To Kill a Perfectly Good Language: An analysis of a classic novel

For many years the classic novel To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee has been a best selling source of timeless knowledge. The book was written with style and eloquence, though it is set in a time and place where butchering the English language was considered communication. Southern grammatical catastrophes aside, TKAMB is an incredible collection of morality and social injustice.

The story is told by one Jean Louise Finch, also known as Scout. Scout tells the tale of a time in her childhood when she learned many things about the world that stuck with her throughout her whole life. From the terrible experience of her first day at school, to the controversial court case her father was involved in, Scout learns many lessons that remain relevant to everyone regardless of age, gender and race. While this book is several decades older than a majority of the people buying it, every situation, event and lesson that comes Scouts way is still one that will reach the reader.

An example of an issue that is addressed in TKAMB that is timeless: Racism. The controversial court case (how's that for alliteration) that Scout's father Atticus Finch is involved in revolves around racism. A man has been convicted for a crime he did not commit and he will be punished for it simply because he was the wrong colour. The decision to defend this man was not made by Atticus. The decision to do it right, and with everything in his power, was a choice Atticus made because it was right.. From the Aboriginals of Australia and their Stolen Generation to the Native American Indians being controlled and pushed around by the white man, racism is a very real and ever present issue.

There is one particular passage in the book that I believe sums up what the issue of racism is all about. It is when Scout has just gotten into trouble for insulting a boy who is poor. She pointed out his obvious differences without any understanding of why they were so. Atticus has this to tell her:
"If you can learn a simple trick Scout, you'll get along better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it" pg 33
While you can't help but read what these characters say in a Southern Accent, they certainly do get their point across. This book was written at the time when treating black people unequally was normal. White people were simply better than them. There did not seem to be anyone who would see through the differences to find that we are the same. The way Atticus teaches Scout to avoid prejudice when meeting someone who is different is to see things from their point of view. To metaphorically climb into their skin and walk around in it.

How could a novel set in this particular period of time still be relevant to the issues of today? I believe that almost all written works are timeless. Not because of brilliant writing, interesting characters or even a vast arsenal of impressive words. No, what makes works like TKAMB timeless is the fact that human nature does not change. People in our day and age need to learn the lessons of empathy that Atticus teaches Scout just as much as the people of that time needed it. It is a lesson that will always need to be remembered and taught.

While the novel is somewhat of a bother to those who get anxiety from seeing words like ain't and reckon all over the page, and illiterates would get envious of seven year old Scout saying things like 'naturally tranquil disposition', it is still an invaluable text. The purpose and ideas behind it are brought across in a balance of obvious and subtle tones. The morals and values are put into the head of the reader and stay there whether they wanted to learn something or not. That irritating colloquialism of the Southern drawl certainly got on my nerves but it did make the conversations seem more real. In fact if they had spoken eloquently I may have forgotten what the context was. In conclusion, To Kill A Mockingbird is forever relevant, valued and forced upon high school students.

Well here comes home work

Yeah haven't written anything on here for a while. I currently have an English assignment that is to be written in the context of an article written for a blog so I thought I'd write it on my actual blog. The assignment is to write a 500-700 word recommendation for a blog arguing for or justifying the value of the classic novel To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I do agree that this novel has value. I do not think it is a very good read. What can I say, it is a childhood story mixed with a court drama. Being an avid reader of Jodi Picoult I have high standards for books involving court dramas. Anyway I better get on with the actual assignment instead of furthering my procrastination with dreams of throwing TKAMB out the car window on my way to the book shop where there is a copy of Mercy by Jodi Picoult waiting to be purchased. I will own and read that book one day. One day soon.

Here's a story based on a weird dream I had

You were so slick and speedy when you shut off your alarm and rolled back over asleep that you don’t even remember doing it. You open your eyes again around the time you had planned to leave the house. You must have thought you were so clever, setting that alarm so early. If you had gotten up then you wouldn’t have had to rush, but no. Now you have about half an hour to get dressed, grab your important business bag, and scramble onto your motorbike so you can rocket away to that annoying job of yours that shouldn’t require such an early start as the one you missed.


