Everyone Is Mental

You Are A Radar Detector

2010-07-19T18:03:00.000-07:00

LIKES:

-Coffee (same old same old I know)
And I still don't care what you think.

Moving House (albeit my friends moving house)
HUZZAH. My wonderful friend B has a new apartment just off Sydney Rd. It's next to a park, a relatively good size, and close to uni and the city and EVERYTHING. I fully intend to turn up unexpectedly often and eat haloumi pie from a Lebanese bakery down the road.

Octopodes and Jellyfish
Paul the octopus won my heart. What can I say?
Oh, and also, my friend K and I had an argument about the correct plural expression of "octopus". Turns out we were both wrong: it's "octopodes". The more you know.

Glitter
"The herpes of the art world."

Pictures of New York City
I would go there, and live in a tiny apartment in Manhattan, and sit on my roof and drink coffee and eat bagels and ZOMG.

Dancing
All credit for this picture must go to the magnificent Andrew Coles, whose photos you can see here:
http://blog.adnrew.com/

Anything made of lace, slips.
I now own so many slips that I have broken a coat hanger. I shit you not.

Pretending I'm in a videoclip while on a train.
Shut up. You do it too. It's full of whimsy and niceness.

Pictures of people smoking.
I know, I know, it's bad for you, but LOOK HOW DEBONAIR THEY LOOK. JUST LOOK.

Pandas.

Flirting.
So what I've decided is: flirting is good for everyone.

DISLIKES:

Distance.
It fucking sucks.

Cold Weather.
God how I miss summer. So much. I hate winter. It makes me (more) bitter, and frustrated, and, mostly, cold.

Running out of holidays
UNI UNI SIGH SIGH

Clumsiness
I broke my flute again. I now hate everything.

xx

There Will Be No Miracles Here.

2010-06-22T05:17:00.000-07:00

old letter.

2010-05-31T21:57:00.000-07:00

Brainy, brainy, brainy.

2010-05-25T05:22:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome to the cold, silent nothingness that has become this blog.
I can see the tumbleweed rolling lazily past.

I am sorry about how dead it is around here at the moment. I think I can speak for all of us at Everyone is Mental, when I say that DEAR GOD I AM SO BUSY I AM DYING WHY DO EXAMS EXIST HALP HALP HALP.
I have at least one subject that I am seriously worrying about passing.
And I am looking down the barrel of at least four hours flute practise a day for the next three weeks.
FOUR HOURS, YOU GUYS. FOUR. Think about it. Let's say I get approx. 8 hours sleep a night. I spend 16 hours awake. A QUARTER OF THAT TIME IS TAKEN UP PLAYING FLUTE. A QUARTER. EVERY DAY. And that doesn't include other homework.
LIFE IS PAIN AND SUFFERING.
Oh well.
But on the upside, I fully intend to get more than four hours sleep tonight, WHOO. This is a New and Awesome Thing for Me.

Anyway, so I've noticed a new and disturbing trend lately. In myself. Because I am a self-obsessed whore beast. or. Whatever.
The thing is, I have this problem with opposites at the moment. Specifically, I have this thing where I go and do something stupid, or create a problem, or something bad happens, and thus I go to someone to ask advice. The conversation goes something like this:

Anna: "So [insert general issue of some variety] happened, OH GOD HOW DO I FIX IT WHAT DO I DO OH GOD HALP."
Friend: "[Insert entirely logical, rational and helpful suggestion]."
Anna:"Yeah, you're right, that's a really good idea, I'll do that, thank you! *Goes and does the exact opposite of what was suggested."
REPEAT AS NECESSARY.

It's like being in a washing machine. A REALLY FUCKING STUPID TURBULENT WASHING MACHINE WHICH I DELIBERATELY PUT MYSELF IN REPEATEDLY.
And I am not sure why. I keep trying to work it out. But I have drawn no conclusions.
One idea is that I'm exceptionally impatient, and usually the logical solution to a problem takes patience, and persistence, and shit that I'm not really good at. I also really suck at following things through. My friend T had lunch with me the other day, and watching me eat, pointed out that I left a tiny bit of every piece of food that I ate. The corner of a sandwich, I'd eaten a ring around my apple, two crackers in a packet... I DID THAT WITH EVERYTHING. I EVEN DO THAT WITH CUPS OF TEA AND COFFEE. Thus, T drew the conclusion that I have some sort of complex and a deep-seated inability to finish anything I start. He probably makes a fairly valid point, but WHATEVER T, I DON'T NEED YOUR OPINIONS OR RATIONAL ADVICE ANYWA---oh, wait a second.

Oh well. Like Theodore Deschanel tells me, at least I'll have stories when I'm older.

ANYWAY. I am so tired I think my eyes will fall out, and I have several hours of homeworky goodness to get through tomorrow, so, I bid you adieu with some pretty pictures of procrastination.

Anna xx

Fuuuuuuuuuuu

2010-04-18T02:38:00.000-07:00

Comedowns make everything shhhiiiiittttttttt.

That is all internets.

Hands In The Ground.

2010-04-10T06:16:00.000-07:00

If you're gone before I'm there
And your yellowing walls appear
Beneath scrubbed, greying sheets
Look inside and see
If you can't believe it's me
Hiding out beneath eiderdown skies
You are so hard to deceive
Forget everything...

Go outside to virgin ground
And dig a hole and bury my hands
In the soil
'Cause I don't like how I'm feeling.

If you can shake your head
And break through shadowy walls of sleep
Draw the blinds above your bed
And try hard to see
Through your windows into the street
At little patches of ironed down lawn
It is so hard to believe
You can do anything...

I don't know why my friends are
So strung out
Everybody's on their backs
And I don't know if they're sleeping
Go outside to virgin ground
And dig a hole and bury my hands
In the soil
'Cause I don't like how I'm feeling.

Pitter Patter Goes My Heart

2010-04-03T23:53:00.000-07:00

Hey you. I'm getting away for a while this week. After a bad weekend, I can feel my stress levels gradually rising. So I've spent most of this weekend collecting pretty pictures to share with you. Sorry this post is the same old thing. But it's some nice escapism, and I hope you like it.
I'm off to Canberra with some mad friends of mine, brb.
Have a good week.
Love you like a fat kid loves cake.
Anna xx

What a civilised way to be angry.

2010-03-21T03:17:00.000-07:00

Locked in the attic,
Starting to panic,
Wait, that's me.

No One's Got It All.

2010-03-06T02:44:00.000-08:00

No, we could not itemise the list
of sins they can't forgive us.
The beautiful don't lack the wound.
It is always beginning to snow.

Of sins they can't forgive us
speech is beautifully useless.
It is always beginning to snow.
The beautiful know this.

Speech is beautifully useless.
They are the damned.
The beautiful know this.
They stand around unnatural as statuary.

They are the damned
and so their sadness is perfect,
delicate as an egg placed in your palm.
Hard, it is decorated with their face

and so their sadness is perfect.
The beautiful don't lack the wound.
Hard, it is decorated with their face.
No, we could not itemise the list.

And then side A clicks over, and the beat resumes.

2010-03-03T04:33:00.000-08:00

Oh Herro internet, my oh my (coffee and pie) it certainly has been many a moon since i have taken time to write you. I'd like to say that i have been busy, but then i would be lying. I have much time on my hands which i am finally learning how to use effectively. Its quite the rush.

As you may or may not know dear stranger, i have recently deferred from my university career in order to pursue other avenues of my interests. I like to think that this will help me grow a bit. I think i need to grow a bit. I didn't want to just cruise through my uni life just kicking it without proper motivation after all. The thought seems somewhat empty to me. I mean, i'm not doing the most intensive course; i'm doing arts. The whole idea with such a degree is you only really get something out of it if you put in. Towards the end of last year i wasn't really putting in that much. I felt that this was reason enough to take a sabbatical and regroup, kind of re-motivate myself for my course.

I think its working, too much so. I really just want to go back to uni now. Like RIGHT now. I'm in the mood for a night perusal of the library and reading a few texts. I guess you can take the boy out of the study, but you can't take the study out of the boy now can you? HUH!?! This is pretty much why i've spent the past week doing about as much study as i would at uni - reading up on the beat period of 1950's - 60's America and digging alotta Ginsberg and Kerouac and Burrough. I don't care what anyone says, this knowledge is fundamental stuff, and its the kind of influential literature that i think everyone needs to be privy to.

BUT HEY!! THAT'S JUST ME OPINING RIGHT HERE GUYS!!

Yet, despite such fundamental studies, i have decided to continue with my deferral and not instantly re-enrol in my course haphazardly (it almost happened when i tried to swindle LaTrobe out of a concession card. HONESTLY, how could that rather mature woman resist my charms!?) as some kind of decisive action. I figure its time to make one of those in my life. Again, the need to grow up deal still kicking it.

Such thoughts also inspired me to plan ahead of once, in terms of using my time off for my benefit and such. I got a new job as a support worker working with people who has the disabilities. I'm shitting myself. I can't deal with these kinds of responsibilities. My current employment history has me either getting fired, pouring boiling water all over myself or contemplating buying tequila at 8 am on a sunday morning to break the tedium of hospitality. How am i meant to support people for 8 hour shifts or work an all-night sleep-over deal? It doesn't help that i missed a day of induction and information in order to work at Soundwave (which was one of the most bangin' days i have had in a very long time) so i feel very under-trained and under-informed. Counting the positives, i don't start for another month, in which i have to organise two "shadow shifts" where i follow people around like a ninja (assumingly) and learn how things work. This is followed by another day of induction later this month. Which hopefully will help me feel a little more comfortable and not so oh-ma-gosh-stressed-as-fuck.

But, reading between the lines with this deal, i have a month with very little to do. So i'm looking to:

find the inevitable third job (i have a perspective cafe in my sights!).
Rock golden planes (featuring Pavement/Dinosaur Jr. & hopefully featuring Slappers, copious stimulants/hallucinogens and fun tiems)
Get ma friends piano/bass/buy an 8-track/learn drums moar/mebe record sumthinnnn.
read so mush more Ginsberg&Burroughs&Kerouac and do my soul some good.
Dig life, feel the beat and know time.

I think these next few months have potential. I think ups and downs will occur, and that's the best possible ambition i can have right now.

Until we talk again, MyKill.

Just kiss me in the morning in your dirtiest pants.

2010-02-25T23:37:00.000-08:00

Flipping pancakes brings me a satisfaction with life I cannot get from most other things.

I'm sure I have posted blogs about the Small Pleasures of Life before, but this is one of those pleasures.

I worked this morning, and that is what I did. Flipped pancakes. And it was oh-so-satisfying to make each pancake. Watching it bubble up, and flipping it perfectly, and getting it a golden brown colour.
Of course... after that, I had to watch it be demolished and mangled by a small child with inadequate table manners and an inability to handle cutlery.

But it was nice to cook them, anyway.

Other simple pleasures: watching someone wrestle a large bunch of helium balloons into a small car, being the first person to use a new tube of toothpaste, writing on a banana, clean sheets, a big hug from a good friend, receiving a letter in the mail...

xx

i float

2010-02-24T07:42:00.000-08:00

Hello internet. This week has been very serene. It's nice, if not particularly exciting. I went into recluse mode for a while (sorry guys, I still love you, I promise) after having a particularly awful night thanks to some wretched substances and subsequently spiralling into a deep pit of unrelenting despair for a number of days. On the plus side, that is now over and I find myself strangely numb. It's still not exactly pleasant, but at least I don't feel like I'm dying anymore, right?

So it's been a lazy week. I've watched a lot of hockey. I miss hockey. When I played my team was super, super terrible, but it was fun, I miss it. I cannot TELL YOU how excited I am about the Olympic hockey, you guys, oh my goodness. Now that Latvia's out (not for want of trying, I was honestly convinced that they were going to pull some Steven Bradbury bullshit and beat everyone, and it would have been AWESOME) I think I want the Swedes to win. Sweden is, after all, a peaceful nation. I think that the US and Russia and Canada are all so fierce about this that they're going to DESTROY EACH OTHER and then Sweden'll beat Finland because...well, because I like the Sedins.

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED THIS WEEK:

- My grandfather, my father's father, he was born in 1925. He came to Australia in 1949. I found that out from the internet, the emigration thing. I rang him up and used it to convince him to tell me things. That's how I found out about 1925. His name was Arthur, before I knew him. Before my father knew him. Before 1949, even. His mother's name was Maria. He doesn't talk about her, but I feel like I knew this somehow anyway. There aren't any photos of her. His father - I never knew this - was named Paulis. There are old photos of my uncle Jimmy, and one of my uncle Michael, in a little shoebox downstairs. The ones of Jimmy are marked "Jamie". He's two or so. His name isn't really James, so it's strange to me that he was Jamie even then. Why not just stick with one name, pleasekthanks.

- I watched I Am Legend. Why would they change the ending? It was the WHOLE POINT. Ugh.

- I wish I could spin wool from fleece. I wish I could weave. I think it'd be relaxing. There's something very calming to me about really honestly DIYing things all the way back. I want to be able to make a jumper from a sheep. If that's wrong then my goodness, I don't want to be right. I know a woman, Joy, who weaves tapestries for a living. She went on a holiday and wove the things she saw. This is how she makes her living. They're displayed in galleries and things. There's something lovely about this to me. Tapestries, in a modern age. I think it's because they haven't been embraced by the youth, you know? Everybody nowadays is an 'artist'. Very few are actually talented but the field's so saturated that the real gems don't get a chance. I think maybe there's a sort of magic in being talented at something like that. How do you even find out, I wonder? How does one come to the realisation that you're incredibly proficient at tapestry-weaving? Painting, photography, things like that, they're accessible, the talented people can find them (and so, too, the untalented who don't realise). It's strange.

