ditched us last year for those popular girls, something she aimed for all year and quite happily told us:

(We were sitting at "our table" and shes standing peering at those popular girls and guys eating her rice, yes, just rice because of this amazing diet she formulated, to eat nothing,to say:)

Girl- I wish i could still hang out with you guys but you're not really popular enough. Like, so, yeh.

We stared at her for about 10 minutes, she left and it was said "good riddance" well, not, we really said "yeh, bugger off, you cow". Or at least, said it in our head. She later got drunk, fell into a ditch and had herself broadcasted on web cam giving a hand job. Our good, good friend. Before that she used to go around kissing my other friends on the cheek thinking it turned guys on when Dolly posed the question "are guys really turned on by lesbians?" to then say it wasn't cool to do such things or blah blah blah, but she probably hadn't read the rest with the attention of a knat.

Now Dolly, Dolly is the bible to all typical teenage Australian girls. It tells all the important things that matter to a typical teenage girl - style tips to look good (for boys), make up to look "hot" (for boys), how to talk properly (to boys), life (boys), sex (with boys), relationships (with boys), how to meet new people (mainly boys), first day back to school (how to chat up the new boy) and most importantly boys. Yes, these "Dolly" girls have their priorities straight.

Girl one- So you do French?
Girl two- Ya.
Girl one- So, say something.
Girl two- Oh..e..j'mappelle (Enter name here, this is just because, because, because)
Girl one- Meaning? (Well, if shes going to put her name there, what do you think?)
Girl two- My name is (here) but really they call me (here)
Girl one- J'mappelle (here)
Girl two- Meaning my name is (here)
Girl one- No! They call me (here), get it right douchebag!

Who says that. What warrants that, I'm not a being a prune, but it just sounds stupid doesn't it? I don't think these girl even know what a douchebag is. Douche meaning to wash, or really to shower in French, not too bad, just a wash bag, but the purpose is the insult. In the olden days these bags would be shoved up a woman to wash her insides for sanitary reasons. Do you think that girl two would like to be called a bag shoved up females. I think not. I wonder if those guys who say it to one another as a sort of endearment term know what it means. Probably not, if i tell them, which i am often tempted to, they would probably say it more..or less, depending on how much they love their friends.

More conversations:

Girl one- And i was like, "what are you, like, doing?". And this guy was, like, really hot. And he was like, "you need your passes", and i was like...

Today like seems to be used in whatever manner that teenager wishes. A noun, verb, adjective, anything really. After spending around 10 minutes with an over uses of the word "like" you start to find yourself saying "like", like, all the time and you, like, can't control it. Yet is also the rate that they say it, think Vicki Pollard, with a lisp, like this girl, mm...hardly not the most aurally pleasing conversation in the world is it? Also, don't just think its girls who say that. There are a lot of guys i know that use the word "like" as if its a bingo word, sickening really.

Girl one- And this guy ask, are you, like 16? And I'm like, no! I'm only 14, peoples.

Another very, very annoying part of teen speak today. Shes talking to one person. What? Did suddenly a whole groups surround her to hear her say the wise words of "No! I'm only 14 peoples"?. If not, then whose these "peoples"? I had this one friend, and i excuse her as English being her second language, that would address you under any circumstance as "peoples". You'd be sitting by yourself reading a book to hear, "hey, peoples", or on msn, a one to one conversation, "hey ppls". Is there a mob of people behind me? Peering over my msn conversations? How did she know? That's the only way in which this "peoples" comment could make sense. Also, "peoples" is completely incorrect to grammar, "people" is already the plural, but hey! Lets just add the s for fun and..awesomeness.

Another conversation witnessed was one about how "thin" some people were. A common conversation in the female language, like guys to....bra size? Well, same context really. But here:

Girl one- He is so skinny! (Notice its a he?)
Girl two- But he eats heaps! Like, where does it all go?
Girl one- He's probably one of these people who, like, always go to the toilet to shit it all out.

Deadly serious. Now, don't mock my girl stereotype language but i think i have the right to utter the word, ew. Who says that? WHO? Do you think that guy would appreciate being known as the boy who "shits it all out". That's normal anyway, but what? Who has to say that?

Another thing with teenagers is jokes. Now, we all have those silly little inside jokes that crack us up every time..stupid things that from the outside world looking in makes us look like retards or people with epilepsy depending on what type of joke it is (we have one in particular which is quite rightly called the "Irish bot dance", think robot dance arms mixed with an Irish jig. Yep, not that funny and its sort of worn away on me now, but at the time, it was hilarious. We even wrote it in this book called "How to be cool..a.k.a awesome". Which a lot of people read and didn't really understand. Because..it was full of inside jokes, my point exactly, most of them taking the mick out of the people who read it, but they didn't know that because they think they're too cool..gone off topic now.) But teenagers can be quite funny people, you know and funny people to make fun of, but here was a joke i heard:

Girl one- (Talking about getting ready in the morning) Yeah, i usually dress before having breakfast because coming to school in clothing is sort of essential.