Naturally when you see the clock strike 7:46 you fly out of bed like your blankets are on fire. You speedily remove your bed clothes at a similar rate as you must assume they are on fire too. The sun through your bedroom window is bright and an awful lot higher than it would have been at the time you were supposed to get up. Your work clothes are on and you make a mental list of things you can get away with not doing in order to hurry up. Missing breakfast appears to be your punishment for laziness today.

It’s now 7:53 and you have no idea where your important business bag is. You are running around the house searching for it while brushing your teeth brutally like they owe you something. You can’t leave home without this bag. This bag is essential to your annoying job and if you can’t find it – the time is suddenly 7:55. You cry in frustration “Why doesn’t time go backwards when I want it to?” spraying foamy toothpaste on the walls and carpet.

When you rush to the bathroom to rinse the foamy mess from your face you see your bag sitting in the corner. Why your bag is in the bathroom is a mystery that is perhaps best left unsolved considering that you have to grab your helmet and be on your bike already. Your job requires you to be there by 8:15 and at least ten minutes have passed since you last glanced at the time. You put your helmet on before remembering that foot wear is a requirement. You end up tying your laces while peering through the visor of a motorcycle helmet. You look ridiculous but you are on your bike and on your way. Another ten minutes gone.
All hope of arriving on time is lost but the faster you get there the less chance of your boss hating you, so you speed your annoyingly noisy motorbike down the road along the rout that has always been the fastest for you. On every other day there hasn’t been a tipped over truck lazing about the whole road like it owns the place and now you are stuck in traffic that is very slowly trying to follow detours. Tough break.
After twenty minutes of driving you are finally on the road that leads to the car park of your work place. You park in the only space available, which is ages away from the front door, and notice that the sky is much gloomier than it was when you got out of bed. You run toward the door as fast as your feet will carry you. You are almost there when your watch starts to beep insistently.

That annoying alarm! Why is it going off again now? You slow your run and look at the watch. The time on it is the time your alarm was set for this morning. Your watch must be broken because it should at least be close to 9 o’clock by now. You come up to the double glass doors of your work place and see the large grandfather clock in the lobby. Its hands are displaying the same time as your beeping watch.

What is going on? The clock is wrong and the hands are ticking backward. You turn around and look at the dimming sky, seeing the sun sitting a little above the horizon. The town clock tower stands proudly beside it, hands ticking backwards and claiming that you have come to work far too early.

And your alarm is still beeping. You open your eyes –for real this time. You are still in your bed and the sky is the same shade it had been at the end of your dream. You roll over and pick your watch up off your bedside table, shutting off the alarm. “What a weird dream” you mutter as you roll back over and go back to sleep. Apparently the dream didn’t teach you a thing, but there is no judgement here. After all, everyone is guilty of it.

RachOddSocks

Book appreciation blog post

It is in my opinion that print will never die. It may be talked down and forced to sit in the corner, but it will not disappear. I was talking with my friend Alyssa about her fancy robo-book (it's called a kindle or something but I prefer robo-book). I can totally see the awesome in having one of these robo-books. While they are expensive the books you download on it are cheaper than the real deal and are yours instantaneously. As someone who once had to go on eBay to buy a certain book and wait for several weeks for it to arrive, I can appreciate how handy it would be.

I am pretty keen to get one of these, but I would still only use it to buy books that I can't find in book shops or at the library. Because there is just something about legitimate print that can't be let go of. There are so many things about books that are amazing that have nothing to do with their contents. The classy look of leather covered hard backed novels on a book shelf in a fancy office, making you wonder if they had ever been open or if they were just there to look pretty. A book with creases in the spine, folded corners in the pages, filled with paper so soft you can tell it has been loved by many. I would never fold over the corners of pages though. It bugs me.

I have a great appreciation for books. I need a bigger book shelf in my room. It's not a matter of greed, but of necessity. I have piles neatly stacked in front of my full book shelf because they don't have anywhere else to go. I used to pile them next to my desk but the pile got too big and kept falling over. On my desk now is a cardboard cut out of a pile of books similar to this one. . . .