I think I will spend tomorrow in libraries. Museums, maybe, too. I don't have any money. I'm going to improvise. I can sew, you know. Sometimes I wish I could make money that way, over the internet, maybe; I hear Etsy's got a market for it. Unfortunately I'm not very fond of fussy and overly-precious and poorly-stitched. I like fit and finish. I like grosgrain binding, and French seams, and fabric that feels like heaven under your fingertips. I like seams that don't pucker, for god's sake, and super-structured jackets that nip in sharply at the waist, rows of pintucks. I really hate yards of tulle gathered on a waistband and called a "petticoat", and I cannot abide the thought of selling a corset - with boning! - that wasn't made-to-measure. There isn't really a market for that - not on the internet. If I was older I'd be a seamstress. I'd still like that. It's not really a part-time job, though. My grandmother was a seamstress. Maybe she'll teach me.

Sometimes I wonder why we don't get more time.

IN WHICH I AM CAPSLOCKY AND SLIGHTLY MANIC

2010-02-15T07:14:00.000-08:00

Hey kids and kidlets, bros and hos of our readership:

The time is upon us once again! That's right, it's back to uni time. AWESOME. I am so looking forward to this. Not really though. Well, I am! But at the same time I am DREADING IT. Why am I dreading it, you ask? Because I am transferring midyear into a double degree, which I am :D about, but I have to have "a decent average" to do it. Which means credit or distinction. Which I totally would, except I failed one unit last year - my bad, and in my defence I redid it and got a distinction, so really I think my failure should be stricken from the record, I mean, come on - and now my average is totally tanked. AWESOME. So I'm all like "hey I'll actually submit assignments this semester and get HDs to pump up my average" which is an awesome plan, ok, but this semester I have to take this unit designated "MTE3541". You see that? You see that sneaky little 3? That is because it is a third year unit! I have to rock a HD in a third year unit, you guys, come on, I AM EIGHTEEN, THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR. AND it has a 6-hour lab. SIX HOURS. Tuesdays, 11am-5pm. WHAT. Is that even allowed? But that's according to allocate+. The handbook says there's only 3 x 3 hour labs all semester. That'd be fine. I dunno. I'm super confused now! Ugh you guys uni is hard to understand

ANYWAY the point is it's ridiculous, let's move on to the awesome parts, which are:
A) I get to do a design unit finally and
B) I AM GOING TO HAVE THE BEST COURSE EVER AFTERWARDS SERIOUSLY

I have to do a major sequence in science (I'm rockin' astrophysics, it's gonna be awesome) and a major sequence in maths, but if I do the maths major in just mathematics? (Instead of pure mathematics, like I was gonna) I CAN TOTALLY USE ASTRONOMY UNITS AS MY MATH MAJOR.

Do you know what this means I GET TO LOOK AT THE STARS AND IT COUNTS TOWARDS MY FRIGGIN DEGREE, HOW SWEET IS THAT

So basically I'm changing my course from The Joys Of Biplanes into THE COSMOS, AND: HOW TO GET THERE! it's gon' be awesome. ♥

NOW.
PART TWO: A PSA (FOR STUDENTS TAKING PSYCHOLOGY)
Boys and girls! I understand your love for psychology. Psychology is awesome! People are interesting! Freud was a freakazoid! ALL GOOD TIMES.

But! I feel I must take to the innernets to tell you an apparently super secret nugget of information:
Taking a psychology unit? In your BA? Or even in your BSc? Isn't going to lead you to a psychiatry career. I am sorry. You gotta go to med school, bros. If that's what you wanna do, you have to be a doctor and then go on to specialise in psychiatry. Sure, you will learn things that are Interesting and Relevant to the field of psychiatry. But, um, yeah. Srry guys, that's just not how it works. Also, if you wanna go the psychology route? You gotta take stats, so, just a headsup so you don't get blinded by that one.

WHAT ELSE? I had more to say. Oh yeah!

PART THREE: RUMINATIONS ON GOD (AND WHY YOU SHOULD SHUT UP)
Sometimes I talk about religion with people. I try not to, because I ramble, because I am unfortunately fascinated by God and the beginning of the universe and trying to reconcile what I feel instinctively (that is, there is no God) with what I know objectively (that is, we have no better explanation for the existence of the universe). I try not to talk about it, but it comes out sometimes, especially if I'm drunk, and especially if I'm talking to my dad (I believe Girl on the run has been privy to one of these slightly incoherent conversations once upon a time. My apologies)

ANYWAY the point is my issues with God - is he, isn't he - are myriad, and they are very very troubling to me, and I have Serious Deep-Seated Issues with his (non-)existence. Sometimes people - certain kinds of people - engage me in conversation about religion, and this happens:

Pigstilts: Yeah I have God issues, I don't know, don't talk about this to me
Random Person (Let Us Henceforth Call Him Esteban): Oh, well, you know God doesn't exist.
(Esteban waits, as if he expects this nugget of wisdom to trigger an epiphany within me. It does not.)
Esteban: I mean, you know that, right? (starts talking slowly) You know that God isn't real, right?
Pigstilts (probably slurring): YEAH WELL I dunno man! Existence can't be explained without a God right now. All those SCIENCE AND GOD ARE INCOMPATIBLE people are wrong sry2say, it's kind of a bummer (unsaid: please SHUT UP)
Esteban: Creationism is a pseudoscience!
Pigstilts: OK. Don't recall mentioning that, but hey, we coo'
Esteban: IT IS UNSCIENTIFIC FOR THESE REASONS: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH EVOLUTION IS POWER
Pigstilts: I know, man, I-
Esteban (talking over Pigstilts): PRAISE BE TO DARWIN
Pigstilts: (A science conversation! THAT I can get behind. I love science!)
(I try to engage him in a Science Dialogue)
(Esteban proceeds to explain evolution/string theory/relativity/etc to me. Badly. He is woefully misinformed, probably self-taught from Wikipedia, and utterly convinced he has perfect understanding of 'string theory'. He does not.)
Pigstilts: Oh haha that's - that's not really how it works, man
(At this point, Esteban will smile condescendingly and maybe laugh a little): well I wouldn't expect YOU to get it

ESTEBAN
YOU ARE HATEFUL
GO AWAYYYYYYYY UGHHHHHHH

This started out as a section of the post on my God issues, but that's my crap, so you get a post on this instead.

My grrrrls out there in the readersphere? I bet they know what I'm talking about. The explaining simple concepts or things that we understand already. Or explaining something that they don't understand, when we haven't asked for an explanation (especially if it's something we actually *do* understand, seriously). When we try to correct them, or say WE ALREADY KNOW THESE THINGS, or smile and nod, they will KEEP EXPLAINING. Or they will say we're wrong when we aren't, or that we couldn't be expected to understand, or that there's just NO REASONING with SOME WOMEN (this is normally said to the room at large, with a grin, as if expecting surrounding people to voice their agreement with this sentiment.)

(At this point I tend to facepalm, if I'm not already. YMMV)

ANYWAY. Basically this is really infuriating behaviour and could you please stop it, Estebans of the World?

Pls and thank you.

PART FOUR:
I really need a job asfsgafehg it doesn't need to be awesome or anything! GDI I will file shit all day if I have to, or rock the service stations, why are people so reluctant to doooo this ahhh
(Although I did find one job ad that basically said "We need someone who is awesome at Connect 4, we will pay you $20/hr to play Connect 4, don't bother sending a resume just prove your Connect 4 skills", it was awesome. Unfortunately I - like Annahyde - am ineligible, but still)

PS hey so guys
who here has ever been to counselling/therapy/whatever
what's it like and um is it worth it
ITT: yo' therapeutic experiences, go

Cuddle Fuddle.

2010-02-12T22:23:00.000-08:00

What do you want for Valentine's Day?
I want... extravagant cupcakes, and new shoes, and jelly made in pretty moulds, and an old film camera, and a bunch of irises, and love letters from secret admirers, and french toast in bed, and a hot air balloon ride, and kisses, and dance lessons, and high tea, and a vintage animal belt, and strawberry daiquiris, and glitter, and balloons, and mix tapes, and to go to the ballet, and a new dress.
But.
I don't have a Valentine.
So I think I'll settle for homemade cupcakes and wine and goofy photos, in a park, with three really good friends. I reckon I can probably deal with that. I think it will be completely wonderful.

Have a good one. xx

I have no intention of quitting short. Or late. Or satisfied.

2010-02-11T00:40:00.000-08:00

It’s a pensive kind of night tonight.
Although, I have a problem with that sentence. Because I have a deep-seated hatred for the word “pensive” and I don’t know why. Although it does remind me of a really good scene from Ten Things I Hate About You:

Joey: *Shows modelling picture to Bianca*
Bianca: You look… pensive…
Joey: Damn. I was going for thoughtful.

Ohhhhh, I miss that film. I haven’t seen it in so long. And Joseph Gordon Levitt is so right.
Anyway. Right now I am sitting in bed munching on watermelon (and I feel the word “munching” is appropriate because it makes a crunching sound when you eat it, and THE RHYMING HAS TO MEAN SOMETHING, RIGHT?!?!?!).
Eating watermelon in bed is one of life’s simple joys. Like the aforementioned writing on a banana, or watching someone try and wedge a huge bunch of helium balloons into a tiny car, or being the first one to use the new tube of toothpaste, or butter, or vegemite, or finding a pair of replica wayfarers for two dollars in an op-shop (YES) or having glow in the dark stars on your ceiling when you go to sleep.

The other good thing about watermelon is that it’s cooling. A small, elderly Hungarian woman informed me of this a little while ago. Watermelon and cantaloupe. Both cooling. Which is good, because it’s a warm night.

Anyway, I’m lying here eating my watermelon, and listening to some nondescript mournful indie pop music, and it got me thinking about the plethora (OOH, important sounding word, TWENTY LITERARY POINTS TO ME) of potentially embarrassing songs I have on my Ipod. Now, I actually think I have a fairly minimal amount of embarrassing songs from one perspective. I have a friend who persists in having both Hillsong AND the theme song from “Blue Heelers” on her Ipod. So by comparison, I feel fairly okay. Fairly hip. Fairly fly. (Although, after the previous two sentences, levels of coolness have dropped considerably).

But then, when I compare some of said embarrassing songs with my general mash of horribly pretentious indie-wankery, I curl into the foetal position in shame and terror.
WHAT WOULD BECOME OF ME IF THE COOL KIDS WITH THEIR FRINGES AND THEIR POETIC QUOTE TATTOOS AND THEIR TIGHT PANTS, THEIR SUPER TIGHT PANTS, THEIR EXCEEDINGLY TIGHT PANTS, AND THEIR FLANNEL AND THEIR VINTAGE CARDIGANS --- WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF THEY FOUND OUT?!?!?!

So, with the certainty that almost no one reads this blog, I present, for your cringing pleasure, a list of the Most Embarrassing Songs in My Collection that I Shamefully Enjoy, much as a social worker presents their history of a past life selling crack to children.
Enjoy.

1. Gold Digger – Kanye West
Okay, so I feel this one is debatable, because my shame is really not that genuine in relation to this song. I make no excuses for my undeniable, unshakeable love for Kanye. He is so wonderful. He is so conceited. He is so arrogant. He is such a fucking tosser. But HE’S TRYING TO BE A DOPER PERSON. YOU GAIZ. I love him. I love him and his self-satisfaction and his sexist attitude and his ability to interrupt an awards show to tell everyone that Beyonce is better than Taylor Swift because HE WAS RIGHT, BEYONCE IS BETTER. And, most importantly, I love his music. I love this song. I know all the words, and I wish I were even a teeny weeny bit gangsta so I could not be the whitest girl alive when I sing it.

2. The Day You Went Away – Wendy Matthews.
I was brought up on Wendy Matthews. When I was about four years old, my older sister and I used to close off the lounge room and jump around singing Wendy Matthews songs, despite the fact that I couldn’t pronounce her name and unfailingly called her “Windy”. It was logical. I was four. Shut the fuck up. Anyway, the interesting thing is, this was actually my dad’s doing, not my mum’s. My dad was (possibly still is) a hardcore Wendy Matthews fan. He also likes chick flicks – discuss. The point is, I am fully aware of how wanky and shameful this song is, but… somewhere deep down I still think it’s really quite good, and sad, and stuff. You know…

3. White Houses – Vanessa Carlton
Look I KNOW. I KNOW OKAY I KNOW BUT IT’S TOO LATE NOW, YOU CAN’T CHANGE WHAT’S ALREADY BEEN DONE. I have no excuses for this one. Somewhere in my subconscious… or my conscious… I apparently appreciate her girlish American whine, particularly in this song, which appears to be about her losing her virginity when she was at ballet school. HOW she managed to lose her virginity to someone at BALLET SCHOOL I do not know.

4. Too Lost In You – Sugababes
Oh god. At the start of this, I don’t think I fathomed fully how painful this experience would be. Four songs into the list, and I am already disgusted with myself. Gold Digger? Not really soul-destroying, I’ve come to terms with my love of pop-rap. The Day You Went Away? Worse, but bearable. I can deal with a song that has roots back in my youth – these things happen. But at White Houses the shame had fully hit, and now here I am at Too Lost In You considering beating myself to death with my Ipod dock. Look. It was in “Love Actually”, okay? That’s all I’ve got. Be kind.

5. Nothing Compares 2 U – Sinead O’Connor
Mmmmm, okay, but this one gets brownie points for originally being by Prince. It kind of weirds me out that Prince didn’t have such a hit with this when he performed it, but then a shaven-headed Irish woman with spectacular vocal pyrotechnics made it into this romantic epic. Interesting fact: this song was number one on the charts the day I was born. Interesting fact the second: I am not telling you what day I was born, work it out yourself, you creep. I see you typing it into Google…

6. More Than This – Roxy Music
Yes, well, this is similar to the Kanye issue – I know I SHOULD be ashamed by it, and so it is here, but I love this song. I love it even more when I see Bill Murray sing it in “Lost In Translation”, drunken and slurred and in a small apartment in Tokyo. I had this as my ringtone for a large period of time in year 12, and one day a few friends and I were having a study session with my lit teacher when my phone started ringing. My teacher promptly started flailing and doing a fairly impressive air-drum solo to it. This was particularly wonderful as he is quite a large, articulate man. It was a good day in my life.

