Side note: the clothesline is still wailing just outside my window. I’m getting progressively more and more freaked out.

This week’s been a week of suspended animation. I’ve got quite a few things on my plate but I’m spending the larger part of the daylight hours trapped at home because of a lack of vehicle. The family car that I normally drive got beaten up in the Melbourne hailstorm a couple a’ weeks back and was a write off. We’re still waiting for insurance to go through before Dad will let me get behind the wheel of the Toyota Yaris.

In the meantime I’ve been practising my final oral presentation (which is tomorrow morning). Honestly, I can’t wait to get it over. I’m more excited about the hilarious dance competition that Ness and Mike are holding at their 21st on Friday night. Initially I was a bit reluctant about my recruitment into Ness’s dance crew (aka. the girls’ side) but I’m starting to feel very enthusiastic about us pumping it out on stage. Twill be fun!

Victor’s birthday is also fast approaching and after a bit of research I ordered the MSI Wind U100 online. I’m a bit technology clueless so I reallyreeeallyreally hope it was a good buy. I also hope they deliver it on time. And it’s not a scam.

There’s the prezzie. It’s white, yes Was tossing up between the Wind and the Acer Aspire One, but turns out the Acer doesn’t have bluetooth so he can’t use his phone as a modem, which I know he likes to do at clinicals.

Other than that, I have no thrilling news. Work on Saturday and Sunday. Oh, and I’M GETTING SICK. Presentation practice just a few minutes ago ended in a mild fit of coughing. Turns out Suz, Yoongy and Ness are all sick too. We must have got a bit too close on Tuesday night…;D

]]> http://sarolte.wordpress.com/2010/04/29/a-real-blog-post/feed/ 0 80s day djinni http://sarolte.wordpress.com/2010/04/28/banshee-clothesline/ http://sarolte.wordpress.com/2010/04/28/banshee-clothesline/#comments Wed, 28 Apr 2010 00:04:29 +0000 Grace http://sarolte.wordpress.com/?p=273 ]]> The clothesline is making moaning noises in the wind like the ghost of an old woman. Freaky.

Basically, we agreed on this: that our mood on any particular day will affect how we feel about a relationship with someone. To put it in brief? Bad mood – feel crap. Good mood – everything’s going wonderfully! These up-downs will always be experienced (we are, after all, hormone-flooded little carbon beings blinking out at the world through two dimly shaded lenses) and should not be used as a meter to gauge the current success of a relationship.

“I’m not an emotional person!” you may cry. “I never let my moods control how I behave or even how I think!” I call you liar! Well, not really –  that was more for dramatic effect. But to a degree all of us are driven by our emotions, whether we admit it to ourselves or not.

The key difference to note is that in a friendship, such changes in mood matter less to us. So the lunch we have with an old mate is a bit boring – but it’s okay, we’ll see them again in two weeks at so-and-so’s party and we’ll have a blast. But in a relationship, we tend to over-analyse – or at least feel the weight of it differently. We really didn’t connect conversationally or emotionally today – does that mean we’re not right for each other?

My answer is: no. It doesn’t.

More likely than not, you just had a crappy day. Get some sleep, make a hot cup of tea, hug a beanbag. The world will look rosier in the morning. I guarantee it.

Me: You don’t really hate it….

Me: I think I really do!

Me: Well. Whether you complain or not, you’re sticking it out until next year. So you might as well do it with a smile on your face and a spring in your step.

(Me: Even if it kills you.)

The modern man is swallowed up in culture of knowledge–a desire (or a pressure) to be ‘up to date’ and ‘in the know’ about current affairs, historical events, politics, art, food, music, travel, people, movements, philosophies.

There is so much information around us in today’s world that life has become a desperate and futile race to gather and stuff as much of it as possible into our brains in perpetual anticipation of some putative event that will require us to draw on our bank of knowledge. It is an impossible lifestyle. There is no way we can learn everything, or even enough. For every one fact that we may learn, a billion new pieces of information are being generated and put out into the stratosphere. When does this frantic scramble finish? Death? Dementia? Loss of mind and sanity? Depression? Anxiety? A nervous breakdown? Perhaps it never ends. Perhaps all our stories are simply going to be unfinished tales; breakaway sprints from the starting line, but the trick is that the race-track is a circle.