Now that's funny, i even uttered a snort myself. Despite how extremely boring the topic was, (Who cares about your daily routines, this isn't a Indonesian lesson you know.) But that was funny, till it was taken to far.

Girl one- Oh yeah (laughing to herself..). I'll just come in my pajamas..(laughing again to herself)

Gone too far, sorry love. I guess i sometimes do that, but we could've visioned that our self. I'm no Dylan Moran, so i don't know the art of telling jokes (i recently found out my one friend has this fake laugh...truly. Its used when i use intelligent jokes or reference something she doesn't know. My other friend laughs all the time and does the VERY cliche thing of then asking..what does that mean?) But i believe that it was taken too far. But i was still funny, I'll give her that, my kind soul.

Well, that about all i can recall. No one more thing. I had to do this presentation, and the teacher commented on how beautiful this picture of my grandma looked, then said "Oh, can't you see the resemblance?", the class, "no", so what were they implying, rude little twots. Oh well, some say my grandmother looked like Margaret Thatcher, which she doesn't, but the people who say these aren't exactly singing "Stand down Thatcher" more like "Bring Thatcher back". So maybe they see it as a compliment rather than something that would cause my grandmother to hurl her handbag at them and tackle them to the ground.

The N's in Neans.

Finally the exams, the ones that haunt you all year that you in fact pay for and parents don't tell you until the last minute that you in fact did not have to do them if they didn't pay, ("Wait..you paid for these?" "yes." "YOU PAID FOR THIS TORTURE??!!! FACIST! FACIST!") are finally completed. After two days of stress, cramming, Satie and Vivaldi, my exams and practically year, is over. Well not entirely, theres still the computing exam but thats basically a joke, for example:

Susan is looking at her inbox, how many emails has she received?
a) 4
b) 0
c) 8
d) dubfkshbdhvdfakhakshbc

Hint: its not d

Whenever I do an exam I always have this little tune playing in the back on my head, as I said before my life always has a soundtrack yet when you are trying to answer the equation of half pie multiplied by 4.5 without a calculator,"Remember You're a Womble" is not quite fitting, despite it being a truly fantastic song. Other soundtracks include "Rollercoaster" by that Irish Spice Girl rip off band, B*witched and "Excitable Boy" by Warren Zevon, the man that can make homicide and building cages out of prom dates bones, sound good plus groovy, lastly the "aaaaWOOOOOO" part of "Werewolves of London" because thats the only part I know. I ended up tapping my way through most of the maths exam and howling for the last ten minutes of History/ Geography, not generally helpful in answering land management questions as I often end up writing what I'm humming. "With non-government organisations like dug up her grave and built a cage with her bones".

The problem with History is that when I write about feminist rights I become rather, in a word, angry or perhaps more, defencive, due to my grandmothers influence of "be a feminist! Getting married sucks!" (taking advice from someone who told you that "Puff the Magic Dragon was part of our heritage", if so, this may explain a few things). I am also an avid Whitlam supporter, for reasons beyond me ("Whitlam, you had me at "Its Time"") and often feel its necessary to mention my commitment to the former and sacked Prime Minister no matter the question. Thus, my extended answer read like a campaign for feminism and bringing back Whitlam. Good stuff. I then attempted to sleep but became to self conscious, this was after I ripped my answer sheet nearly in half, pursuing the instruction to separate the pages. If this is any indicator, as it is meant to be, of my Year 12 exams then I am stuffed.

Creamy, green goodness

"If you want to go to Wales, you can't laugh every time a Welsh person talks or comes on television"

"I can't help it! They're so funny!"

I shall explain, after a night of recounting my childhood plays (Fiddler on the Roof and Honk! once I participated in school functions, those days are long gone.) I came home to find Midsomer Murders on the tele, Midsomer being the place where despite each episode having about four people die, the town can keep on functioning and having their spring fairs. But whats this? Perhaps the population had dropped to an all time low and inspector Barnaby had to leave (due to the fact murder seems to follow him, not the other way around) and visit Wales to plague them with his misfortune and more murders to occur.

