Who needs science fiction...

... when non-fiction is just as good?

For all your procrastination needs: check this out

I was especially moved by the paragraph about smiling and blinking...AH!
And now to lunch.

The inevitable Canberran Driver diatribe – we all knew it was going to happen

Okay so I’ve been here for a good 4 months now, and I think it’s safe to say that I’m pretty much over the whole NAm confusion at the wrong-sided driving (I say wrong sided, not because it’s WRONG, but because I’m if nothing else, definitely North American… just so everything’s nice and square and PC). So I can also safely state that I no longer attribute the near-death experiences to my downright stupidity.
I now rightly place them at the feet of the Canberran DRIVERS FROM HELL, and THEIR downright stupidity.
This is compounded by the fact that I heard on the radio the other day that more people from Canberra die in motor vehicle accidents in Australia than ANY OTHER CITY’S INHABITANTS. Now there’s a statistic to be proud of…
I swear to god these people can’t drive, can’t reverse, can’t park, can’t STEER A SHOPPING CART worth shit. And it seems to be a phenomenon particular to the national capital.
Nowhere else in this country have I ever experienced a driver a) not bothering to turn their heads, or even check their mirrors, when reversing out of a parking spot, b) making eye contact with you as you’re about to cross the street WHEN YOU HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY, and careening around the corner in front of you anyway – it’s a miracle I still have all my toes, and c) having failed to hit you the first time through the parking lot, turning around AND TRYING AGAIN.
I tell you, I’ve been a lot of places in my life, and I’ve felt safer on the street in South America, Southern France, and KYIV than I ever do here. To be a pedestrian in Canberra is to seriously entertain a death wish – every time you walk out the door.

Sometimes, they just can’t take the hint -- even if that hint involves bodily harm

Sometimes I worry that taking all this psychology will render me unable to look at any situation without psychologizing it.
For example, next time someone tells me “man that guy is so weird” I’m likely to respond “nah, he’s not weird, he’s just lacking the social cognitive skills to interact effectively with others”

And speaking of lacking in social cognitive skills, my friend the French guy from my CW class has apparently widened the reach of his harassment so that there is nary a woman on campus I have talked to who doesn’t know, and hasn’t experienced the full onslaught of FG’s “charms.”

I really have to wonder -- does it ever work? I mean I guess there’s someone out there JUST AS DESPERATE as FG is, or TCG for that matter (another such lecherous exchange student), who would actually be flattered by his advances. But once it got back to her (or him, who knows -- if you really want to get laid THAT BADLY, why limit yourself?) that her foreign paramour had put the moves on everything else around on two legs (again -- placing unecessary limits... oh, that was gross) wouldn’t she feel a bit cheapened? Cause really, it’s not about one attraction to one person that blows everyone else out of the water (which it SHOULD be, just so we’re clear), it’s just about who gives in first -- he’s not actually caring about any of the people he’s hitting on, he’s only concerned with a service they can provide. I mean, the guy won’t even be deterred by the word “boyfriend,” nor even the word “lesbian,” in fact they seem to motivate him, cause man, if he can lure a chick away from another guy (or swing them back around), then he MUST be a f-ing Don Juan.

And that is why I really, REALLY, don’t like him.
And next Friday he’s probably coming to my place for a CW party. God help me. I hope the girls can form a united anti-FG front -- sort of like those times you drag your friend out of the way because she’s about to get a good grinding from behind on the dance floor by some 30 year old grease ball -- I hope it’s like that.

Oh, one of THOSE days

- one of those days where you finally get up at 8:30 after tossing around for the past 2.5 hours and pour muesli into your mug instead of your bowl. Seriously.

- one of those days where you purposefully leave the house late so that the really, really annoying French guy in your class will already be sitting and won't be able reasonably (not that that would stop him, more about this later) to get up and move to sit right beside you, and then... the bastard isn't even there, which yay! but you were late.

- where you plan tangential (?) trips to the IGA to pick up bread because you really just don't want to go home, because you know that when you walk in that door, the third essay in a series of four which is driving you insane IS LYING IN WAIT TO EAT YOU ALIVE, DIGEST YOU, AND ULTIMATELY LEAVE YOU IN A SHIVERING SMELLY HEAP ON THE FLOOR

Yeah. One of those.

Pictures

Kay so I know I promised some new pictures a very long time ago, but I'm here to tell you now, that as soon as my parents get back next week, it'll be pictures and nothing but on here for a good week. That Royal Botanic Gardens series I was talking about is still going ahead.

