babyfreakingporridge.

Almost

2009-11-03T22:37:00.009+11:00

It's ten forty pm on a Tuesday night, and there are only hours until I will be unable to include "university student" in any sort of personal description.

I will have my last class ever tomorrow. I don't know how I feel about this. Actually I do - relieved but immensely terrified - but for simplicity's sake, I'll just say throw concrete emotion to the wind and bask in some faux-indecision.

I've come back from the gym, where my favourite, very handsome receptionist greeted me with the smile I would sacrifice my meals for (HUGE CALL!), just to have said smile continuously thrown for my personal amusement. I swear, there are no such thing as lesbians, only girls who have not met handsome-receptionist-fiend.

He fired his obligatory, "Hey! How are you today?" doused in smile (cue swooning), and I responded quite fruitily with the pace of one who knows no such thing as pauses, "Ijustwokeupfromanap! ItwasAMAZING!"

He asked through chuckles, "How many hours was it?" and I responded with 4 glorious hours! He laughed and said, "That wasn't a nap."

"What was it then?" I asked.

"That," with impeccable pace, he said, "was a sleep".

I threw around whatevers and rolling eyes, he humored me and threw around laughter. By the time I got to the treadmill, the face was grinning and the heart pumping!

This is ridiculous. I am twenty, soundly aware of my overall person, and still, I feel like an acne-riddled adolescent and get excited when attractive people show me the time of day. Hopeless!

But moving on, I really did come straight home from uni today and fall into a delicious slumber. The days leading up to the culmination of my academic servitude have been intense. Yesterday, I left the house at six thirty in the morning in order to get to Hannah's house and trudge off to film one final interview at eight. Made our way to uni, and aside from attending my last ever Magazine Publishing class, spent the day in the film lab, possibly in the fetal position, finishing off our project. We walked out of that lab at nine twenty that evening, and with exhaustion and offending sleepiness on my back, the one hour commute home was quite possibly the most excruciating train ride I have ever experienced.

Handed the finished film in today and felt vastly disappointed with the realisation that this was my last ever Television and Current Affairs class. So grateful to have had such a thrilling and inspiring lecturer in Mark Bannerman, who actually works at the ABC on Four Corners and the 7:30 report. WE LOVE YOU MARK! There is now a group on Facebook aptly titled "The Mark Bannerman Appreciation Society" for which I might possibly be an admin... Um.

And because it's virtually an impossibility for me to walk away from a blog entry without a picture dump, I leave with some stills from our copious amounts of footage - five and a bit hours worth of footage, to be precise. Naturally, I have an overwhelming amount of scenes to screenshot, but I only picked a handful to show:

So goodnight, I have my screenplay to refine for tomorrow, which ideally if I don't fail anything, will be the last assessment I ever have to hand in.

I leave you with three picture of me being an uninspired pirate wench from the weekend:

i put a wig on you when you were sleeping & i just lay there & spooned you

2009-10-29T21:54:00.011+11:00

The current state of my existence - a thorough exploration in bullet points:

* Tinned tuna and crackers have become a constant in my life. Their relative cheapness and easiness to pack with other necessary items for uni outweigh the obvious downside of smelling like a poor man's concubine for the rest of the day. It should also be noted that tuna and crackers are devious little f*ckers because they trick me into feeling good about my calorie-controlled lunch consumption, only to have me then put McDonald's out of business because I am a) immediately starving, and b) viciously obsessed with eating. And thus the whole "doing my body good" thing is grievously nulled.

* I have undertaken one of the most arduous character building exercises ever. Yes, it's akin to volunteering at retirement homes to wipe bottoms, and even more painful than watching Beyonce for longer than anyone should have to. (Sorry Kanye) For a large part of this week, I've put my self-consciousness on suspension... and worn glasses. In public. TO THINK I HAVE HAD PHYSICAL INTERACTION LOOKING LIKE A FOUR-EYED-BEAST!!1!!1!

* Have spent more than sufficient time in the uni film suite this past week to be at liberty to call it my (volatile) lover. He's made me laugh and made me (want to) cry! He's encouraged my creativity and pushed me to exhaustion! He's been at the forefront of my mind and been a needy, attention-craving little maniac. Like I said, a volatile lover. Just a preview of what I've been working on:

* Clean underwear has also decided to become a myth, or gremlins have decided to raid my underwear drawer and present the findings to their leaders. I have been wearing bathing suit bottoms. Yesterday, while walking back to my car from the supermarket, I felt a sensation that can be acutely described as 'falling underwear'. One side of my bikini strings came undone and I ended up walking the rest of the way back holding dearly onto my bottom, as if I were rescuing turd from premature departure.

* Hannah asked me to do a speech at her upcoming 21st. I am ecstatically flattered at being picked amongst her HUGE list of loves to share a few words and anecdotes, as well as violently mortified about my dull droning's ability to inflict sleepiness upon her guests. She is beautiful and charming and the baby spinach to my cous-cous, and damnit, this speech better amazing.

* My feet smell terrible.

* And my beautiful Min turned 20 last week, so naturally we put our livers through some character building of their own. Cue necessary pic-spam:

WELL HEY, it is currently 12:30am Friday. I have a halloween party tonight, to which I STILL have no costume. JOY!

sometimes, i love my papa.

2009-10-25T17:08:00.008+11:00

My father and I have a very formal standard of correspondence.

Blogging is a huge priority [extremely picture heavy]

2009-10-19T19:50:00.019+11:00

Look, I won't lie.

See that title? Well, let me clarify it a little for you. I thought about blogging, for days now actually. Thought about blogging on my drive home this afternoon as the sun glinted nicely off my bird-pooped-on windscreen. Situated myself in front of the computer, did the token back stretch in preparation for blogging, then I thought long and hard about blogging while looking at pretty pictures and playing some tetris.