This race has so consumed us that we are no longer able to live separate from this goal. When we browse the Internet, we become human filters–we flick through thousands of pieces of information, selecting only that which we judge worthwhile to pay particular attention to, and then only in a rushed and cursory manner–reading takes time, and time is short. There is the next item to watch, another article to read, a new thing to look at.

It’s a ridiculous hyper-delivery of information, and it seems almost inescapable. Can you imagine going to a place where, perhaps, whole days are spent sitting under a tree? What about spending three months moving vegetables from one barn to another? We may call it idyllic, but in reality we would be bored brainless. Our culture of information overload has conditioned us to become super-consumers. We are always looking for bigger and better, for more, more more–more value for money. Nothing is worth it unless we are getting our labour’s worth.

Because of this, all the simple things that we were created to enjoy–the delights of the essential and natural world that were so meant to fulfil our senses–are no longer enough for us. They no longer satisfy the cravings of our ‘modern’ minds. We have become thrill-seekers. We see this in rollercoasters, in extravagant holidays, in people who accumulate asset after asset, in ourselves as we lust after the latest new product and then toss it aside after a week once the novelty has worn off. We see it in addiction, harmful relationships, obsession, perversion. We see it in that elusive overseas extravaganza, in the fact that “you must do Venice,” in body and eating disorders, in the humanly impossible standards paraded to us by popular media. We believe so thoroughly that once we obtain this next ideal thing, we will be happy. It is a lie.

Imagine a man from a poor slum. He walks into your home. He looks at the dozens of shoes lined up by the front door. He feels the carpet under his bare feet. He runs his fingers wondrously over the TV, the stereo system. He glances incomprehensively at the X-box and the computer. He sits on the soft couch and laughs in amazement. He stands and sits again, five times. He is astonished by the number of rooms. He cannot believe that each person has their own bed. He has never touched such soft mattresses and pillows. He approves firmly of the running water. You show him the kitchen and open the fridge and pantry. He starts to cry at the sight of so much food. At the end of the tour he goes out into the backyard and lies down in the prickly grass, and gazes up at the sky for two hours, until the sun sets. He feels no need to share his thoughts with anyone else. He does not need to broadcast his status updates to the world. He conducts himself knowing that he is not the centre of the universe, merely a small figure; and yet that contents him. He has not lost a sense of wonderment. He seems to know that his main purpose is to live. You realise, watching him, that perhaps he is the happiest person you have ever met.

We’ve lost the ability to delight in the simple. In our world we are inundated with information. We have newspapers, magazines, advertisements everywhere you look, billboards, TV, radio, libraries–and I haven’t even mentioned that all-consuming cosmic force: the Internet.

The modern man is swallowed up in culture of knowledge–a desire (or a pressure) to be ‘up to date’ and ‘in the know’ about current affairs, historical events, politics, art, food, music, travel, people, movements, philosophies.

There is so much information around us in today’s world that life has become a desperate and futile race to gather and stuff as much of it as possible into our brains in perpetual anticipation of some putative event that will require us to draw on our bank of knowledge. It is an impossible lifestyle. There is no way we can learn everything, or even enough. For every one fact that we may learn, a billion new pieces of information are being generated and put out into the stratosphere. When does this frantic scramble finish? Death? Dementia? Loss of mind and sanity? Depression? Anxiety? A nervous breakdown? Perhaps it never ends. Perhaps all our stories are simply going to be unfinished tales; breakaway sprints from the starting line, but the trick is that the race-track is a circle.

This race has so consumed us that we are no longer able to live separate from this goal. When we browse the Internet, we become human filters–we flick through thousands of pieces of information, selecting only that which we judge worthwhile to pay particular attention to, and then only in a rushed and cursory manner–reading takes time, and time is short. There is the next item to watch, another article to read, a new thing to look at.

