Sunday Funday
Fun things to do when not writing thesis on a Sunday:
Go to Google. Type in "weapons of mass destruction" and click "I'm feeling lucky". Cue hilarity.
Return to Google. Type "French Military victories" and click "I'm feeling lucky". Rinse, repeat daily until rash disappears.
Sunday, May 30, 2004
Friday, May 28, 2004
Disaster Movies and PhDs
Went to see The Day After Tomorrow last night. Cool effects and disaster movie type things, loaded with various moralistic messages, but lacking in the plot department. But really, what did one expect? "From the director of Independence Day" was a fairly good indicator, so I left my brain at home. Just like Independence Day, the dog survived, so thats all I really care about. Donnie Darko survived too, which was an added bonus.
I had my Friday morning meeting with my thesis supervisors yesterday, and I think my thesis will kick arse. Good thing is, they seem to think so as well, which is nice coming from two such educated chaps. Given the restrictions inherent in a Masters thesis, they want to send me off to a university in America to continue my work in the form of a PhD, and really cane it. I said sure guys, can you just bend over so that I can pull some money out of your arses to pay for it.
Nice to know that they think I've got what it takes though. So of course I had a look on the Yale site, which is where Nicholas Sambanis runs the Economics of Civil War project from which is right up my academic alley, and now I want to go there. Never mind the fact that in less than 2 years I'll be 30 and I have about $300 to my name, not counting student loans and all that. I wanna go to Yale!!!!!! Fuckarsebollocks.
So I said to my supervisors that if they could hook me up with one of those sweet scholarships where I get paid loads every week to study and have to teach undergrads for a couple of hours a week and they put me up in a nice house with people who don't smell and who can cook really good Indian food, then I'm in. Otherwise....
My brain is ticking over, scheming about who I know who know people who can hook me up, but first, I have to finish the job at hand.
And just like that, I'm gone.
Went to see The Day After Tomorrow last night. Cool effects and disaster movie type things, loaded with various moralistic messages, but lacking in the plot department. But really, what did one expect? "From the director of Independence Day" was a fairly good indicator, so I left my brain at home. Just like Independence Day, the dog survived, so thats all I really care about. Donnie Darko survived too, which was an added bonus.
I had my Friday morning meeting with my thesis supervisors yesterday, and I think my thesis will kick arse. Good thing is, they seem to think so as well, which is nice coming from two such educated chaps. Given the restrictions inherent in a Masters thesis, they want to send me off to a university in America to continue my work in the form of a PhD, and really cane it. I said sure guys, can you just bend over so that I can pull some money out of your arses to pay for it.
Nice to know that they think I've got what it takes though. So of course I had a look on the Yale site, which is where Nicholas Sambanis runs the Economics of Civil War project from which is right up my academic alley, and now I want to go there. Never mind the fact that in less than 2 years I'll be 30 and I have about $300 to my name, not counting student loans and all that. I wanna go to Yale!!!!!! Fuckarsebollocks.
So I said to my supervisors that if they could hook me up with one of those sweet scholarships where I get paid loads every week to study and have to teach undergrads for a couple of hours a week and they put me up in a nice house with people who don't smell and who can cook really good Indian food, then I'm in. Otherwise....
My brain is ticking over, scheming about who I know who know people who can hook me up, but first, I have to finish the job at hand.
And just like that, I'm gone.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Shitfuckarsecrapsuckpissfuckshitarse
I'm not really upset, I just wanted a post called that.
Strikes me that perhaps I should have saved that magic post title for a situation worthy of that much cussing, but hey. I don't believe theres a rule about post titles, and if there is, guess where you can stick it!!
Cardinal pointed out that the titles of the last few posts suggest all is not well on Planet Claire, and I would like to take this opportunity to assure you all that I am just peachy. Bursting with fruit flavour. New improved pine fresh. Industrial strength goodness is going on here. Smashing, as it were.
Actually I'm completely fucked and have 34 days to finish my thesis and some days I get so tired I just want to cry, and its all so huge and scary and I have no job lined up for when I finish unless you count research in the department and waiting tables and I have so many knots in my back it hurts and I just want to run away to Wanaka and sleep.
But I don't really feel like I have any justification for complaining about it, because there are many around me who have either just completed The Task or are in a similar position to me. Plus, I have things in my life that some people would give their right feet for, so every time I feel like complaining I hear this wee voice in my head going "shutthefuckup". Most of the time it drowns out the voices going "kill them all, or they'll cut your throat in your sleep" and "the aliens are reading your brain waves and they're coming to take you away and make you a goddess on their world". Most of the time.
Anyhoo.
Planet Claire is its usual joyful interesting place to live, theres rarely a dull moment, and quite a few smashing people come to visit. The sun shines most days, even when its crappy outside, and when it does rain, its because I want it to, cos I love rain. One makes of the world what one will.
There's loads of dogs and chocolate and penguins and hedgehogs and warm snuggly beds and bare feet and hot sweet cups of tea and autumn leaves and baths and open fires and good smells and jandals and books by Mr Rushdie and long car journeys south and spring cherry blossom and glasses of red wine and red roses and gerberas and tomatoes and sunsets and sunrises and tikka masala and movies with popcorn and fizzy drink and photos and red jackets and horsies and stripy socks.
Its just at the moment, I'm putting all those things on hold until I've finished my thesis.
Heres what I'm listening to on the way;
Tadpole: Blind
Cordrazine: Crazy
Aerosmith: Sweet Emotion
Christina Aguilera: Beautiful
Suede: Animal Nitrate
Coldplay: Moses
Manic Street Preachers: Motorcycle Emptiness
The Distillers: The Hunger
Hole: Violet
Jeff Buckley: Hallelujah
Grant Lee Buffalo: Honey Don't Think
P.O.D: Sleeping Awake
Filter & Crystal Method: Trip Like I Do
Queens of the Stone Age: The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret
Incubus: Talk Shows on Mute
Aimee Mann: Wise Up
Deftones: My Own Summer
David Bowie: Absolute Beginners
Skunk Anansie: Weak
The Pixies: Wave of Mutilation
And on that idiosyncratic note (pardon the pun), I have a thesis to write.
Have a smashing day, won't you.
Smooch.
I'm not really upset, I just wanted a post called that.
Strikes me that perhaps I should have saved that magic post title for a situation worthy of that much cussing, but hey. I don't believe theres a rule about post titles, and if there is, guess where you can stick it!!
Cardinal pointed out that the titles of the last few posts suggest all is not well on Planet Claire, and I would like to take this opportunity to assure you all that I am just peachy. Bursting with fruit flavour. New improved pine fresh. Industrial strength goodness is going on here. Smashing, as it were.
Actually I'm completely fucked and have 34 days to finish my thesis and some days I get so tired I just want to cry, and its all so huge and scary and I have no job lined up for when I finish unless you count research in the department and waiting tables and I have so many knots in my back it hurts and I just want to run away to Wanaka and sleep.
But I don't really feel like I have any justification for complaining about it, because there are many around me who have either just completed The Task or are in a similar position to me. Plus, I have things in my life that some people would give their right feet for, so every time I feel like complaining I hear this wee voice in my head going "shutthefuckup". Most of the time it drowns out the voices going "kill them all, or they'll cut your throat in your sleep" and "the aliens are reading your brain waves and they're coming to take you away and make you a goddess on their world". Most of the time.
Anyhoo.
Planet Claire is its usual joyful interesting place to live, theres rarely a dull moment, and quite a few smashing people come to visit. The sun shines most days, even when its crappy outside, and when it does rain, its because I want it to, cos I love rain. One makes of the world what one will.
There's loads of dogs and chocolate and penguins and hedgehogs and warm snuggly beds and bare feet and hot sweet cups of tea and autumn leaves and baths and open fires and good smells and jandals and books by Mr Rushdie and long car journeys south and spring cherry blossom and glasses of red wine and red roses and gerberas and tomatoes and sunsets and sunrises and tikka masala and movies with popcorn and fizzy drink and photos and red jackets and horsies and stripy socks.
Its just at the moment, I'm putting all those things on hold until I've finished my thesis.
Heres what I'm listening to on the way;
Tadpole: Blind
Cordrazine: Crazy
Aerosmith: Sweet Emotion
Christina Aguilera: Beautiful
Suede: Animal Nitrate
Coldplay: Moses
Manic Street Preachers: Motorcycle Emptiness
The Distillers: The Hunger
Hole: Violet
Jeff Buckley: Hallelujah
Grant Lee Buffalo: Honey Don't Think
P.O.D: Sleeping Awake
Filter & Crystal Method: Trip Like I Do
Queens of the Stone Age: The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret
Incubus: Talk Shows on Mute
Aimee Mann: Wise Up
Deftones: My Own Summer
David Bowie: Absolute Beginners
Skunk Anansie: Weak
The Pixies: Wave of Mutilation
And on that idiosyncratic note (pardon the pun), I have a thesis to write.
Have a smashing day, won't you.
Smooch.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Bollocks
Hair grief. Shit. Now I am not normally the kind of girl who really gives a flying fuck about the way I look, my day-to-day wardrobe normally consists of jeans (sewed by hand), trainers and various t-shirt/jersey/polyprop combos, and my normal hair-style could best be described as either "whitey-fro" or the classic "dragged backwards through a bush" look. However, I actually made an effort. I have unique hair, its not blonde and its not red, its somewhere in between, and its curly, in a ringlet kind of way. It also has no particular cut or style, unless you count "cut at home with my dressmaking scissors cos hahaha I can get away with it" as a cut.
Last night, about 8.30 pm, I was too tired to do any more work, so I went home and soaked myself in the bath for the better part of an hour (and also, was away from uni for more than 12 hours for the first time in God-knows. Left 8.30pm, arrived this morning 9.10am). After the heavenly bath treatment, I parked my arse in front of the fire and watched "Desperado" (v. cool) and with the flattie's hair-straightener iron thing, one hour later, my hair is dead straight, and might I add, looking pretty fucking nice. For some reason, it appears to be a different colour straight than curly, but thats a story for another day maybe. This morning it was still looking good, so off I toddled to uni with my fab hair style. HOWFUCKINGEVER. Thanks to the charming Christchurch smog-fest we call winter, it is severely foggy, and the trees are dripping dew (actually its quite beautiful, but we're focusing on the negative right now). As a consequence, my hair gets all damp, and proceeds to go "BOOF".
