See, I've been wondering what all the fuss was about, what all the tiny skirts and metallic shades meant, and tonight, well, tonight, I realised:
Our boys are shiny future GODS.

Boosh Live 2 was insane! Solid gold genius in go-go boots with Goldilocks! Loved it, laughed a million times. Great construction; really liked the 'cabaret' first half and the 'serious play' second half. Vince's Jean-Claude Jacquettie promotions were hilarious, and I was loving the ladylike kick that seemed to crop up throughout the show. Howard's voice-over monologues crippled me. Honestly, I thought it was better than the first live show (though nothing can ever beat Stump F**king, of course).

Every single character I was hoping for popped up (except for Old Gregg, but I suppose the scaly manfish has already jived through his paces). The Hitcher was less depraved than previously, but I enjoyed his pet rapist crow. Tony Harrison was golden; I really want to know if his unfortunate armchair sinking was actually accidental or somewhat orchestrated. Yay BOWIE MOON!

Ha ha... speaking of accidents, I just about died laughing when Dave tripped over the globe and tumbled offstage. XD Can't script that.

In short: genius. In short short skirts. My faith is restored. Now, if only they would bloody bring the show to Melbourne.

Best new insult: Ter-wit, ter-wat!

Tee hee hee, Bowie Base One. Just getting into the Doctor Who special, and it looks good. Chillingly good. Oh Tennant, how I shall miss your boyishly wafty ways.

Exciting Nerdy Moment: While waiting in the queue at Box Hill Maccas, I saw that the guy next to me was wearing a hoodie with Pintsize on it. We then struck up a conversation about Questionable Content. Made my night. :D

Now, back to the Special Ep!

(Oh, and I am this close to finishing Good Omens! Four pages left. It has been a sensational ride.)

Bah. Inexplicably put on hold by Coles. And Mum's gone all 'ooooh, get out of your pyjamas, you actually have to do something today', a sentiment which is rather averse to what I had originally planned for myself.

Averse... adverse... can't actually remember which one fits here. I think my brain switches off immediately post exams.

I have to get a new passport quickly, dammit. We're going to NZ on the 13th of December for one glorious week of hobbit-spotting. Sadly the parents have overruled my plans to scale Mount Doom etc - so no LOTR tours for me. It's exciting though; I've never been to NZ before, despite its relative proximity to Melbourne. My sister and I have planned a full LOTR marathon (with a possible side of Flight of the Conchords and NZ Next Top Model) before we head on over.

I'm also getting my eyebrow(s) waxed and my fringe trimmed later. I suspect that it may be a painful afternoon.

LATER:
I was right. It was freaking painful. Not only did they wax my brows, but they dripped wax In. My. HAIR. On the plus side, I didn't have to pay for it. Still undecided on whether it was worth it.

Oh my goodness, goodness me,
Exams are done, and now I'm free!

It is inane-couplet-worthy exciting. Already I am cradling a celebratory bottle of coke beneath my arm, despite having sworn to go off caffeine once the exam-torture finished.

Here is a list of things I lied to myself I would do once exams were over:

• Abandon coffee fixation
• Join a gym (okay, it's been six hours, but I'm thinking I might break this promise)
• Write nano. Enough said there. Ah empty words. Or total lack of words, empty or not.
• Call those friends I never really feel like calling

I'm going to call my grandma instead. She apparently wants advice on fake tan lotions. This intrigues me, as firstly, she is 79 years old, and secondly, I hardly look the visual authority for such products.

Afterwards, I'm going to watch the Tim Minchin episode of Buzzcocks and watch the LIVE SHOW BOOSH DVD I just bought. And by the by, have you seen the glorious love!photos with the jumper and the bear ears and the sexy glorious Barratt?
( Because I HAVE. )

I'm also fighting the urge to go insane writing fanfic. Maybe I'll just go insane reading it. After I finish Good Omens! I was on fandom secrets just now, and someone listed James Marsden (oh Spikey) as their perfect Crowley. It always screws me up a little when people launch their personal interpretations on me. I can't unsee Bowie-Draco, for example. It's messed up.

My foot is cold. Enough rambling for now? Off I pop to find some socks then. Could move away from the AC, but it's 30 degrees, you know?

The French translation of 'no man's land' is une zone tampon.

I believe this says much about our society.