That's my friend Bek and I being read-aholic nerds. My pile of books is a little different to hers but still the same amount of awesome.

You know you're addicted to books when you have an overstuffed bookshelf, a card board cut out of a pile of books, a cardboard cut out of a character from a series of books that is doubling as a hat rack, and William Goldman's abridgement of The Princess Bride by S. Morgenstern sitting beside you as you compile this list.

Being an avid reader is when you stay up all night to finish a book, when you remember as a kid hiding under your blanket with a torch just to finish a chapter, when you quote classic lines from classic tales without referring back to the source . . . or Googling the source. Stories are food for the imagination, books are an imagination's meal. A series of books is an imagination's feast.

So I say to you, dear book lovers, never be ashamed of reading. Continue to dream of a house with book shelves on every wall, keep imagining your favourite characters' adventures long after the final page is turned. Try not to plot your revenge openly if someone wrecks your book when they borrow it, and remember . . .

Book lovers never go to bed alone.

RachOddSocks

English research task that I enjoyed muchly. Thought I'd share it.

When asked what comes to mind when you think about Australia there are many thoughts one would naturally conjure. Vegemite, kangaroos, barbeques, sunburn. . . There are also some famous Australian names that would jump into thought. Steve Irwin, Hugh Jackman, Ned Kelly. . . When people not from Australia think up these names in reference, they are thinking up someone who made Australia world known, or someone who started the Australian stereotypes. Would Americans constantly say ‘Crikey’ when imitating Australian accents if Steve Irwin hadn’t done so when capturing crocodiles?


When given this assignment to study the life of a significant Australian figure and to research how they had affected the culture of Australia, naturally I thought of Steve Irwin and Ned Kelly. Thanks to fifth grade studies on the two, I didn’t really feel inspired to research them. Why research someone I already know so much about? I tried brain storming different iconic Australians. Every one that I thought of seemed to give Australia the same image; the image of a land raised, bush roughing tough guy that doesn’t stand for the phrase ‘it can’t be done’.

This is a great image for Australia, I thought to myself, but isn’t there any iconic Australian that tells a different story? About this time while I was sifting through my head for the labels of Australian famous people, the CD I was listening to moved on to a cover of ‘You’re the one that I want’ from the movie Grease. The song is covered by Angus and Julia Stone and they completely changed the feel of the song. It is slowed down and sweetened to the point that it has lost the selfish lust heard in the original. As the song reached its last note, I decided to look up Angus and Julia Stone in the great library of our generation, Google.

Since I first heard the opening violin and piano chords of ‘Hold on’, the first track on Angus and Julia Stone’s award winning album ‘Down the Way’, I have been hooked on their music. I listened to the first minute and a half of ‘Hold on’ in the music store then the next time I went there, I bought the album. I am not exaggerating when I say I own almost every CD they have released, and I am not just trying to suck up when I say I enjoyed doing this assignment. While you may argue that they are not iconic Australian figures, I might argue that they could be well on their way to becoming some.

In the Northern Beaches of Sydney, little as six years ago, Julia Stone dragged her younger brother down to local bars and clubs to perform at open mic nights where they backed up each other in performances and sold their separate CD’s afterwards. In an interview Julia admitted that her brother, two years younger than her, always sold more. The pair had grown up in an extremely musical family, a different instrument lying in every room of the house at all times, so they were raised with calloused hands and a song on their lips.

Eventually they turned their two separate acts into a duo and made an EP (extended play) called ‘chocolate and cigarettes’. Soon after, as they toured Australia and then the UK, they made a second EP called ‘heart full of wine’. They lived in London for about a year, touring, writing and recording more music. Half of their first full length album ‘a book like this’ was recorded in their friend’s living room on vintage guitars and microphones. The other half was recorded in their mother’s living room. This is the album that was released in 2007, sold over 80,000 copies worldwide and earned them six Aria nominations.

Their career was moving so fast they still didn’t seem like famous musicians, more like average people that really like music. I am judging this from the interviews I have read:

“Interviewer: How did your parents react when you told them that you both want to be professional musicians under “one label”?