Cue the Welsh man. Rugged, unshaven, with a stick, a farm and a small cottage and of course, a Welsh accent. Causing me to burst out laughing, I couldn't help it, especially after watching episodes of "My Family" with the strange array of Welsh in that. Yet, my mother gave me a foul look and said the following. The reason behind my want to go to Wales is due to the poet Dylan Thomas, of which I am named after his wife, (Caitlin Macnamara/Thomas). My mother heard her name on the radio about 6 years before I was born and that was my name. Unfortunately her name is spelt Caitlin, so everyone just assumed she heard wrong, but! Oh mightily! The new movie "The Edge of Love" proves otherwise. Tracking the life of the two women in Dylan Thomas' life, Caitlin is featured and look! "Queen of Ireland, love of my life, Catlin Thomas!".



Unfortunately they all sort of play around, and Caitlin is most likely quite the opposite of me, but perhaps I shall model myself upon my model.

In the end the Welsh man, named "Brim", the oddest of the bunch and the most Welsh was the murderer. I guess thats how it works though, Americans always have evil English opposites and the English, if they can't have the evil Irish opposites, throw in a Welsh person and you're off.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking? I think I am Kn2

But shes so old, eurgh, be gone!

AND LEGAL!


HAPPY BIRTHDAY CUPCAKE GIRL

I shall recite the song I wrote for you when I attempted to appropriate "Skeleton Song" , failing yet still happy:

Georgia you are my friend, but you are so tall
And even though you ate my hair, we still ate cake
And I should've known, that it wouldn't be long
Until you, you've got me standing in an awkward position
Waiting at the airport,
And its not like I'm letting go of you
But I don't know what to do..ooo

I can't remember the song I wrote for you but it was along those lines.

When one is not angry, simply lazy, fret not.

Shes so pretty, Mean Miss Mustard Kelly :)

Inspirational speeches fail on me

I am not "getting on board", I'm jumping off ship.

And we want them now!

Every once in a while you meet those really cultured people, big hot shots, sipping their South American wine, analysing artworks in their flash, lime green lensed glasses, discussing in depth movies with odd, foreign titles or the latest works of some unheard of author, wearing hand painted shoes from Brazil and hair in a top knot bun with chopsticks, indicating their "multiculturalism", or maybe these are just the people I meet.

These people are not your friends. They are out to compete with you and will snidely talk about things they know you have no clue about. I cannot help you know the difference between the works of Pierre Auguste Renoir or Tracey Emin, although I hope the comparison would be obvious or if that is in fact David Sedaris' sister but I can help you amp your movie knowledge to a competitive level.

The Top Four Movies that are bearable, that make you seem like you're cultured, when perhaps, you're not.

1. Le Fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain

The movie that launched the career of the lovely Audrey Tatou, brought French movies back into the mainstream and is the basic headliner for indie or foreign movie fans everywhere. Basically, Amelie is an eccentric young woman living in Montmarte who wants to help her fellow humans around her and along the way falls in love. This will put you straight away into the "cultured" books especially if you quote (my favorite is "its better to help people than garden gnomes", although this proves very hard to work into conversation casually, don't just blurt it out, that'll make you seem either a) utterly eccentric and therefore praised as a god or b) desperate and in need of respect as you can repeat the property of someone else) or if the person is one of those tight lipped ladies who look as if the only time they'd open their mouth would to suck out your soul state how dearly you loved Tatou's later work "A la folie, pas du tout" (Use French, makes you seem more intelligent and "artsy" and if they look confused say, "oh, of course, silly me *chuckle* "He loves me, he loves me not""), not many people know this work and would instantly give you the upper hand, the upper hand to slap her face.

2. Everything is Illuminated

Barely anyone knows this film, its Eljah Woods outbreak from the hairy footed days of Frodo Baggins. Woods plays a Jewish American whose grandfather fled to America from the Ukraine during the Second World War. Woods is a collector of objects and plans to find the village that his grandfather used to live in through simply its name and a photograph containing the image of a woman. To get there Woods travels with the English speaking interpreter and his like of Michael Jackson, his "blind" grandfather and his "Officious Seeing Eye Bitch" (my nickname around the house, thank you Judi). The movie is hilarious but worthy of tears as well, this is the kind of movie that will harvest millions of conversations about meaning and such and will most definitely make you seem like you have "depth". To make you seem extremely cultured plug the fact that Eugene Hutz if from the gypsy/punk band Gogol Boredello, known for their hilarious lyrics and odd stage antics and dancers, plus their fantastic tight, bright pants.

3. Annie Hall

Woody Allen is nearly always playing himself, its the neurotic Jewish guy. This movie is based upon the relationship that was actually occurring at that time of filming between Diane Keaton and Woody Allen, so basically, its autobiographical. Imagine how stuffed up that relationship would be. This movie makes you seem cultured and accepting of Woody Allen, even if you're not. My, that Woody Allen raised himself one good wife. Perhaps, cracking this joke will help, I suggest you do, tip their Australian red wine on their white, puffy shirts and glittery, barely there dresses, shake your fist in their face and walk off, to hell with their approval! You have standards.