Thoughts? Comments? :p

Mad Men: come for the style, and stay for the scathing portrait of misogynistic 60s America.

So far, in eight episodes, I have seen:

• Pregnant women drinking
• Kids being backhanded across the face
• Wifey copping the blame when sleazy boss hits on her
• A rainbow of sexism
• Smoking, oh, constantly
• Casual anti-Semitism
• Indoctrinated racism
• Reds under the beds!
• Fashion. To die for.

Joan is a goddess, but it's Betty's clothes I want to steal. It's all about the cinched waists and full skirts for me - but I don't know if I could do the corseted underwear. (Maybe, if it'd give me Joan's figure.)

It is not a good sign when you're brushing your teeth in the morning, and you look at the cup holding the other toothbrushes, and you realise that yours is still in the cup. And then you realise that you're brushing your teeth with that scungy old crazy-bristled toothbrush that Mum uses to clean out hard-to-reach gunk. 

And despite this, I'm feeling rather optimistic this morning. 

Wish me luck for my law exam. 

(And then, tonight = NANO CATCH UP. Oh lord.)

Two products of a rather whimsical and well-travelled procrastination:

I fell for this blog like Leo fell for Juliet in that shirtless Shakespeare film the moment I saw the first photographed outfit. I want this woman's fashion taste.
geekthreads.blogspot.com/2009/11/reader-request-online-shopping.html

And why is it that deconstructed grammar is so sexy and fluid and moving when used by e.e.cummings, and so AWFUL when employed on the internet? 

(And why am I suddenly drawing parallels between Orwell's Newspeak shortening of the English language, and modern TextSpeak? Oh my lord; facebook is an engine of totalitarian designs. Shh.)

As my title reveals with admirable subtlety, I just went to the movies with my sister and saw Whip It. Great movie. Fantastic movie. I enjoyed it, I've fallen in love with Ellen Page (who looks very much like my sister, so luckily it is a platonic love) and I want to get me a pair of skates. 

Don't get me wrong. I fail badly at anything even remotely connected to skates. Ice skating with me is a laughable and possibly masochistic experience; I tend to use nearby skaters as steadying devices. I've broken my arm at a roller skating rink. I once owned a pair of skates, but I believe they've been converted into something of a holiday resort for spiders in the junk-and-tumble under the stairs. 

But it was sweet. Great film. Like a mix between She's the Man (love love love), Twilight (is 'Stalker Boyfriend' the hot thing, now?) and something with a more authentic indie flavour. It was different. 

I'm in a weird mood, I don't know. I feel kind of independent and settled with myself. I get really ambitious at this time of night. This summer, I've decided to make a dress properly from a pattern, learn to roller skate (I think I'll die), work on cutting Unsupportive Faux-Friends from my precious time and write that bloody book.

I want new user icons. That's not an ambition, I just want it. :)

 "Erp," I said, eyes round as (flying) saucers. 

(Sometimes I get the impression that I'll be embarrassed to read back on my writing style in these entries in Future Times.)

But for now - the drama continues as I stand amongst the shelves in Borders and stare helplessly in shock at And Another Thing - the new Hitch-Hiker's Guide novel by Eoin Colfer. 

I'm scared. And intrigued. And I want to buy and devour it, but I also want to stay right away. What should I do, Mr Adams? Why won't you answer me? Why is this Eoin guy acting as your mouthpiece all of a sudden? How do you even pronounce "Eoin" anyway?
(Only answer I seem to get is '42'.)

Also while in Borders I managed to buy Good Omens - finally - and with every intention of reading it, too. 

Continuing my consumerist journey through Camberwell Junction, I bought two CDs -  La Roux and Paloma Faith's. Yes, I finally watched the first episode of Nouveau Buzzcocks, looked up Paloma on the basis of her fashion, and promptly fell for her music. La Roux is growing on me like an electropop disease. Neither artist is big in Australia, but I get the impression that La Roux at least gets a lot of airtime on mainstream radio in the UK...?

Apart from shopping, this week (and next week and the next week) sees me studying my arse off for my imminent torts exam. Bugger, bother, darn it, heck. I'll materially increase your fucking risk of causation. 

And I want to do nano now, but good lord if it isn't already the last week of October. 