7. Happy Ending – Mika.
Uggggh. I watched an episode of “Gossip Girl” one night when I was in a particularly low mood, post break-up. In the episode, though, I think Dan and Serena were at a masquerade and they thought they kind of sort of might possibly perhaps break up, but then Dan was all: “I ONLY LOVE YOU” and Serena was all “AWWWW I LOVE YOU TOO” and then they macked for a while and the camera spun around them and this song played (inexplicably) and all was well in the Upper East Side. I vaguely (see “clearly”) remember that I spent most of that night sobbing hysterically in bed to this song until I fell asleep. In conclusion: fuck you, television. NOTHING IS LIKE YOU SAY IT IS. But Mika looks out for me.

8. Come Said The Boy – Mondo Rock.
This is a dirty, dirty song. I heard a fact a little while ago that this song is the most requested on a popular radio station between the hours of 3.30 and 6pm on weekdays – WHICH IS THE PRIME TIME FOR PARENTS PICKING UP THEIR CHILDREN. THIS SONG IS PLAYING IN THEIR CARS ON THE WAY HOME. WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?!?!!? Anyway. The thing is, it’s really cheesy and basically about some guy going to a party at the end of his high schooling, getting drunk, and having sex with a girl on a beach. I really appreciate, however, the complete lack of subtlety, and to be honest if some guy said to me “Come, let’s go down to the sand, let’s do what we wanna do; let me be a man for you” I probably wouldn’t say no. Particularly if alcohol was involved. Oh, I’m such a hussy.

9. Milkshake – Kelis
I see you look at me with that look, that “you-and-your-appreciation-for-sexually-explicit-mainstream-pop-songs-that-demean-women-disgust-me” look. But, there is no one, male or female, anywhere, who has not shook something while listening to this song once in their lives. I don’t care about your protests in the negative, I can see you now, avoiding my eyes, and walking away in shame. I rest my case.

10. Bouree – Jethro Tull
In this ingenious version of Bach’s “Bouree”, Jethro Tull plays the piece and then SWINGS it and MAKES TRILLING SOUNDS and OTHER STUFF. He is truly a king among musicians. Look, no, actually it’s okay. And I’m a flute player, so I have to own this kind of stuff. But I just thing Jethro Tull is a load of wank. Sorry, fluties. I’m disappointed in myself on so many levels.

11. H to the Izzo – Jay Z
Oh, fuck it, I love this song. I care so little what you think.

12. Iris – Goo Goo Dolls
Welcome to the well-trodden path of 90’s try-hard pop-rock music. Too many whingey, vaguely-raw-and-husky, kind-of-deep vocals, overworked string lines and melodramatic lyrics. But. You know. Goo Goo Dolls kind of did it first, before everyone else. Before Lifehouse and The Calling and those other wanky bands with skinny lead singers with art-wank hairstyles and toned forearms. And I appreciated this song, like everyone else did, in spite of the fact that it was on the soundtrack to a Nicholas Cage film.

13. Born To Run – Bruce Springsteen
If you have been a long time reader of Everyone Is Mental (see – two people and the other people who run this blog) you will recall that I have a weird, misdirected love for Bruce. Well. I’m not sure if it’s misdirected, but I do feel kind of wrong about it, so let’s assume that it is. This I blame on my sister. Who, in turn, I’m pretty sure blames on my mother. It’s hereditary in my family, it would seem. Anyway, like I said, long time readers will recall that once, a long time ago, in a haze of insomnia and anxiety, I wrote a blog regarding my old friend Bruce, who was on Rage at 3am one morning when I couldn’t sleep. Long time readers will also remember my unbridled rage when Rage failed to play “Born to Run” despite playing at LEAST an hour’s worth of Bruce Springsteen. I WAS SO MAD. SO MAD.
Incidentally, my favourite coffee shop at uni used to play Bruce Springsteen (“used to” because the coffee shop is under new management – I was more of a fan of it when it was run by a whole bunch of tattooed, particularly butch lesbians with a penchant for Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen and 80’s indie music). One day they played this song, and I teetered merrily in a dance-like manner on my inappropriate heels, and felt better about life. Bruce Springsteen – Getting today’s youth through University.

And with that, I offer you the culmination of my embarrassing playlist. I’m quite surprised with myself, actually. Only 13 truly embarrassing tracks. I need to get my act together. Where is my sense of social self-destruction?

And so tonight I’ll leave you with another really excellent, completely irrelevant, Joseph Gordon Levitt quote, from “500 Days of Summer”, in the spirit of the imminent Valentine’s Day:

“Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
Fuck you, whore.”
Have a good one.
xx

mother mary taught me how to tread on the spines of serpents

2010-01-31T02:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday all the past. The language of size
Spreading to China along the trade-routes; the diffusion
Of the counting-frame and the cromlech;
Yesterday the shadow-reckoning in the sunny climates.

Yesterday the assessment of insurance by cards,
The divination of water; yesterday the invention
Of cartwheels and clocks, the taming of
Horses. Yesterday the bustling world of the navigators.

Yesterday the abolition of fairies and giants,
The fortress like a motionless eagle eyeing the valley,
The chapel built in the forest;
Yesterday the carving of angels and alarming gargoyles.

The trial of heretics among the columns of stone;
Yesterday the theological feuds in the taverns
And the miraculous cure at the fountain;
Yesterday the Sabbath of witches; but to-day the struggle.

Yesterday the installation of dynamos and turbines,
The construction of railways in the colonial desert;
Yesterday the classic lecture
On the origin of Mankind. But to-day the struggle.

Yesterday the belief in the absolute value of Greek,
The fall of the curtain upon the death of a hero;
Yesterday the prayer to the sunset
And the adoration of madmen. But to-day the struggle.

As the poet whispers, startled among the pines,
Or where the loose waterfall sings compact, or upright
On the crag by the leaning tower:
"Oh my vision. O send me the luck of the sailor."

And the investigator peers through his instruments
At the inhuman provinces, the virile bacillus
Or enormous Jupiter finished:
"But the lives of my friends. I inquire. I inquire."

And the poor in their fireless lodgings, dropping the sheets
Of the evening paper: "Our day is our loss, O show us
History the operator, the
Organiser, Time the refreshing river."

And the nations combine each cry, invoking the life
That shapes the individual belly and orders
The private nocturnal terror:
"Did you not found the city state of the sponge,

"Raise the vast military empires of the shark
And the tiger, establish the robin's plucky canton?
Intervene. O descend as a dove or
A furious papa or a mild engineer, but descend."

And the life, if it answers at all, replies from the heart
And the eyes and the lungs, from the shops and squares of the city:
"O no, I am not the mover;
Not to-day; not to you. To you, I'm the

"Yes-man, the bar-companion, the easily-duped;
I am whatever you do. I am your vow to be
Good, your humorous story.
I am your business voice. I am your marriage.

"What's your proposal? To build the just city? I will.
I agree. Or is it the suicide pact, the romantic
Death? Very well, I accept, for
I am your choice, your decision. Yes, I am Spain."

Many have heard it on remote peninsulas,
On sleepy plains, in the aberrant fisherman's islands
Or the corrupt heart of the city,
Have heard and migrated like gulls or the seeds of a flower.

They clung like burrs to the long expresses that lurch
Through the unjust lands, through the night, through the alpine tunnel;
They floated over the oceans;
They walked the passes. All presented their lives.

On that arid square, that fragment nipped off from hot
Africa, soldered so crudely to inventive Europe;
On that tableland scored by rivers,
Our thoughts have bodies; the menacing shapes of our fever

Are precise and alive. For the fears which made us respond
To the medicine ad. and the brochure of winter cruises
Have become invading battalions;
And our faces, the institute-face, the chain-store, the ruin

Are projecting their greed as the firing squad and the bomb.
Madrid is the heart. Our moments of tenderness blossom
As the ambulance and the sandbag;
Our hours of friendship into a people's army.

To-morrow, perhaps the future. The research on fatigue
And the movements of packers, the gradual exploring of all the
Octaves of radiation;
To-morrow the enlarging of consciousness by diet and breathing.

To-morrow the rediscovery of romantic love,
The photographing of ravens; all the fun under
Liberty's masterful shadow;
To-morrow the hour of the pageant-master and the musician;

The beautiful roar of the chorus under the dome;
To-morrow the exchanging of tips on the breeding of terriers,
The eager election of chairmen
By the sudden forest of hands. But to-day the struggle.

To-morrow for the young the poets exploding like bombs,
The walks by the lake, the weeks of perfect communion;
To-morrow the bicycle races
Through the suburbs on summer evenings. But to-day the struggle.

To-day the deliberate increase in the chances of death,
The conscious acceptance of guilt in the necessary murder;
To-day the expanding of powers
On the flat ephemeral pamphlet and the boring meeting.

To-day the makeshift consolations: the shared cigarette,
The cards in the candlelit barn, and the scraping concert,
The masculine jokes; to-day the
Fumbled and unsatisfactory embrace before hurting.

The stars are dead. The animals will not look.
We are left alone with our day, and the time is short, and
History to the defeated
May say Alas but cannot help nor pardon.
W. H. Auden, Spain, 1937

Hello internet. I feel very alone.

("Why do people want so desperately not to be alone? Why is it more comforting to think you are being watched than to know that no one at all is watching? And why, really, does that make us any less alone? In the end, if there are others out there, then wouldn't we be, all of us, still alone together? ")

Does anyone know where I can score some reality?

2010-01-28T02:45:00.000-08:00

You and your wonderfulness make the bad things better.

Hello. How are you?
I have an idea for you today, that someone told me about: write on a banana. He told me to, and I gave him a funny look (he was also wearing a skirt and was painted in love hearts at the time), and he gave me a pen and a banana, and said "write on a banana - it's one of life's simple pleasures."
So I did.
And he was right.
Go on. Do it. I won't laugh at you.

xx

Breaking the Code.

2010-01-19T23:02:00.000-08:00

WELL HI THERE YOU. How are you? Well? ARE YOU WELL?!??! IS THAT YOUR FINAL ANSWER?!?!?!?!!?!?!??!
Good. Sorry. I am in a jittery kind of mood tonight. The good kind of jitters, not the bad kind of jitters. I just got back from camping and I saw the LARGEST wombats and the MOST echidnas and the SUPERLATIVE various other wildlife and it was awesome. I was at Wilson's Prom with my loverly friend Face and her family, and also my friend K and her family and it was wonderful. Okay, wellsolike it rained a bunch of the time, but whatevz, I went swimming in the rain underneath a giant mountain and it was superlativetastic. That's a word now. I made it up then, just to impress you.

Tomorrow I am going on more adventures, up Ballarat-wards. There is nothing in Ballarat, but there are a bunch of amazingsuperfantastic musicians that I am super excited to see and picnic with, and then I am moving on to Beaufort (even less things there than Ballarat... I'm pretty sure there's a rusty public playground and a bakery... um... maybe one of those roof things that's a circle and has seats attached, you know those things? It sounds like... gorgonzola... or... gondola... or... GAZEBO. That's it... gazebo). Wait, what? Anyway. But there IS a superhuge hippie music festival up there and I am going with my giant hippie friend (she is a big-time hippie, not a giant... I don't think. Unless she's grown a lot. But that's besides the point) and we are going to dance and eat vegan food and go to a giant pool party and, as Pigstilts would say, I am excite.

I hope it is ace. I think it will be.

Anyway. So the point of this post is to basically gloat at you. Because you can't avoid it because I've typed this all up and NOW YOU ARE READING IT AND WHEN YOU READ IT WILL TAKE OVER YOUR MIND AND THEN THE WORLD, ONE BLOG-READER AT A TIME.
But actually, there are like... four people who read this, so perhaps not. But a blogger can dream.

Incidentally, I am not sure why I have posted a picture of myself in a bathtub, but there you are. I have broken the unspoken code of "not-posting-pictures-of-yourself" I am a camerawhore. In a bathtub. A bathtubcamerawhore.

These things happen.

Also, I had a dream last night that I was going to a school in England, covered in ivy, and I was a rockstar. It was pretty ace. What did you dream?

Here are some Vampire Weekend lyrics. Love you like fireworks.

Anna
xx

As a young girl
Louis Vuitton
With your mother
On a sandy lawn

As a sophomore
With reggaeton
And the linens
You're sitting on

Is your bed made?
Is your sweater on?
Do you wanna fuck
Like you know I do?

But this feels so unnatural
Peter Gabriel too

Can you stay up
To see the dawn
In the colors
Of Bennetton?

Is your bed made?
Is your sweater on?
Do you want time
Like you know I do?

But this feels so unnatural
Peter Gabriel too

Is your bed made
Is your sweater on
Do you wanna
Like you know I do

Is your bed made? Is your sweater on?

2010-01-11T23:27:00.000-08:00

Well fuck. I'll just have to hope that when I flip the coin it somehow EXPLODES AND KILLS ME.
How are you?
I hope you're excellent.
xx

I Lied.

2010-01-01T23:38:00.001-08:00

I came up with some other New Year's resolutions.
1. Don't get drunk.
2. Don't do stupid things.
3. Don't be crap at life.
4. Don't generally do anything ever because it will all go wrong and everything will collapse in a heap and all of that.

Thanks.
I'm going away for a week now. I may decide to skip the country after that, it's hard to say.

xx

I Can Make A Mess Like Nobody's Business

2009-12-31T22:23:00.000-08:00

I know that's a band name. But it's true, I can and do. And I don't mean it in the badarse way that Ace Enders does, I just mean I am really good and making things messy and horrid.
It was a full moon last night. And a blue moon. Maybe let's blame it on that.

Anyway. I didn't really know what to post today, so looking through some poetry (as I do, as a giant loser) and I found this poem, which I haven't read for a while, and I think the last line is the most wonderful thing ever. It also makes me feel better because I get the feeling Phillip Larkin's made a mess a couple of times. So I guess I'll leave you with that, and now I'm off to crawl under a rock and die.
Happy New Year. I hope this one makes more sense.

High Windows - Phillip Larkin

When I see a couple of kids
And guess he's fucking her and she's
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That'll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

xx

You Are The Smell Before Rain.

2009-12-29T05:51:00.000-08:00

I would like to remind you of something very important tonight. And the very important thing is this:

EVERYONE IS MENTAL.