And how! Look where we are now.

....The ridiculous thing is, the above words were written on Monday evening. It is currently Thursday evening. Time has elapsed, Kanye West died, Kanye West regrettably did not really die, the desire to blog remained present, and still, my wordcount remained unsubstantial .

Ridiculous, I say.

I'm so exhausted, but not unfulfilled. Today was productive, if by productive we mean I have tired (and smelly) feet attached to weary legs, am a few dollars poorer from beers, and have read an admirer note possibly penned to me in mx - the free paper.

No, really. Today was productive. Spent the morning in the editing suite logging and capturing footage for our tv journalism final project. We're doing our story on parkour - obviously am excited about the subject matter and the talent we get to work with. The thrilling thing is that I managed to capture the entire tape. The not so thrilling thing is that there are currently three other tapes in my bag left to capture.

Made our way to UNSW, also known as The University of New South Wales or 'that campus that regrettably is a lot more attractive than ours' to film an interview with a law professor. Being journalism students, we couldn't just film a lovely promo piece for parkour, so we're exploring public liability and legality with regards to parkour. Much to my annoyance, we discovered that the equipment store supplied us the wrong cable, and as a result, we could not attach the external mic to the camera. So I totally had to put aside my patent perfectionism, swallow my dignity, and settle for the sub-par sound quality of the in-built mic.

(By the way, any reference to apparent perfectionism is a joke. A funny one at that!)

Fortuitously, Djordje txtd me earlier of a training session occurring on those very grounds! So we got around to filming more footage, although I should clarify that Angus filmed more footage while Lauren and I ogled and perved. Maybe I shouldn't speak for Lauren though, so in that case, fine, I did it - all the ogling and perving. It was all me!

We needed to interview Shaun, but the lousy in-built mic and the wind were a most ill-fated couple, so Djordje was gracious enough to drive us all back to uni to obtain a functioning lead for the external mic. The interview went swimmingly, and Djordje, Shaun and I headed to the uni bar where I bought them some well-deserved beers. There was myrth! And there was laughter! I swear, they are my favourite parkour swine.

And while reading Mx on my train trip home, I came across this:

This may just be my overblown self-indulgence talking, but I think... that was for me. Last Wednesday, I wore all black - from my boots, to my top and my jacket - except for my skirt which was blue. (But blue and black are practically the same thing if we disregard that "ack" is phonetically different from "ue".) The train line mentioned above happened to be the one I was traveling on. I was handed a note, by the young man seated in front of me, whereupon he told me I was pretty, followed by a series of numbers of which we can assume are the digits of his mobile phone. Not to be rude and completely disregard the note, I shook his hand, told him my name and said, "I'm off at this stop. Nice to meet you." He then told me I had pretty eyes... which I think is a load of bollocks considering I am asian and asians don't generally luck out in the eye department. Just saying.

In conclusion, was that note for me or was that note for me?

Anyway, it's almost 1am. Am heading in again to uni to get as much footage digitised as I can, so shut-eye is in order. I'll scrimp on the words now and leave with my trademark picture dump from the night of my gig and from Hugh's 21st the night after.

Just quickly though: so grateful to everyone who swung by to hear me offend the silence with my vocal chords. Nikk and I did 4 of my originals (So Incredibly Profound, I Quit Being Miserable, If I Wrote A Letter To Myself and Walk Away), The Mamas and the Papas' Dream A Little Dream of Me and Britney's Toxic. Thanks guys! Thanks Nikk!

Gig:

Hugh's 21st:

(birthday swine & i!)

(:

2009-10-10T17:04:00.001+11:00

Will update more later. Am getting my vanity on and getting ready for Hugh's 21st tonight. Yeow!

october is for births.

2009-10-04T16:17:00.005+11:00

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that the majority of you have not lived. Unless you can actually say that you've had your piece of cake stabbed my elbow, then you haven't lived. Mona, however, has certainly lived.

Instances like this reinforce why I should never be let out in public. But she still ate the cake, mind you. That could be testament to a) how much of a trooper Mona is, b) how delicious the cake was, or c) how much my (unmoisturised) elbow-assault probably made her night. I like to think it was c). It's always about me, damnit.

Giselle's 80's-prom-themed-21st was a chill way to spend my Saturday evening. I had the fearful premonition that I'd spend the evening as a wallflower since I did not know her crowd, and also because my social skills are not much evolved from pond rocks. Fortunately, I found some familiar faces and even...I daresay it, made new acquaintances. It should also be noted that, while I love the western social paradigm, very few things beat the food at asian gatherings. By that I mean there is ALWAYS real food. And lots of it. None of this finger-food crap. And if you've read my blog enough, you know it's unnecessary for me to detail just how much I get into food. I get into food in a big way, alright.

Anyway, happy-snaps:

Disregard the fact that I look pregnant in the next photo. But it was the only (almost) full-length photo I found:

Aaaand the next photo, being a 'milestone photo', deserves its own special mention. For the past four years, I have been wanting to meet this fine specimen named 'Stef'. Stef is very close pals with Hilary, who I met on myspace back when I could freely admit to using it without fearing an onslaught of judgment... and now the Hilaroo and I are close pals. For the past four years, I've been hearing anecdotes about this hilarious individual, and lo and behold, I finally met her in the flesh:

Seriously, how stunning is she?! Stef tooted my own horn and said she stalked my own pictures and whatnot and has heard many an anecdote about me from Hilary. After needing to disappear for a ciggy, Stef immediately came back and relayed her boyfriend Duncan's, also a fine human being, comment. "I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here," he said, "but is that... babyporridge?"

Caught up in my own fangirling and then having them acknowledge / know of me... well you can imagine the hearty amounts of squeeing I did. OR CAN YOU?