Vegemite, Vegetarian, Vegelexis

Well, 2 down, 2 to go as they say. Another day, another essay.
Song that I'm very pleased with at the moment: Hefner "Christian Girls" simply because at the very beginning, the guy says in his very British accent, "Uno, dos, uno dos tres four."
And I laugh and laugh, and people look at me strangely, because I'm usually in public.

I have a big night of video consumption planned for myself. Every once in a while you need to get yourself a pile of movies you've already seen (so you know you'll like them, and the conversation will be comfortingly familiar) some very baggy sweat pants and possibly junkfood (although, being in essay mode constantly these days constitutes a lot of candy eaten), and veg out. I'm feeling the need for some serious veging.

Anyway, eventhough I haven't been posting as often, doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about you. And here's the retroactive entry to prove it.

Cheers,


18 May 2004, 6:56 pm

The Stats
A/S/L: 21/F/sitting in bed
Alcohol units: 0
Cigarettes: 0*
Music: Dire Straits
Wearing: sweatpants, flying pig socks**, 2 sweaters, glasses, and, oh, wait for it... arm-warmers! Yes! I’ve moved on from leg warmers, and soon will be clothed entirely in rib-knitted tubes.
Drinking: Coke***
Eating: leftover dip that will expire if not consumed, and crackers!
Procrastinatination: English Essay due Friday
Other Concerns: ceiling leaking in bathroom, and very disgusting messy kitchen -- the latter is stopping me from doing anything about the former, because if I call someone about the one I can’t fix, I’ll have to fix the one I can before I can let anyone come into the apartment.

So here I am, pretending to myself yet again. I am pretending the following: That I will actually get through reading all the sources I’ve assembled about ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’, and set out a structure for my essay, which I will then write tomorrow; that crackers and dip constitutes and acceptable dinner, and that the beef that I am neglecting to cook will keep in the fridge one more day; that the leaky ceiling, after having dripped steadily for almost 24 hours now, will spontaneously dry out of its own accord; that at least writing this so I can upload it from my handy little flashdisk tomorrow instead of writing something new on the spot is at least constructive.
Yeah. Pull the other one.

Today I have triumphantly printed out the final copy of an essay I have been labouring over for the better part of a week. It’s possible that the step that took the longest was not actually the research or the writing of the paper, but actually the references, because it was APA style in-text citation, which I haven’t been anywhere near since Grade 12. Granted, not so long ago, but if you think about it, it’s almost a fifth of my entire life ago.

Tomorrow, I expect to, less triumphantly, print off my “discussion of two or more interpretations of ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.’” And I’m sure any minute now I’m sure to begin to work towards that end. Yep.

*Grandma, I know you know this is a Bridget Jones reference and not an admission of prior guilt
**sigh, once again something only JHR will understand completely, and I shall not explain, how can you bear it?
***PPPP (ahem, product placement payment please)

And this bird you cannot change

Congrats to he who is done his degree and is now drinking like the free man he is. I hate that I have 6 more weeks of this, and that last night I drank a large glass of wine with my dinner and consequently fell asleep on the couch in the middle of the O.C. I've got a lot of catching up to do...
Happily, today I checked my degree requirements and hey, I might be able to finish in a year after all -- I may be a nervous and drooling wreck by the end of it, but hey, gotta watch that double cohort creeping up from the rear to steal my job ops, right?

Oh, and for those in need of their daily dose of jollies -- go read the comments at Deg of Man and we can all make fun of BO together, like one big happy family.

Notes to self

1. Impulse buying as a result of stress will be your downfall
2. Sugar highs are not worth the crash (or, um, the cash)
3. Never leave home without your Ready Reference Handbook

Nothing like being talked to as though you're a piece of meat.

Yesterday in the grocery store, a little old man with a shiny, bald, bandaged head was talking to the steaks. Apparently the dead flesh was complimenting him, because he kept saying things like, "Why thank you."
That's what I get for shopping after dark in Canberra.

This week I found out that my exam is on the 24th of June -- that is, the very day before I leave Australia. Potentially, of course, it could have been on the 25th, and I would have had to make the DR's wait for me an extra day, which would have sucked. This way, it'll just be a mad pack-study-a-thon for the last few days of my Aussie experience.

Today begins the 6 week countdown.

Spazzerific

Today my Creative Writing teacher said to me, "Maybe you shouldn't have had so much coffee during the break."
To which I said, "But I haven't had any coffee at all."
And someone else said, "No, she's just like that naturally."
And then everyone laughed.

I think they may think I'm insane. I'm so afraid that I'm the annoying person in the class who everyone wishes would just shut up. The thing is, that tutorial is the only class I get to actually TALK in. So I have to cram a whole week of class talk into those two hours.