Angus Stone: I don’t know. What did they say?

Julia Stone: It didn’t ever happen that we were telling them that we were going out selling music.

Angus Stone: We still haven’t told them!

Julia Stone: They still don’t know what we are doing! (Laughs)”

In 2009 the brother and sister had some time apart. They spent the time writing more music. Angus came out with a single called ‘smoking gun’ under the name ‘Lady of the Sunshine’. Julia also made a solo album called ‘the memory machine’. They truly do live and breathe music, because when they got back together after their break each one had a whole set of songs ready to record. These songs made up their 2010 album ‘Down the way’.

They went from being an unknown pair in 2005, singing their songs at bars and clubs, selling their home recorded CDs after shows, to winning Aria album of the year in 2010 with ‘Down the way’, which sold over 140,000 copies, and single of the year with ‘big jet plane’. Their music has reached all over the world and has connected with individuals everywhere with songs about love and heart break that seem to be related to by everyone.

I didn’t just choose Angus and Julia Stone for this assignment because I love their music. I chose them because when I searched through the ever helpful Google I found interviews with them that told a story that was not often heard about Steve Irwin or Ned Kelly. It told the story of two individuals who are famous worldwide and can’t believe it is happening. It told the story of young musicians who are affecting not only their home country with their music, but countries all over the world, and they are still in wonderment at the fact other people want to pay to see them perform.

“I think it’s strange that people anywhere want to come and watch us play. I think it’s strange that people from where we’re from want to come and see us. As much as we enjoy playing music - and we love to do it whether we are onstage or at home - you wonder why people would want to pay money out of their hard-earned salaries to come and watch us. It’s unusual that it happens at home and it’s unusual that it happens here. It’s altogether unusual,” said Julia in an interview in 2007 around the time of their first full length album ‘A book like this’ was released.

When people think of Ned Kelly they don’t ever think of a guy who might have thought for a moment that he was in over his head. When Steve Irwin comes to mind no one ever thinks of a young man looking at a crocodile for the first time and wondering how on earth he was supposed to face that thing. When people who know of them think of Angus and Julia Stone, they think of the love and longing in ‘Big Jet Plane’, the raw passion and anger in ‘Draw your Swords’. Or maybe they think of a couple of hippies from Sydney who have some awesome tunes.

From reading the interviews I have deduced that while Australia will always be home to them, they feel like everywhere else in the world is not so different. They believe in equality and a unity among people worldwide. Everyone is connected by music, so how many differences can there really be?

“. . . Cultural boundaries are no longer identified through geographic borders. Australia isn’t so different from England which isn’t so different from America . . . . You just play music and, whether you are German, Polynesian or American, you can enjoy it. The world is down to people’s human emotions and what they are going through rather than where they’re from.” said Julia Stone in another interview.

With the Australian stereotype of racism settled into the world this is an invaluable view for influential and popular people to have, especially with Angus and Julia’s growing world wide popularity. So I ask if Steve Irwin can have the world believing Australia to be filled with crazy crocodile hunters, why not have Angus and Julia Stone bring the world to believe Australia is filled with accepting people with soul? While they are not Australian icons, they look like they are well on their way to becoming some.

My point is when Steve Irwin was just starting no one knew he would be such an icon to Australia. Yet he reached out to the world and had a catchphrase that is always at the heart of Australian mockery and imitation. If that man could make such an impact doing something not a lot of people can relate to, how much of an impact can the Stone siblings make with people who relate to their music? How much of an impact have they made already?

RachOddSocks

English assignment: Australian cult Fandom

Throughout this assignment I have had to see Australia through the eyes of someone who wasn’t born and raised here. I have had to look at this country as a foreigner and wonder about the stereotypes, the clichés and the overall view of Australia’s appearance, attitudes and lifestyles. It’s like I am a substitute teacher at a school being told which kids to watch out for. “Yeah that Australia is a bit of work. You might want to keep an eye on that one, what with its laziness, racism, alcoholism and its annoying habit of joking about drop bears, which are a serious thing.” Come on teachers don’t pretend you never warn the subs about us.