It’s a ridiculous hyper-delivery of information, and it seems almost inescapable. Can you imagine going to a place where, perhaps, whole days are spent sitting under a tree? What about spending three months moving vegetables from one barn to another? We may call it idyllic, but in reality we would be bored brainless. Our culture of information overload has conditioned us to become super-consumers. We are always looking for bigger and better, for more, more more–more value for money. Nothing is worth it unless we are getting our labour’s worth.

Because of this, all the simple things that we were created to enjoy–the delights of the essential and natural world that were so meant to fulfil our senses–are no longer enough for us. They no longer satisfy the cravings of our ‘modern’ minds. We have become thrill-seekers. We see this in rollercoasters, in extravagant holidays, in people who accumulate asset after asset, in ourselves as we lust after the latest new product and then toss it aside after a week once the novelty has worn off. We see it in addiction, harmful relationships, obsession, perversion. We see it in that elusive overseas extravaganza, in the fact that “you must do Venice,” in body and eating disorders, in the humanly impossible standards paraded to us by popular media. We believe so thoroughly that once we obtain this next ideal thing, we will be happy. It is a lie.

Imagine a man from a poor slum. He walks into your home. He looks at the dozens of shoes lined up by the front door. He feels the carpet under his bare feet. He runs his fingers wondrously over the TV, the stereo system. He glances incomprehensively at the X-box and the computer. He sits on the soft couch and laughs in amazement. He stands and sits again, five times. He is astonished by the number of rooms. He cannot believe that each person has their own bed. He has never touched such soft mattresses and pillows. He approves firmly of the running water. You show him the kitchen and open the fridge and pantry. He starts to cry at the sight of so much food. At the end of the tour he goes out into the backyard and lies down in the prickly grass, and gazes up at the sky for two hours, until the sun sets. He feels no need to share his thoughts with anyone else. He does not need to broadcast his status updates to the world. He conducts himself knowing that he is not the centre of the universe, merely a small figure; and yet that contents him. He has not lost a sense of wonderment. He seems to know that his main purpose is to live. You realise, watching him, that perhaps he is the happiest person you have ever met.

So I sat down, wrapped myself in a big pink quilt, with a mug of malted milk, and decided to start with Season 2 of the new series–not least because that’s when David Tennant begins his stint as the Tenth Doctor. (What? I’m allowed to swoon over objectively admire the perfect mix of geeky, glasses-wearing nerdishness and I’m-going-to-save-the-universe-just-because-I-can Time Lord adventuring extraordinaire that he embodies. Plus he’s charming. Plus he has a teleporting telephone box.)

Exhibit A. Come on. Really.
(The one and only time in my life I
have envied a sonic screwdriver…)

Anyway. I haven’t got far yet–I’ve just finished episode 6, which is the one where the TARDIS conks out and they fall through a rift into a parallel universe that’s about to be overrun by John Lumic’s created race of Cybermen, who are really people who’ve had their brains taken out and inserted into a metal body with an emotional inhibitor so they can’t realise what monstrosities they’ve been turned into. See what I mean about deliciously outlandish?

The one I’ve liked the most so far is The Girl in the Fireplace. I looked it up online and turns out a lot of other people like it too. Basically, the Doctor, Rose and Mickey find themselves in a spaceship, apparently abandoned but still floating and running on full power. As they poke around, they realise that the spaceship is riddled with portals into different parts of the life of a French girl named Reinette:

who grows into the historical figure, Madame de Pompadour, mistress to the King of France:

The spaceship, of course, is not really as abandoned as they first supposed. Instead, they’ve got friendly company:

These cheerful fellows want something from Reinette. But what is it? And why must they wait until she is “ready”?!?!?!?! *cue dramatic fanfare*

My favourite bits of the episode: the first meeting between the Doctor and the young Reinette (wonderfully and subtly portrayed, I don’t know the name of the girl actor), the skilful and elegant manner in which they handled the sudden jumps in time, and the bizarre, delightful juxtaposition of the 19th century France of Reinette’s world with the futuristic, metal-and-gears interior of the spaceship, where Rose and Mickey spend most of their time running around holding giant guns.

Ttfn.

PS. I just Googled David Tennant and found this rumour of a movie. From an unknown “source”. Sounds, um, reliable.