Shit.
Hair grief. Shit. Now I am not normally the kind of girl who really gives a flying fuck about the way I look, my day-to-day wardrobe normally consists of jeans (sewed by hand), trainers and various t-shirt/jersey/polyprop combos, and my normal hair-style could best be described as either "whitey-fro" or the classic "dragged backwards through a bush" look. However, I actually made an effort. I have unique hair, its not blonde and its not red, its somewhere in between, and its curly, in a ringlet kind of way. It also has no particular cut or style, unless you count "cut at home with my dressmaking scissors cos hahaha I can get away with it" as a cut.
Last night, about 8.30 pm, I was too tired to do any more work, so I went home and soaked myself in the bath for the better part of an hour (and also, was away from uni for more than 12 hours for the first time in God-knows. Left 8.30pm, arrived this morning 9.10am). After the heavenly bath treatment, I parked my arse in front of the fire and watched "Desperado" (v. cool) and with the flattie's hair-straightener iron thing, one hour later, my hair is dead straight, and might I add, looking pretty fucking nice. For some reason, it appears to be a different colour straight than curly, but thats a story for another day maybe. This morning it was still looking good, so off I toddled to uni with my fab hair style. HOWFUCKINGEVER. Thanks to the charming Christchurch smog-fest we call winter, it is severely foggy, and the trees are dripping dew (actually its quite beautiful, but we're focusing on the negative right now). As a consequence, my hair gets all damp, and proceeds to go "BOOF".
Shit.
Bugger.
The fucking printers gone belly-up. Fuck. I have all this wonderful (ok, half decent) material that I was going to print out and sit on the comfy chair in my office and edit/make sense of/generally play with, and not I'm going to have to do it the hard way, on the computer!! I know, you're saying 'why don't you just put your computer on your knee and do whatever needs doing to it like that? It is a laptop after all'.
Cos thats not the fucking point!!!! Plus, its really hard to make sense of stuff when you can only see one screen at a time, and you've got about 15 000 words to sort out, even when you have several windows going at the same time, plus you can't scribble in different colours on a computer screen. Well, you can, but theres not much point, cos all the words move away when you scroll down, and the scribbles stay where they are, and then you've just ruined a perfectly good computer screen. Or so I heard, from some guy, who knew someone....
Anyway, the point is, when you've got a scramble brain, sheets of paper spread out on the office floor with arrows and diagrams and colour coding is really the best way to get stuff done. At least, when you want it to make sense.
I'd try and fix the printer, but given my technological abilities and shorter-than-a-short-thing-having-a-short-day-in-shortsville temper, there would be about 2 minutes of trying to figure out the problem before I threw the printer out the window. Not good, especially given that said printer is the property of the university...hang on...
Wait.....
Printer fixed. No more excuses Claire, go work!!!
In other news, Stephen and Elizabeth and imminent baby are back in a matter of weeks, to stay!!!! Choice.
That is all. You are free to go. Don't let the door hit you in the arse on the way out.
The fucking printers gone belly-up. Fuck. I have all this wonderful (ok, half decent) material that I was going to print out and sit on the comfy chair in my office and edit/make sense of/generally play with, and not I'm going to have to do it the hard way, on the computer!! I know, you're saying 'why don't you just put your computer on your knee and do whatever needs doing to it like that? It is a laptop after all'.
Cos thats not the fucking point!!!! Plus, its really hard to make sense of stuff when you can only see one screen at a time, and you've got about 15 000 words to sort out, even when you have several windows going at the same time, plus you can't scribble in different colours on a computer screen. Well, you can, but theres not much point, cos all the words move away when you scroll down, and the scribbles stay where they are, and then you've just ruined a perfectly good computer screen. Or so I heard, from some guy, who knew someone....
Anyway, the point is, when you've got a scramble brain, sheets of paper spread out on the office floor with arrows and diagrams and colour coding is really the best way to get stuff done. At least, when you want it to make sense.
I'd try and fix the printer, but given my technological abilities and shorter-than-a-short-thing-having-a-short-day-in-shortsville temper, there would be about 2 minutes of trying to figure out the problem before I threw the printer out the window. Not good, especially given that said printer is the property of the university...hang on...
Wait.....
Printer fixed. No more excuses Claire, go work!!!
In other news, Stephen and Elizabeth and imminent baby are back in a matter of weeks, to stay!!!! Choice.
That is all. You are free to go. Don't let the door hit you in the arse on the way out.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Blatant plagarism for a giggle
In lieu of any good ideas of my own, here are some funnies. Via
Animalanche: When you kick your stuffed animals in your sleep and they
fall all over you or the floor.
Anticiparcellate (an ti si par' sel ate) - v. Waiting until the mailman is several houses down the street before picking up the mail, so as not too appear too anxious.
Backspackle (bak' spak uhl) - n. Markings on the back of one's shirt from riding a fenderless bicycle.
Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at 3 in the morning and cannot be cast out.
Bixplex (biks' pleks) - n. Psychological block in which a person cannot choose which color of disposable lighter to purchase.
Blurfle (bler' ful) - v. To be caught talking at the top of one's lungs when the music at the bar or disco suddenly stops.
Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
Bugpedal (bug' ped uhl) - v. To accelerate or decelerate rapidly in an attempt to remove a clinging insect from a car's windshield.
Burgacide - n. What you call the desperate action of a hamburger leaping to its death through the holes in the Bar-B-Q grill.
Cereoallocative (ser r o al' o ka tuv) - adj. Describes the ability of a seasoned breakfast eater to establish a perfect cereal/banana ratio, assuring there will be at least one slice of banana left for the final spoonful of cereal.
Choconiverous - adj. Biting off the head of the chocolate Easter bunny first.
Darf (darf) - n. The least attractive side of a Christmas tree that ends up facing the wall.
Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
Ellacelleration: The mistaken belief that repeatedly pressing the elevator button will make it go faster
Execuglide (eks ek' yew glyd)- v. To propel oneself about an office without getting up from the chair.
Fetchplex (fech' pleks) - n. State of momentary confusion in a dog whose owner has faked throwing the ball and palmed it behind his back.
Flarpswitch (flarp' switch) - n. The one light switch in every house with no function whatsoever.
Flopcorn (flop' korn) - n. The unpopped kernels at the bottom of the cooker.
Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
Fuffle (fuh' ful) - v. To assume, when dining out, that you are making things easier on the waitress by using the phrase "when you get a chance..."
Genderplex - n. The predicament of a person in a restaurant who is unable to determine his or her designated restroom (e.g. turtles and tortoises).
Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
Decaflon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
Gromaxes (grom' ack sis) - n. Inside area of knees used to grip steering wheel when holding a map.
Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
Lactomangulation - n. Manhandling the "open here" spout on a milk carton so badly that one has to resort to using the "illegal" side.
Luposlipaphobia - n. The fear of being pursued by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.
Mozzalastics (maht suh las' tiks) - n. Large deposits of cheese that stick to the top of the pizza box.
Napression Marks (n): Those indentation lines on your face created by your bedding when you when you wake up.
Netsec - n. A Unit of time used in indicating work time lost due to reading net.jokes
Oopzama (ewp' za muh) - n. Sudden scratching of scalp or face upon realization that the person you were waving at isn't who you thought it was.
Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease.
Pajangle (pah jan' gul) - n. Condition of waking up with your pajamas turned 180 degrees.
Penciventilation (pen si ven ti lay' shun) - n. The act of blowing on the tip of a pencil after sharpening it.
Pepperlonely...the piece of pepperoni left on the cardboard when you pick up a piece of pizza.
Pielibrium (pu lih' bree uhm) - n. The point at which the crust on a wedge of pie outweighs the filling and tips it over.
Pillsburglar (pilz' berg ler) - n. Person able to sample the icing on a new cake without leaving a fingerprint.
Prestofrigeration: The peculiar habit, when searching for a snack, of constantly returning to the refrigerator in hopes that something new will have materialized.
Pupkus (pup' kus) - n. The moist residue left on a window after a dog presses its nose to it. Purpitation - v. To take something off the grocery shelf, decide you don't want it, and then put it in another section.
Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
Shirmers - n., pl. Tall young men who stand around smiling at weddings as if to suggest that they know the bride rather well.
Slottery and Vendication (slot' er ee and ven' di kay shun) - n. A public misdemeanor in which a person gambles on a vending machine, loses, and tries to exact revenge by kicking it.
Snargle (snar' gul) - v. To lessen the visual impact of a horror movie by filtering it through one's fingers.
Snuggage (snuh 'gaj) - n. The act of retying both shoestrings when only one needed it.
Squatic Diversion (skwa' tik dy vur' zhun) - n. Any pretended activity that commands a dog owner's attention while the dog relieves itself on a neighbor's lawn.
Squigger (skiwg' uhr) - n. A cherry tomato that explodes upon contact with a fork.
Subnougate (sub new' get) - v. To eat the bottom caramels in a candy box and carefully replace the top level, hoping no one will notice.
Upuls (yu' puls) - n. The blank pages at the beginning and end of books, presumably placed there so you can rewrite the ending.
Warbloid (war' bloyd) - n. The tiny device in cassette players that eats tapes.
36 days to deadline, so I'm spending my time wisely...
In lieu of any good ideas of my own, here are some funnies. Via
Animalanche: When you kick your stuffed animals in your sleep and they
fall all over you or the floor.
Anticiparcellate (an ti si par' sel ate) - v. Waiting until the mailman is several houses down the street before picking up the mail, so as not too appear too anxious.
Backspackle (bak' spak uhl) - n. Markings on the back of one's shirt from riding a fenderless bicycle.
Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at 3 in the morning and cannot be cast out.
Bixplex (biks' pleks) - n. Psychological block in which a person cannot choose which color of disposable lighter to purchase.
Blurfle (bler' ful) - v. To be caught talking at the top of one's lungs when the music at the bar or disco suddenly stops.
Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
Bugpedal (bug' ped uhl) - v. To accelerate or decelerate rapidly in an attempt to remove a clinging insect from a car's windshield.
Burgacide - n. What you call the desperate action of a hamburger leaping to its death through the holes in the Bar-B-Q grill.
Cereoallocative (ser r o al' o ka tuv) - adj. Describes the ability of a seasoned breakfast eater to establish a perfect cereal/banana ratio, assuring there will be at least one slice of banana left for the final spoonful of cereal.
Choconiverous - adj. Biting off the head of the chocolate Easter bunny first.