When you love something enough, you can be made oblivious to its flaws, or you just tolerate them a little more than those who don’t love it like you do. For example, the Star Trek fandom is impossibly huge despite the fact that the acting is corny, the fight scenes are terrible [Example of terrible fight scene] the special effects are a different kind of special and the stories seem like they took the first script, put it in a blender, took it out, put it back together and gave the planet in the episode a different name. I know it’s easy to insult a show that was made so long ago but I honestly don’t understand how its fandom can still grow when it has the graphics of Avatar, the camera work of Inception, the fight scene choreographers of Pirates of the Caribbean and the writing of Sherlock Holmes to compete with.

Before I go completely off track allow me to put an obscure segway here that relates Star Trek to the moral and ethical issues of Australia. . . . I look at Star Trek fans and think “Do you like it because someone has to like the ugly kid in the family?” while there would be some people looking at me and think “So you’re alright with underage drinking, planned racist gang attacks, and pushing away every refugee that knocks on the door?” in reference to the country I love. Are these ethical issues like the bad graphics and terrible fight scenes of Star Trek? Have I just been raised into it for so long that the flaws are covered with the rug and a good old Aussie ‘She’ll be right’ attitude?

When I was told to write and critique moral and ethical issues in Australia, I got started and I realised that the fact that Australians are mostly OK with their moral and ethical issues is a deadly issue in itself. I’m not trying to insult my country or diminish it’s -for want of a more impressively literate word- awesomeness. I am trying to say that the cloud of awesome is drifting to cover quite a few ugly things.

Australia has never had a war on its home land yet Australians have participated in so many. How can a country that’s never been host to a war be at the centre of such terrors as the Cronulla riots? Lebanese Muslims so much as set foot on the sandy beaches of Cronulla and they could be beaten to death. I hate writing harsh truths that put Australia in a light so bad you can’t even see the positive but sometimes we have to ask the hard questions. Is this beautiful country full of such friendly neighbours really this bad for foreigners? Is this haven of mateship and brotherly bondage a fantasy to those who are different? If appreciation of differences is too far fetched then can we at least settle for acceptance?

Even someone who has never picked up a bible could probably recite the old “Love your neighbour as yourself” reference. We are all human we all have family, friends, problems, emotions, pasts, futures . . . . We aren’t all that different. How long will it be before all Australians can see the world as equal? How long will it be before everyone can see the Australia I see? If it is digitally remastered, given a new writer, new actors and a good fight scene choreographer, can we come out with a better Australia remake than the Star Trek one?

-RachOddSocks

Note: I haven’t actually seen the Star Trek movie, and I’ve only seen one or two episodes of the original but I was enjoying the comparative metaphor with Star Trek and Australia so I brought it back for the conclusion. Hope you appreciated it.

Swings swings swings swings SWINGS!

One thing I re-discovered at Wee Waa is that swings are flipping awesome. Everything about them is awesome:

-When you reach the peak of height and can see nothing but your feet against the sky,

-When you turn in a circle over and over, twisting the chains while you're on the seat so you spin REALLY fast in the other direction once you pick your feet up,

-When you tilt your head backwards and watch the ground pass under you,

-When you get to that point in the air where you lift from the seat a tiny bit, enough to make you feel like you're floating for a second,

-When you close your eyes while you swing so that, for just one moment, it feels like you can fly.

When you go on a camp for this long . . . . with people you have never spent this much time with previously . . . and it is so far from home . . . and there are no beaches for hundreds of kilometres . . . . . and your sister is away in England. . . . It is nice to have something like a set of swings to help relax, chill out and just let go. On every trip away you need that one spot or moment that feels a little like home. Any childhood spent at a place without even the possibility of playing on a set of swings is a deprived one, in my opinion.

That is the last Wee Waa post you are getting. It's now been a week since Wee Waa and my memory is terrible so I won't be able to conjure anything else I don't think.