These next couple of months are going to blaze on so quickly. October is essentially my last month of academic study, so that means a whole lot of being frantic. On top of this, everyone gets horny and goes at it on New Years Eve, which is why all the proverbial buns pop out of the proverbial ovens in October. Can we say more twenty-first parties? Oh you bet we can. Just off the top of my head, my tentative party schedule is as follows:

9th - MY GIG !1!!11one (which I know doesn't count as a party, but we shouldn't think me above drunken festivities after the professional portion of the night is over)
10th - Hugh's 21st
18th - Hugh's 21st, part 2 (You wish I were kidding)
24th - Min's 20th
30th - Szwec's halloweeeeen party
31st - Daniel's 21st

And come mid-November, I fly off to the homeland (AGAIN :D) just for three weeks though, to accompany Isabelle for when her school semester ends. We cut the trip short on account of her wanting to come back just in time for her formal.

And just on a really abrupt parting note, I thought I should say that the only thing better than a Hayley G Hoover blog entry is a conversational thread of Hayley G Hoover personal messages sent straight to your facebook inbox. Oh yeahhhh.

hey stranger

2009-09-27T18:56:00.007+10:00

I've obviously had a grueling day. You know, in between playing hide and seek with my macbook, laughing at (and/or living vicariously) through some electronic smut, as well as sampling how I might taste with no marinade or necessary exfoliation, rest has been an elusive little mothertrucker. Haw haw.

Okay, in my defense, I didn't just have an unjustifiably lazy day. I spent the morning sweeping and mopping the tiled floors of the hallways, kitchen and dining area, sorting out everyone's laundry, and generally being a domestic machine of large proportions. Before you allow me to tick the 'fantastic housewife' box on your potential mate checklist, I should probably clarify that this is only a conditional perk. When assignment deadlines are pervading the air like the foulest of farts, procrastination in any form is looked upon. Favourably.

I also made myself some fruit salad involving orange, apple, lime, salt and chili (yes, chili!) a la Min and her people for dinner, partly because it's delicious and partly because I think that eating fruits will validate my subsequent consumption of the entire bag of red rock deli chips, currently sitting unopened in the pantry.

You know, I miss blogging. I miss typing up incoherent posts for my audience of three (me, Dad and occasionally Isabelle when Dad coerces her to read me for some writing style - though looking at my love of trackies and oversized shirts, I don't know exactly how helpful I am with style. Last time I checked, hobo-un-chic was so 1994... or whenever the hell Mary-Kate Olsen still did not yet reach 'has-been' status...)

Of not great interest or relevance to many of you is the fact that I am not the only one menstruating in this house. How's that for honesty, eh eh eh? (I know I will be paying for this with a hyperbolic drop in readership, I know, I'm sorry). The reason I bring this up is because the other perpetrator is an unexpected participant of the crimson wave surfing championships! IT WAS A CUCUMBER. I found an old, withering cucumber in the fridge, secreting the remnants of its fertility in a red fury onto the other unsuspecting vegetables in that drawer. Riveting, no?!

Ah, a poor segue! Aforesaid menstruation was heralded in by some pretty intense PMS on Wednesday. So much so that my crankiness made for some pretty potent adrenalin. I managed to jog my arse for 5kms, followed by 30kms worth of cycling. Upon reaching home, I followed the natural course of progression and asked my father the only appropriate request for when at the disposal of PMS - "Dad, I want some portraiture please. With this knife." And comply, he did:

Thursday, I spent the afternoon at a pub with Hannah and Bondi Ink Tattoo Artist, Kim. I mentioned in the previous entry that we did a news piece on home-tattooing for tv journalism. Kim graciously lent himself as talent, although on the day of the interview he walked in, an intimidating man in a leather jacket and earrings, slightly despondent and more-than-slightly hungover. (But it turned out well in the end!) Anyway, it was supposed to be a brief meeting for the show and tell of our finished project and to thank him again, but it turned into a fantastic afternoon of loitering, drinks (beer for him and non-alcoholic for Hannah and I who had to drive back) and d&m.

Friday, spent some much needed time with Min. We may or may not have trawled through thisiswhyyourefat.com and found a collective desire to consume some bacon. Our concoction involving roti bread smeared with cream cheese, honey-glazed bacon and onions, cheddar cheese and liberal amounts of bbq sauce was nothing short of culinary salvation and an express ticket to clogged artery town. Got up to some unnamed mischief with Hilary later in the evening.

Got in a rehearsal with the talented Nikk on Saturday. He makes my tunes sound somewhat decent! Oh oh oh oh, I don't recall shamelessly plugging yet on this blog, so here:

Oct 9, 8pm onwards, Nikk & I will be performing at Rubby Rabbit in Darlinghurst, thanks to Neel from Blind Hot Gems who got us the gig. It'll be sweet. If you're a Sydney-sider, swing by for the de-flowering of my gigging career! And then we can totally get smashed because I am the pinnacle of professional! Joking, but really, do swing by. I'd appreciate it (:

Oh shit. Dad just opened the Red Rock Deli Chips. I am out of here like a creten too uninspired to come up with an analogy!

x

poop &a half

2009-09-06T22:56:00.006+10:00

It has been over two months since I last posted a 'real' youtube video with actual edits and sequences and over two weeks since I last posted a blog entry. This can only mean one of two things:

1) My lack of cooperation in passing on email chain letters has finally caught up with me, and some psycho clown hailing from under my bed has cut off my fingers with spoons, and has subsequently rendered me internet-inept, or
2) I have finally realised my true calling as a party animal.

AND WHAT AN ANIMAL I AM!

Last weekend's Friday night saw me get acquainted with a little Vodka, a little Whisky and a little of what I like to call glorified piss, i.e. beer, for Chris's 21st. The following night saw the donning of ridiculous heels, dancing and shots for a ladies night out.

