july sixteenth

The greatest lie of all is the feeling of firmness beneath our feet. We are at our most honest when we are lost.

- Kierkegaard

Thoughts I've had today:

1. Who would Dolores Umbridge be in Nazi Germany? Himmler?
2. Why have I wasted valuable thought space to such a question?
3. Why not?!
4. Nadia, on the right, from FrouFrouu looks like an actual Arabian Princess. I am jealous, and I don't even know her ethnicity.
5. Related: how much would I earn from selling my Arabian locks?
6. The number 702 is oddly attractive, for a three digit figure. Seen on a bus sign.
7. If I had to polish anyone's head, it would definitely be Will Arnett's. I can't say why.
8. I would like to one day personally thank Radiohead for the song Idioteque.
9. I could truly survive the hurdles of life solely seeking advice from the Pocahontas soundtrack.
10. I am such a hedgehog. I'd be pretty pissed off about that if I wasn't so enthralled with the process. Slacken and pull, said Foer. Slacken, pull.

A tip: don't blog after midnight. Or whilst listening to Phillip Glass. I feel like Truman Burbank.
Who, by the way, was just living there ironically.

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april twenty-fifth: childhood tv shows

Yo blog, it's been awhile. I understand I cannot just waltz in here after a three-month hiatus, expecting an instant welcome. I am not the prodigal son. Apparently.

As an apology, I offer to you a nostalgic compilation of '90s Nickelodeon/ABC television shows. I vividly recall watching these after school. Children possess an incredible ability to remain mesmerised by stimuli; a focus I struggle to maintain. I can hardly sit through a fifty-minute episode of trashy television without needing to check Twitter, or open my laptop, or ride my scooter.

Yes, I now have a scooter. Yes, I will be 18 in 8 days. We've a lot to catch up on.

I'm aware that you may not have grown up with these shows. Most likely, they do not mean anything to you. You may be sitting there wondering, why on earth is there a giant hot water bottle at 0:16? Why is there an entire show dedicated to a conjoined cat and dog? Why does that small child have the head of a football?

All valid questions. Which I cannot answer, and will merely reply: they are insanely awesome.
(Continue)

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january tenth: mr west

Regardless of how you feel about Kanye West, spare thirty-four minutes of your day to bask in his aesthetically pleasing short film. You have to give it to the man, he's staged a spectacular comeback. We could analyse the symbolism, you and I, but it's 1:28 am and there are better things to do at this time. E.G. sleeping. I wish I was good at sleeping.

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january fifth:

starring joanna s.
flickr

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january third

Model: Joanna S

I've begun taking photos again. I'm still tip-toeing with the medium; reluctant to return to an artform I temporarily abandoned, after years of practice. Talk about an awkward sentence structure. Forgive me. I have a daunting pile of post-high school stories and photos to share. All in good time, compadres.

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january first: 2010

Look, blog, I don't know what you want from me. Is that intimidating, sexy white canvas of yours demanding I share self-deprecating, somewhat witty anecdotes about my post-HSC life? I'm not sure I can. I'm hesitant about revisiting that first taste of freedom. That euphoric November was almost too much to handle; for the first few weeks I'd taunt my family:

To my little sister: "I relaxed at home all day today. Tomorrow I'm going shopping, then maybe the movies or Thai. Anyway ... you have a good day at school tomorrow, okay?"
Disclaimer: I suffered countless weekends wishing my sisters a good day out from my all-too-familiar desk. They must pay.

"Dad, the shops have been recarpeted! Life actually continued outside my bedroom! Who knew?"
I'm aware of how self-absorbed this sounds. When you're limited to within a 5km radius of your house, these indulgences are only fair.

2010 was ... determination. I've no other way to put it. It wasn't particularly thrilling, nor was it awful. People tell you that your final schooling year is the best year of your life. Ugh, please. Who are these people? Why are they so wrong? Actions must be taken to prevent the circulation of such lies.

It was a memorable year for these reasons:

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september twenty-seventh: mcqueen resort 2011

style.com

I don't really blog about real life clothes. I blog about pretend clothes, sure, but I tend to avoid fashion that will never love me back. This collection is about ... three months old. Is that like, a year in the fashion world? Whatever. I saved these photos and forgot all about sharing them. Alas, the time has come.

OH MY GOD.

I can't explain how much I want - nay, need - these clothes. I want to embrace them, like that fat grandmother does on the old Uncle Toby's Oatmeal commerical. You know the one: the small, blonde boy is giggling as he feeds himself oatmeal, before his corpulent grandmother suffocates him with her canteen lady arms. Familial love at its finest.

This is why I don't blog about real life clothes.

Honestly though, I'm actually brainstorming money-making schemes. Labelled, "How to Acquire Dough Fast", my list so far consists of:

1. Prostitution
2. Drug trafficking
3. Asking my parents to pay me for chores (an expired annual tradition, always occuring a month prior to the Sydney Royal Easter Show. I demanded  at least 50c for every chore. Chores ranged from doing the dishes, to packing up the Lego. I wonder why we stopped.) 
4. Babysitting (problem: who would trust me with their kids?)
5. Selling my clothes.

 I doubt Options 3 and 4 would feed my fashion desires. Option 5 has potential, except I am extremely possessive of all things I own and would rather sell my father's kidney than see someone else wear clothes I haven't touched in years. Slight hyperbole, but I'm sure you catch my drift.

Which leaves Options 1 and 2. However, I doubt I'd exceed at those occupations. I'd giggle too much to be a prostitute. As for drug trafficking, I'd write thank you notes to my growers. Not exactly low profile.

... Maybe I should just get a job, like normal people. Ha, ha.

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