]]> http://sarolte.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/for-a-long-time-now/feed/ 0 djinni tennant fireplace-doctor-young-reinette fireplace-madame-du-pompadou-496 girl-in-the-fireplace-clockwork-androids rose_gun1 NUP_102225_0127.jpg http://sarolte.wordpress.com/2009/06/12/being-a-girl/ http://sarolte.wordpress.com/2009/06/12/being-a-girl/#comments Fri, 12 Jun 2009 03:34:33 +0000 Grace http://sarolte.wordpress.com/?p=8 Read more]]> It’s a lose-lose situation.

Hear me out. If you’re a girl, there is no right way to behave. If you giggle and chatter, you’re an idiot. But if you’re silent and reserved, you’re stand-offish, stuck up, and probably a bitch.

OK, maybe I’m exaggerating. But humour me for a moment. Imagine that everyone can be measured against this hypothetical scale of behaviour (SOB): be you male, female, undecided, article of furniture, inanimate potted plant, or that piece of Camembert cheese that may any day now sprout sexual organs and single-handedly colonise the entire inside of my refrigerator.

I feel that in our society it is much easier for a male to conduct himself in a certain manner and escape the judgement of others. Guys judge girls. I certainly know that girls judge other girls. Do guys judge other guys? Mathematically, that’s a lot of judging-of-girls happenin’. Yo.

A guy can be reserved, and he is seen as manly and thoughtful. A guy can be chatty and chuckling, and he is seen as sociable. A guy can be a lazy slob, and he is seen as an downright easygoing fella. You know what I realised today? It’s damn unfair. It is. It really is.

Is there, then, a middle ground? Can a girl be perfectly poised between two extremes, neither too emotional and gushy, nor too stoic and icy, balanced gracefully on the exact fulcrum of the carefully ordered pieces of her soul?

Gosh, no. For one thing: PMS. For another thing, we’re not made like that. Every girl swings from mood to mood, no mattew how controlled and calm they may pretend to be. All I’m saying is, it just sucks that we can’t be as frank as guys are with our moods, personality quirks, mannerisms, speech and behaviour, simply because we’re all too worried about what other people will think of us. Even though it’s true. Other people will judge us, and judge us more. Question is, how much do I care?

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=93536198

Howard White, the vice president of Jordan Brand at Nike, contributes a short essay to a thought-provoking series called This I Believe. His main point is this: that we should not pass anyone by without making the effort to acknowledge them—greet them, ask about their lives, form some sort of connection, no matter how tenuous or temporary. It’s a quietly inspirational and relevant message, and one that I’d gladly stick up the arse of many a grouchy, tight-jawed bank teller/shop assistant/pedestrian/road-raging driver/teacher/teenager/person in queue behind me whose entire metabolism seems to be devoted to beaming their life philosophy (ie. why should I bother to be nice to you?) at all passers-by through narrowed, glaring eyes.

Because honestly. It’s something that costs you nothing, and is so good for you that it completely negates the dreadful effort that smiling (and perhaps, God forbid, even saying hello) necessitates. And there might be that one time that you do say hello, and without knowing it you’ve made a tiny spot of light in someone’s hellishly lonely day.

I love the way his mother’s words have really shaped the way he lives his life today:

“You let that be the last time you ever walk by somebody and not open up your mouth to speak, because even a dog can wag its tail when it passes you on the street.”

So yes—White’s essay gave me much food for thought, and made me do that thing where you examine yourself in squeamish detail and realise you’re really not as wonderful a person as you thought you were. In fact, you can be more selfish, cruel, self-absorbed, worldly, self-seeking, grouchy, road-raging and tight-jawed than the people you pridefully look down upon.

While everything White emphasised is true enough, I also think that something needs to be tacked on to the end. And it is this: there’s no point being super-nice, friendly and cheerful to everyone you bump into—be they garbage collector or chief executive—if you can’t treat respectfully those most deserving of your best nature. And who are these most deserving of your respect and love? Your mother and father, your siblings, your closest friends, your significant other. If you can’t treat these people—this inner circle that has been placed around you for a specific reason—with fairness and selfless kindness, then I see little point in being brightly polite to an acquaintance at a party.