Come Sunday, I came to the realisation that I'm probably all too little party and all too much animal, spending the majority of the day in an oversized System of a Down shirt, possibly purring disgruntedly and licking at my fur, and generally feeling sorry for myself. The main reason for wallowing in the quagmire of self-pity was the disgusting amount of junk I consumed in a single weekend and the absolute lack of exercise that ensued. I drowned my sorrows by tucking into a huge bag of red rock deli sweet-chili-sour-cream chips.

What can I say, the weekend was THAT epic, I needed an entire week to collect my thoughts for an appropriate recollection. That, or I've been too busy being cool and playing tetris on facebook.

No, but in all seriousness, this week has been nothing short of hectic. So much so that tonight, a Sunday night, I got home past eleven from staying in the final cut pro editing suites at uni with Hannah, Angus and Lauren, working away to make a Tuesday deadline. I'll get into the story at depth tomorrow, or whenever time is kinder; it's fascinating. Think hepatitis C, tattoo needles and inked up manly flesh. Fascinating story, I say.

I wanted to discuss at length the drunken advances from people old enough to know better than to pursue this infant, but perhaps for another time eh? I leave with a trademark picture dump, yeah!

Christopher with his token "Angelina-took-my-photo-to-the-cosmetic-surgeon-and-said-copy-these-lips" pout

Aaaaand ladehz - in the very wholesome stages of night:

I don't know about sustaining this party animal lifestyle though.... It detracts from time with my first love, i.e. gym, and this is not a good look for everyone involved. You know it's bad when you've only made it thrice to the gym this week for some paltry cardio and it's been a week and a half since your last pump class. MOTHERTRUCK! /Back later, triple chins = not attractive.

GOODNOIGHT

unimpressed

2009-08-21T09:58:00.003+10:00

Look, I hate to be the jerk around town, but I am royally unimpressed by your blog plagiarism. Not to be really presumptuous, but It's just too much of a coincidence that my previously used analogies involving Madonna's breasts and Miley Cyrus's ego, and phrases like "unemployment, i welcome you with arms as wide as my wit is lacking," are littered across your blog.

Sure, I have no hold of the English language, so just for that, I can let slide your usage of "deities of academia", "karmic retribution" and "cretin". Just fyi, you spelled cretin wrong - "creten" - hilarious that I held that same spelling error for the better part of last year.

Yes, I stumbled upon your blog, skimmed through the most recent entries, thought it a little uncanny that we had such similar idioms, but thought nothing of it. I even thought "WELL HEY, IT'S A KINDERED SPIRIT!" That until, I saw the sentence, "It would be presumptuous of me to say that my car doesn't like it up the arse." Seriously? I only wrote that line four months ago. If you're going to plagiarise, at least have the decency to steal something at least a year old, that way I might have forgotten I had written it. Jerk.

Look pal, you can kick at my threadbare self-esteem, steal my parking spot or be the obnoxious prick on the treadmill next to me who detracts from my running focus, and yeah I'll be a little miffed. But you take my line about adopting self-defence so that when assailed in the back of an alleyway, I'll have better than my "I can do origami" catchphrase, then we have a problem. Such a problem involves me wanting to make mashed potato of your face with my fist alone.

You think I'm creepy? Damn straight I am. I went to the very start of your blog archives, opened up a word document, and copied down all the lines that sounded terribly suspect. I've organised it under month headings too. I have the intention of going back through my own blog and copying down my original statements and the dates of when I posted them. Why? I don't know. Probably will just be an exercise in personal masochism.

I know what your name is and I know you live in my city. Don't think I'm above shaming you. If I feel so inspired, I will put your link up on here. Better yet, I'll start a new section on the sidebar aptly titled "Wall of Shame" and will christen you as its pioneer. I don't know what I'm expecting. I'd feel terrible to ask you to take your posts down. Who am I to play the holier-than-thou stance, but really, I am livid. Self-expression doesn't come as easy for me as I'd like it to, and for you to come and pedal on the back of my measly wisdom does not sit well with me. Maybe I would just like some sort of acknowledgment - "oh hey, I read your post. I'm really sorry about offending you. Won't do it again." I don't know. All I know is I'm really unimpressed.

I could damn well be overacting. So be it. But just know that this is a mighty pet-peeve, and its people like you who reinforce my increasing displeasure about sharing content. Criticism and trolling I can take, I've dealt with them for a long time. But this, the pilfering of ideas, I do not stand for. I don't mean to be a huge bitch, but I am not going to sit down and take it like a man. I will take it with the full force of the adolescent brat I will never grow out of, got it?

just one.

2009-08-09T23:07:00.002+10:00

a laboured mess of words

2009-08-06T23:14:00.008+10:00

In an attempt to conceal just how much I struggle with writing up blog entries, I'll begin this post with an irrelevant but worthwhile tidbit like how a can of corn kernels has the capacity to smell like cheap wine. Are you riveted? I dearly hope not. Otherwise, I'll chastise you for being a low-quality reader (but secretly be thrilled that my weak statements have an easily moved audience).

In the past week, I've managed to uphold two negative stereotypes that may or may not involve "women" and "asians" with relation to driving. How might one do this, you ask? Simple. Reverse into a midget-sized pole in a carpark. I'm not even going to make excuses for myself; in fact, I'll even add that the smash repairs guy and I are totally on a first name basis. I said, "HELLO, I'VE COME BACK TO BRING YOU BUSINESS," with the chipper air of one who is not a war veteran. He laughed and said, "I should give you a frequent flyers card." (*Will just note that this is the first of my road misadventures where fault rests on my shoulders, mmkay)

So, I've been enjoying the bustle of the outside world. My rustiness at blogging can attest to this. Yesterday after class, I made my way to the Museum of Contemporary Art with Alex, whereupon he informed me that he totally had some rehearsed comments and art appraisals at the ready, ahaha bless! Then I took the following picture at some point during a leisurely stroll. Sometimes I forget how beautiful I find the city I live in, but instants like these are like refreshing gusts of clarity.