4. Withnail and I

I recently devoured this movie whole again and it still amuses me to fits of tears and embarrasses me to run into the other room to "get a glass of milk". The movie follows the journey of "I" and Withnail, two out of work actors in1969. Realising that the 60's are about to end the two decide to spend a holiday in Withnails Uncles cottage in the country, putting a strain upon their relationship and sanity. Richard E. Grant is impeccable as Withnail and despite the hatred you should feel for him, you still love him (Hannah- cin cin!). Believing Withnail to be with more talent than "I", but due to his eccentricity and lack of empathy he will remain unemployed. This is something you can bring up in conversation, argue your point and use your hands in vibrant, expressive ways like they cast people to do in movies when their at art galleries, making you seem cultured.

Now you can take on the world.

Actually, I meant three

How long does it take the fishermen to load the crabs? (In hours)

Fishmongers have mutant abilities, it takes them not hours but seconds to load 200 fish. -I hate maths, the teacher is a ginger abuser, all except for moments like this:

"Why would I even be walking in the great wilderness?"

"Because you're trying to get to Adelaide"

For you're as blind as a man can be

I love this photo, its that "mood" thing, yeah?

Plus, Manic Street Preachers on November the 24th, fingers crossed but hopefully "Your Love Alone is Not Enough" will be playing sweetly to my ears. The only problem is when your music taste greatly resembles that of a forty year old it often means your parents want in on the act.

Panic at the Disco killed The Nightmare Before Christmas.

When I was thirteen my brother introduced me to the world of Foamy, this influenced a lot of my behavior at that age, which is why even now Daphne still tells me I was scary and she didn't want to approach me. Anyway, Foamy is back with a well deserved rant:


Anyway, hope you had a good Halloween, I was bombarded with disgusting covers of Tim Burtons almighty Nightmare Before Christmas, case in point Panic at The Disco's "This is Halloween", Fiona Apple, great, Marilyn Manson, has its place but Panic at The Disco? Thats murder, disgusting, foul and painful. My Halloween finished with going to my third party of the night (I can't believe I can actually say that), being hugged by Dorothy and commented upon with "so you're cat...whose a cat" (to a "lol") before tucking into a karaoke version of "How Soon is Now" and an avocado. All in all, a pretty good night.

"More Water"- Winning an argument with the workings of Father Ted and the Cats bottom.

The internet hates me. Seriously, it does, any technology hates me especially the internet and these things called computers, complicated stuff I tell you.

So my dad thought he'd be the clever man and get the internet up and running. Instead the whole thing failed due to the fact hes a plonker with technology, like me, but thinks hes not, leaving me muttering under my breath and banging on the keyboard, my usual technique for getting things working (case in point: broken USB port with the insides completely torn apart. To the point of in fact crashing the computer when inserted, beeping profusely and generally looking like the end of the world, the computer that now sits beside me unused, still broken four months later) . He then smugly stated that "well, my internet is working" and came into my room to work his magic hands.

I screamed "I've got my internet".

To which he said "ohhh to be sure, to be sure, the wee lass has got her internet"

This is a recurring occurrence, since living here my accent has gone off the rails. I say "yeah" at nearly the end of every sentence, or statement, or question or practically anything. I say "tortoise" like a Welsh person after repeating it constantly after watching "Mine all Mine" when he smuggles in tortoises. And sometimes my accent just goes odd, this could be because of imitating accents on shows after people say stuff, anything, like my Eastenders period which was painfully horrific ("innit, though?") or miming Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face, a rather nice comparison to Stacey.

So my father runs out of the room shouting "to be sure, to be sure, ohhhh the lass she got her internet, aiiiyy the wee lass" and something to do with potatoes as I hit and, screamed and called him "with plague".

As my father jigged out of the room he repeated his "wee lass" routine until he got down the end and cackled with my mother over my funny accent. Hearing this I shouted "my friend said no one says "to be sure, to be sure" in Ireland!" sounding distinctly like my former five year old self.

My mother replied with "I'm pretty sure they do on Father Ted".

Well, I guess the accent is better than my father winning every argument by pretending to be the cat. Speaking as the cat, even as my cat sits there licking his ass or is asleep. The cats voice a high pitched version of his own produced from the corner of his half closed mouth, in fact, rather obviously open, his attempt at ventriloquism. Never the less, he still wins arguments by talking from the cats arse and even has conversations with him stating "Scratchy is the only intelligent life around this place", "including yourself?". "Yep", "well, thats about right".

"Shake it like a polaroid picture"- doing so in fact harms your print

You're no flower anymore

My Friend the Chocolate Cake.

Clowns

Inspired by Alison Goldfrapp, who never, ever ages.