Because everyone is. Including and ESPECIALLY you. And that's why I love you.
I'm off to bed now.
Go and have some lovely dreams.

READY, SET, RESOLVE!

2009-12-27T20:06:00.000-08:00

"So this is the New Year, and I don't feel any different."

Ben Gibbard, you spoke what we were all thinking back in those days when we were heartbroken teens lost in the world of puberty and Myspace, and back when you still had one thread of lingering indie cred you were holding onto for dear life.

I still have a place in my heart for that song though, Ben. Despite the fact that nowadays you kind of make me want to claw my own eyeballs out. Well... you know. These things do happen I suppose.

Anyway. I am struggling to come up with a New Year's Resolution for this year. Actually, no, that's a lie, I always struggle to come up with a New Year's Resolution.
Right now I am sitting looking at pictures of overpriced designer clothing and fashion blogs, listening to Roy Orbison and trying to come up with something. So far the best one's I've managed to come up with are:

- Be more optimistic. This one always pops up, but then I think, "If I were more optimistic, would I still be the spiteful, bitter, disgruntled, caffeine-dependent Anna Hyde we all know and love?" Okay, the "love" part was just for the benefit of my self-confidence, I know, but whatever, humour me. The point is, I prefer to face the big wide world with an abundance of head-shaking, glaring and general bitter comments about how little I like everything and everyone. AND I REFUSE TO CHANGE FOR YOU, WORLD, JUST BECAUSE IT'S A NEW DECADE OR WHATEVER.
- Drink less. Okay, this one makes me sound like I'm an alcoholic, which is probably not fair because I categorically deny that I am a boozer, wino, alco, sloshface, legless lizard, drunk skunk or otherwise. However, I do admit that this year my alcohol intake has been somewhat higher than usual. I think because it's been a weird, stressful year. Also a really good one, for the record. But potentially I should attempt to not drink so much at public functions that I vomit on my hands? Maybe. (You laugh, but this has happened more than once now. The hand-vomiting, that is).
- Stop spending so much money on useless crap. Potentially achievable yes. Not, however, likely.

None of these seem to work for me, so therefore I have edited my list of resolutions somewhat to the following list.

- Write more love letters, to everyone, ever.
- Talk to more strangers.
- Listen to more music, any music, all music.
- Dance more often.
- Blow more bubbles.
- And take more photos.

And I think I'm set.

Except I haven't decided on an outfit for New Year's yet. Yes, I know it's four days until New Year's. Stop looking at me like that.

So what are your resolutions?
I'll leave you today with the wise words of Jay-Z:

"H to the Izz=O, V to the Izz-A. Not guilty, he who does not feel me, is not real to me therefore does not exist. So poof! Vamoose, son of a bitch."

Them's fightin' words.
xx

Christmas Decorations.

2009-12-25T02:49:00.000-08:00

Speaking of Gratuitious...

2009-12-15T18:37:00.000-08:00

I'm going to take a small moment of your time internets to describe a love that has braved rough times and eventually conquered all. A love that is so pure that it could contend with even the most isolated natural spring. An adoration so potent that, if one were able to bottle it and consume it, one taste would cause instant transcendence to godhood. This love, my friends, is my love for this man right here, the man before your very eyes, Julian Casablancus.

You guys don't even know. I lost my shit when I saw the strokes at the tender age of 16? 17? (WHAT AGE WAS I!?! IT DOESN'T MATTER!!) and just now, after finally getting a copy of Julian's side project I am lost for words. So instead of talking about it, I'll just show you some supersweet pictures. (But srsly guys, you don't even know).

This is Julian being a cheeky cheeky boy. I like that he's being cheeky. His expression pleases me greatly.

This picture of Julian reminds me of Tron which instantly makes me lose my shit. While I haven't fully watched Tron in its entirety before, just the though of it brings back endless memories of mindfucks. That and HEY GAIZ DAFT PUNK ARE DOING THE SOUNDTRACK TO TRON LEGACY!! THAT MOVIE IS GOING TO BE.THE.SHIT!!!! So, in essence, this picture gives me everything I could ever want from a picture:

Julian Casablancus
Memories of Tron
Dreams of Daft Punk
MINDFUCKS!!

Here Julian looks like he's praying. He also has a cheeky smile on his face yet again, he's so cheeky. Cheeky boy.

I like this picture because Julian is being quite immature and using his fingers and his mouth to give the allusion that he is performing oral sex with a woman's vagina (ON THAT NOTE: I have a very close friend who also loves Julian who, for a major portion of the year, would meet me at uni and periodically tell me as many different names for the vagina as possible. Current preference: Minge).

I like this picture because if I put my finger on the screen where Julian is touching the camera, it almost like he's touching me. I can already here what everyone is thinking about this last statement but IT IS NOT CREEPY AND I KEEP MY PANTS ON WHEN I DO THIS!! HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I HAVE AN ODD PERVERSION FOR THIS PICTURE!!

This is possibly my favourite picture of Julian because:

He's wearing a very flamboyant Batman shirt
He looks very confused as the camera's presence
He is surrounded by wine, who needs that much wine?!?! is he a connesuir?!?!?

And that, dear webternets, is why I love this man in picture form. His music is also mindblowing and amazing but I am in nowhere near a pretentious enough mood to tell you allllllllll about it.

kissikissi,
Michael.

Who puts me in the magic position, darling?

2009-12-14T16:21:00.000-08:00

You put me in the magic position.

xx

Be Still My Beating Heart.

2009-12-13T00:47:00.001-08:00

Following on with the theme of gratuitous blog posts, I would like to devote this post to a certain Ryan Gosling. Now... let's all ignore that one shit role in The Notebook and revel in his awesome babetasticness.

Ryan #1: Stripey and Pensive. Minus a couple of points for being somewhat clean shaven, but plus indie points for the striped shirt and deep expression.

Ryan #2: Dog-Loving and Kinda Crazy. I don't know what's going on here. I suppose it's best not to speculate, but whatever. Plus points for the crazy expression, the cigarette (yes, yes, it's bad to smoke, but I really like photos of people smoking, and sometimes when I drink I quite like the smell of smoke, but that's a secret because I heard it's bad for you and so I don't do it, but I think it looks kind of cool whatever), also for the flannel and the crazy face. Still clean-shaven. I like my men stubbly and rugged. Sigh. But whatever.

Ryan #3: !()#KNJRKRHOlkjaijoiewrj8&#(&$*(%u209ujknJNIUDH()I!kJKSNJHduifu08e809(*#*&$*$(&. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know that he's clean shaven. I know what I just said. But I think I just died.
My friend G and I often have conversations to the degree of this:
Anna: "So how was your weekend."
G: "Errghrgrhgwehgrhgheghrghr. I spent all weekend dreaming about the things I would like to do to [insert name of male crush here]."
Anna: "...Uhuh."
This picture induces a similar response in me.

Ryan #4: Rugged Manly Guitar Playing. Plus points for semi-stubble-beard-thing, plus points for guitar, plus points for toned arms, plus points for aviators, plus points, plus points, pliusinrpsoiojtsnknjtnsmn.

Ryan #5: Faux-crack-addict. Oh Ryan. I love you even when you're a crack addict. Which is hypothetical of course, because he was only playing a crack addict in "Half Nelson" but then I don't really know him, so you'd probably have to ask him yourself, actually. I probably wouldn't care that much if he was, though, to be honest.

Ryan #6: Gratuitous Undone Shirt. I appreciate this for obvious reasons. 'Nuff said.

Ryan #7: Hurt Puppy Dog Face. Ryan likes animals. Here, he cleverly mimicks the wounded puppy dog face of the puppy dog in a highly likeable way. WELL DONE, ROUND OF APPLAUSE.

Ryan #8: Bad Habits and Clean Jacket. Like I said, I really like photos of people smoking. Here, he looks both thoughtful and badarse. I appreciate this.

Ryan #9: GOT SOME STRETCHIN' SKILLZ. Yeah.

And finally...
Ryan #10: Adorababababable. I don't know what he's doing. I think he's lying on a shelf in a supermarket. But look at that face. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

That is all.
Thanks. I'll be here til monday. Actually, I'll be here forever, probably.

Anna
xx

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY GRATUITOUS

2009-12-12T03:51:00.001-08:00

WELL BASICALLY
Patrick Wolf ♥_♥ WHAT MORE IS THERE TO SAY YOU ALL KNOW MY OPINIONS ON THIS MATTER
but did you also know that he is very pretty because he TOTALLY IS whee~

SEE:

also NOTE THE SWEET FEATHERY EPAULETTES, YEAH THAT'S RIGHT BRANDON FLOWERS I AM ON TO YOU

I still secretly love you though, you are the BEST GIANT TINY there is and even when you had a sketchy mo you were FABULOUS, how did that happen? Aren't Mormons supposed to be all ~dour~ and ~beige~ but I guess the rules are different when you are a SUPER AWESOME VEGAS MORMON whatever I don't even care. Also if this wasn't a PWolf post I would totally be posting pictures of him as well because he is still adorable ok

BUT ANYWAY SO...IN CONCLUSION PATRICK WOLF IS PRETTY AND SHOULD HAVE HIS VIOLIN AT ALL TIMES AND AND AND AGFRGHEWFGRFGE I AM SO EXCITED FOR MONDAY YOU GUYS SOOOOO EXCITED WOOOOOOO

ps BONUS SWINTON C-C-C-COMBO BREAKER

I FIGURE SHE COUNTS, SHE'S LIKE...PWOLF-ADJACENT OK AND ALSO MEGAFIERCE. ♥SWINTON♥

pps dear patrick wolf please don't be blonde any more

Today was not a good day.

2009-12-10T03:12:00.000-08:00

Hey
I don't
really know
you,
but
I like
you
anyway.

We've got out deepest hopes tattooed on our eyelids, so when we sleep, we speak fireworks.

2009-12-08T02:25:00.000-08:00

Some pretty things. Plus likes and dislikes because I haven't posted any for a while.

LIKES:
- Glittery things.
- Music students.
- Drinks with said music students.
- Melbourne at night.
- Delicious scones (and incidentally, scone-related adventures).
- Porridge.
- Opshops.
- The Olsen Twins (judge me, whatever, I don't care. And I apologise for the overload of MK in these pictures, but I think she is immensely messed up and fashionable and weird and great).

DISLIKES:
- Driving down highways over a hundred k's in the rain and being abused by strange men in utes.
- Ear infections. Blergh.
- ANXIETY. Mthrfckr.
- Unnecessary clumsy injuries.

<3
Anna.

"Anything is peaceful from 1353 feet."

2009-12-03T18:59:00.000-08:00

And yet again I am hungover.
I know, I know, I promised last time that I wouldn't get drunk again, but here we are.
I think I can feel my brain in my head.
Anyway, I'm sitting here next to Daisy, my obese pet dingo-cross, with a giant cup of tea, watching "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and trying to get rid of my headache before I have to go to work and give a whole bunch of screaming children afternoon tea. Ohhhhh noooo, this is going to be bad.
Also I am now broke from spending all my money on various drinks. And the majority of my memories of last night are:
- Tearing gaping holes in my stockings.
- A beautiful androgynous bartender who I lusted over for the better part of the night, very loudly, and who gave us free drinks (the free drinks were mostly courtesy of my friend T being lusted after by the androgynous bartender because she's amazing, and because he wanted to save us from a couple of weird American guys who kept singing the theme from "The Bodyguard" horribly off pitch).
- a strange bar full of weirdly erotic artworks and a slurring drunk owner who smoked indoors.
- Having really sore feet.
- Another bar full of faux-taxidermy.
- Seeing a bunch of guys hanging out with a busker on the street and singing Beatles songs.
- And eftpos-ing a cheeseburger at three AM on Swanston St.
Basically, it was awesome. And it was with a bunch of pretty great music students who I love.
So that was fun. But now my brain hurts an awful lot.
Also, and for the record, I really wish I looked more like Sloane Peterson.

Love and all.
xx

Turn yourself around, you weren't invited.

2009-12-02T06:20:00.001-08:00

So apparently, according to the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, "Good good things happen in bad towns". Who. The. Fuck. Knew. Honestly, i wish i had gotten that little tid-bit sooner. It would have been nice to hear in ma youth.

So, i may be a little tipsy, i've just spent a night out with a bunch of lovely ladies from ma work which was pretty rocking. We went to an RMIT exhibition and had a few freeeeeeee drinks (which is always a plus) and watched a small child run the same circuit at least 30 times - each with his grandmother slowly chasing after him, whattaguy. This then amounted to moving to a friends teeny-tiny room-like apartment on Brunswick Road for a few more drinks and a screening of octocat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hm3E2cGQE4) which was again, pretty rocking. I enjoyed myself.

Listen, Tipsy me would like you to know, from the bottom of my cynical, depressing, hate-filled heart that i love each and everyone of you out there. I mention this because the world needs a little bit of loving at the moment, and at every moment. Srsly guys, love is amazing. Even while i am sitting here in a partially drunken haze, constantly fixing my numerous typing errors, i keep thinking that love is all you need. It is the most important factor of life. At least in my eyes.

I'll let you all mull this one over while i drunkenly listen to Morrisey and complain to myself about current circumstances. Goddam is wish le women were just blunt and straighttothepoint like intelligible people (sorry for the common allusions made in that last sentence). But srsly, just give me a definitive hunch to go on. That's better than these many sleepless nights.

Are you feeling fine? Yes, I feel just fine!

2009-11-30T00:42:00.000-08:00

My brain is going a bazillion miles an hour. I have anxiety jitters and it's not really helping my flute fingers.

So, AnnaHyde. Deep breaths. Calm down. Everything is going to be all right.

Incidentally, if I entirely fuck up my audition tomorrow, I will need a hell of a lot of chocolate and booze.
xx

stream-of-consciousness time!

2009-11-28T03:48:00.000-08:00

You know it's kind of funny the way this happens:

I've been having my little Teenage Angst issues, for, whatever, however long. That's not the important part.