In the evening, Nerida picked me up for a gig, and added me to the collection of girls in her car. I instantly warmed to them like a potato in a microwave after hearing, "Oh, we'll look after you tonight!" in response to my delcaration that I was the baby of the bunch.

Here, have some myrth:

I love live music, the atmosphere of a small pub, and the collective easygoing quality of people who frequent these venues. There's little pretentiousness to stab through, unlike at clubs, and falling into conversation with anyone is as easy as settling into a an armchair specifically designed for the grooves and ridges of my tender bottom! Stumbling into bed at a time of day pre-emancipated-Cinderella did not have the luxury of enjoying, sleep was short-lived, and I drove Isabelle to school prior to jumping onto a train with Min, in order to make it to a television shoot. We were extras, courtesy of the darling Chris, and all I'm prepared to say on the matter is I am mother trucking better at tennis than I ever gave myself credit for!

Look, all I'm asking for right now is a calf massage. I am exhausted.
It should also be noted that I haven't gone to the gym since Monday. You see how treacherous old age is?!? Excuse me while I have a quarter life crisis...

Night

A gift for music enthusiasts

2009-07-31T00:17:00.005+10:00

Somewhere between craving cinnamon donuts, psyching myself up for my last ever academic semester and dealing with things slightly beyond the healthy limits of my emotional quota, I turned twenty.

Here is where I say 'thank you' to anyone who contributed to the fruitfulness of my day through sms / youtube / facebook / twitter / dailybooth comments, actual gropes and telekinetic energy. I felt the vibes, thank you.

Since I regrettably cannot personally hug or affectionately pat any of your heads, I thought the next best thing would be to compile and illegally distribute a mixtape of sorts, whereby you could:
a) enjoy what my ears (and nostalgic recollection) enjoy
b) subsequently broaden the horizons of your music favourites, or
c) decisively attack me for everything I stand for, starting with my music taste

Then I remembered that legal run-ins regarding intellectual property and copyright are actually severely intimidating, and are things with which I don't want to be involved.

In conclusion, I have not uploaded and will not freely distribute a collection of songs.
I have, however, still compiled a set of twenty songs in youtube form - with one song from every year I've been alive. Hope you enjoy; do let me know if you've decided to fall in love with any of my picks (:

1989 - Personal Jesus : Depeche Mode
1990 - Roam : B52s
1991 - Jeremy : Pearl Jam
1992 - Date Rape : Sublime
1993 - Mr. Wendal : Arrested Development
1994 - Cornflake Girl : Tori Amos
1995 - Waterfalls : TLC
1996 - Lady Picture Show : Stone Temple Pilots
1997 - Suddenly Strange : Bic Runga
1998 - Teardrop : Massive Attack
1999 - Paper Bag : Fiona Apple
2000 - Sparks : Coldplay
2001 - Love Affair : Regina Spektor
2002 - Innervision : System of a Down
2003 - Collide : Rachael Yamagata
2004 - Too Drunk To F*ck : Nouvelle Vague
2005 - Virginia Moon : Foo Fighters
2006 - Mushaboom : Feist
2007 - Nude : Radiohead
2008 - Hiphopopotamus Vs. Rhymenoceros : Flight of the Conchords
2009 - R U Kidding Me : Kate Miller-Heidke

The usual, unstimulating trivial commentary will resume in the following blog posts. I leave you with a teaser of sorts, by the clubbing snaparazzi. Yeah, this mug totally made it to one of those party photo websites, ha. Clearly my life is much closer to fulfillment!

Goodnight.

i left the womb, goodnight

2009-07-23T23:52:00.001+10:00

i got snubbed by the man of my dreams

2009-07-14T22:13:00.005+10:00

I should begin by noting that the title of this entry is vastly more interesting than the story itself. I will now proceed. So about two nights ago, this guy I know from a class at uni played a cameo role in my dreams. I have exercised all of about sixty words to him from when he asked for computer help, his features never caused a stir in my loins or heart, and I wouldn't even go so far as to call us acquaintances. Despite this and for whatever inexplicable reason, he made an appearance in my dreams.

Lo and behold, while accompanying my mother to an appointment in King's Cross, (yes, it's exactly what you're thinking... if what you're thinking involves questionable circumstances) who should walk by but mr-in-my-dreams himself! I had the riveting compulsion to grab him by my ankles and yell, "fate! we are bound by fate!"

Thankfully, nothing of that ridiculous extent transpired, and the scenario was grossly anticlimactic. He just walked on by like the lyrics to Burt Bacharach's song aptly titled 'Walk On By', and he didn't acknowledge me! I like to dismiss the idea that he totally just didn't see me, considering I was way out of his peripheral vision, but the story is much more enthralling if I pretend that it was an act of defiance to his reciprocated burning lust.

But then my mother bought me a burrito, and all was well. God, I'm such an easy bribe. I jump at the chance to accompany her to appointments, clean dog shit, go for routine lobotomies... all for the promise of food.

(Image stolen from the Guzman y Gomez website. Does product placement get me free burritos? Because I will totally be a repeat customerrr...)

And totally off topic, but whatever, Min. D-Radcliffe is totally a babe.

Guys, I can't thank you enough for reading my blog and reacting to what I say. I wish you could know how incredibly grateful I am for the fact that I have such quality people following and responding to my words. Thank you for such phenomenal comments in the last entry. At risk of sounding any more like a big sap, I throw in the word "hernia" to break the monotony.