Today, as I watched NZ Top Model and winced through the continued introduction of this cycle's bland-albeit-bitchy contestants, I decided something. To me, a Kiwi accent = Murray, Bret or Jemaine. I see skinny blonde tall chicks, and I hear the Conchords. I feel this is not conducive to a modeling show. 

Then I had a scary thought: This is probably how the Australian accent comes off to the rest of the world. Maybe we sound just as flimsy, homemade and stuck-in-the-past/backwaters as the kids on this Tyra knock-off show. And that scares me. 

I don't put much by the 'social class division' thingy (Marx's preferred terminology), but I really do believe that your social standing shows itself in the way you speak. I work in a supermarket, so I feel as knowledgeable as Henry Higgins right now. 

Use of the word "youse", the endearment "love" to strangers, and tacking the word "but" on to the end of sentences makes YOU a BOGAN. (See Kath and Kim for further exemplification of the bogan standard.)

While I have the old judgementy hat on:
Yesterday, while driving to uni, I was much impressed/shocked/affronted to see the driver in front of me run a red light - in reverse. They just zoomed back through the red light on the other side of the road, turned around, and went down a side street. Such blatant disregard for the law! It cheered me up. I don't know why. 

I'd say it was my Bad Boy fascination playing up, but it was a four-wheel drive, hence presumably a Scotch College mum chauffering the heirs to school. 

Today I got the job of making the announcements over the PA system in the supermarket! How exciting. I got to practise my Radio  Voice. Thoughts of pulling a Chaser-style stunt only floated into my mind, oh, say, once every few seconds. Somehow I managed to hold back.  

This is my dream:




Due to the fact that our internet cut out yesterday afternoon, I actually finished Dorian Gray last night. (It made me fear both beauty and old age.) If the internet didn't exist, I'd presumably be an extremely well-read genius.

I blame the internet. 

Oscar Wilde was really a bit of a genius, wasn't he? Oh, the snark that claws into every line:

"The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their own special property, and that if anyone of us [aristocrats] makes an ass of himself, he is poaching on their preserves."

I am on page 25 of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I'm enjoying myself. 

I'm also grooving out with Pink Floyd at the moment. I think I have to be in the right mellow mood for it, to be honest. "See Emily Play" is gorgeous. (As is Bowie's cover.)

Yesterday, with a few hours to spare before my blood donation appointment, I popped into Chadstone, promptly became extremely lost, eventually found Target, and bought four dresses. I know, it's Target, but you should see these dresses. Bloody gorgeous. All of them are very 50s, very puffy, very in at the waist and round neck/backed. Au revoir, my little taste of affluence.

Being a big fan of My Fair Lady ("move your blooming arse!"), and never having been to the races, I've been convinced to go to Derby Day next Saturday. Thankfully I just got posted this beautiful vintage dress from ebay. I'll have to do something about a fascinator. I expect to spend the day waddling about in heels (and pain), drinking champers and experiencing boredom. Still. 

What else? My entire body aches from a combination of extreme go go dancing and blood donating. Oh! I found out I'm borderline anaemic while being prepped before the donation. I've got the minimum level of haemoglobin required to donate blood, so luckily they didn't kick me out, but Mother apparently feels the need to pump me up with spinach like Pop Eye. 

And she dares to blame the iron deficiency on my coffee habit. Lies, I say. Lies!

I have a fringe. For the first time in ten years. 

It's raining. 

I have regressed in my fandomly ways. Thought I'd said goodbye to the Harry Potter stage. 'Adieu' was, in this case, 'à bientôt'. 

Roald Dahl is a genius. Take, for instance, this excerpt from his book of rhymes, "Rhyme Stew":

"It's magic!" Ali Baba screams.
"It's far beyond my wildest dream!
I'll bet I'm able now, gee whiz,
To open any door there is!"

It's just sizzling with the manic, offbeat energy that flung its way repeatedly into my childhood. Matilda, James and the Giant Peach, the BFG - aka the book that introduced me to snozzcumbers...

I want to be a children's author. 

It's almost inspiring me to do nanowrimo. I'm still not decided on that front. 

My sister and I just found a host of maggots in the 100s and 1000s. I ate fairy bread last week. FML.

Microsoft Word recognises the word 'guesstimate' but not my name! Neither my first nor second name!

Bastard dictionary. Won't even add new words. 

One essay finished. Don't ask about referencing. My referencing style is... happenstance. And nonsensical. And colourful! And it makes tutors cry. (I wield this power with fierce scholarly schadenfreude.)