Darf (darf) - n. The least attractive side of a Christmas tree that ends up facing the wall.
Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
Ellacelleration: The mistaken belief that repeatedly pressing the elevator button will make it go faster
Execuglide (eks ek' yew glyd)- v. To propel oneself about an office without getting up from the chair.
Fetchplex (fech' pleks) - n. State of momentary confusion in a dog whose owner has faked throwing the ball and palmed it behind his back.
Flarpswitch (flarp' switch) - n. The one light switch in every house with no function whatsoever.
Flopcorn (flop' korn) - n. The unpopped kernels at the bottom of the cooker.
Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
Fuffle (fuh' ful) - v. To assume, when dining out, that you are making things easier on the waitress by using the phrase "when you get a chance..."
Genderplex - n. The predicament of a person in a restaurant who is unable to determine his or her designated restroom (e.g. turtles and tortoises).
Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
Decaflon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
Gromaxes (grom' ack sis) - n. Inside area of knees used to grip steering wheel when holding a map.
Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
Lactomangulation - n. Manhandling the "open here" spout on a milk carton so badly that one has to resort to using the "illegal" side.
Luposlipaphobia - n. The fear of being pursued by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.
Mozzalastics (maht suh las' tiks) - n. Large deposits of cheese that stick to the top of the pizza box.
Napression Marks (n): Those indentation lines on your face created by your bedding when you when you wake up.
Netsec - n. A Unit of time used in indicating work time lost due to reading net.jokes
Oopzama (ewp' za muh) - n. Sudden scratching of scalp or face upon realization that the person you were waving at isn't who you thought it was.
Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease.
Pajangle (pah jan' gul) - n. Condition of waking up with your pajamas turned 180 degrees.
Penciventilation (pen si ven ti lay' shun) - n. The act of blowing on the tip of a pencil after sharpening it.
Pepperlonely...the piece of pepperoni left on the cardboard when you pick up a piece of pizza.
Pielibrium (pu lih' bree uhm) - n. The point at which the crust on a wedge of pie outweighs the filling and tips it over.
Pillsburglar (pilz' berg ler) - n. Person able to sample the icing on a new cake without leaving a fingerprint.
Prestofrigeration: The peculiar habit, when searching for a snack, of constantly returning to the refrigerator in hopes that something new will have materialized.
Pupkus (pup' kus) - n. The moist residue left on a window after a dog presses its nose to it. Purpitation - v. To take something off the grocery shelf, decide you don't want it, and then put it in another section.
Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
Shirmers - n., pl. Tall young men who stand around smiling at weddings as if to suggest that they know the bride rather well.
Slottery and Vendication (slot' er ee and ven' di kay shun) - n. A public misdemeanor in which a person gambles on a vending machine, loses, and tries to exact revenge by kicking it.
Snargle (snar' gul) - v. To lessen the visual impact of a horror movie by filtering it through one's fingers.
Snuggage (snuh 'gaj) - n. The act of retying both shoestrings when only one needed it.
Squatic Diversion (skwa' tik dy vur' zhun) - n. Any pretended activity that commands a dog owner's attention while the dog relieves itself on a neighbor's lawn.
Squigger (skiwg' uhr) - n. A cherry tomato that explodes upon contact with a fork.
Subnougate (sub new' get) - v. To eat the bottom caramels in a candy box and carefully replace the top level, hoping no one will notice.
Upuls (yu' puls) - n. The blank pages at the beginning and end of books, presumably placed there so you can rewrite the ending.
Warbloid (war' bloyd) - n. The tiny device in cassette players that eats tapes.
36 days to deadline, so I'm spending my time wisely...
Monday, May 24, 2004
NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
Only five more episodes of er left, counting today's. Great. The charming Christchurch winter is upon us, how are we supposed to get through without decent telly? All thats left now is Scrubs, although they'll probably take that off soon too, just to piss us off.
There is absolutely nothing else on telly thats worth watching. Its all complete and utter arse. American Idol? How about "no". The we have all manner of bollocks reality tv, which turns your brain to tapioca, theres crap Australian soaps, and Everybody Thinks Raymond is a Fucking Tosser. Help me Obi-Won Kenobi, make some decent telly!! Just one hour a week is all I ask!!
My Dad has the right idea on telly, he says "if it wasn't for The Simpsons, I'd throw the bloody thing out the window". Although given that we are now on to the 17th rerun of every single episode, even the Simpsons can't save us now.
And don't start on the whole "you could read a book" bollocks. I've read more fucking books than anyone I know. And I could engage people in conversation, but I don't like that many people, and the ones I can stand are too busy working or, like, go out and do stuff. Or live in bloody Wellington. Bastards.
Maybe I'll start a cult. People can pay to join, and I can use the money to go snowboarding. The I won't have to talk to them. Just need an incentive for them to give me money. Suggestions in the box please.
Only five more episodes of er left, counting today's. Great. The charming Christchurch winter is upon us, how are we supposed to get through without decent telly? All thats left now is Scrubs, although they'll probably take that off soon too, just to piss us off.
There is absolutely nothing else on telly thats worth watching. Its all complete and utter arse. American Idol? How about "no". The we have all manner of bollocks reality tv, which turns your brain to tapioca, theres crap Australian soaps, and Everybody Thinks Raymond is a Fucking Tosser. Help me Obi-Won Kenobi, make some decent telly!! Just one hour a week is all I ask!!
My Dad has the right idea on telly, he says "if it wasn't for The Simpsons, I'd throw the bloody thing out the window". Although given that we are now on to the 17th rerun of every single episode, even the Simpsons can't save us now.
And don't start on the whole "you could read a book" bollocks. I've read more fucking books than anyone I know. And I could engage people in conversation, but I don't like that many people, and the ones I can stand are too busy working or, like, go out and do stuff. Or live in bloody Wellington. Bastards.
Maybe I'll start a cult. People can pay to join, and I can use the money to go snowboarding. The I won't have to talk to them. Just need an incentive for them to give me money. Suggestions in the box please.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Van Hottie
Well, contrary to Hester's opinion, Van Helsing did not suck, it was in fact very cool.
Ways in which it was cool:
-Hugh. Nuff said.
-Dracula movie, featuring the cool anti-gravity things that vampires do, like walk up walls and shit.
-Suitably corny script.
-Gadgets, in manner of Mr Bond, but in a 19th century sort of way.
-David Wenham who is cool.
-Hugh getting his kit off. Yeah.
-Girls kicking arse, and not in a slap and scratch wussy way, but proper fighting, like we do really. Except without the corsets, and makeup, and on-call hairdressers. And less with the choreographed shit, and more with actual stuff. But you know what I mean.
-Effects.
-Hugh.
-Did I mention the casting? Fine job there. (spot she who likes the eyecandy)
But for a better take on it, here we have Van Helsing in 15 minutes.
Can someone please explain to me why it is that I can be tired all day, like having a hard time constructing a sentence tired, and yet now its the middle of the night, and for the life of me, I'm buggered if I'm going to be able to sleep? All wide awake and raring to go. So now I've got the telly on, and quite possible the coolest shot in many years is on: X-Men, first movie, and Mystique and Wolverine are kicking the shit out of each other at the statue of liberty, Mystique has morphed into Wolverine form, and shes delivering a flying kick to Wolverine, and as she spins in the air, she turns back into Mystique. Its cool. This is in fact a very cool movie.
Cyclops (having just had Mystique encounter and seeing Wolverine, suspecting the worst)"Wait"
Wolverine: "Its me"
Cyclops: "Prove it"
Wolverine: "You're a dick"
Cyclops: "OK then..."
Maybe I should go to bed, if only for the sake of the 2 people in the world who read this baby and are about to get a blow-by-blow account of the rest of X-Men. Interesting to know however, what mutant power would you want? It doesn't have to be an X-Men power, but I know my sister would give her right foot to be Storm.
Also, Hester, I don't collect comic books, I did buy an X-Men one in Greece, but given that I could only understand every twentieth word, presuming every twentieth word was one of the following: Hello, I don't speak Greek, do you speak English, 123456789 or 10, I gave it to Chad who is the biggest comic geek you will ever meet. Or not meet. Doesn't speak Greek though.
I just like X-Men and watched the original cartoon lots.
Cyclops is a dick though.
Nighty-night.
Well, contrary to Hester's opinion, Van Helsing did not suck, it was in fact very cool.
Ways in which it was cool:
-Hugh. Nuff said.
-Dracula movie, featuring the cool anti-gravity things that vampires do, like walk up walls and shit.
-Suitably corny script.
-Gadgets, in manner of Mr Bond, but in a 19th century sort of way.
-David Wenham who is cool.
-Hugh getting his kit off. Yeah.
-Girls kicking arse, and not in a slap and scratch wussy way, but proper fighting, like we do really. Except without the corsets, and makeup, and on-call hairdressers. And less with the choreographed shit, and more with actual stuff. But you know what I mean.
-Effects.
-Hugh.
-Did I mention the casting? Fine job there. (spot she who likes the eyecandy)
But for a better take on it, here we have Van Helsing in 15 minutes.
Can someone please explain to me why it is that I can be tired all day, like having a hard time constructing a sentence tired, and yet now its the middle of the night, and for the life of me, I'm buggered if I'm going to be able to sleep? All wide awake and raring to go. So now I've got the telly on, and quite possible the coolest shot in many years is on: X-Men, first movie, and Mystique and Wolverine are kicking the shit out of each other at the statue of liberty, Mystique has morphed into Wolverine form, and shes delivering a flying kick to Wolverine, and as she spins in the air, she turns back into Mystique. Its cool. This is in fact a very cool movie.
Cyclops (having just had Mystique encounter and seeing Wolverine, suspecting the worst)"Wait"
Wolverine: "Its me"
Cyclops: "Prove it"
Wolverine: "You're a dick"
Cyclops: "OK then..."
Maybe I should go to bed, if only for the sake of the 2 people in the world who read this baby and are about to get a blow-by-blow account of the rest of X-Men. Interesting to know however, what mutant power would you want? It doesn't have to be an X-Men power, but I know my sister would give her right foot to be Storm.
Also, Hester, I don't collect comic books, I did buy an X-Men one in Greece, but given that I could only understand every twentieth word, presuming every twentieth word was one of the following: Hello, I don't speak Greek, do you speak English, 123456789 or 10, I gave it to Chad who is the biggest comic geek you will ever meet. Or not meet. Doesn't speak Greek though.
