I'll get back to it.
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Saturday, 29 December 2007
Back on a rant...
Back again. Well I appear to be. I'm getting sick of people who have absolutely NO opinions of their own and seem to fail to think things through. Take certain members of my class for example: one has tried to organize a boycott of drawing homework set by our drawing teacher. It has to be noted that this teacher is rather ineffective and rather unhelpful in nature and we have spent much of this first half of the year doing watercolour and gouache in a DRAWING CLASS (not painting class), but that is another issue for another day. However this is the first time in a long time that we have been set homework that is drawing and now people are starting to get a petition of people who want to boycott this "holiday" homework. Admittedly it is annoying to have homework in the holiday but how unbelievably lacking in brain cells do you have to be to not actually want to take this opportunity to draw. Simply because the teacher is not very good and there's hype about wanting to get rid of her does not mean we should boycott the drawing homework so that the organiser of this stupidity can look "cool". We should boycott the gouache homework if anyone had connected neurons in the process.
This is not school. This is practice to be the best at what we do. Certain people need to grow up and stop being stroppy teenagers.
This is not school. This is practice to be the best at what we do. Certain people need to grow up and stop being stroppy teenagers.
Monday, 6 August 2007
Ratatouille
Sometimes I wonder whether I should write a blog. I do not want to turn into a username-hogger and just write one or two posts and then disappear never to be seen again, annoying those who could have made better use of this username. Nor do I want to bore the readers I don’t have to death by blabbering on about nothing.
I have decided to go for the latter, as at least I am trying not to waste a username.
Today I went to see Ratatouille (the film, I did not just sit around watching a plate of food). I really enjoyed it and this has been, well I wouldn’t say worrying me, but it has been occupying my brain space. I AM 19 and I really enjoyed a children’s film! (And, yes, I did almost cry at the unhappy-and-moving-he-faces-a-terrible-choice-humans-suck-bit.) It didn’t even have the usual “jokes for the adults who had to take the children to see it”. Yet I think that I liked the film all the better for the lack of that. Sometimes I find the jokes that are supposed to go over the heads of the children in the audience embarrassing and cringe-worthy.
Well, I loved it. But my opinion cannot be judged as from an adult’s perspective because I brain seems to still work like a child’s.
I have decided to go for the latter, as at least I am trying not to waste a username.
Today I went to see Ratatouille (the film, I did not just sit around watching a plate of food). I really enjoyed it and this has been, well I wouldn’t say worrying me, but it has been occupying my brain space. I AM 19 and I really enjoyed a children’s film! (And, yes, I did almost cry at the unhappy-and-moving-he-faces-a-terrible-choice-humans-suck-bit.) It didn’t even have the usual “jokes for the adults who had to take the children to see it”. Yet I think that I liked the film all the better for the lack of that. Sometimes I find the jokes that are supposed to go over the heads of the children in the audience embarrassing and cringe-worthy.
Well, I loved it. But my opinion cannot be judged as from an adult’s perspective because I brain seems to still work like a child’s.
Saturday, 28 July 2007
The Day of the Triffids
“When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere.” The Day of the Triffids, John Wyndham.
Or you’ve been on holiday from university for too long and every day sounds like any other. I finished reading The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham on just such a day, Thursday in fact. I am renowned for being a slow reader, mainly due to the fact that I do not read much, other than textbooks, during term time. Thus, I was subject to the usual patronizing “Oh, I’m so glad you’re reading”-style comments from the parent.
Since reading The Day of the Triffids I have felt, in a way, enlightened. I know, I am beginning to sound like a hippy. However the book has made me realize the fatuous nature of the little worries that skulk around the edges of our heads, gathering and waiting until there are enough to crash the fence that tries to keep them out.
In reality, I will still throw a wobbly at the sight of a spider with a huge, fat body, as it will definitely eat me in the night. I will still complain about the weather (I am British, you know). And I will still have yet another stupid argument about how to do the washing up with that wonderful mother of mine.
Panic and wobbly throwing seem to be part of western culture. Hopefully it will not take a tragedy such as that in The Day of the Triffids to shake us from spoilt brat-ish ways.
Or you’ve been on holiday from university for too long and every day sounds like any other. I finished reading The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham on just such a day, Thursday in fact. I am renowned for being a slow reader, mainly due to the fact that I do not read much, other than textbooks, during term time. Thus, I was subject to the usual patronizing “Oh, I’m so glad you’re reading”-style comments from the parent.
Since reading The Day of the Triffids I have felt, in a way, enlightened. I know, I am beginning to sound like a hippy. However the book has made me realize the fatuous nature of the little worries that skulk around the edges of our heads, gathering and waiting until there are enough to crash the fence that tries to keep them out.
In reality, I will still throw a wobbly at the sight of a spider with a huge, fat body, as it will definitely eat me in the night. I will still complain about the weather (I am British, you know). And I will still have yet another stupid argument about how to do the washing up with that wonderful mother of mine.
Panic and wobbly throwing seem to be part of western culture. Hopefully it will not take a tragedy such as that in The Day of the Triffids to shake us from spoilt brat-ish ways.
Saturday, 14 July 2007
A bad start?
Tuesday 10 July got off to a bad start when I forgot to take my student travel card with me on the train. I left the house at 9:40 to run a rather large errand for my mum: take trousers back to a shop in Amsterdam, 45 minutes by train. I was under the impression that I was going to have a productive and constructive day as I’d already been to the supermarket. So I cycled happily to the station, oblivious and unaware, singing loudly and smiling at strangers, an odd habit of mine. People think I’m strange but they’re right so I don’t suppose it matters.