Lovelovelove.

unworthy blogger

2009-07-12T19:55:00.015+10:00

So, after just having read Hayley's last post, I feel like an unworthy blogger. I blog about my misadventures and the things I'm obscenely passionate about, which invariably are creative self-expression and fat thighs (more appropriately, the eternal pursuit to remove them from my life). As far as saving the world goes though, what am I doing? I'm vaguely conscious about recycling and I volunteered for a summer at the YMCA as a soft-spoken twelve year old. These token graces are as far as I go in terms of being an environmentalist / humanitarian / good samaritan / relevant human.

I see people on the streets. I read about those people suffering from poverty or carnage. I know that so much stuff of real substance occurs that don't even register on my personal radar of importance. All I can do is briefly feel empathetic and genuinely sorry for people in these sort of circumstances, but I don't do more than that. I haven't gone to a camp for abused children, made a positive impression, and subsequently enriched someone's life for a week. At this point in my life, I can't willingly say that I would consider adopting, much less consider the prospect of having my own offspring. Lots of admiration, Hayls. (Seriously, if you haven't read Hayley's blog yet right now, do so.)

I dunno. I guess I'm just sad that wanting change is not synonymous with actual change. I don't know if I'll be forever afflicted with apathy; I hope not. It's not the thought that counts after all. As they say, the dead are still dead.

There's a lot I don't write about and put up in the public domain. I self-censor a lot of what goes on in my personal life (I know, hard to believe, right?). I like to write about lighthearted things, and if I do touch on something a little more poignant, I'll stay vague. I'm sorry that this post deviated from the structure, but at the same time I addressed something that needed to be addressed. But my penchant for the lighthearted means that I will forever be an unworthy blogger with no real address to the relevant things of today's society. Hate it when I'm being a confused downer? YEAH, YOU AND ME BOTH!

Back to my typical non-riveting, regular musings. I know this totally defeats the aforesaid paragraphs, but eh. Like I said, I like to chronicle the lighthearted things.

So I went to dinner and The Butterfly Effect gig last night, and went snap-happy. In the following images, you will see my dinner also known as Pad Thai Prawn, the faces of Nerida, Rose, Crystal and myself, and Rose's conceptual artwork more aptly called 'Rice on a table'.

This is the view from where we were. That's right, those two heads you see are made of finite human flesh.

I didn't bring my zoom lens, so no close-ups of faces mid money-note, no heaving drummer pecs and the like. I should note that I learned of the art form of timing precision since I had to time my 'clicks' in the split-seconds when the two side-bobbing heads in front of me bobbed out of my frame. I also may or may not have stolen Zab's watermark style.

Now please make sense of the following two pictures, as the implication creeps me the truck out. Disregard the awkward poses; working with the allotted seconds of self-timer in the wee hours of the morning is not my strong suit. I remember having such a hard time keeping my eyes open. I attributed it to dry contacts. If you look at these, my face is considerably fuzzy. WHAT THE TRUCK. Is that a ghost sitting on my face?! HALP.

mmhm

2009-07-11T17:45:00.003+10:00

So hi. The looney above has wet hair. And seems not to mind!

I have approximately ten minutes til Nerida picks me up & we scurry off to watch a gig. TEN MINUTES, I say. So just a forewarning that I will hit 'submit' when I hear the doorbell, regardless of any conjunctions still requiring nouns, regardless of fragmented sentences, and regardless of general grammatical ineptitude!

I started typing up a blog last night, a Friday night, in which I urged you not to be envious of my supremely cool social standing after I divulged where I spent my Friday night. I, of unparalleled social relevance, spent my Friday night... at the gym. Hahahaha, don't judge me. I got enough judging from Daniel who rang during my heaving and grunting, and was happy to hear that I was out judging from the background noise. I told him I was at le gym and he retracted his happiness :(

OH IS THAT A BUZZZ I HEAR-

BBQ Nicken Salad

2009-07-02T22:27:00.005+10:00

I may or may not have been dreaming about above salad from California Pizza Kitchen, which regretfully is not an establishment in Australia. WOE!

So I took matters into my own grubby, unwashed hands, and made a cheap knock-off. What my salad lacked in trademark black beans, jicana, cilantro, basil, crispy corn tortilla strips, monterey jack cheese and herb ranch dressing, it made up for in human flesh and subsequent ailments.

I present you, The BBQ Nicken Salad, eh eh eh:

Ahahaha, I think I have effortlessly surpassed the weirdness quota for the evening. Just as well, my legs are still shaking from this evening's pump class (FILTHY LUNGES TRACK!) and I ought to go kick a bucket. Or something. Anything besides more ridiculous words!

Night folks,
x

Boiled pork

2009-07-01T16:51:00.007+10:00

"HI! My eye-patch is like the modern day man - no strings attached!"

Haaaa oh dear, my jokes get progressively worse by day. I apologise. I actually opened up this sacred bloggy-window last night to pour forth some musings, but I was then side-tracked by something exponentially cooler, and by that I mean a library book about Adobe Flash. And then I feel asleep. I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of my leisure reading choices, thank you.

GUUUYS, I've been tender all weekend like some well-boiled pork. Regretfully, I don't think I'm edible. No, but really, muscular tenderness is such a welcome addition to the vessel that is me. For the past three weeks, I've upped my bodypump classes from once (possibly twice) a week to a solid thrice. That, and I've also been increasing my weights load by about a third. I feel stronger, but damnit, I wan't results in the form of very-intimidating-guns nownownow!

Oh, speaking of gym-related things, yesterday I totally got hit on by a man a little older than in my prefered demographic. I am still deliberating about whether he was just being polite. "Do you train here often?" he said. "Yes," I replied with the casual air of a dustpan. "Oh," he continued, "I just haven't seen you around". "Mm, probably because I usually come in the mornings," I replied. At which he turned to his friend and exclaimed, "Pete, I told you we should go in the mornings. Look at the girls we miss out on."