I just like X-Men and watched the original cartoon lots.
Cyclops is a dick though.
Nighty-night.
She's got eyes of the bluest sky...
Things we love: G 'n R greatest hits. Oh yeah, show me the 80s metal. We also love hot water bottles, and sleeping. Last night I must have slept for 8 hours, and I only woke up 3 or 4 times. LUXURY!!
We're also going to ignore any reference to the Crusaders in this blog, given last nights ass-whuppin. OK, so it started as a whippin, then we kind of got a bit of cred back by not getting completely rogered in manner of deliverance or similar. I had to text my Dad once I had finished work, in case he was too upset. Seemed ok though, strangely pragmatic about the whole thing. Rachael went out to the airport to see the team when they arrived back today, apparently there was literally hundreds there, so thats nice.
We also love nachos from Charcoal Chicken, I had a taste of Tim's nachos yesterday, and had been thinking about them ever since. Finally got my own, and didn't share them!! Ha!
I'm having to add a whole new section to the thesis. We are needing some more analysis, and given my complete inability to do any sort of quantitative analysis because I can barely count past ten, the distinct lack of an analytical component is beginning to show. So instead of ignoring that part and hoping nobody notices, I'm going to have to integrate some old skool qualitative analysis in there. Fatten that baby up, as it were. So now I'm up to my perfectly plucked eyebrows in the theory of policy analysis and programme assessment. Riveting stuff, really. Makes for a hell of a weekend, especially given the lovely World Bank's tendancies to shroud themselves in a cloud of publications in the hope that nobody will notice that they aren't exactly forthcoming with project appraisals and rating scales for Bank and borrower performance. I have literally reams of information from them, these massive publications they have paid political scientists ridiculous amounts of money to write, yet trying finding out how they evaluate themselves through the blinding rhetoric of "country-led ownership" and "building learning opportunities" and some such crap is harder than.... (trying to think of something really hard...) shit I don't know. Something really fucking hard!!! Trying to sit through the walk-off scene in Zoolander without snorting with laughter. Discovering cold fusion. Sitting through a Stanley Kubrick movie without getting up and shouting "Doesn't anybody else realise this is complete and utter crap!!!" (2001 is exempt.)Harder even, than getting me to sit through the 6 o'clock news without throwing anything at the telly.
So its pretty fucking hard. Plus it doesn't help that the two people from the Bank who were very forthcoming with the info have gone on some project to Rwanda, or Sudan, or somewhere they need economists, I mean development projects. Oopsy.
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing and you really mean your mother, I mean another.
Beginning to lose ability to follow a train of thought. Maybe its time for a cuppa.
Van Helsing at 9 tonight. Choice, bro. Also, did anyone else know that at some ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, like 9 or something, is X-Men Evolution? Yay! I'd also like to point out that I was an X-Men fan long before the movie, just in case you were following the Van Helsing-Wolverine line of thought.
Have a smashing day. Smooch.
Things we love: G 'n R greatest hits. Oh yeah, show me the 80s metal. We also love hot water bottles, and sleeping. Last night I must have slept for 8 hours, and I only woke up 3 or 4 times. LUXURY!!
We're also going to ignore any reference to the Crusaders in this blog, given last nights ass-whuppin. OK, so it started as a whippin, then we kind of got a bit of cred back by not getting completely rogered in manner of deliverance or similar. I had to text my Dad once I had finished work, in case he was too upset. Seemed ok though, strangely pragmatic about the whole thing. Rachael went out to the airport to see the team when they arrived back today, apparently there was literally hundreds there, so thats nice.
We also love nachos from Charcoal Chicken, I had a taste of Tim's nachos yesterday, and had been thinking about them ever since. Finally got my own, and didn't share them!! Ha!
I'm having to add a whole new section to the thesis. We are needing some more analysis, and given my complete inability to do any sort of quantitative analysis because I can barely count past ten, the distinct lack of an analytical component is beginning to show. So instead of ignoring that part and hoping nobody notices, I'm going to have to integrate some old skool qualitative analysis in there. Fatten that baby up, as it were. So now I'm up to my perfectly plucked eyebrows in the theory of policy analysis and programme assessment. Riveting stuff, really. Makes for a hell of a weekend, especially given the lovely World Bank's tendancies to shroud themselves in a cloud of publications in the hope that nobody will notice that they aren't exactly forthcoming with project appraisals and rating scales for Bank and borrower performance. I have literally reams of information from them, these massive publications they have paid political scientists ridiculous amounts of money to write, yet trying finding out how they evaluate themselves through the blinding rhetoric of "country-led ownership" and "building learning opportunities" and some such crap is harder than.... (trying to think of something really hard...) shit I don't know. Something really fucking hard!!! Trying to sit through the walk-off scene in Zoolander without snorting with laughter. Discovering cold fusion. Sitting through a Stanley Kubrick movie without getting up and shouting "Doesn't anybody else realise this is complete and utter crap!!!" (2001 is exempt.)Harder even, than getting me to sit through the 6 o'clock news without throwing anything at the telly.
So its pretty fucking hard. Plus it doesn't help that the two people from the Bank who were very forthcoming with the info have gone on some project to Rwanda, or Sudan, or somewhere they need economists, I mean development projects. Oopsy.
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing and you really mean your mother, I mean another.
Beginning to lose ability to follow a train of thought. Maybe its time for a cuppa.
Van Helsing at 9 tonight. Choice, bro. Also, did anyone else know that at some ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, like 9 or something, is X-Men Evolution? Yay! I'd also like to point out that I was an X-Men fan long before the movie, just in case you were following the Van Helsing-Wolverine line of thought.
Have a smashing day. Smooch.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Hows About them Crusaders?
I'm afraid I've been a little slack this Super-12 season, I've only been to two games, and have been a bad Canterbury supporter. Its a little late to remedy this now though, seeing as how its finals day, and the games in Canberra, and I'm not. Still in rainy Christchurch, its 3.30 pm and starting to get dark, pissing down with lovely autumn rain, and I'm all cosy in my wee office, hard at work. Not listening to the Distillers and drinking too many cups of tea and reading the paper. Not at all. No sir-ee jim.
Had a lovely dinner last night with a bunch of the other MAs from the department, go the good Thai food, but brickbat to the fact I had to leave early to come back here. Poos.
Nevermind. It will be over soon, and I can sleep all day and read whatever I want (like the "Situations Vacant" section of the paper).
Went to see Alexander's soccer this morning, had to leave early to pick up me Da from the airport, but by the time I left, they were 5-nil up. Yeah. Go Fred. Rosie was wandering around in her wee gummies, at half time all the soccer players get oranges, so of course Rosie has to have one too. She was having some coordination difficulties, and whenever she wanted to eat the orange, she had to stop and bite it, chew it, make funny faces, blow raspberries at me and giggle, before she could keep walking. Its all a bit much when you're not even 2.
Am not sure how to pass on these gmail invites I keep getting. Yes, they are still coming. Gmail love me!!! I don't have PayPal, so you'll have to give me real money, or wire it to a numbered account in the Caymans.
I'm afraid I've been a little slack this Super-12 season, I've only been to two games, and have been a bad Canterbury supporter. Its a little late to remedy this now though, seeing as how its finals day, and the games in Canberra, and I'm not. Still in rainy Christchurch, its 3.30 pm and starting to get dark, pissing down with lovely autumn rain, and I'm all cosy in my wee office, hard at work. Not listening to the Distillers and drinking too many cups of tea and reading the paper. Not at all. No sir-ee jim.
Had a lovely dinner last night with a bunch of the other MAs from the department, go the good Thai food, but brickbat to the fact I had to leave early to come back here. Poos.
Nevermind. It will be over soon, and I can sleep all day and read whatever I want (like the "Situations Vacant" section of the paper).
Went to see Alexander's soccer this morning, had to leave early to pick up me Da from the airport, but by the time I left, they were 5-nil up. Yeah. Go Fred. Rosie was wandering around in her wee gummies, at half time all the soccer players get oranges, so of course Rosie has to have one too. She was having some coordination difficulties, and whenever she wanted to eat the orange, she had to stop and bite it, chew it, make funny faces, blow raspberries at me and giggle, before she could keep walking. Its all a bit much when you're not even 2.
Am not sure how to pass on these gmail invites I keep getting. Yes, they are still coming. Gmail love me!!! I don't have PayPal, so you'll have to give me real money, or wire it to a numbered account in the Caymans.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
40 days
How very biblical.
Perhaps this is becoming some sort of divine task, or maybe I just have a little over a month to finish the fucking thing. I have not yet reached that stage that others have passed through, the "I Hate My Thesis" phase, I'm not sure if that is because my thesis is way cooler than theirs, or I'm not quite there yet.
I am awaiting a meeting with my supervisors, who are no doubt about to bring the smackdown along the lines of "what the fuck? Call this a thesis? I wouldn't wipe my arse on this!". Or maybe a little constructive criticism. Can't be worse than the criticism I heap upon the poor wee thing.
Oh dear. Best go, intp the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred!!! Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more!!
Fucking hell, calm down, its just a meeting!
In other news, more gmail invites are coming my way.
Show me the money!!!
Smooch.
How very biblical.
Perhaps this is becoming some sort of divine task, or maybe I just have a little over a month to finish the fucking thing. I have not yet reached that stage that others have passed through, the "I Hate My Thesis" phase, I'm not sure if that is because my thesis is way cooler than theirs, or I'm not quite there yet.
I am awaiting a meeting with my supervisors, who are no doubt about to bring the smackdown along the lines of "what the fuck? Call this a thesis? I wouldn't wipe my arse on this!". Or maybe a little constructive criticism. Can't be worse than the criticism I heap upon the poor wee thing.
Oh dear. Best go, intp the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred!!! Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more!!
Fucking hell, calm down, its just a meeting!
In other news, more gmail invites are coming my way.
Show me the money!!!
Smooch.
HeeHeeHee
You'll need sound, and preferably don't follow this link in a room full of people with delicate sensibilities, but check out Buffy's swearing keyboard.
Fucking laughed so hard that my cup of tea nearly came out my nose.
You'll need sound, and preferably don't follow this link in a room full of people with delicate sensibilities, but check out Buffy's swearing keyboard.
Fucking laughed so hard that my cup of tea nearly came out my nose.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Lust for Life
Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted, and loudly proclaiming: "Fuck ME, that was BRILLIANT!" Thank you Green Fairy.