RachOddSocks

Tree trimming tree trimming super socks and tree trimming

Contrary to the impression I may have been giving, the camp my class went on wasn't just an excuse to go to the bustling metropolis of Wee Waa and visit their IGA and public swimming pool. No, we drove eight or nine hours because it was a service camp. Where we did work in churches, schools and gardens. The first day, after I discovered I had put socks on in my sleep, I joined the work party that was walking around the block to a church that was in dire need of sweeping, sugar soap and all sorts of gardening.

We went down in the morning carrying all sorts of tools that we didn't use. It turns out they had a plethora of brooms for us to sweep the large expanse of wooden floor with and some newly purchased buckets and sponges to aid us in washing the walls with sugar soap. So being hard little workers we swept the hell out of that church and washed the hell out of it's walls. Get it? Cleaning the hell out of a church?

. . . . I'll stop that now.

So after the cleaning we went back to the primary school for recess which included much of the fruit my Dad had bought for the trip. He got this massive box of grapes that we didn't even finish by the end of the trip. As well as two other massive boxes of various fruits. So during recess I had the bright idea of actually getting my earphones to plug into my phone and enjoy some working music.

I know I have had a past of complaining on here about iPods being lame and CD playing walkmans all the way! But my walkman is stuffed and my fancy phone has an awful lot of memory. It is actually kind of annoying because I end up putting on a whole bunch of music I don't always feel like listening to. It's ok though because most of it I love always listening to. And my phone has a twitter ap.

Anyway I walked back to the church with the group, cursing myself for humming piano man on the way, and we got to work on some gardening. It's great rocking out to Fall Out Boy while pulling weeds, whistling to Mumford and Sons while trimming over grown bushes and walking to the beat of Placebo while carrying a pile of weeds to an even larger pile of weeds. The best part was when my Dad handed me a pair of big dangerous clipper looking things and told me to go to town on this over grown tree.

The garden snippy things were the kind that the kid stabbed the bad guy with in the movie Disturbia, but smaller. If you haven't seen Disturbia, or just don't remember stupid details in movies like I do, here is a picture of what I am talking about. The ones on Disturbia are more deadly looking.

So I attacked a tree with these things while dancing to Saint Motel's Puzzle Pieces. So fun because I was sent away from the gang and could dance in peace. Did an awesome job on the tree too. Then when I was done I dragged myself back to the church where almost everyone was already enjoy a much deserved break. We were given delicious frosty fruits icy poles as we sat in the shade. Then I sat there tweeting away on my phone and enjoying my wonderful treat. Prue took photos, but apparently not everyone is as alright with having their picture taken as I am.

-RachOddSocks

How's this for a party trick?

The first night of Wee Waa was pretty chill. By which I mean the air con was so freezing you wouldn't have been able to tell that we were in a place that had it's first rain in years the night before. You see, Wee Waa is really hot. Burning hot. Skin blisteringly hot. Sun burn, glare and sweating are a way of life in Wee Waa. So when there is air conditioning available, you are going to use it.

So I was on the floor of a primary school library cocooned in my sleeping bag with my head resting on my fluffy pillow, complete with the Lightning McQueen pillow case, drifting off to sleep thinking it was way too hot for socks. Everyone had different ways of dealing with the fact that we were on the floor. P.E matts, folded blankets, extra pillows, squished sleeping bags or the always sensible air mattresses, were in the variety of bed replacing items. Me? I am way too tough. I just slept in my sleeping bag on the floor with my totally butch Lightning McQueen pillow.

I was extremely comfortable and I slept like a log that had been sitting in a bus for eight or nine hours and was exhausted because of it. Sleeping bags are much more practical than blankets. They are warmer, you don't fling your arms around in your sleep and punch the wall hard enough to wake yourself up, and if you kick off your socks while you're sleeping they just end up in the bottom of the bag, not tangled in the sheets so deep that it is ages before you find them again.

The first night I didn't go to bed with socks on. I thought, "It is way too hot in Wee Waa for socks." Little did I know the air con was going to turn the tiny library into a giant storage freezer. I slept comfortably and soundly but it was getting so cold in the room that I began dreaming that I was sitting in an igloo. I looked out the hole in the curved wall that was the igloo door and could see snow pelting down outside. Who would have thought that I could dream about waiting out a storm in an igloo while in the blinding hot little town of Wee Waa?