It's instances like this where I wish my wit wasn't as ridiculous as chilli-flavoured toothpaste. Instead of saying something remotely amusing like, "Nah, it's just cranky soccermums then, the schoolgirls get here in the afternoon!" I instead said...something. Yeah, evidently so amusing, I can't even recall what I said. I wish I had wit! I wish I had finesse! I wish I didn't get such a kick out of eating Nutella straight from the jar!

Ooh, and I received one of my final assessments back in the mail. This should have been a 3,500 word essay, as I had intended for the greater part of the semester. With one week to go, I decided, "So what if I've already done the research and typed up the relevant notes, I want to make a project instead!" (We had the option to do a creative interpretation, and despite wanting creativity over conventionality, I thought I wouldn't have time and I didn't need the extra stress). Well, desire prevailed at the last minute, mind you - with two other major final assessments also due that week, and I persisted in making a video. I GOT A FREAKING HIGH DISTINCTION. Um... I think the extra stress was worth it. The moral of the story is that you should follow every desire except for the desire to swallow daggers or the desire to pursue Charles Manson because necrophilia isn't a very healthy pastime.

And today I visited Tasmanian cliffs the only way cheaters know how - photoshop, baby. Scenery is two images from Dad's archives.

(Click to view larger on flickr.)

Night, darlings
x

foolishness and fervour

2009-06-23T20:54:00.017+10:00

So my local paper contacted me for a profile piece interview since I am a finalist in this year's Australian National Youth Week. I happily obliged like any bona-fide publicity junkie, and made arrangements to meet the journalist lady in my natural habitat i.e. my house. This idea was met with parental disdain and I was told to 'meet elsewhere'. No sweat, except for an easy phone-call to change arrangements, right?

WELL KIDS, this is where you luck out on a story, on account of I am a very foolish lady! I rang the office, only to speak with the editor, explaining that ah-well-I'm-supposed-to-be-interviewed-but-I-uh-foolishly-forgot-to-note-down-the-reporter's-name-and-well-I'd-like-to-speak-with-her-please. And the editor was accommodating... after she burst into a spontaneous chorus of hysterics. I'm not talking obligatory polite chuckle after the supermarket checkout man cracks an unfunny comment about your vegetables ('What do you call epileptic lettuce?' -What?- 'Seizure salad', ba-dum-ching). I'm talking the kind of laughter only reserved for Flight of the Conchords and really inappropriate moments. I like to think conversation with me was the single-most defining moment of her career. So yes, I may be old and obsolete in a month's time, but I will still have relevance as pathetic entertainment value!

Back to being an ANYW finalist, clearly it's something I can add to my list of potential reasons for why I am a great catch, sitting in between 'I am not allergic to your cooking' and 'I can consistently look like I am in need of sleep'. I don't intend to win, and I did not ask for votes this year (Voting closed two days ago). Some of you loyal readers may recall me being in the same position last year, and extending a plea for votes. YouTube responded kindly, I won, and I was and am still very much appreciative. This year though, I didn't have any insatiable burning pride for my composition, so I didn't bother asking for support. I don't want to be someone constantly dependent on the support of her subscribers, so please, please give me a decent roundhouse kick to the face when and if I become that way.

Just in case you care, today marks my two year anniversary with YouTube. I thought it would be lovely to have a video up for today, but my intentions are as weak as Stephanie Meyer's writing flair (oh I went there!), and they invariably fell flat of materialising. I haven't been prolific in video-making this past year, but I feel recharged and inspired to give my channel an overhaul. I have been putting something together, a re-introduction of sorts, which I will put up within the next few days. Still shots from said project:

To attest my seriousness in a channel overhaul, I opted to forgo the trusty webcam, and actually filmed with the DVcam. Jump cuts will be banished! Sequences will be utilised! Final Cut Pro will prove victorious over iMovie! Water will taste like badly fermented beer! In short, I don't wanna be an amateur no more.

Aaaand I've been playing around with image post-processing lately, as can be seen on the new blog page banner and the following image:

As I am the most accessible and practical model for, my post-processing frenzy has undoubtedly lent itself as a valid excuse for cam-whoring, mmhm!

I even lookbook'd:

Also, my stomach is currently purring like a whiney cat. I think the acidity (lime, baby, lime!) of my dinner is not being especially kind. Yes, I discovered that lime, pepper and salt make a decent salad dressing. Lime is deliciouuuuus, mmm.

Time for goodnight, si?
Buenas noches.

Oh, post script, if you're keen, I made an mp3 of 'I am giving you a chance to walk away' available for download. But that's only if you want. I don't want to be accused of cyber-bullying!

another gratuitous post

2009-06-17T15:34:00.005+10:00

So, I'm currently editing away at another project Hannah and I are working on. I won't say more than it starts with a "p" and ends in something that rhymes with "tornography". You wish I were kidding*. And true to my ever-generous fashion (that, or my gross-inability to keep things to myself), I have decided to bombard this space with some still shots from our shoots, most of which came from yesterday.

You may or may not see an appearance from my favourite Min. Now peruse:

*I really was kidding.

Love, etc.

2009-06-14T19:26:00.020+10:00

I am sipping Muscato from an ikea glass as I type up this blog entry. Drinking by myself in the presence of HTML is clearly the most redeeming aspect of my life. Since university is done for the semester, I have nothing but infinite relief and a desire to kick children. Some parts of aforementioned sentence may or may not be false.

I was watching The Burning Plain, typical of Guillermo Arriaga's screenplay style (Babel, 21 Grams), & I am now compelled to divulge my love for J.D. Pardo.

Now I realise, I disclose new loves about as frequently as I fulfill the necessary function of pissing, but let this habit not detract you from noting how real all my loves are. I also love having minimal cellulite and un-chapped lips.

Oh...AND HAYLEY G HOOVER. I love Hayley G. Hoover!

She's so beautiful... she could be a part-time model.