Yes, I know, fishboy has already done it, but its just too good to pass up. I'm going to get a real paper copy of it and put it up somewhere.
Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted, and loudly proclaiming: "Fuck ME, that was BRILLIANT!" Thank you Green Fairy.
Yes, I know, fishboy has already done it, but its just too good to pass up. I'm going to get a real paper copy of it and put it up somewhere.
Mmmm. Spinach Pie.
My mum makes the best pie ever. Yay.
Whenever I sit down to write a blog (usually with piles of thesis still to be done) and I'm teeming with ideas, I end up writing about four lines before all my ideas make a quick getaway. Then when I think I'll just sit and write some shit, I end up posting pages and pages. Ok, so a bit more than I expect.
My point being, I really have not much in my head except for the evolution of institutional policy in three phases of the World Bank's involvement in internal conflict, which is being chased around my brain by the frightening concept of 42 days left until it gets handed in, yet I am seized by an inexplicable desire to rant and write and waffle. (Actually its fully explicable, its called phase one: denial)
Rance has laid down the gauntlet and challenged the faithful to a 500 word treatment of what one would do with control of Fox Studios for one year, and truth be told, I'm putting far too much thought into it. In 43 days I wouldn't be able to think of a bloody thing to write on the topic, but now, I'm fair beating the ideas away. Scary. Sort it out Claire.
I was thinking recently how interesting (for me, not so much for the rest of you) it would be to have a little tape recorder attached to me for a day, to see exactly how many times in one day I said "Sort it out Claire". Also a wee video camera, not just to check out my hair, but to observe how many other people were in the room for each utterance. A fascinating sociological/psychological experiment. Or a big waste of resources. You decide.
Anyway, thanks to all who came to my part-A and mocked my drunkeness and generally had loads of giggles and plonk and joy.
Am still awaiting promise of fabulous glamourous exciting well-paid world-saving job. Come on people, show me the love!!
Besides, I'm 28 now (shut up, you're 22, just for the 7th time) and I think I'm getting a bit past it to be waiting tables 3 nights a week and living off a student allowance. Although that does beat getting paid in drachma and living in a one room apartment with three English girls, even though the bungy jumping was free.
Who am I kidding, you're never too old to be living off the government!! I love this country!!!
My mum makes the best pie ever. Yay.
Whenever I sit down to write a blog (usually with piles of thesis still to be done) and I'm teeming with ideas, I end up writing about four lines before all my ideas make a quick getaway. Then when I think I'll just sit and write some shit, I end up posting pages and pages. Ok, so a bit more than I expect.
My point being, I really have not much in my head except for the evolution of institutional policy in three phases of the World Bank's involvement in internal conflict, which is being chased around my brain by the frightening concept of 42 days left until it gets handed in, yet I am seized by an inexplicable desire to rant and write and waffle. (Actually its fully explicable, its called phase one: denial)
Rance has laid down the gauntlet and challenged the faithful to a 500 word treatment of what one would do with control of Fox Studios for one year, and truth be told, I'm putting far too much thought into it. In 43 days I wouldn't be able to think of a bloody thing to write on the topic, but now, I'm fair beating the ideas away. Scary. Sort it out Claire.
I was thinking recently how interesting (for me, not so much for the rest of you) it would be to have a little tape recorder attached to me for a day, to see exactly how many times in one day I said "Sort it out Claire". Also a wee video camera, not just to check out my hair, but to observe how many other people were in the room for each utterance. A fascinating sociological/psychological experiment. Or a big waste of resources. You decide.
Anyway, thanks to all who came to my part-A and mocked my drunkeness and generally had loads of giggles and plonk and joy.
Am still awaiting promise of fabulous glamourous exciting well-paid world-saving job. Come on people, show me the love!!
Besides, I'm 28 now (shut up, you're 22, just for the 7th time) and I think I'm getting a bit past it to be waiting tables 3 nights a week and living off a student allowance. Although that does beat getting paid in drachma and living in a one room apartment with three English girls, even though the bungy jumping was free.
Who am I kidding, you're never too old to be living off the government!! I love this country!!!
Friday, May 14, 2004
Mmmmm. Troy.
Troy good. Although, a very important thing to keep in mind before you go in, it is not the Iliad. Nor is it the Odyssey, although Odysseus is a fairly central character (Sean Bean is hot) and the Trojan horse integral to the outcome. And a ten year war makes a three day appearance. Brevity is the soul of wit and evidently of war too.
What the movie is about, however, is Brad Pitt's stomach, Eric Bana's biceps, and Orlando Blooms perfect eyelashes. And lots of man leg. Theres a wee bit of a plot in there as well, and some action, and some pretty girls for those who are that way inclined, very little accuracy (Aeneas even makes an appearance) but damn. The bit where Achilles and Hector are getting their armour on in preparation for kicking the shit out of each other, WOW. I nearly peed my pants.
It is a two and a half hour homage to fine looking men. Even my lesbian friend was having second thoughts about her gender of choice!!
I thought all my Christmases had come at once.
Can't really think about work today, too many fine images in my mind, plus theres the Part A tonight. Better go party-proof my house!
Have a smashing day, won't you.
Troy good. Although, a very important thing to keep in mind before you go in, it is not the Iliad. Nor is it the Odyssey, although Odysseus is a fairly central character (Sean Bean is hot) and the Trojan horse integral to the outcome. And a ten year war makes a three day appearance. Brevity is the soul of wit and evidently of war too.
What the movie is about, however, is Brad Pitt's stomach, Eric Bana's biceps, and Orlando Blooms perfect eyelashes. And lots of man leg. Theres a wee bit of a plot in there as well, and some action, and some pretty girls for those who are that way inclined, very little accuracy (Aeneas even makes an appearance) but damn. The bit where Achilles and Hector are getting their armour on in preparation for kicking the shit out of each other, WOW. I nearly peed my pants.
It is a two and a half hour homage to fine looking men. Even my lesbian friend was having second thoughts about her gender of choice!!
I thought all my Christmases had come at once.
Can't really think about work today, too many fine images in my mind, plus theres the Part A tonight. Better go party-proof my house!
Have a smashing day, won't you.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
OK. No more politics. Cos I get too angry and rant and then say things I don't really mean cos I have all this anger inside me that needs to get out and it just jumps at the first opportunity when really one should think a little more about what one is really saying and say things that are fair otherwise one becomes as bad as those one is dissing.
In other news, check out Soma's valiant attempt to get as strung out and nasty and tired and crabby and foul as yours truly.
Damn us and our self imposed deadlines!!
Am going to see Troy tomorrow. And yes, I have read the book, although word on the street is that there is somewhat of a liberal interpretation of the book, and also manages to chuck in some of Homer's other works, plus the Aeneid, and some scribbles Virgil's gardener left on a scrap of paper in the woodshed. Yay I say, bring the Troy goodness.
1.25am, so nighty night then.
In other news, check out Soma's valiant attempt to get as strung out and nasty and tired and crabby and foul as yours truly.
Damn us and our self imposed deadlines!!
Am going to see Troy tomorrow. And yes, I have read the book, although word on the street is that there is somewhat of a liberal interpretation of the book, and also manages to chuck in some of Homer's other works, plus the Aeneid, and some scribbles Virgil's gardener left on a scrap of paper in the woodshed. Yay I say, bring the Troy goodness.
1.25am, so nighty night then.
Things I have acheived today
F.A.
Not good. I am halfway through rewriting a chapter according to the comments of one of my supervisors, who observes that I need to write more simply and clearly. But I like adjectives, they're my favourite sort of words!!! I think perhaps its a not-very-subconscious attempt to make me sound cleverer than I actually am, although it will take a lot more than a few adjectives to pull that off.
I am tempted to fill in some job applications, but they're just so difficult!! Like: "describe a situation where you had to work in a team. How did you contribute to the team and what was the outcome?". Well, I did what I was told, and everything came up roses. Pretty simple really, but not exactly endearing myself to potential employers. My particular favourite is "Describe a situation in which you were confronted by a problem. How did you approach the problem, how was it resolved, and how do you feel about the outcome?" Well, I didn't do nearly enough work in the first few months, and then I ended up changing my thesis topic, and now I have less than 7 weeks to finish my thesis. Thats a problem. As for how I intend to approach the problem? Aside from griping about it in my blog, I am working my not-inconsiderable arse off spending 14 hours a day working on it, sustained by the thought of the big sleep I will get to have in July. Outcome? How about I get back to you later. Ok? Cool.
Aside: Its not Americans that I object to. Its the hypocrisy, opportunism, cultural imperialism and arrogance that is being demonstrated by your current administration. It makes me even madder (real word?) due to the current state of the world, the actions of the US affect us all, but the rest of us have no say in choosing who leads the free world. I just REALLY REALLY HOPE AND FUCKING PRAY AND AM TEMPTED TO SELL ORGANS TO RAISE MONEY FOR...(insert the nice men in the white coats with the pretty coloured pills)
Ahem. Please do the rest of the world a favour and get rid of him, vote for the other guy (Whats his name?). I know you didn't actually vote for him in the first place, but as the bumper sticker says, "If you're not completely appalled, you haven't been paying attention". Go on.
In other news, I got the most excellent book the other day, called "Taking the Piss" (high up on my top ten favourite phrases): Your A-Z guide to outsnobbing the wine snobs" by Genevieve LaRue (cool name). Its full of great definitions such as:
Corkscrew: an Irish prostitute, or as W.C. Fields once cried, 'What contemptible scoundrel stole the cork from my lunch'
Gay-Lussac: a French poof
Procrastination: the art of saving your best wine until all the guests have left
Spumante: Italian for being sick
Plus a whole section on farting, apparently something to do with port.
My point for bringing up the book anyway, was to finish up with a quote for the day, from Diogenes: "I fear the man who drinks water, and so remembers this morning what the rest of us said last night".
F.A.
Not good. I am halfway through rewriting a chapter according to the comments of one of my supervisors, who observes that I need to write more simply and clearly. But I like adjectives, they're my favourite sort of words!!! I think perhaps its a not-very-subconscious attempt to make me sound cleverer than I actually am, although it will take a lot more than a few adjectives to pull that off.