Three weeks ago I was sitting exams. I walked out of one and for no real reason I felt this total bliss. Nothing was particularly special about that moment. The weather was nice, it had been all week; the exam didn't go well, but it didn't go badly; the same pictures of horses lined the underpass that echoed every footstep back. But still: bliss. Out of nowhere, like my brain had gotten confused about which chemicals to release (we'realljustatoms,afterall). And it didn't matter, because I was small and my legs were bare and there was something peppy on the radio.

And then the day went by and everything was ordinary again. I don't know why I was surprised.

And then life went on! And exams finished, and I forgot to reenrol, and I want to change into a double degree, but I need to find time to work; and I wasn't stressed, but all the fuss and bother was just draining, and Teen Angst reared his cheeky face again.

And I couldn't sleep at 5am, so I listened to Rachmaninoff, and whoever was playing it - don't, I don't know anything about music - played it like it was the apocalypse, like I've never heard it before. And then I listened to Le Onde, and as I did...the god I believe in doesn't have a name, but I swear it was like the a cloud had broken; that first bird brave enough to peep out after a deluge and trill, just to confirm and to celebrate that the world, at least, hasn't gone anywhere.

And I think everything is going to be okay.
I think maybe everything is going to be okay.
Because, after all, I am just one (very small) girl,
And the earth is just one (very small) world,
And our sun is one very small sun.
We're all just falling, of course;
we're all falling towards the earth,
and the earth is falling towards the sun,
and the sun is falling towards the centre of the (very small) galaxy.
They say there's a black hole there. They say that it's supermassive.
And the galaxies - they're rushing apart
Not for a lack of love, of course
but because space is expanding, still
The furthest we've been - we've been to the moon. That's not far, in the scheme of things,
but we've been to the moon! Think:
we're ants crossing the Sahara.
To people in aeroplanes, maybe we're nothing special, maybe our journey isn't great.
But we went to the moon,
we came in peace
for ALL mankind.
(And here, a tangent.
The irony of this being written during the Cold War isn't lost, but look:
On Christmas Day 1914, troops in trenches laid down their arms and exchanged gifts.
Apollo 13 almost ended in disaster,
so the Russians stopped transmitting on their frequencies so there wouldn't be any interference...and they offered their ships to retrieve the astronauts.
Three. Three men. Americans.
In the middle of the Cold War, they did what they could for three Americans.
One of their emergency landing sites for the Soyuz was North America.
A man is not his country, though a country is made up of men;
it's the little things.)
Our greatest troubles are miniscule,
but our greatest achievements are still great,
and isn't that wonderful?

I'm going to close my eyes now, but I'd just like to say, because it bears repeating:
I think everything is going to be okay.

AnnaHyde's Patented Top Ten List of Sad Songs.

2009-11-27T22:58:00.000-08:00

I like making lists. I mean I like makings lists of anything. When I can't sleep, I make lists of songs starting with every letter of the alphabet. I also like writing things out. And then rewriting them. And then writing them again in swirly writing. I also enjoy filling out forms.
But that's besides the point.
The point being that I made a list today, and this is it, and it is my list of top ten sad songs, because sometimes you need to have a little weep, and it's nice to be accompanied by heartfelt indie music when this happens.

(11. = Bonus.) Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want - The Smiths
Okay, so I know I said ten. But then I saw that I'd put this on my bigger list of sad songs and I didn't want to leave it out. Because I love Morrissey and the Smiths to death. And because when I'm feeling bitter and disatisfied and unsuccessful and down Morrissey is always there to tell me I'm RIGHT to feel bitter and disatisfied and unsuccessful and down, and that it's ACTUALLY OKAY. Then he tells me to have a couple of glasses of wine and to get my sparkly dancin' shoes on and to thrash around my room.
Do I sound crazy now? yes. Oh well. Anyway, I love this song. For the astute 80's John Hughes film buffs in the readers of this blog, you will also remember that there was a lovely version of this song covered by The Dream Academy in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" which was awesome. There is also another cover of it by She & Him which is quite good.
Anyway, in short, Morrissey and I are tight.

10. Just Like Honey - The Jesus and Mary Chain
Ooh, my dad just brought me a glass of wine over! How nice. But right now my mum is shrieking because she got chili in a cut on her hand. Ah well, family insane etc.
The first time I heard this song was in my favourite film, "Lost In Translation". I would give you the list of why I love said film so much (combination of Sofia Coppola, Giovanni Ribisi, Bill Murray and Scarlett Johanssen before she became vapid and soulless, plus many shots of bright lights and dry humour and Tokyo and ridiculous shiny things and beautiful filmography and--) but it would go on wayyyy too long. But this was the perfect end to the film, is the thing, and it is a perfect goodbye song. It makes me sad, but kind of accepting, like going through the grieving process: I lost the song, I mourned the loss of the song, I got angry that the song was taken from me and etc. etc. until I reached acceptance that the song was gone.
Except it wasn't really, I'm pretty sure you can still download it illegally from limewire or whatever shit you kids are using these days.

9. Peer Pressure - Jon Brion
Another song from a film. Sorry. I usually link the two together. And then I wish my life was like a movie. And I was always dreamily dishevelled somewhere in a whimsical European town, flirting with men with alluring accents.
Somehow, I don't think this will ever happen to me. On the off chance that I do one day get to Europe, I am pretty sure I will stumble through it in a drunken haze meeting distasteful travellers with less-than-alluring accents and getting rained on.
Whatever. This song was part of the soundtrack to "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" my SECOND favourite film. It's sooooo simple and it's so sweet and Jon Brion is an amazing composer, but I always want to respell his name. Shouldn't there be a "h" in there, and possibly we could exchange that "o" for an "a"? I'mma just-sayin'.
Oh, which reminds me actually, I need to post Jon to my OTHER collaborative blog "Schubert Was a Babe" which is written by a bunch of talented musical young whipper snappers who like to crush on (occasionally dead) classical composers--- OH HELLO CROSS PROMOTION.
HAHAHAHAHA, I hate myself. Sorry.

8. Hey Jupiter - Tori Amos
So sad. SO SAD. I am not entirely sure what this song is about to be honest. I think it might be about a relationship break up, but it talks about masochists and muddy boots and magazines and WHAT TORI WHAT?!?! But of course, if you've ever seen Tori perform live, or seen her interviewed or ANYTHING you will note that she is batshit crazy. WONDERFULLY so. Look up her "Cornflake Girls" dance on Youtube, you will not be disappointed.

7. Fast Car - Tracy Chapman
I think I first heard this song when I was maybe eight or something, and my mum only had a copy of it on vinyl, and I pretty much fell in love with it straight away. I love Tracy Chapman, and I refuse to be ashamed of this fact because she is awesome, and her voice is awesome, and I love her.
Anyway, this is like the most depressing thing ever, about a girl falling in love with a guy and he has a FAST CAR (no surprises there) and they like driving in said fast car and anyway, they eventually live in a shelter together and have a family and she has to work to support their family and he becomes an alcoholic and she kicks him out and YEAH. So it's sad and stuff. You know. Anyway, my mum just ran through the house with a steak grilling pan yelling "NEW PAN, FANCY NEW PAN!"
Help. Me.

6. Pictures of You - The Cure/Angie Hart
Okay, I know and I hear you scream that it was the Cure's song first and the Cure is better and blah blah blah, and okay, I agree: the Cure is infinitely better than Angie Hart. But if we're looking at this from a sad song perspective, I like Angie's version of this song better.
So shut up, and go and cry your scene little eyes out, I don't care what you think.
Anyway, Angie Hart's version is completely different to the original, because it only has piano accompaniment (ooh, don't I feel like a music student)and this makes it infinitely sadder. Also it was used on that ad for TAC with the victims of car crashes. So I guess that made it sad too.
Anyway, if you ignore the fact that Angie used to sing that godawful song in the 90's in the godawful band Frente, then everything is cool.

5. Casimir Pulaski Day - Sufjan Stevens
So basically, this is the story of a boy loving a girl who has bone cancer and dies. Um. Clearly the saddest plotline ever. When I listen to this I kind of want to break things in a frenzy of teenage angst and yell "WHYYYYY? WHY DO YOU RUIN YOUNG LOVE, UNIVERSE, WHY??!?!?!" But it is typically very Sufjan and very sweet and full of acoustic guitar and lots of "la la la"-ing, and anyway. Pretty much any song Sufjan ever writes is okay with me. When a man writes music that good, and gets up on stage with a banjo in a scout uniform and giant sparkly eagle wings, who can really resist?

4. Atmosphere - Joy Division
Ohhhhhh Ian Curtis. You were a bit of a jerk, but we still loved you and why'd you go and die so young?
Um. So like, every song by Joy Division is kind of depressing. But this one particularly. And it has some nice synth going on so it gets extra bonus points. Extra SYNTH bonus points. Yeah. For those of you who do not know, Joy Division were also named after a German Brothel during the second world war. FUN FACT. Ian Curtis also killed himself while listening to Iggy Pop. Why? Who knows. You'd probably have to ask him OH WAIT A SECOND.

3. Rootless Tree - Damien Rice
Okay, so this also fits the criteria of "extremely angry songs", but when I am sad I am usually a little angry too, so that's okay. And when I say that it is an angry song, I mean that the whole chorus is basically Damien screaming "FUCK YOU!" over and over.
Uhhhh... I kind of like songs with swearing in them.
Anyway, but it is really good for getting angry to AND being sad too, and Damien is basically my favourite Irish, rarely-sober, angsty, sometimes-in-love-sometimes-not singer. I love him. I kind of want his children.

2. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
Enough said. Also fits into the category of "musicians who died too young." Also, if you don't feel something when listening to this, you have no soul.
1. Sleep - Eric Whitacre
Ohhhhhh Eric. This piece is so beautiful. It was originally composed for choir, I think, but my high school wind band played this back in the day and it was awesome. It has all these crazy dissonances and wow. Wow. The thing is, it's not even technically a sad piece. The words are genuinely about trying to fall asleep. Well done Eric.
Anyway, Eric Whitacre originally wanted to be a rockstar until one day he had an epiphany and went: "OH ACTUALLY I WILL BE A REALLY GOOD COMPOSER. YEAH" and thus, a composer he became.
In short, get the choral version, do it. It is so beautiful you will weep beautiful tears of beauty and... uh. stuff.

Anyway. I've been writing for forever now, and I am sure you are sick of reading.
So I'MMA GONNA GO DRINK MY WINE NOW.
Have fun.

xx

Nothing.

2009-11-27T01:45:00.000-08:00

The fabric of your flesh - pure as a wedding dress.

2009-11-23T02:27:00.000-08:00

I got these pretty pictures just for you, because I think you're pretty special.

And no, I'm not from Canada, eh.

2009-11-20T17:49:00.000-08:00

So I have this conversation with people sometimes.
Actually, more than sometimes. I have this conversation a LOT. With strangers, and acquaintances, and parents of friends, and that guy sitting opposite me on the tram, and that teacher who took me for a class once, and the girl serving me at LOTF and the customer at my work and SO MANY PEOPLE I HAVE LOST COUNT. It goes something like this:
Anonymous Person: "Where does your unusual accent come from?"
Me: "Ha. It's funny you ask because, I don't know."
Anonymous Person: "You... don't know?"
Me: "No. I've never been out of the country, my parents were born in Australia, I've always lived in Melbourne..."
Anonymous Person: "Really? How strange, I thought you sounded Canadian."

THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME.
So please don't ask. I can't answer your question. I'm really sorry that my vowels are too high. I'm really sorry that I pronounce things weirdly. I'm sorry that I have a strange twang to my voice. I'm sorry I can't explain why I have a weird twang to my voice.
BUT I CAN'T CHANGE IT SO THERE.

Not that there's anything wrong with being Canadian. I always get asked if I'm Canadian first, followed by English, followed by American. I am not so fond of the American suggestion, because I worry that maybe I sound like I should be running a turkey farm out in Utah with my mormon family. And I'm not entirely sure that would be a good thing.
But actually, I am quite fond of Canada. And Canadians.
Here is my list of cool Canadians, just for kicks:
-Jim Carrey
-Tegan And Sara
-Barenaked Ladies
-Leonard Cohen
-Brendan Fraser (and I hear you scoff at this one, but if you've ever seen the movie "Crash", you will understand how awesome he is.)
-Jack Kerouac.... I love you more than life itself.

So actually, I feel okay about being mistaken as Canadian. They are a pretty cool bunch of people.
Except let's just forget the seal clubbing.
Also about Keanu Reeves and William Shatner.
Thanks.

Anna xx

I just dropped like $80 I don't have on books I know the plots of sigh

2009-11-17T02:04:00.000-08:00

Why hello there, denizens of the internet. I haven't written in a while - well, that's a lie, I haven't posted in a while. How've you been? I hope this finds you well. Personally I (finally) find myself unburdened by the stresses of exams. I think I think I think I pulled it out and passed three out of four, and that's good enough for me.

I don't know about you but I find I write best seeing the sunrise from the wrong side. Just drifting off to sleep. This morning, though, I woke up and I looked through my notebook and I had scrawled in big, ornate letters "REVOLUTION GIRL STYLE NOW" - that's not mine - opposite "I'M SO FUCKING FUTURE". That's not mine, either. I don't remember writing either one. Underneath them both I have an honestly totally terrible attempt at creepypasta that I want to revisit: creepy? It doesn't have to be dark and wet and slithery to be unsettling. I scrapped everything except for one sentence ("They smile wide, to the molars.") now I just have to figure out what to do with it. I hate that, being on a hot streak and then going back to edit and realising that you have nothing of consequence. So here, I'm dumping half-finished TERRIBLY PRETENTIOUS PROSE because loling at bad writing? ALWAYS FUN. But, um, this is going to get long, is there any way to truncate this? Someone internet-savvy, hit me up ok?

Here is a poem, to start off the festivities. It's John Masefield's. It's called Sea-Fever.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

That was nice. Now for the lulz:

This is on a page marked {SLOW ME DOWN}. I hope you enjoy? Oh, here-

Here I stand, a little glimmer in a world that's gold, quick and quiet and cold. There's salt floating in the breeze and on my lips from when you were last seen here, when you said (hello)goodbye and fled the night.