And I digress!

Yesterday, I accompanied Dad to his workmate's wedding, for the purpose of flexing the photographic muscle.

We weren't commissioned or asked, so this was purely for the practice. Goran and Michelle, the gorgeous couple:

Aaaaand, I leave you with a moneyshot that the papa took:

Sorry for a verbally-uninspiring entry. I'll attempt to man up, and blog about real issues next time. Real issues like sneakers not costing that much cheaper even with little kid slaves making them!

habitus

2009-06-08T21:42:00.011+10:00

My mother loves her chocolate more than most things in life. If she had to only save one between her chocolate or her firstborn in the event of a fire, I might not have a promising further life expectancy. The point of this is she loves her chocolate, and she keeps watchful tabs on her stash of favourites.

Currently, there is a box of (my mother's) Lindt chocolate balls hiding in the corner of the lowest shelf in the pantry. It's delicately savoured, painfully rationed, and heavily accounted for.

Stepping into the kitchen this evening, I was greeted with, "Nikki, why did you eat four of my chocolates?!" Such is the peril of being the fat kid of the family - the default of eternal blame for missing food rests on my shoulders.

Anyway, I didn't eat them and Isabelle denied knowing anything about the box being opened. What I am alluding to here is not the fact that my family is a throng of hungry liars. What I am alluding to is the fact that I AM NOT LYING WHEN I SAY THERE IS A GHOST IN THE HOUSE.

Seriously. Things routinely go missing, and by 'things' I specifically mean delicious, edible things.

On the topic of delicious and edible things, I had an orange and a mug of green tea for dinner tonight. I briefly reflected on how proud I was of my ability to flex the willpower muscle, and I even thought, "For once I have the meal plan of a skinny girl!" Then I smelled the tempting aroma of pizza on Isabelle's plate, and I caved like house of cards after a nearby sneeze. I ate a slice, and I hang my head in shame because I am now devoid of any inspiring anecdotes about willpower and conquering the beasts of the gut! Sorry guys.

To break the monotony, here is a picture of some girls in an assortment of vivid clothing:

It was my dear Marcus's superhero/villain themed 21st. He made an absolutely convincing Wolverine:

Aaaand this is a picture where I attempt to kill my first ever human through suffocation. Joe was no unwilling volunteer (<- double negative; english fail) :

Aaaand, in an effort to continuously push remaining uni final assessments from my mind, I will continue to waffle on about things that don't remotely interest you, such as the state of my fingernails (newly-cut, unpolished) as well as the fact that I watched (and enjoyed) two Pedro Almodóvar films (Volver, Habla con Ella) yesterday with mein papa.

He deals with such heavy themes in a brutally casual light, at first I didn't know whether to be offended by his almost dismissive handling. Then I remembered that I only ever take offense to the people in front of me walking slowly and being called sane, so I quickly abandoned any initial feelings of offense for aforementioned movies. If you like your irony seasoned with quirks and served on a bed of black humour, I absolutely recommend them.

Yeah, I think that's my quota of words for the day.

Night, loves

Ghost

2009-06-01T01:49:00.006+10:00

& if I die today, I'll be the happy phantom & I'll go chasing the nuns out in the yard

Ridiculous

2009-05-29T20:41:00.007+10:00

What the above still image neglects to convey is the ridiculous extent of effort required to get to that particular spot. When I say 'ridiculous', it is on par with the ridiculous idea that I might one day find a more fulfilling lover than McDonald's apple pies.

For the past few weeks, Hannah and I have been frequenting a small river-town, about an hour from the Sydney CBD, chasing up a story about homelessness for our television journalism final project. What makes this story interesting is that in this particular area, the residents don't view the homeless as a concern. Mutual respect is passed around like roast baby l'orange at a cannibal Christmas dinner. Overwhelmingly, the residents view the homeless as unofficial bodyguards.

Anyway, as we make reference to some of these homeless as 'cave-dwellers' in our news package, footage of the caves was crucial. Cue three hours of trekking through unpaved, unfamiliar mountainous bushland with heavy-arse HDV camera and tripod in tow. Now, Hannah and I are no typical damsel weaklings; we are both loyal body pump class veterans. We lift weights on a regular, voluntary basis, but SHIT MAN, this was some tough shit, the way I would expect shit to be tough after a month-long fibre-deficiency... Um.

But I digress. Old readers of mine would know of my incompatibility with journalism in general, but I really enjoy video journalism. Perhaps it's more to do with the 'video' part than the actual 'journalism', but I absolutely engage with this subject. This particular project has definitely challenged some of my perceptions about homeless people. And it's not that our perceptions set out to be automatically malicious, they're often just the tragic function of embracing stone-carved stereotypes. I just have to say though, that I did not expect such depth out of some of the characters we interviewed.

But that's enough blah blah, here is a still of the ever-gorgeous Hannah during her piece-to-camera:

And one of my favourite stills:

In other news, I'm slowly recovering from the flu. I managed to go to the gym thrice this week, but there is still Saturday and Sunday, so perhaps I may be able to edit this sentence to say "I managed to go to the gym five times this week". It astounds me how quickly I can lose endurance just by missing a week of exercise. Ugh. But you know, I will be astounded if in the future, I ever enter into a relationship with the male species that rivals the gym. I have a very consistent and stable relationship with fitness first, ahaha.

Sorry this post has been flat like a pre-pubescent (til-even-present day!) me. I'm just exhausted, and the week ahead looks like a certain shade of despair. Three final assignments due. Please keep an eye out for my name in next weekend's obituaries.

x

least attractive picture ever...

2009-05-23T23:19:00.005+10:00

...but I have to show it regardless:

This image says, "I finally reached the gym for the first time in a week." Take that, filthy flu & lousy immune system!

You just can't fake this kind of elation. Really, you can't.