I am tempted to fill in some job applications, but they're just so difficult!! Like: "describe a situation where you had to work in a team. How did you contribute to the team and what was the outcome?". Well, I did what I was told, and everything came up roses. Pretty simple really, but not exactly endearing myself to potential employers. My particular favourite is "Describe a situation in which you were confronted by a problem. How did you approach the problem, how was it resolved, and how do you feel about the outcome?" Well, I didn't do nearly enough work in the first few months, and then I ended up changing my thesis topic, and now I have less than 7 weeks to finish my thesis. Thats a problem. As for how I intend to approach the problem? Aside from griping about it in my blog, I am working my not-inconsiderable arse off spending 14 hours a day working on it, sustained by the thought of the big sleep I will get to have in July. Outcome? How about I get back to you later. Ok? Cool.
Aside: Its not Americans that I object to. Its the hypocrisy, opportunism, cultural imperialism and arrogance that is being demonstrated by your current administration. It makes me even madder (real word?) due to the current state of the world, the actions of the US affect us all, but the rest of us have no say in choosing who leads the free world. I just REALLY REALLY HOPE AND FUCKING PRAY AND AM TEMPTED TO SELL ORGANS TO RAISE MONEY FOR...(insert the nice men in the white coats with the pretty coloured pills)
Ahem. Please do the rest of the world a favour and get rid of him, vote for the other guy (Whats his name?). I know you didn't actually vote for him in the first place, but as the bumper sticker says, "If you're not completely appalled, you haven't been paying attention". Go on.
In other news, I got the most excellent book the other day, called "Taking the Piss" (high up on my top ten favourite phrases): Your A-Z guide to outsnobbing the wine snobs" by Genevieve LaRue (cool name). Its full of great definitions such as:
Corkscrew: an Irish prostitute, or as W.C. Fields once cried, 'What contemptible scoundrel stole the cork from my lunch'
Gay-Lussac: a French poof
Procrastination: the art of saving your best wine until all the guests have left
Spumante: Italian for being sick
Plus a whole section on farting, apparently something to do with port.
My point for bringing up the book anyway, was to finish up with a quote for the day, from Diogenes: "I fear the man who drinks water, and so remembers this morning what the rest of us said last night".
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Does this make me famous?
No, I seriously doubt it, but I am being dissed in blogworld. Apparently I am ignorant, brainwashed and elitist, and have no idea who the American people really are, having received a liberal anti-American indoctrination. (I don't remember any indoctrinations. Being taught by American academics?)The only thing I am anti, aside from people without table manners, are people who can't think for themselves.
No, I don't have any idea about who the American people really are. Hell, I don't have any idea about who people are in general!! But I do know a little bit about international relations and about conflict, and if daring to critique what I get fed by the media machine (fed to us by the nice people at CNN) makes me ignorant and brainwashed, then hey!! Bring it on!! I'm far from having the pulse on the world (do you mean having my finger on the pulse of the world? cos that makes a bit of sense), but the ability to question what you see, hear, read and are told by the powers that be is a gift that must be treasured and used, for the sake of all.
In other news, heres a ying/yang moment.
11.30pm, having finished a chapter, Claire makes to go home. Dum de dum, get downstairs, run through the pissing rain to the car, and discover a flat tyre. Arse. Proceeds to get thoroughly wet and greasy changing tyre, goes home.
Heres the yang (or maybe ying?)
11.45pm, get home, house is toasty warm thanks to flatmates cranking the fire. Crack open deliciously cold Steinlager, watch crap telly for ten minutes, do crossword. Proceed to bed, where electric blanket has been on for hours and have scrummy cosy sleep for a whole 7 and a half beautiful hours. Life is back to goodness again.
Time to finish thesis: 48 days. Like that movie with Sandra Bullock, but with 20 more days, and not so much with the rehab, and with beer, and better accommodation, and without the overdosing room-mate, and with less mountains, and more city, and a better computer, and no nurses or counsellers, and no Viggo Mortensen.
OK, so not like a movie at all.
It would be a pretty fucking dull movie, 6 hour shots of me sitting at my desk, typing, swearing, drinking tea and talking to myself. Riveting.
No, I seriously doubt it, but I am being dissed in blogworld. Apparently I am ignorant, brainwashed and elitist, and have no idea who the American people really are, having received a liberal anti-American indoctrination. (I don't remember any indoctrinations. Being taught by American academics?)The only thing I am anti, aside from people without table manners, are people who can't think for themselves.
No, I don't have any idea about who the American people really are. Hell, I don't have any idea about who people are in general!! But I do know a little bit about international relations and about conflict, and if daring to critique what I get fed by the media machine (fed to us by the nice people at CNN) makes me ignorant and brainwashed, then hey!! Bring it on!! I'm far from having the pulse on the world (do you mean having my finger on the pulse of the world? cos that makes a bit of sense), but the ability to question what you see, hear, read and are told by the powers that be is a gift that must be treasured and used, for the sake of all.
In other news, heres a ying/yang moment.
11.30pm, having finished a chapter, Claire makes to go home. Dum de dum, get downstairs, run through the pissing rain to the car, and discover a flat tyre. Arse. Proceeds to get thoroughly wet and greasy changing tyre, goes home.
Heres the yang (or maybe ying?)
11.45pm, get home, house is toasty warm thanks to flatmates cranking the fire. Crack open deliciously cold Steinlager, watch crap telly for ten minutes, do crossword. Proceed to bed, where electric blanket has been on for hours and have scrummy cosy sleep for a whole 7 and a half beautiful hours. Life is back to goodness again.
Time to finish thesis: 48 days. Like that movie with Sandra Bullock, but with 20 more days, and not so much with the rehab, and with beer, and better accommodation, and without the overdosing room-mate, and with less mountains, and more city, and a better computer, and no nurses or counsellers, and no Viggo Mortensen.
OK, so not like a movie at all.
It would be a pretty fucking dull movie, 6 hour shots of me sitting at my desk, typing, swearing, drinking tea and talking to myself. Riveting.
Might Come In Useful One Day
Best song to use for charades ever: "A Plane Scraped its Belly on a Sooty Yellow Moon". Yes, its a real song.
Beats "Debbie Gibson is Pregnant With My Two-Headed Love Child" and "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" hands down.
Ha, I believe the gauntlet has been laid out before you!
Best song to use for charades ever: "A Plane Scraped its Belly on a Sooty Yellow Moon". Yes, its a real song.
Beats "Debbie Gibson is Pregnant With My Two-Headed Love Child" and "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" hands down.
Ha, I believe the gauntlet has been laid out before you!
Help me Obi-Won Kenobi
All I want to be doing is exploring blogs and looking shit up and having my say on all sorts of nonsense, when I'm a summary and conclusion away from finishing this chapter.
Uh oh.
Perhaps its time to follow my own advice and admit the internet has power over me.
Actually, what I think I know what it is.
My wee brain, having been dormant for some 27 years, is now forced to actually function, and as a result, all of a sudden I have an opinion on EVERYTHING!!
Or maybe its just now there are things that make me very angry in my angriest of angry places and I am compelled by the power of the Web to tell everybody what I think.
When in reality all I need to be doing is telling my supervisors why it is crucial that I rant for many pages about why the establishment of the Post conflict Unit is more significant than the parallel policy changes in the World Bank, because it represents a change in Bank thinking back to its original purpose, which was post war reconstruction, whereas the policy, while significant, is not specific to conflict but to a general state of emergency.
Bet you're all REALLY hanging out for me to finish so I can post the thesis on the web!!
In other news, there will be more politics, never fear because I have overcome my fear of the political blog.
Mmmmm. Angry rants.
BRING THE NOISE
Yeah.
All I want to be doing is exploring blogs and looking shit up and having my say on all sorts of nonsense, when I'm a summary and conclusion away from finishing this chapter.
Uh oh.
Perhaps its time to follow my own advice and admit the internet has power over me.
Actually, what I think I know what it is.
My wee brain, having been dormant for some 27 years, is now forced to actually function, and as a result, all of a sudden I have an opinion on EVERYTHING!!
Or maybe its just now there are things that make me very angry in my angriest of angry places and I am compelled by the power of the Web to tell everybody what I think.
When in reality all I need to be doing is telling my supervisors why it is crucial that I rant for many pages about why the establishment of the Post conflict Unit is more significant than the parallel policy changes in the World Bank, because it represents a change in Bank thinking back to its original purpose, which was post war reconstruction, whereas the policy, while significant, is not specific to conflict but to a general state of emergency.
Bet you're all REALLY hanging out for me to finish so I can post the thesis on the web!!
In other news, there will be more politics, never fear because I have overcome my fear of the political blog.
Mmmmm. Angry rants.
BRING THE NOISE
Yeah.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
"Theres only two things in the world I hate...
1) People that are intolerant of other people's cultures
2) the Dutch"
Thank you Austin Power's daddy for the intro to todays rant. Yes, more American bashing.
Check out this wee gem from our friend the sarcastic journalist:
"This decapitation of an American in retaliation for the whole soldier abuse thing is ridiculous. Wow, a couple of women-beating, Saddam worshipping inbreds are forced to get naked and stuff. So they go AND DECAPITATE AN AMERICAN. On video."
Don't you just love the way that the life of a single American is worth more than the combined deaths and torture and humiliation of Allah-knows how many prisoners?
The more that the Americans get themselves into knots over this whole thing, the less sympathy the rest of us have for their dumb arses.
Heres an idea, fuck off out of Iraq, get your soldier drones away from people they have no understanding of, let the UN get themselves in there with Arab peacekeepers who have some sort of comprehension of who and what they are dealing with, and get back to eating your fat burgers and destroying the ozone layer.
Honestly, if it wan't for the fact they gave us Aerosmith and some passable movies, we would have been done with them long ago.
See, I'm getting all political again. Oh dear.
Gotta go bring the smackdown on the thesis. 49 days.
1) People that are intolerant of other people's cultures
2) the Dutch"
Thank you Austin Power's daddy for the intro to todays rant. Yes, more American bashing.
Check out this wee gem from our friend the sarcastic journalist:
"This decapitation of an American in retaliation for the whole soldier abuse thing is ridiculous. Wow, a couple of women-beating, Saddam worshipping inbreds are forced to get naked and stuff. So they go AND DECAPITATE AN AMERICAN. On video."
Don't you just love the way that the life of a single American is worth more than the combined deaths and torture and humiliation of Allah-knows how many prisoners?
The more that the Americans get themselves into knots over this whole thing, the less sympathy the rest of us have for their dumb arses.