(Last seen here. Wearing a trenchcoat belted tight at the waist and a scarf. You're so cliched- wanted for-)

There's a poster on the wall of my grandfathers study that says KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON. There's one, more battered, that says FREEDOM IS IN PERIL. And then - directly below and to the left, half-hidden behind a corner of his desk - one with big letters, italics, that says LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS. If you ask him he'll tell you about them. He'll tell you everything he knows. He's a lot like you in that respect, only he knows no secrets, only tragedies.

And that's where it ends. It has written on top "7/10/2009, 3:14 am". I don't remember October 7, 3:14 a.m. I don't remember where this was going, or why it's called "Slow me down", or what the point was. I just know that it isn't finished. I don't like unfinished things. But here, on the page right beforehand, there's half a story marked {WE SING, WE SING}, and dated 3/9/2009. That's how out of practice I've been. It's pathetic. Have that one too:

Here, look closely: there are words looped loose about these wings. A thought as I fall: a hummingbird cracks its shell and greets, for the first time,

the joyous day.

Across the ocean, the moon hangs, full and stubborn, above the horizon. For all her grace, the gentle night refuses, for once, to dim.
Watch- carefully-

a shooting star.

.
In Glasgow, my love turns to the sun, as ever pleased and surprised; as if there could be no greater gift in the world than that the sun rose once more, just for him.
But who am I?

perhaps it did.

.

and once again it ends abruptly there. So I will end this here, because this is not even the place, but I wanted to contribute to this lovely affair and had nothing of worth to say.

And I'll leave you, my loves, with this thought: it's 9:48pm, November 17th, in Melbourne. It is warm. It is two hours and twelve minutes until MyKill's birthday, and tomorrow I will sit quietly in the library with an ipod, and a pen, and maybe some Machiavelli, and I will make him a mixtape. For now, though, my feet are bare, and my eyes are heavy, and I am ill; but I plan to travel to the countryside, find Leo, and settle in until morning.

I always miss the meteors; this time, honestly, will be different.

P.V.C. is my favortie plastic, because its nice and shiny.

2009-11-16T23:33:00.000-08:00

Oh Hai Dere.
I am in a BUBBLY mood today for a number of reasons which shall be presented here in a GOBSMACKINGLY.BLAND.FORMAT for you:

A) I have finally finished my incredibly mundane//irrelevant//idiotic history subject about certain Myths, Legends and History (tm) today with the completion of my exam. This was a very hilarious situation because, in not going to many lectures or Tutes (due to the mediocrity described above), i prepared an entirely different essay than i was asked and was forced to pull my amazing BS skills. Apparently Arthur was an important historical figure and should be taken seriously because he MAY have actually been a Roman soldier. Which one you may ask? That is a question for another day exam, when you're older.

B) It is ma Birfdaiii tomorrow, a concept i haven't actually realised until now. Riiiiigggghhhhhtttt now. Which means my incredible idea to collect hard rubbish over the past few months in an attempt to create a large lounge-room setting in my backyard (which already had a television and some form of lamp already) is finally going to come to fruition on Friday. This also means i have an excuse to make alotta mixtapes tonight in preparation. Which also means that i can have mixtapebeer. Which also means dance muzzzik and beers. If only a babe was involved my day would be perfect.

C) Kenickie just keep putting me in an incredibly good mood (For those who don't already know, you will find the answer to WHY next week in my new blog @ Awaitingtheapocalypse.blogspot.com in which i'll be writing an analysis i've been preparing, it has pictures, and babes, and shows how much time i have on my hands. Its going to be awesome guyz).

D) I got my falls ticket which solidifies the idea that new years will involve (GET READY FOR THE DOUBLE DOT POINT GUYS!!):

D1) Music
D2) Babes
D3) KAKI-FUCKING-KING
D4) Gud tiems
D5) Week long road trip with good friends.

E) After months of not wanting to, i finally look forward to getting up in the mornings again :)

Can't you feel the love? You feel it. I know you do. My lovely internets. Same time//same place.

Maybe I didn't like to hear, but I still can't believe Speed Racer is dead.

2009-11-16T02:17:00.000-08:00

So I want to be this girl.
Judging by my HappyFunTimesPartyDrinkPersonality recently, I probably often am this girl, except not as well dressed.
Anyway, my mum is trying to work out whether or not to sort of accidentally overdose my dog, but she doesn't know if she's had her medicine or not but has she? Who knows and actually--ANYWAY I HAVE TO GO. Bye.

xx

Well that's just plain unfortunate.

2009-11-15T19:46:00.000-08:00

Hi.
It's Monday. Tomorrow I have a flute recital and on Wednesday I have a written exam on social theory which I know nothing about, and thus, HERE I AM WRITING A NEW BLOG POST. I use my time effectively.
Anyway, how are you? I hope you're excellent.
I got five hours sleep last night and woke up this morning and went to work, where I made a double strength coffee that didn't even hit the sides. I didn't even feel anything. No caffeine buzz, no nothing. I feel that my caffeine tolerance might be getting higher, which is probably a bad thing, because I hear that too much caffeine makes you infertile.
However, after working with children for a year, I feel this is not a great loss, really.
Today a prep boy came in, greeted me with a "Hello, Darling", promptly became highly offended when I forgot what he wanted on his toast, and then sat with an Etch-a-Sketch for half an hour, whizzing the thing that cleans the screen back and forth with a sound like ripping velcro, over and over again, until I yelled "ENOUGH!!!" really loudly and made everyone jump. I feel like an evil dictator, leading my tribe of highly irritating tiny people. Who can't take orders. And only exist between the hours of 7am and 9am on Monday and Tuesday mornings.
Sigh.
Anyway. So I have this social theory exam on wednesday, and I have no idea how I am going to pass it. And I don't mean that in the joking sense, I actually mean that I have not attended more than a third of the lectures and I have no idea why I chose the subject in the first place. Somehow I've been averaging B+'s on my essays though, but I don't think that's so much due to intelligence as it is to being able to bullshit. I am an arts student. We don't do anything other than drink a lot, consume a whole bunch of caffeine, bullshit our way through university and occasionally have existential crises.
(Hangovers this year: Approx. 7 or 8, Daily Caffeine Consumption: Approx. 2 - 4 strong cups, Wanky Self-Important Essays of Bullshitting: All essays completed, Existential Crises: 1 or 2, but I'm sure that will move up to three around the new year.)
Anyway, I started studying for it two days ago, and I am kind of ready to concuss myself with something blunt and heavy.
The reasons for this:
"The Mirror Stage as Formative of the 'I' Function as revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience." - essentially "look-I-can-see-my-reflection-but-I-kind-of-hate-it-but-actually-I-have-to-like-it-so-okay-then" but in about a billion more words.
"White Self-Racialisation as Identity Fetishism" - In short: people are racist and crap.
"Reclaiming Auschwitz" - Self-explanatory and immensely depressing.
"A Child is Being Mutilated: Law's Fantasies of Female Genital Mutilation." - At this point, I want to gouge my own eyes out in horror and despair for humanity.
ARGHRGRHGRHGRHGRHRGHRGRHGRHR.
So there we have a nice soup of self-hatred, hatred-of-others, child abuse, genocide and sexual abuse. Remind me why I chose this subject?
So my weekend was basically trying to reread about a million texts and take notes on them. And each one is more depressing than the previous.

Anyway. In other news, I keep getting really innappropriate songs stuck in my head recently and then realising I am singing them quietly in public places.
Most recent choices have been Tori Amos' "Professional Widow": "Slag pit, stag shit - honey bring it close to my lips. Starfucker, just like my daddy, selling his baby..." and so on and so forth. And of course, some Kanye "Gold Digger": "Now I ain't sayin' she a gold digger, but she ain't messin' with no broke niggers." And some JT thrown in: "She looks like a model, except she got a little more ass."
I feel like a dirty, whorey misogynist and I don't even know how that works.
Anyway, on that note, happy Monday, and I hope your week is less full of social theory papers and more full of Awesomeness.
Yeah.
Anna xx

Stick Making: A Complete Course

2009-11-12T03:51:00.000-08:00

So uhmmm... Hai.
On the topic of micro-blogging-ness:

http://www.everyoneismental.blogpsot.com/

Click the link, no really. DO it.

WHAT.

xx

P.s, this is all the time I can afford to spare to you, audient.

P.p.s It's not that I don't value our time together, but ohgodimpendingexamdoom.

P.p.p.s Speak to you all soon.

...?

2009-11-11T19:49:00.000-08:00

THEADORE DESCHANEL is rather bored and so is having a bit of fun with this...

ZOOEY TIME.

2009-11-10T18:07:00.000-08:00

What's that? You want to see some Zooey? Oh ok sure, no problem.

Here we have the beautiful Zooey Deschanel looking beautiful.

Here's Zooey with a necklace. And it's heart shaped. That's kind of cool don't you think? I do.

Hey look! Now she has an umbrella! But it's not raining? Ah well she is Zooey after all so it doesn't really matter.

Hmm. I'm not sure what exactly she is doing here. But I like it.

ZOOEY PLUS POOCH.

From now on I am only eaten frozen yogurt. Nothing else. Because Zooey wishes it.

There, don't you just feel warm and fuzzy inside now? I know I do.

He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky...

2009-11-08T04:26:00.000-08:00

So ahhh, I left my window open in my room again.
There are approximately 432569496349835609 moths in my room. They seem to be attracted by the glow of my laptop... which is consequently on my lap. I am like a giant lamp post right now, oh, and did I mention I sort of have a mild fear of moths? Not a super intense one. I just get a little girlishly squeemish, but anyway, hush hush...
This lovely situation made me think of my favourite poem. And how it makes me feel incredibly tiny. And just generally morose. And silly for worrying about the silly tiny things I worry about, and how insignifigant it all really is. And it just makes me feel gosh darn sorry for moths. They have forever been branded as the ugly butterfly. But who says colours are always preferable. So I guess I pity the things I fear. And respect a little... but anyway. Here's to some pretty reading, *Cheers*.

The Man-moth (Elizabeth Bishop)

Here, above,
cracks in the buldings are filled with battered moonlight.
The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,
and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.
He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,
feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,
of a temperature impossible to records in thermometers.

But when the Man-Moth
pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,
the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges
from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks
and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.
He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,
proving the sky quite useless for protection.
He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.

Up the façades,
his shadow dragging like a photographer's cloth behind him
he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage
to push his small head through that round clean opening
and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light.
(Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)
But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although
he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.

Then he returns
to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,
he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains
fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.
The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way
and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,
without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.
He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.

Each night he must
be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams.
Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie
his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,
for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,
runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease
he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep
his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.

If you catch him,
hold up a flashlight to his eye. It's all dark pupil,
an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens
as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids
one tear, his only possession, like the bee's sting, slips.
Slyly he palms it, and if you're not paying attention
he'll swallow it. However, if you watch, he'll hand it over,
cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.'

In conclusion:
- The moon is always a little out of reach, but it doesn't mean you can't try climbing to it every day.
- Just because you fear something, doesn't mean you have to close your window and not let it in.
- But seriously, I'm closing my window. Moths. Everywhere.

Speak soon
xx

EVERYTHING IS BETTER IN PICTURES

2009-11-08T02:51:00.000-08:00

EVERYTHING IS BETTER IN CAPS TOO.
Here are my likes and dislikes for the week, in pictures, just because it's prettier.

LIKES:

1. Geeks. Who like books. And cult TV shows. And music. And bursting into song and dance at inappropriate times.

2. Bubbles. Just because. And I really want to go to a park in a tutu and blow bubbles and take photos and someone come with me? Thanks. Much appreciated. (I'm serious though).

3. Caffeine. Oh, my one true love. Without you, where would I be? Asleep, probably. Maybe less twitchy too, BUT WHATEVER, IT'S NOT REALLY A PROBLEM.

This photo is so utterly relevant to me, I die a bit inside.

4. Impending music festivals.

5. Ridiculous Asian kitsch.

6. Driving too fast through Doncaster at night Pigstilts and MykillDOOMwater while playing "Deceptacon" loudly and dancing, and then eating sundaes and stuff.

7. Dumplings. With G. And Girl on the Run.

8. SUMMER SUMMER DANCING SUMMER WARM WEATHER LOUD NOISES SUMMER SUMMER.

DISLIKES:

1. Connex. And generally, public transport. On the line I travel on - let's call it the "Shurstbridge line"... yeah... that'll do - the automated speaker woman doesn't work. She regularly says: "Now arriving at Gre-", or: "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH----elberg." I have never arrived at "Gre-". I also don't know what an "-elberg" is. Also, a small woman sat on my the other day, and didn't seem to think that was inappropriate or anything. She just sat on half my lap. I guess I can't blame Connex for that but I REALLY, REALLY WANT TO.

2. Irritating bogans who play their crap music too loudly in their crap cars, and then honk at you and whistle for NO REASON EXCEPT THAT THEY ARE RUBBISH AT LIFE.
Does that often work for them? Do they pick up by doing this? Do they get some kind of dizzying high from it? I DO NOT KNOW, BUT I EXPECT NOT, AND IT MAKES ME WANT TO STICK A PEN THROUGH MY TEMPLE.
Also, this is the only picture I could come up with for this last bit.

Anyway. That's all.
Oh, except I have these last two pictures and I like you.

"Au Revoir."

Anna. xx

Britpop was a great phase, i don't care what anyone says...

2009-11-07T23:38:00.000-08:00

Okay, so A) i have reverted into a 13 year old, pre-pubescent girl via listening to Kenickie over and over and over and over and loving every minute of it and B) this transformation has also apparently resulted in me having an attention span of about 5 seconds and is currently stopping me from studying from ever-looming exams. This is not a good thing. I can't sit down and do prolonged study//any readings//prac exams and i need to DO THEM ALL VERY BADLY!! MY EXAM IS ON WEDNESDAY!! THAT IS ONLY THE START OF MANY AS WELL!!