At home arts courses, in comparison, are a f-ing free-for-all, where everyone can jump in at random and discussion is encouraged. Here, you ONLY TALK IN TUTORIALS. We don't have tutorials in Canada. Here, there is a sacred rule which states, "THOU SHALT NOT SPEAK DURING LECTURES OR THOU SHALT SUFFER GREAT CONSEQUENCES INCLUDING SHUNNING AND CUTICLE PULLING"

Needless to say when I finally get the chance to express myself I get a bit overwhelmed and can't seem to SHUT UP...
Do you ever just wish you could ask people without making them distinctly uncomfortable whether everyone in the room realy hates you and fantasizes about gagging you with duct tape?

*sigh* If only there was a way.

But Monday Morning Couldn't Guarantee...

So I came here today hoping I would be inspired to put something up before I got to the actual writing of it. Alas, I got nothing. I'm in the midst of some hardcore procrastination (wow, ever since hearing that saying I can never say that word in a way that doesn't sound gross to me) which has grown to involve every single activity in which I engage daily and every assignment I have creeping up on me -- i.e. housework, schoolwork and even passtimes are suffering under the grip of my extreme attack of apathy. I just don't give a shit, and one is not forthcoming (yeah, I'm on a freaking roll today -- I'm concern-constipated -- deal with that one for a minute). I think I'm wishing too hard for this semester to end and spending not enough time making sure that it actually does.
Yay, happy Monday.

Let me just clear some things up

Got a little outside interest going on here, so maybe I need to refresh my stats a bit, since it isn't my practice to release my profile -- wouldn't say anything too interesting anyway.
I'm 21, Canadian, on the last leg of a round-the-world plane ticket, which at the moment has me on exchange at Australian National University in Canberra -- one of the most boring cities in one of the most interesting countries I've hit this year.
Parents and brother are currently in Christchurch where they will be for the next 3 weeks, before returning to Canberra to hang out with me for another 4, at which point I will once again abandon them and go to Fiji. At some point during the summer I suppose I'll have to go home -- which is Guelph, Ontario, but for most of the year I live in Kingston because I go to Queen's University.
The links on the side are respectively: my fam's trip pictures; my good friend V who's on exchange in Glasgow; my ex's excellent blog; a former mormon momma from utah; and a fianceed New Yorker.
If you check out the archives I originally created the whole damn thing as an outlet for the frustrations of student civil servants working the summer away at the Blue Palace, otherwise known as the Ontario Ministry of Agriculture and Food -- it kind of all grew from there.
And now, as one visitor put it so pleasantly, it's just "a travel log, nice'n'normal." It is however classified in blogshares under "Psychology" and "Hate" which I will forever be bitter about -- it may be a bit bipolar but it's hardly hateful. Goodness knows what it's reincarnation will be when I get home.

Goddess of Industrial Strength Silicone Adhesive

Today I fixed a broken towel bar taht my brother had accidentally wrenched out of the wall. Yes, I, AR, pulled a whole DIY thing -- there were definite moments of "I am woman hear me roar" afterwards. That's not to say that this is a unique event. In fact I have been known to whip out my trusty tool set (yep, I do own one at home) and perform a little fixer-upper. Here in Australia I amazed an international chick by fixing her frying pan handle using only a butter knife (yeah, I just tightened the screw, but it sounds impressive if you say it the other way -- sort of like McGiver). On the other hand, I have also been known to say that there's nothing that can't be fixed with chocolate and the Big Chill soundtrack (which is just a blatant lie, although it's a damn good soundtrack), and to call on Max of Saskatchewan when I wasn't strong enough to unscrew the coverings on our overhead lights to change the bulbs (he also fixed our stove while he was at it, and we good little women fed him dinner in return -- it was all very archaic). But hey, despite the other hand, I've got my industrious streak, which is a damn good thing I'm finding, when all the big strongies are nowhere to be found.

"She's gone to the movies now and she don't need your help."

No seriously, that's exactly where I'm going right now, but 10 pts to the person who can correctly identify the song lyric.

Cheers

Earthquake! -- minus the actual quaking part.

JHR is phoning me this week! How excited am I? VERY.

So as it turns out, my family neither felt the earthquakes, nor heard about them on New Zealand news. This leaves me to assume many things.

a) Kiwi attitudes towards earthquakes are like Aussie attitudes towards very horrible scary poisonous and deadly things -- i.e. non-chalant.

-or-

b) Canberra's radio station realized its ratings were going right down the toilet because its programming, like many things in Canberra, is dead boring, and so decided the best thing for it was sensation, sensation and more sensation. This could be valid, given that 104.7's latest publicity pitch is "Canberra's 104.7: now with more barnyard animals" which is then followed by random sound effects of cows, pigs, horses etc. To those who are laughing and saying to themselves, man that AR, she's such a kidder, I sadly say, I kid you not. That's their actual pitch. Can I just say -- BOOOO.