Heres an idea, fuck off out of Iraq, get your soldier drones away from people they have no understanding of, let the UN get themselves in there with Arab peacekeepers who have some sort of comprehension of who and what they are dealing with, and get back to eating your fat burgers and destroying the ozone layer.
Honestly, if it wan't for the fact they gave us Aerosmith and some passable movies, we would have been done with them long ago.
See, I'm getting all political again. Oh dear.
Gotta go bring the smackdown on the thesis. 49 days.
Monday, May 10, 2004
ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!! Dear God NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Apparently, Time magazine have us listed as part of the US illegal invasion and occupation and torture and general FUBAR, sorry I mean the "Coalition of the Willing". More like the coalition of those who are either too chicken to say no to the US, or are more interested in furthering their own interests ahead of a)law and b)the needs of those poor fucks in Iraq who having survived Saddam, now have to deal with the Holier-Than-Thou fucking hypocritical regime of George the Selected.
NZ having any part in that action goes against all prior evidence as to our position on ANYTHING. When the US wanted to park a nuclear powered sub in a NZ port, like, overnight, we told them to fuck off. Cos we're nuclear free, and damn proud of it.
The fact that there are Kiwis in Iraq, and one of the poor fuckers has just been killed apparently, does not mean that we support the US in any way, shape or form.
New Zealanders are there as part of an international effort to clean up the great bloody mess that Saddam started and George W made worse.
Saddam is a bad man, there is no denying that. But that small-fucking-minded US president letting people believe that a) Saddam had something to do with September 11(11/9, by the way, 9/11 is the 9th of November), and then b) having the audacity to claim that it was his personal responsibility, because he cared about the people of Iraq, to get rid of Saddam, the same guy that up until about FIVE FUCKING MINUTES before George got selected by the Supreme Court to be Prez (loosest possible definition of that word please) was supported and funded and probably had his car serviced and feet rubbed by the US. Don't forget the approximately 1 million Iraqis who died due to the sanctions imposed by the US. But no, there are no votes, no oil contracts, and no friends to be made in supporting sustainable democratic development, in letting a people make their own decisions, control their own resources through transparent financial mechanisms, supporting measures of social capital, creating infrastructure, thereby creating jobs...
But then, nobody is making bombs and guns and tanks, and then thousands of American voters are out of a job. Nevermind that millions of Iraqis are dead or dying.
New Zealanders are in Iraq to help rebuild their country. And we are proud of them, and our hearts go out to the family of that poor bugger who got shot tonight.
The US military have succeeded in uniting Iraq in one way, both Shia'a and Sunni hate them with a fierce loathing. Well done George.
NEW ZEALAND IS NOT PART OF THE "COALITION OF THE WILLING", AND WE WOULD RATHER BECOME THE NEXT STATE OF AUSTRALIA BEFORE THAT HAPPENED
This is why I swore I was never going to be a political blogger, I get all angry and rant and now I'm going to be late for dinner with my Dad.
Come on, bring the hatemail, I'm waiting.
Apparently, Time magazine have us listed as part of the US illegal invasion and occupation and torture and general FUBAR, sorry I mean the "Coalition of the Willing". More like the coalition of those who are either too chicken to say no to the US, or are more interested in furthering their own interests ahead of a)law and b)the needs of those poor fucks in Iraq who having survived Saddam, now have to deal with the Holier-Than-Thou fucking hypocritical regime of George the Selected.
NZ having any part in that action goes against all prior evidence as to our position on ANYTHING. When the US wanted to park a nuclear powered sub in a NZ port, like, overnight, we told them to fuck off. Cos we're nuclear free, and damn proud of it.
The fact that there are Kiwis in Iraq, and one of the poor fuckers has just been killed apparently, does not mean that we support the US in any way, shape or form.
New Zealanders are there as part of an international effort to clean up the great bloody mess that Saddam started and George W made worse.
Saddam is a bad man, there is no denying that. But that small-fucking-minded US president letting people believe that a) Saddam had something to do with September 11(11/9, by the way, 9/11 is the 9th of November), and then b) having the audacity to claim that it was his personal responsibility, because he cared about the people of Iraq, to get rid of Saddam, the same guy that up until about FIVE FUCKING MINUTES before George got selected by the Supreme Court to be Prez (loosest possible definition of that word please) was supported and funded and probably had his car serviced and feet rubbed by the US. Don't forget the approximately 1 million Iraqis who died due to the sanctions imposed by the US. But no, there are no votes, no oil contracts, and no friends to be made in supporting sustainable democratic development, in letting a people make their own decisions, control their own resources through transparent financial mechanisms, supporting measures of social capital, creating infrastructure, thereby creating jobs...
But then, nobody is making bombs and guns and tanks, and then thousands of American voters are out of a job. Nevermind that millions of Iraqis are dead or dying.
New Zealanders are in Iraq to help rebuild their country. And we are proud of them, and our hearts go out to the family of that poor bugger who got shot tonight.
The US military have succeeded in uniting Iraq in one way, both Shia'a and Sunni hate them with a fierce loathing. Well done George.
NEW ZEALAND IS NOT PART OF THE "COALITION OF THE WILLING", AND WE WOULD RATHER BECOME THE NEXT STATE OF AUSTRALIA BEFORE THAT HAPPENED
This is why I swore I was never going to be a political blogger, I get all angry and rant and now I'm going to be late for dinner with my Dad.
Come on, bring the hatemail, I'm waiting.
And Just Like That....
Bad news my wee buggalugs.
Gmail have stopped sending me the love, a shame really, cos Joey was going to give me a whole 99c. Bloody good name for a site though Jo.
That would have put the kids through school too. I guess I'll have to resort to getting my money the old fashioned way. Yes, God forbid, by marrying it.
Am all of a sudden fascinated by the analysis of handwriting. I even went so far as to get a couple of books out on the subject, for the purpose of ensuring my job application letters truly represent me as the emotionally stable well balanced mature individual that I am. Not as the narcississtic, spoilt, delusional, short-tempered and undisciplined nutcase that some lesser beings would make me out to be.
Shut up, all of you. And if anybody asks, I had nothing to do with that wee incident, I was at home the whole time. You can ask my mum.
PS Mum, the $50 is on its way.
Bad news my wee buggalugs.
Gmail have stopped sending me the love, a shame really, cos Joey was going to give me a whole 99c. Bloody good name for a site though Jo.
That would have put the kids through school too. I guess I'll have to resort to getting my money the old fashioned way. Yes, God forbid, by marrying it.
Am all of a sudden fascinated by the analysis of handwriting. I even went so far as to get a couple of books out on the subject, for the purpose of ensuring my job application letters truly represent me as the emotionally stable well balanced mature individual that I am. Not as the narcississtic, spoilt, delusional, short-tempered and undisciplined nutcase that some lesser beings would make me out to be.
Shut up, all of you. And if anybody asks, I had nothing to do with that wee incident, I was at home the whole time. You can ask my mum.
PS Mum, the $50 is on its way.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
Mmmmm. Minty Fresh Blogger.
Blogger has gone all flash. Heres hoping that it doesn't confuse Claire-the-computer-amoeba too much.
I've been getting loads of "please give me an invite to gmail". I don't think you were understanding my point. I am a poor student, and because I'm getting nothing for free, except the departmental love, I ain't giving away squat. Give me incentives, people, and then I will share the love.
The winner at the moment is lemdg, who at least is making an effort. Although when I logged in today, there was no gmail love.
Perhaps the moment's gone.
In other news, I was somewhat of a machine yesterday. Got up at 10.30 am, cleaned the house, tidied my room (in itself a Herculean task), did my washing, vacuumed, cooked an omlette (how do you spell that?)ate said eggy goodness, and was at my office desk by 2pm.
Fucking legend. I then proceeded to search through a gazillion documents, find several gems of infomation, have half a dozen good ideas, before going home again, bringing in the washing, lighting the fire and going to work.
Needless to say, I more than made up for it today by sleeping until nearly 11am. Doh!
Had a customer on one of my tables last night who not only had a very unfortunate mullet, was wearing a waistcoat and held his cutlery in his fist, but enquired as to whether we stocked Blenheimer wine. As in, the stuff in those funny bottles that only nanas and 14 year old girls drink. Chefs won't even use it for cooking, it is that shit.
Now we're far from being a fine dining restaurant, hell, we have dirty old Hardy's Chardonnay on the winelist (which I won't let customers buy, cos its shit, always talk them up to a better one), but Blenheimer? I was waiting for some candid camera crew to appear.
On the same table was some bloke from America who had serial killer spectacles on (you'll know the type when you see them) and was dressed like some oil tycoon, with the big brooch/cowboy type tie on, who was telling all his mates about John Denver's plane crash in great detail.
I wonder if people know that I listen in on their conversations. Maybe not, cos I look like a generic blonde waitress. (insert ominous sounds of brain ticking over, devising cunning plans)There is really a great advantage in keeping ones mouth shut and appearing much simpler than one is.
Anyway, deadlines and all that.
51 days, in case you needed to know. Fuckit.
Am trying to find a way to post finished product on the inter-web thingy, for keen readers perusal. Also for "look at what I can do, give me a cool job please" purposes.
Doubt I can post a 35,000 word thesis, plus tables, appendices and bibliography in a blog. Sure fire way to lose the few readers I have.
Gonna make like a tree and fuck off now.
Blogger has gone all flash. Heres hoping that it doesn't confuse Claire-the-computer-amoeba too much.
I've been getting loads of "please give me an invite to gmail". I don't think you were understanding my point. I am a poor student, and because I'm getting nothing for free, except the departmental love, I ain't giving away squat. Give me incentives, people, and then I will share the love.
The winner at the moment is lemdg, who at least is making an effort. Although when I logged in today, there was no gmail love.
Perhaps the moment's gone.
In other news, I was somewhat of a machine yesterday. Got up at 10.30 am, cleaned the house, tidied my room (in itself a Herculean task), did my washing, vacuumed, cooked an omlette (how do you spell that?)ate said eggy goodness, and was at my office desk by 2pm.
Fucking legend. I then proceeded to search through a gazillion documents, find several gems of infomation, have half a dozen good ideas, before going home again, bringing in the washing, lighting the fire and going to work.
Needless to say, I more than made up for it today by sleeping until nearly 11am. Doh!