Also: as well as my new-found love of Kenickie (though, while writing this truly inspiring piece of contemporary prose, i admittedly had to turn it off and listen to something less angst ridden/trashy) i have lapsed back into my intense love of kaki king. She makes me wish i did not have a penis and had some intriguing musical talent so that she would consider dating me. It seems i always fall for the lesbians. Lets call it the Doomwater curse - sadly it kind of runs in the family. Though, when considered in hindsight, if i WERE of the female persuasion (which isn't entirely out of the question with my current music tastes), i probably would swear off men as well. Horrible things.

This is the most coherent post i have ever done.

Anyway, so me and Girl on the run may haves employment together WHICH WOULD BE SO FANTASTIC! yet the stupid man who runs said employment (a lovely cafe on high street) still has not done anything to call us. I got so impatient this week and called him to ask if the job was still a possibility and he was all like "grumble grumble i've been a bit slack this week and still haven't looked into hiring new people at the grumble moment but i'm probably going to grumble them all next week and i'll get grumble to you" WHICH WAS FRUSTRATING BECAUSE EMPLOYMENT IS THE PERFECT EXCUSE NOT TO STUDY AND HERE I AM WASTING ALL MY MY TIME ON THE INTERNETS AND FEELING GUILTY FOR IT WHEREAS IF I WERE WORKING I WOULD HAVE MONEY AND BE GUILT-FREE!!!

i'ma so mad @ that guy.

But not Kaki, because she is so fantastic.

Who you gonna call?

2009-11-06T20:30:00.001-08:00

Dear webternets, i am glad to say life is looking up. Simply listen to copious amounts of both Kaki King, various britpop-era artists (i.e. LOTS OF BLUR AND KENICKIE) and make mojitos. My webterfirends, this is the way to live Epicurus' good life.

So for the first time ever i am excited about next year and my new-found deferral from le univeristy. I plan on doing many a thing that excite me possibly too much. I'm getting a piano from a good friend (lets call him "Faidan" or "not a suitcase") and am taking up some lessons soon. I am going to practice more on phtoshup and do some courses i believe sos i can be amazing at it. I have alllll these new photoshoots planned and all these WILD. IDEAS. i really want to try out. I have new books to read. I have new music i want to look into. I will have money to all of the above and i will attempt to lovelife//findsomeoneastonishing//bethehappisesticanbe.

So in other words, the beatles have so much positivity and inspire great fun tiems within people!! everythingisinitsrightplacenao!!!

MUCH peace, love and hope for every single one of you!! I LOVE YOU ALL!!!

Heads Will Roll.

2009-11-01T22:45:00.000-08:00

WELL HEY THERE YOU.
I am in a good mood today. For a bunch of awesome reasons. Which are as follows:
1. Today I went to work at 7am (downer), but because it is the day before Cup Day, only about ten kids showed up! So I stood around and drank coffee and ate toast and... okay, well that's what I usually do, but I didn't yell nearly as much as normal, and it was a warm morning!
2. I had a hilarious group rehearsal with my super ace group this morning. I kind of adore them.
3. MY SUPER ACE GROUP IS SUPER ACE AND GOT A SUPER HIGH MARK. Chyyyyeah boiiiii.
4. G and I went for lunch after rehearsal today, and ate a bunch of delicious Italian food on Lygon St, and discussed my travelling to Singapore with her midway through next year and playing duets and stuff and it was GRRREAAAT.
5. We also then went into Sportsgirl and both ended up buying the same dress (I feel like we are in the Babysitters Club or something now, but we are not wholesome enough for that). It was a quarter of its original price. It also, incidentally, requires the assistance of one-to-two other people to assist me to get into, prevents me from breathing (and, potentially, eating, moving etc.), is a size xx small, and is so tight that I will possibly have to wear seamless underwear so the outline is not visible.
But you know what? SHUT UP, I AM VAPID AND SHALLOW AND RIDICULOUS AND I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU THINK. I DO NOT NEED TO BREATHE, WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT?!?!?!?
5. I get to sleep in tomorrow. This joy is slightly diminished by the fact that I have to write an essay all day, but what-the-fuck-ever.

Anyway. So how was your weekend? Suffice to say I had a very big Saturday night. It all started as most house parties start out for me: a few glasses of something seedy (Saturday night's choice - Passion Pop. For the record, I will never ingest this again, god help me), then I gradually progress to drinking straight out of the bottle. However, then my friend Clara** and I decided to mix her toxic berry-flavoured Cruisers (did I mention that I really, really hate Cruisers? I think they secretly get it from the fangs of "Twilight" tween fans, then bottle it. sickly sweet, poisonous, lame... etc. etc.).Anyway, in conclusion, these are the things I can remember from that night:
- A giant inflatable penguin (not a hallucination, thank you very much).
- Dancing with Clara** in the rain
- Yelling something about wanting to take a bunch of drugs at Rainbow Serpent. (Hmmm...)
- Puking into: A) a toilet B) my own hands and C) Pigstilts' bed (for this I apologise very, very, very much, Pigstilts).

And, I say the old adage again: "Kill me if I ever drink again ever thank you very much."

All the best,
The genuinely classy AnnaHyde.

Holding back the fool again.

2009-11-01T00:56:00.000-07:00

herro webternets, i have returned yet again. It is a sunday night and i have decided that after putting in the fair effort of 30 mins study (culminating in a handy dandy plan for the next few weeks - i am WAY. TOO. FUCKING. COOL) i can now take some quality time to spend with you. What's that? How was my weekend? Why internets, you're so kind to ask. So basically i've worked about 14 hours the past two days and - again, as i am WAY. TOO. FUCKING. COOL. - have gone out each night to party my little booty off. I am just such a rebel. Of course, this plan didn't exactly work to my benefit. Last night i told myself i wouldn't drink after a certain point, which i managed to stick to for once (the original plan was no drinking, but those long necks were just so cheap) yet apparently this did not mena i couldn't partake in our good ol' friend marijuana. The saucy temptress she is has caused me trouble in the past - as life-long readers may know - but she stil called and i told myselg "MyKill, you are a young dashing rellious chap, why don't you just live a little?".

I hate the victorian gentleman in my head that encourages me to do these things.

SO, as i am a lightweight and had previously been drinking (though not that much) i admittedly did trip out quite a bit. I vaguely recall sitting down for an extended period of time with my good friend Gurl (TM) trying to decipher one particular ad within an issue of vogue that contained so many mismatched items. There was an interesting story we had concocted but it seems to slip my mind. Anyway, there was much twitching, dry mouth, the inability to move my arms and legs in proper unison and the distinct lack OF THE MUNCHIES!!! ALL I WANTED WAS TO ENJOY A LITTLE FOOD BUT NO!! ALL I GET IS THE STUPID GREEN TONGUE/DRY MOUTH THAT ALLOWS FOR NO EATING WHATSOEVER!!! My heart was shattered.

Aside from this evident lack of desrei to nom, i found that whenever i seem to do this kind of thing (when under direct advice again from the victorian gentltard in ma brain) i feel more like a trad than ever before. Because obviously gaiz, i do not want to be the "man, i got so baked last night and was lolling @ everything and i felt supah cool and everyone thought i looked like a reeel rebel" kind of person who just partakes in such pleasures as a means to promote the image that they are so cool. I know people like that, i do not want to be like them. there is mroe than just image. I don't particulary enjoy being baked most of the time, some people do and i applaud them, they are allowed to do whatever they choose according to Mr. Sartre. In other words, i have decided to take a break form both drinkkkking and le smoking for a period of time - unless some slapper asks me out (but srsly, what are the odds of that?).

SO, MOVING ON. I am now officially deferred from ma universitah, and have the notion of working nexxt year to gain new photographic equipment as well as indulging in my SINGULAR vice of comic book collecting/fetish. IT WILL BE SO GREAT!! This thought, when mixed with the idea of giant falls roadtrip to tasmania for new years, makes me so very giddy i just have to squuueeellll like a little gurly gurl (TM).

SO, MOVING ON AGAIN, I HAVE TO GO NOW................. loooovveeee yooouuuu

I met you at the blood bank.

2009-10-31T19:21:00.000-07:00

That secret that you know
But don't know how to tell
It fucks with your honour
And it teases your head
But you know that it's good girl
'Cause it's running you with red.

No Children

2009-10-27T02:25:00.000-07:00

I love this song more than I can possibly express. It is not a happy song, but it is good for thrashing around to.

No Children

I hope that our few remaining friends
Give up on trying to save us
I hope we come up with a failsafe plot
To piss off the dumb few that forgave us
I hope the fences we mended
Fall down beneath their own weight
And I hope we hang on past the last exit
I hope it's already too late
And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here
Someday burns down
And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away
And I never come back to this town again.

In my life
I hope I lie
And tell everyone you were a good wife
And I hope you die.
I hope we both die.

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long
Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
And I hope you blink before I do
And I hope I never get sober
And I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can't find one good thing to say
And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You'd stay the hell out of my way

I am drowing
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand
And I hope you die.
I hope we both die.

I love you, Mountain Goats.

Anna
xx

!!QUESTION OF THE DAY!!

2009-10-22T01:33:00.000-07:00

Q: WHAT MAKES THE SOUND OF RICE BUBBLES BUT IS NOT NEARLY AS ENJOYABLE?!?!?!?!?!?
A: ANNAHYDE'S WRISTS!!!!!

And that is the question of the day.
But anyway, I shit you not, my wrists are like cereal (I do not mean that literally, clearly I am referencing the above statement, and shut up, okay? I had way too much caffeine today you CANNOT DESTROY ME). Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes, if you are a regular reader of Everyone Is Mental (of which there are two, possibly three, and maybe even four, in existence, and I appreciate your reading immensely), you will know that I am a super music geek.
Actually, I am a bit of a fail music geek. I am actually a music student, semi hiding in my Arts student shell. I do a Bachelor of Arts and a Diploma of Music, but WHYYY? I do not even really like arts. Well, I thought I did, until I met almost every Arts student ever.
Here is a list of the good Arts students I have met:
1. My sister. But that is kind of a given, because she is my sister. Also, she is secretly some kind of genius. She gets A+'s constantly, and is considering writing a thesis on A) Agatha Christie or B) The Smiths (or something to that extent). Excellent? Excellent.
2. Unusual Mysterious Disappearing Indie Boy. Approximately 6ft8 boy who wears flannel shirts and cardigans who I met in my first week at uni. He makes clocks out of LPs and listens to spectacularly indie music, and is also possibly some genius, because he got a scholarship and then dropped out of uni, taking his scholarship money with him and running away to Europe. Unfortunate, because he was one of the only Arts students I actually liked.
3. Generally Hungover Tobacco Girl. She turns up to my tutes with her blonde hair sticking up in all directions, smelling stongly of tobacco and occasionally vodka, drinking diet coke at 10am. I love her because she is almost as bitter as me. We share looks over the two people called Paris who talk in loud voices about all the money they have. Did I mention, generally Arts students make me want to beat myself to death with something blunt and heavy? Yeah. That.
4. OHMYGODHEARTBREAKINGLYBEAUTIFULBOY. Have seen him approx. once. Runs the Arts Students Society (see: "ASS" CLEVER, CLEVER, CLEVER). Is possibly the most attractive male I have ever seen in my life, however, have only seen him the one time, and am now convinced that he was actually a beautiful figment of my imagination. Be still my beating heart.
5. My friend Phillippa**. She has a necklace made of toy dinosaurs. She collects toy giraffes. She bakes constantly. I luff her.

BUT OTHER THAN THAT, THEY ARE ALMOST ALL CRAP.
I like music students. They are much, much less crap, and wonderfully, amazingly kooky.

For an example of how crap Arts students are:

Girl on the Run and I have a Lit tute together. So we may or may not occasionally turn up 10 - 30 mins late to most of our tutes, but whatever. On the day we attend said tute, I have 9 hours of straight classes. And for those not personally known to either of us, Girl on the Run lives in The Country (this is, incidentally, a completely foreign concept to most Arts students at Our Uni) and thus it takes her approximately two hours to get to the city every day. EVERY DAY. She is resilient, what can I say. ANYWAY. So we usually grab our coffees and go to our tute, late, but not TOO late. And they go like this:
[Anna and Girl walk into tute.] [Tutor looks up, inhales breath sharply, purses lips, continues rambling feminist comments about crap Victorian literature] (whether it is crap or not is entirely debatable, but do keep in mind that I don't care what you think and have no interest in getting into a debate with you about why or why not Jane Austen was the Master of Subtle Wit and Feminist Prose (TM)) [Anna and Girl take seats, take out books]
TUTOR: You're a biTTTT laTTTTTTTTe. (emphasises "t's" unnecessarily)
GIRL AND ANNA: ...Sorry. [Resume drinking coffee, begin picking at split ends and nails awkwardly]
ENTIRE CLASS (ALL STAUNCH FEMINISTS, ALL FEMALE, ALL WITH A WHOLE BUNCH OF MONEY): [Roll eyes, trade skeptical looks, bite lips, flick hair, shake heads sadly at the slightly dishevelled, caffeinated and bitter Anna and Girl]

etc. etc. etc. AND TIMES PASSES.

TUTOR: Okay. So what does everyone think about the role of Helen in "Jane Eyre"? Do we all agree that she seems quite oppressed.
ANNOYING PRETENTIOUS GIRL WHO WEARS UNNECESSARILY PROVOCATIVE TOPS: Oh, well, I think we can ALL agree on that, because she was SOOOOO oppressed, and she is SUCH a good character, and the Brontes are SUCH good writers, and you are SUCH a good tutor, women are SOOO oppressed and Helen is such a RICH, VIBRANT CHARACTER OF SUCH GREAT DEPTH, EVEN THOUGH SHE IS OCCASIONALLY PRONE TO SILLINESS!!!!
ALL OTHER GIRLS (excepting Anna and Girl): [Gleeful tittering]
OTHER ANNOYING PRETENTIOUS GIRL WHO CANNOT STOP FLICKING HER HAIR: Oh you know, MILAN IS SOOOOOO LOVELY THIS TIME OF YEAR! I went to this LOVELY little town, you know, about half an hour's drive away? IT WAS SO QUAINT!
ALL OTHER GIRLS: [General tittering and nods of agreement]

TIME CONTINUES TO PASS. CLASS IS DIVIDED INTO GROUPS OF TWO TO DISCUSS FINAL SCENE OF A PLAY. NEITHER ANNA NOR GIRL HAVE COMPLETED THE READING. THEREFORE, THEY CANNOT PROVIDE AN ANSWER TO THE TUTOR'S "If there was another Act, what would happen to the main character" QUESTION. THE TUTOR POSES THIS QUESTION TO ALL GROUPS, WHO ALL PROPOSE EMPOWERED FEMALE CONCLUSIONS TO THE PLAY, IN WHICH THE MALE IS LEFT ALONE AND CRIPPLED. ANNA AND GIRL HAVE CONCLUDED THE PLAY BY SUGGESTING THAT THE MAIN CHARACTERS BUILD A SPACESHIP AND THEN GO AND EAT ICE CREAM TOGETHER ON MARS. PROBLEMATIC? POTENTIALLY. BETTER? DEFINITELY.