-or-

c) Some one has bugged my phone and is trying to make my death look like an accident and so paid off the announcer to say that at the exact tooth-brushing time that would incurr maximum damage to my lungs and thus guarantee choking which would be un-aidable by Heimlich because of my solitary status (this then would be the paranoid little-old-lady part of the assumptions... ask me how many times I check the door's locked before I actually go to sleep).

In other very exciting news, if you've been noticing the comments (yes, comments which I actually have, comments which are not written to me by mistake) I have a new fan -- one who I have never MET or PAID... EVER. So welcome, and thanks for the kudos.

I must go and finish my short story I started a couple of days ago but have been unable to finish, for many reasons, among which my alarm clock is always shamefully late in waking me up. You'd think I'd just get a new one, but this one's so sexy I can't imagine trading it in for a model that actually works. I'll put up a picture sometime, I guarantee you won't fail to agree.

Cheers

In which the heroine has several mini heart attacks

So I should say, straight off, in case the rellies tune in today, that everyone is okay, so don't you guys echo my anxiety when you read the following.

This morning, while getting ready for school, I was listening to the radio as is my habit to chase away the silence and entertain my Canadian obsession with weather reports. Imagine how much I almost choked on my toothbrush when the announcer said, "Several earthquakes rocked New Zealand's South island this morning." South Island? As in where I was a week and a half ago? As in the place WHERE MY FAMILY STILL IS??? I swear that damn newscaster waited a full freaking second before adding, "Happily thre have been no reported damage or injuries."
It took me a full three minutes to quell my urge to reach for the phone -- no injuries, and I'm late for class.

The class I was late for (though I got there on time as it turns out) was the dreaded Psych tutorial. I have no idea why it effects me this way, I could honestly not care any less for the course -- it's about babies for Christ's sake -- but it triggers my anxiety like nothing has since Kyiv. And today was presentation day! Which means, succinctly, second mini heart attack of the day. At one point during my presentation I thought I might have to get up and leave the room, but kept tenuous control with the reasoning that it would be more embarassing to do that than to continue to stutter my way through it, and deal with the fact that my heart beat had pumped up to an inhuman rate.

I spent the rest of the THREE HOURS AND 25 PRESENTATIONS writing a grocery list.

Fee Fie Fo Fum

Yesterday in a fit of self-pity I bought a package of starburst sour worms and went to the Film Group to watch Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events by myself. I sat unknowingly beside a father and his three sons. I say unknowingly because two of the three came in later to occupy the two seats between me and the rest of their party. When the little boy beside me moved to the other side of his father, I thought about feeling hurt, but then thought, "Nah, I didn't really want to sit beside him, and besides, I wouldn't want to sit beside me either."
I'm officially the Wicked Witch of the West, and also the one in the Gingerbread House -- because of the candy you understand.
Next time I'll buy jelly babies, and be all like, yeah, that's right, I'm eating babies.

Someone please email me so I have something less disturbing to post about.

And what are YOU doing with your life?

Last night I went to a dinner party and was the youngest one there. I also felt like the youngest one there, which is new for me, because usually I feel like I can hold my own, but here, amongst people already working in government, in university departments, or working on their second, third, gajillionth degree, I felt a bit lost. Admittedly, these women were not THAT much older than me -- however, they do have it figured out, and when that all important question came my way, "And what do YOU do?" and I answered with my perennial "I'm a film student," I got the expected resulting reaction that this statement always induces: "Oh, well... gee... THAT'S completely useless."
Of course, they never come out and say exactly that. What they do do is widen their eyes slightly, look a bit perplexed, take a moment to recover, prepare the appropriate response and then say, "Oh, how interesting." Yeah lady, pull the other one.

Never mind. I'm comfortable with my label. If it doesn't exactly cover what it is I do as nicely as I'd like, it at least speaks to the fact that above all, my creativity is a ruling force in my life, and therefore leads the things I choose to study. Film is not as pigeon-holing as you might expect.

Speaking of creativity, every day I walk through the art school's courtyard and peer in at the people working in the glass studio. It's fascinating, the doors are always open, you can smell the materials people are working with, and cute little people with dreadlocks and smocks sit swinging their legs and smoking. It makes me miss Guelph summers, and daydream about that huge canvas I have in the attic at home. I miss my paint, I miss my calligraphy pens, I miss my pastels and markers and sketchbooks. Sometimes I just can't wait to get home. Sometimes I don't want to come home at all. Always I look forward to the next stage.