Had a customer on one of my tables last night who not only had a very unfortunate mullet, was wearing a waistcoat and held his cutlery in his fist, but enquired as to whether we stocked Blenheimer wine. As in, the stuff in those funny bottles that only nanas and 14 year old girls drink. Chefs won't even use it for cooking, it is that shit.
Now we're far from being a fine dining restaurant, hell, we have dirty old Hardy's Chardonnay on the winelist (which I won't let customers buy, cos its shit, always talk them up to a better one), but Blenheimer? I was waiting for some candid camera crew to appear.
On the same table was some bloke from America who had serial killer spectacles on (you'll know the type when you see them) and was dressed like some oil tycoon, with the big brooch/cowboy type tie on, who was telling all his mates about John Denver's plane crash in great detail.
I wonder if people know that I listen in on their conversations. Maybe not, cos I look like a generic blonde waitress. (insert ominous sounds of brain ticking over, devising cunning plans)There is really a great advantage in keeping ones mouth shut and appearing much simpler than one is.
Anyway, deadlines and all that.
51 days, in case you needed to know. Fuckit.
Am trying to find a way to post finished product on the inter-web thingy, for keen readers perusal. Also for "look at what I can do, give me a cool job please" purposes.
Doubt I can post a 35,000 word thesis, plus tables, appendices and bibliography in a blog. Sure fire way to lose the few readers I have.
Gonna make like a tree and fuck off now.
Friday, May 07, 2004
Thars gold in them thar invites!!
Apparently I can make loads of money off my constant gmail invitations. Even though I've signed up and am using my gmail account, every time I sign in to Blogspot, I get another invite.
If anybody knows how I forward them on to someone who wants one, let me know, and you're most welcome to give me pots of cash for a gmail account, you sad gits.
In other news, I am addicted, not so much to Rance, but to the myriad of strange and interesting comments therein.
I'm not sure if its one of those American we-are-obsessed-with-celebrity thing that goes with all the "Is it John Cusack? Is it George Clooney? Is it Johnny Depp? Is it Owen Wilson?" thing, because as Rance himself says, it may well be some fat greasy kid in his parents house. But anyway, its interesting. As a recent convert however, I am yet to happen upon the opportunity to acquire some Dodge Viper points. I quiver in gleeful anticipation of that day.
In more other news, I got one PFO letter this week, and the absence of a phone call from a particular ministry leads me to believe another PFO letter is in transit. Arse.
Somebody give me a job!!! Very soon I'll have an MA, and I'm a really good cook, and my Mum says I'm pretty, and I don't ask for much.
Just comprehensive debt relief and free HIV/AIDS drugs for Sub-Saharan Africa, the global ratification of the Kyoto Protocol or similar, the replacement of all super highways with paddocks filled with frolicking lambs and flowers, the international collapse of the military-industrial complex with all workers therein retrained to become kindergarten teachers and massage therapists, free chocolate, compulsary dress codes for women in music videos (ie, they must actually wear clothes) the "beauty" industry to be renamed the "Torture and Self Esteem-killer industry", the outlawing of crap music (byebye Alien Ant Farm and Usher!!) and compulsary classes in dog-maintenance, child care, dental hygiene, basic cooking and media studies for everyone.
Oh, and to have Kofi Annan, Salman Rushdie, Umberto Eco, Billy Connelly, Mary Robinson, Gro Harlem Bruntland, Peter Jackson, Nelson Mandela, Bono, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Naomi Klein, Mamphela Ramphele, Michael Ondaatje, Marilyn Manson, Michael Moore and Aimee Mann over for dinner.
See? Easily pleased.
Smooch.
Apparently I can make loads of money off my constant gmail invitations. Even though I've signed up and am using my gmail account, every time I sign in to Blogspot, I get another invite.
If anybody knows how I forward them on to someone who wants one, let me know, and you're most welcome to give me pots of cash for a gmail account, you sad gits.
In other news, I am addicted, not so much to Rance, but to the myriad of strange and interesting comments therein.
I'm not sure if its one of those American we-are-obsessed-with-celebrity thing that goes with all the "Is it John Cusack? Is it George Clooney? Is it Johnny Depp? Is it Owen Wilson?" thing, because as Rance himself says, it may well be some fat greasy kid in his parents house. But anyway, its interesting. As a recent convert however, I am yet to happen upon the opportunity to acquire some Dodge Viper points. I quiver in gleeful anticipation of that day.
In more other news, I got one PFO letter this week, and the absence of a phone call from a particular ministry leads me to believe another PFO letter is in transit. Arse.
Somebody give me a job!!! Very soon I'll have an MA, and I'm a really good cook, and my Mum says I'm pretty, and I don't ask for much.
Just comprehensive debt relief and free HIV/AIDS drugs for Sub-Saharan Africa, the global ratification of the Kyoto Protocol or similar, the replacement of all super highways with paddocks filled with frolicking lambs and flowers, the international collapse of the military-industrial complex with all workers therein retrained to become kindergarten teachers and massage therapists, free chocolate, compulsary dress codes for women in music videos (ie, they must actually wear clothes) the "beauty" industry to be renamed the "Torture and Self Esteem-killer industry", the outlawing of crap music (byebye Alien Ant Farm and Usher!!) and compulsary classes in dog-maintenance, child care, dental hygiene, basic cooking and media studies for everyone.
Oh, and to have Kofi Annan, Salman Rushdie, Umberto Eco, Billy Connelly, Mary Robinson, Gro Harlem Bruntland, Peter Jackson, Nelson Mandela, Bono, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Naomi Klein, Mamphela Ramphele, Michael Ondaatje, Marilyn Manson, Michael Moore and Aimee Mann over for dinner.
See? Easily pleased.
Smooch.
I Love Lists
Things that I will do once my thesis is finished
1) Sleep. Lots. Though thats a given, really.
2) Get Retarded
3) Spend several days in Wanaka in blissful solitude with my two best friends
4) Get up in the afternoon, order pizza, wash it down with beer and go back to bed
5) Make many photo albums, put all my photos from Europe & Australia in them & label each one
6) Take full advantage of my ISP's "unlimited hours" contract
7) Read books for fun, guiltfree
8) Write actual paper letters to real people, on paper and with pictures
9) Make a compilation cd for every single mood imaginable
10) Oh yeah, and find some schmuck to give me a job.
Things that I will do once my thesis is finished
1) Sleep. Lots. Though thats a given, really.
2) Get Retarded
3) Spend several days in Wanaka in blissful solitude with my two best friends
4) Get up in the afternoon, order pizza, wash it down with beer and go back to bed
5) Make many photo albums, put all my photos from Europe & Australia in them & label each one
6) Take full advantage of my ISP's "unlimited hours" contract
7) Read books for fun, guiltfree
8) Write actual paper letters to real people, on paper and with pictures
9) Make a compilation cd for every single mood imaginable
10) Oh yeah, and find some schmuck to give me a job.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Hmmm. What to believe?
Apparently this is Owen Wilson's blog. Other possibilities suggested are George Clooney, Benicio del Toro or Osama Bin Laden, but its quite interesting anyway.
Apparently this is Owen Wilson's blog. Other possibilities suggested are George Clooney, Benicio del Toro or Osama Bin Laden, but its quite interesting anyway.
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Oh Shit.
In two years and two weeks exactly I'm going to be thirty.
Two years and two weeks ago it was April 2002 and that seems like just a few weeks ago.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
Theres a very small comfort in knowing that I will in fact be the last member of Lettuce to turn thirty when the time comes, but reduced further when observed that most of the others have, like, jobs and stuff. One has a husband, and another as good as.
I'm two year and two weeks away from being thirty, I've got about $45 in the bank, am still working in a restaurant for a living, have no boyfriend and still haven't finished my thesis.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
I have had some adventures though.
I went to Turkey and bought a carpet, got off my chops & went clubbing in Bali, went bungy jumping in Greece, have sat on the stones where Hippocrates used to teach, watched to sunset over the Caldera in Santorini, had a yorkshire pudding in Yorkshire, bought a copy of Wuthering Heights at the Bronte's old house, got busted by Greek customs authorities for being an overstayer, sat on the top front seat of a double-decker London bus, walked across London Bridge, seen Salvador Dali's works at the Tate Gallery and got pissed with rock stars in Auckland.
Thats not counting the usual chaos too.
Phew. Feel much better now.
Cheers.
57 days.
In two years and two weeks exactly I'm going to be thirty.
Two years and two weeks ago it was April 2002 and that seems like just a few weeks ago.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
Theres a very small comfort in knowing that I will in fact be the last member of Lettuce to turn thirty when the time comes, but reduced further when observed that most of the others have, like, jobs and stuff. One has a husband, and another as good as.
I'm two year and two weeks away from being thirty, I've got about $45 in the bank, am still working in a restaurant for a living, have no boyfriend and still haven't finished my thesis.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
I have had some adventures though.
I went to Turkey and bought a carpet, got off my chops & went clubbing in Bali, went bungy jumping in Greece, have sat on the stones where Hippocrates used to teach, watched to sunset over the Caldera in Santorini, had a yorkshire pudding in Yorkshire, bought a copy of Wuthering Heights at the Bronte's old house, got busted by Greek customs authorities for being an overstayer, sat on the top front seat of a double-decker London bus, walked across London Bridge, seen Salvador Dali's works at the Tate Gallery and got pissed with rock stars in Auckland.
Thats not counting the usual chaos too.
Phew. Feel much better now.
Cheers.
57 days.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Announcement
It is my humblest of humble opinions that not only REM very cool, but that the mince and cheese pies from the BP are indeed, most worthy of consumption.
I have also finished a chapter. Yay.
That is all
Smooch
It is my humblest of humble opinions that not only REM very cool, but that the mince and cheese pies from the BP are indeed, most worthy of consumption.
I have also finished a chapter. Yay.
That is all
Smooch
I am the Pie Monster
Its official, just ask Gmail. If any of you lovely munchkins have anything to say to me that you can't (or won't) say in person, you can email me at my new address: piemonster@gmail.com.
Choice.
Also, you are all invited to my (ok, and Dave's too) birthday party, on the 15th May, at the Green Room. Unless of course, you suck, in which case, piss off.
Its official, just ask Gmail. If any of you lovely munchkins have anything to say to me that you can't (or won't) say in person, you can email me at my new address: piemonster@gmail.com.
Choice.
Also, you are all invited to my (ok, and Dave's too) birthday party, on the 15th May, at the Green Room. Unless of course, you suck, in which case, piss off.
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