TUTOR: Ladies? What was your conclusion?
GIRL: [shares sideways glance with Anna] Well, we... uh... we didn't quite finish reading this one yet, so... um... we didn't... uh... get very far.
ENTIRE CLASS: [Eye rolling, "tch"-ing, general ashamed eye-avoidance]
TUTOR: [Blank stare]
ANNA: But, uh... we basically... um... agreed that the main female character would... uh... be... in...de...pen...dant???
TUTOR: [Launches again into rampant spiel about feminism].
GIRL AND ANNA: [Revert to neurotic nail and hair picking, sipping coffee, glaring from under fringes].

END SCENE.

So anyway. Welcome to Uni.
The point is, I don't really like people that much, except when they are Girl on the Run, the various people listed in the above numbered section, or Music Students.
And with that, I bid you good day, and leave you with the following lyrics:

"In my life, why do I smile, at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye".

Morrissey, how could I possibly love anyone more than you?

You're right.
I couldn't.
Thanks, man.

Anna
xx

P.S. Oh wait, I didn't actually explain why being a music student makes my wrists crunch. I have RSI. HOORAY! The end.

I think you are really fit. You're fit, but my gosh, don't you know it.

2009-10-16T01:43:00.000-07:00

HELLO AND WELCOME TO FRIDAY. I am feeling somewhat better today. Well, I think I am, I'm not sure, because occasionally I think about something and I get angry and feel like kicking a wall, but as a GENERAL... THING... UM... I feel better today. So here are the things I like today:

-Milk Tea. YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Milk tea is now officially the main part of my life. At uni, my music lectures go like this: Milk tea + sour gummy worms/snakes alive + rambling + drawing offensive pictures of my friend + my friend drawing offensive pictures of me + stickers + dinosaurs + ruined lecture notes. Good times? yes.
- Other ridiculously bright asian drinks. So I learned yesterday that Calpico has 39 grams of sugar per serve. I am not sure how I avoided a heart attack yesterday with all the caffeine and sugar I consumed, but IT WAS A GOOD DAY, HOKAY?!?!?! Also, Calpico tastes like Hubba Bubba. Excellent.
- Fashionable males with wingtips and leather briefcases. Oh my god, I die. He is at my uni. I think offering him my hand in marriage would be a little too forward because I've only kind of SEMI met him before, but I am officially in love. or just in love with his style, actually. Wow.
- Hilarious strangers in berets. 'Nuff said.
- Coffee and caffeinated beverages and caffeine and oh look a bird! and I need caffeine, where did I leave my phone let's go dancing! oh wow my car is on a different level to the one I parked it on WHY IS THERE TRAFFIC I NEED TO GET HOME OH HI THERE.
- The fact that my friend will very soon own a pair of Louboutins. This is exciting because this is probably the closest that I will ever get to a pair of Louboutins. Interestingly, she also has a friend back in Singapore who owns a wardrobe full of Herve Leger, Fendi, Camilla and Marc, Review and etc. etc. etc. I DIE EVEN MORE.
- Bad electronica, and general empowered woman music. HELLO CRYSTAL CASTLES AND BEYONCE.
- Girls who manage to pull off ridiculously short mini skirts in the brightest colours ever, they are so brave, oh man.
- OH MY GOD, I am totally going to go to Rainbow Serpent with the above friend who is getting Louboutins, and also my crazy hippie friend and her friend, and possibly another crazy hippie friend and my ex-boyfriend and IT WILL BE AWESOME, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. I am so psyched. SO PSYCHED.
- Also, I am considering chipping into the money my parents have given me for going overseas to go to Singapore. Not for long. And I haven't really decided yet, but maybe. Because I have friends there now. And they also have Top Shop in Singapore. And oh man.
- GLITTER AND SPAKLES AND ASIAN KITSCH.
- I am baking ridiculously girly cupcakes for my best friend's birthday. They will be amazing. And if you miss out you will regret it.

Okay, so I have to go do my GIGANTIC PILE OF FLUTE PRACTISE now, in capitals, but here are some wise words from Something Corporate:

"It's because I can spell "confusion" with a "k" and I can like it. It's to dying in another's arms and why I had to try it. It's to Jimmy Eat World and those nights in my car, when the first star you see may not be a star, I'M NOT YOUR STARRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

And take those wise words with you in everything you do in life. They won't help you at all, but they might make you giggle. They make me giggle.

Anna
xx

Get your rage on.

2009-10-13T23:42:00.000-07:00

I was going to be all poetic and merry today and tell you about all the things I like and all the good things that are happening, but here is what I would like to say instead. Just this once.
Today I like: Nothing.
Today I dislike: Everything. Including and especially you.
AND I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK.
So I am going to go cry into my coffee and then I am going to eat as much chocolate as I can without vomiting, and then I am going to go listen to shit electronic music like La Roux and Crystal Castles... and then I'm going to get over it for an hour and do my flute practise, because if I don't I will potentially fuck my life over even more. THEN I AM GOING TO HAVE A BATH AND LISTEN TO LCD SOUNDSYSTEM AND ADELE AND LOW AND THEN I AM GOING TO PAINT MY NAILS AND THEN I AM GOING TO SLEEP.
Then, when I wake up for 9 hours of straight classes tomorrow, I am going to wear a whole bunch of bright red things, and I am going to drink so much coffee that I will permanently shake, and I am going to go to sleep on my friend - let's call her Gretchen - Gretchen's* shoulder in my music lecture, or listen to her lovely rambling, or draw on my other friend - for similar purposes, let's call him Jeffrey - Jeffrey's* work, and I am going to glare at every crap self-righteous feminist in my lit tute and I am going to meet Anastasia*** after orchestra and STOMP OUT MY ANGRIES AND KICK SOME STUFF AND READ MY HOROSCOPE ON THE TRAIN AND CRITICISE WHATEVER IT SAYS AND THEN I WILL GET HOME AND DO NOTHING BUT WATCH CRAP TV.
And then on Friday, I will go and dance with a bunch of hippies. And maybe get really, really sloshed, if I feel like it.
And then I might feel better, maybe. Because actually, my life has decided to collapse on itself like a souffle in a cupboard in SO MANY WAYS recently, that I feel like... uh... I don't know, like kicking kittens or something. But I wouldn't because I really like cats, and when I am an old drunken spinster living alone in my dilapidated mansion, they will be my only company.
And don't get me wrong - I actually like life most of the time. Just not so much at the moment.
And I'm posting this so that when I feel like A Success (TM) I will look back and laugh raucously and say, "OH PAST ANNA! You were so silly I cannot explain how silly you were to be so bitter about life!" and then I will drink my Moet Chandon, climb into the basket of my hot air balloon with my immensely attractive French indie lover, and fly away to Paris. While eating macarons. And dancing.
Much love,
Me.

*** - I have never known anyone called Anastasia, Jeffrey or Gretchen.

P.S. I do know someone whose middle name is Anastasia however, and she is probably cooler than you, because she is cooler than most people, but that's an entirely other story.

P.P.S. One thing that just made me happy - "Don't You Forget About Me" just came on gold FM. I NEED TO GO AND WATCH THE BREAKFAST CLUB YES PLEASE.

All you need is love.

2009-10-12T01:06:00.000-07:00

Herro intahwebs.

It's been a while, i haven't felt like conversing with you all, i'm sorry. It hasn't been the best month. Most of you who have cleverly discovered my true identity (SHOCK!) know the cause of this and know i haven't been myself for a while. But, for those of you on the webternets this fine day unaware of my current position, gather round.

Around this time last month me and my "significant other" of near three years broke up and went our own ways. It was a pretty shattering time as you may expect. There were almost two straight weeks of slowly going through all the Joss Whedon/Spiderman i have in my house every night and my grades in uni going from straight A's (cause i am that pro) to solid C's. Then there was a liiiiiitttllee bit of weight loss and a sevre lack of sleep, but that was due to the Joss Whedon as much as anything - i just couldn't turn it off!! It took me a while to turn this around slightly and attempt to move on. I make special emphasis on the ATTEMPT part here. Still hasn't taken off so much.

Now i would consider myself an emotional sort (MORE SHOCK!) and just need to take a whole mess of time to get through this. Of course, when you have particularly depressing nights - like a certain chain of events that happened last night - the timer starts again and you tend to remember how jarring the initial breakup can be. Now internets, i do not really want to discuss said evetns of last night because they are a liiiiiitttllee private and personal and this is not the best forum in which to discuss them sadly. I will state, however, that it is going to take me many more hours in isloation with super mario, many more moons of poor sleep, many more kilos lost and a certain degree of self-deprecation before i may be myself again. I take a long time to get over these kinds of things - and i want to make it clear that i don't believe everyone to be like this, some people move on faster than others and i don't blame them. Sometimes i wish that i could move on faster and that all of this didn't happen and that last night ESPECIALLY didn't make me feel this way all over again. But hey, what can you do, everything in its right place.

Maybe i'll just become asexual. Its a plan.

PS: In regards to the picture. I just happen to love it more than any other commission i've ever seen. Adrian Alphonia is definitely one of favortie artists period. I hopr you enjoy it.

You would if I would, but you never would.

2009-10-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

My life hit a new low last night. So today, here are the pretty things that make me feel (slightly) better.
BUT HEY. it can only get better from here, right?
I hope.

Eating Flowers

2009-10-10T05:28:00.000-07:00

voices to voices,lip to lip
i swear(to no one everyone)constitutes
undying;or whatever this and that petal confutes...
to exist being a peculiar form of sleep

what's beyond logic happens beneath will;
nor can these moments be translated:i say
that even after April
by God there is no excuse for May

-bring forth your flowers and machinery: sculpture and prose
flowers guess and miss
machinery is the more accurate, yes
it delivers the goods,Heaven knows

(yet are we mindful,though not as yet awake,
of ourselves which shout and cling,being
for a little while and which easily break
in spite of the best overseeing)

i mean that the blond abscence of any program
except last and always and first to live
makes unimportant what i and you believe;
not for philosophy does this rose give a damn...

bring on your fireworks,which are a mixed
splendor of piston and of pistil;very well
provided an instant may be fixed
so that it will not rub,like any other pastel.

(While you and i have lips and voices which
are for kissing and to sing with
who cares if some oneyed son of a bitch
invents an instrument to measure Spring with?

each dream nascitur,is not made...)
why then to Hell with that: the other; this,
since the thing perhaps is
to eat flowers and not to be afraid.

Today i found a seashell that is 16 million years old...

2009-10-10T02:35:00.000-07:00

I know this because my irish-archeologist-somewhat-insane-geology lecturer tells me so. In conclusion, spending 9 hours on a bus with people who's primary fasciation in life is small clumps of soil...not fun. I stand corrected... sometimes those lumps of soil are quite large. But I say, a rock is a rock...is a rock is a rock is a rock.

But holding this little shell in my pastey pastey hands, I felt a little disenchanted. I don't know if it was the severe lack of sleep due to abusive phone calls this week, or the two cheap beers I had drunk on the bus on the way there (... so, I happened to make friends with the 25 year old guy who had been at a two day long house party prior to the excursion, and arrived fresh at the bus after his last drink. So naturally, we decided the cure for his pre-emptive hangover was to have a few more on the bus, bitch about the subject and listen to some electro-trash for three hours)... where was I? Oh right, so I don't know if it was the lack of sleep or the excrutiatingly cheap beer, but holding the tiny home of a 16 million year old creature in my hands made me think of all the little things that have been niggling away at me for the last week, or even, just that day.

It made me think of the walk towards the beach, when the two guys behind me saw a youngish lady swimming in the water. They decided she couldn't be 'a chick' because 'her tits were way too small'. Apparently the lack of playboy-esque proportions made her no longer even female. So when I turned around to point out to them that maybe they should talk about her like a human being and stop acting like absolute pratts (I must say it was probably my most feminist hour yet), they simply stared at me and continued on.

Which made me think of the petty way in which people have used social networking on the internet to get their kicks. At least five calls last week, from a person on a friends list, calling me 99% of existing profanities and then threatening to 'stomp my face in'? Not what I call networking really, more like, psychotic/ sadistic experimentation. Freud, anyone? ...no?

Which made me think of the mildly insane and homeless man who yelled at me on the train this morning. I'm not sure what he was saying. But I'm quite sure he knew. He wasn't yelling at me. More to me. I sat, relatievly patiently, slightly worried, but nevertheless, attentively. He shouted obscurities at me and referred to the haikus that tragic 49 year old women write and send in to be plastered on train walls...
'sitting on the train
I see the homeless man beg
my inintial response is to write a haiku about it and enter it into a schmoozy arts competition this will really be helpful to him and make it seem like I care wont it?'
And that's not even a typical five-seven-fiver-er...

Which made me think of seashells, and how when you hold them to your ear they tell you the rushing sound is that of the ocean, captured inside and crashing against the walls within... but the sound is just your blood, captured inside you and crashing against the walls within.

Today I found a seashell that is 16 million years old. I haven't even tried to listen to the sound of 16 million years of salty water. I think I will give it to someone who is more careful and caring than I am, and maybe it will last 16 million more.

xxxx