I’d missed the train. Not a problem, I’m used to it. Every school day I miss the train…And then the bus...An then the lecture… I decided to get on a different train and change at Leiden, a larger station. I settled down to a nice ten minutes of staring into space, but then I spotted the conductor. I started to rifle through the odds and ends in my bag. Lip balm, two Ikea pencils, ID, university campus card, receipts, a plastic spoon and there tucked in at the bottom was a huge sense of impending doom. I’d left my card in my other trousers, AT HOME. My immediate thought was “argh!”, which was quickly followed by “ oh #/[]=0=-@}{>!!!!” and “urgh, he’s spotted me, it’s too late to run away”.
The usual punishment for such stupidity is the price of the ticket and an extra 35 euros. As a student without a job the contents of my wallet was close to nonexistent. There was only one option: out came the huge round eyes and the fluttering eyelashes, the “innocent face” was my last weapon.
“I’m really sorry…errrm…one second” I was still rifling through my bag, the look shock on my face was just believable, if a little exaggerated. “I can’t find my travel card…errrm I have my campus card…uuurrrrrm I had it this morning……???”
“Where are you going to?” He looked a bit dozy, this was a good sign.
“Just to Leiden.” We were only a minute away from the station. My eyes were so wide, ready to pop out of my head and my bottom lip began to quiver, just a little.
He mumbled, flapped his arms around a bit, shrugged, sighed and walked away. I was not fined. Relief swept over me like a cliché and I relaxed. I was not going to have to magic money out of an empty bank account or listen to an “I’m disappointed with you” speech.
I think I should become an actress, a star in a hugely successful film. Actually talent does not seem to be necessary in hugely successful films, take Pirates of the Caribbean for example, so I’ll rephrase that. I should become an actress and star in a moderately successful cult film and be known for my spectacular performance. Or I could just stick to the day job as Professional Student Dosser.
I’d missed the train. Not a problem, I’m used to it. Every school day I miss the train…And then the bus...An then the lecture… I decided to get on a different train and change at Leiden, a larger station. I settled down to a nice ten minutes of staring into space, but then I spotted the conductor. I started to rifle through the odds and ends in my bag. Lip balm, two Ikea pencils, ID, university campus card, receipts, a plastic spoon and there tucked in at the bottom was a huge sense of impending doom. I’d left my card in my other trousers, AT HOME. My immediate thought was “argh!”, which was quickly followed by “ oh #/[]=0=-@}{>!!!!” and “urgh, he’s spotted me, it’s too late to run away”.
The usual punishment for such stupidity is the price of the ticket and an extra 35 euros. As a student without a job the contents of my wallet was close to nonexistent. There was only one option: out came the huge round eyes and the fluttering eyelashes, the “innocent face” was my last weapon.
“I’m really sorry…errrm…one second” I was still rifling through my bag, the look shock on my face was just believable, if a little exaggerated. “I can’t find my travel card…errrm I have my campus card…uuurrrrrm I had it this morning……???”
“Where are you going to?” He looked a bit dozy, this was a good sign.
“Just to Leiden.” We were only a minute away from the station. My eyes were so wide, ready to pop out of my head and my bottom lip began to quiver, just a little.
He mumbled, flapped his arms around a bit, shrugged, sighed and walked away. I was not fined. Relief swept over me like a cliché and I relaxed. I was not going to have to magic money out of an empty bank account or listen to an “I’m disappointed with you” speech.
I think I should become an actress, a star in a hugely successful film. Actually talent does not seem to be necessary in hugely successful films, take Pirates of the Caribbean for example, so I’ll rephrase that. I should become an actress and star in a moderately successful cult film and be known for my spectacular performance. Or I could just stick to the day job as Professional Student Dosser.
Monday, 9 July 2007
I can't write
My brother said I should write a blog as I am a bit of an opinionated bastard. Not his words, he doesn’t swear but you cannot hide from the truth. I said “But I CAN’T WRITE!” this being a key point I assumed, though it doesn’t stop other people blahblahing online or in the Daily Mail and those even get paid for it. So I thought I’d give it a go, as no one will read it and if they do: I apologize for any damage caused to your brain as the cells die of boredom, retire due to stress or simply up and leave, seeking asylum elsewhere.
It is probably wise to note that I haven’t written anything of a creative nature for a very long time. I write a diary, which is, for want of a better word, crap, but I deem it important because many of my own brain cells upped and left a long time ago leaving my memory sieve-like. It also forces me to think about my day, whether I’ve done anything useful – the answer is no nine times out of ten, but that’s not the point.
The only other time that I write is for school. Ok I am at university but if I call it school it seems less important and not really life changing. And, I forgot to mention, it is in Dutch. As a result, my vocabulary (in English) has diminished, worryingly near the point at which I could work for the Daily Mail. However the rest of my brain still functions and more to the point I’m not a narrow-minded, rightwing, nationalistic, verging on racist bigot, so I’d never fit in.
This brings me to the conclusion that I need to read more and write more. Though the latter should probably be kept private so as to minimize the side effects of severe boredom caused by reading rubbish.
It is probably wise to note that I haven’t written anything of a creative nature for a very long time. I write a diary, which is, for want of a better word, crap, but I deem it important because many of my own brain cells upped and left a long time ago leaving my memory sieve-like. It also forces me to think about my day, whether I’ve done anything useful – the answer is no nine times out of ten, but that’s not the point.
The only other time that I write is for school. Ok I am at university but if I call it school it seems less important and not really life changing. And, I forgot to mention, it is in Dutch. As a result, my vocabulary (in English) has diminished, worryingly near the point at which I could work for the Daily Mail. However the rest of my brain still functions and more to the point I’m not a narrow-minded, rightwing, nationalistic, verging on racist bigot, so I’d never fit in.
This brings me to the conclusion that I need to read more and write more. Though the latter should probably be kept private so as to minimize the side effects of severe boredom caused by reading rubbish.
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