Second essay... well, I eventually need 2000 words. Right now, I've got 2082. And it's only a very muddled plan. 

Anyone know anything about the merits of a Bill of Rights? In fact, does anyone's country have a Bill of Rights? I'm feeling rather doubtful about my ability to pass this politics subject. I knew I should have tried reading the paper at some point.

PS: October already? How did that happen?

Karma has a wicked sense of humour. If Karma was a person, I'd totally want to be in on the devious scheming.

Sadly, Karma's not my friend. Hence, after I yelled for my sister - RICH FULCHER'S ON SKINS - and she ran into my closed door, I probably shouldn't have laughed so hard. That would have made it less embarrassing when, five minutes ago, I walked straight into a glass door through which both my parents saw me and cracked up.  

Skins is amazing. It makes me less of a Garfield on Mondays. Tonight's episode revealed the merits of dancing 'ass to ass with you' which can never be a bad thing. It almost lived up to the sheer shocking brilliance of "Naughty Girl" from Summer Heights High. Almost. 

 

Ja'mie's still my favourite. I swear, approximately one third of my year level in high school shared her brain. This one time in year ten history, things veered away from World War II and we somehow latched onto the topic of The Evils of Religion, at which point this one particularly brilliant non sequitur popped out:

"Imagine if you were the son of God."

Another time, same class, same girl: "I'm Catholic - I went to a Catholic school for years - but I don't believe in the Bible."

Twentieth Century History was so much fun.

Finally - a post that is in some tangible way related to my default icon of Bowie's rather fabulous boots. That's right: tonight I present to you a video of three gorgeous go go girls performing a dance I've been learning in class for the past few weeks.

Fair warning - they're clad solely in shaggy go go bikini things. And some fairly groovy boots(!) 



I also watched Glee tonight, and danced to Michael Jackson and songs from Hairspray. I probably shouldn't physically exert myself at 10:30 at night. Who needs sleep, anyway? 

Oh, and am I the only one who thinks "sour sherbet" wizz fizz is bleugh? My sister went to the Royal Melbourne show today, and brought me back about seventeen packets. Maybe I'll build an active volcano!  

( My hair actually looks like Bowie's here. )

I am a little in love with Dangerfield right now. It's a bit dangerous.

Today has been so gorgeous and sunny. Summer's just peeking around the corner. I'm meeting a couple of friends for a picnic tomorrow to celebrate the end of our Annual Week of (Inconvenient) Rain. I had my Law Ball last night (might put pics up at some point) and my rather fabulous hair was almost destroyed by rain before I'd even accidentally broken into the place. I somehow managed to avoid the massive queue and ID/ticket check by climbing over a velvet rope barrier. Ah well.

Found something a little intriguing in the Green Guide this week. In these pre-Grand Final days, the Green Guide is about the only part of the paper I can bring myself to read. The rest is just draped in footy news, and as the Hawks aren't exactly in contention, this tends to make me perpetually pissed off. 

In an article about top UK comedy that has somehow been missed by the ABC, Tony Martin described "The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer" as the following: "Imagine an episode of Morecambe and Wise where Eric and Ernie sing songs about voodoo in thick northern accents, while taking to each other with increasingly larger frying pans, and you're almost there."

This description makes the show sound, well, extremely tempting. I wish the ABC would stoop to pick up a couple of old comedy classics, or even (especially) newer UK produce. Even UKTV is 90% comprised of Doctor Who and EastEnders.  

I'd love to be a writer for the Green Guide. Green's my favourite colour. And I'd love to wield some rapier wit about the place. 

The gigantesque bananas being sold at Coles scare me a little. I don't think it's quite a Freudian thing. They certainly don't make me feel empty or 'lacking' after eating one. But seriously, they are massive. I suppose it's just Banana Karma balancing everything out after our earlier banana drought.

We have too many droughts in this country. I don't like feeling guilty for drinking a glass of water. 

Got my law test back (worth 20% of this semester) and I got an HD! 80%! I'm starting to feel a bit more optimistic about this semester. 

I am actively tired. I feel like my head's one of those bobble toys for babies that always kind of wobbles back to its centre weight no matter how you push it about. Should probably sleep or something. 

Dear Santa and Fairies: make me a genius writer by November, please?