The next day at about seven-ish in the morning, while it was still dark outside annoyingly enough, we were awoken by our History/Geography teacher, Mrs. Weatherstone, who had planned and run the whole trip, telling us to get out of bed. I was unwilling because my sleeping bag was so warm, my pillow was so soft and I knew there would not be any froot loops awaiting me when I went to the kitchen area. Unfortunately when the phrase "it's nine o'clock on a Saturday" started playing in my head I knew that piano man didn't want me to stay asleep. I still hated the song at this stage.

So after much groaning and complaint over how cold it was by everyone, I was de-cocooned from my sleeping bag. That's when I discovered that something incredible had happened. I was wearing socks. The same black and blue pair I remember folding and putting in the side pocket of my bag, which sat close by, unzipped and looking innocent. I was quick to let everyone know that I had discovered I had the ability to put socks on in my sleep. I think a couple of people were impressed but I don't think anyone could Be as amazed as I was in that moment. I am more awesome than I thought!

There I am wearing the socks that I have no recollection of putting on. That was taken when I had just finished trimming the hell out of a tree. I'll tell you about that little work party tomorrow.

RachOddSocks.

It's not 9:00 on a Saturday

I have returned from the bustling metropolis of Wee Waa with stories and photos. It was a long five days filled with interesting things to blog about, so instead of writing an incredibly long post about every single awesome thing that happened on the camp, I will make several posts dedicated to different things that made it so awesome. This one can be about the bus trip, pointless paths and piano man.

 on the bus looking at the sunset

I love long car/bus trips. I will probably think differently when I am the one driving but for now being the passenger for hours on end is quite enjoyable. Sure it can be boring sitting still for so long, but sometimes that is exactly what I need. I actually really love just sitting in a car for ages day dreaming, listening to music, reading, writing (depending on how smooth the ride is) or just enjoying the scenery.

There was a lot of singing involved with the bus rides to and from Wee Waa. I even unintentionally revealed that I know almost all the lyrics to bust a move. Had they not changed songs half way through the first verse I would have spoken every line. I shouldn't rap and I shouldn't know all the words to that song but I do.

Despite the many songs I listened to on a shuffled playlist and the many songs we sang along to on the bus, I have had the song 'piano man' stuck in my head since last Friday. I only know the first verse and the chorus so that's what was playing on repeat in my head all week. It's not playing in my head now because the night before I actually listened to the song and it like got it out of my system or something. It's really unusual having a song I have never really properly listened to stuck in my head for a week. At the start of the week I hated the song with a passion because it was so annoying. Now I love it.

 Saw that path in a tiny town we stopped in on the way. The path stretches to the front door of that house. In the middle of the path is a birdbath/hedge/garden thing. Not off to the side, not with the path circling around it. In the middle of the path.

Pointless path is pointless.

-RachOddSocks

Let's write a post on my dad's really old laptop without fixing the mistakes caused by the messed up keyboard

I love making really long titled posts. If you have been reading this for a while or have just been reading for long enough to seek out a post in which I complain about my dad's laptop, then you would know my dad has a very old laptop that is prone to typos when I don't mash thekeys like it's a typewriter. Or a potato.

can't se my trusty net book George because my dad's fancy Internet USB doesn't work for George. I don't usually blog on my dad's laptop because of the keyboard and the many mistaks that usually come from i. It is annoying hat the one time i decide to type on this thing without fxing the missing letters it hardly misses letters at all. Jokes.

The reason I amblogging despite the inevitable typos is because I won't be able to again until Saturday. Friday night if I'm keen but I highly doubt it. You see being a sixteen year old high school student does in fact mean I must go on a camp. A camp wth my class to a place called Wee Waa (prnounced wee war) to do various things such as paint buildings, trim hedges, pull weeds, teach small Aboriginal children how to read and i must deal with incredibly hot weather. I'm excited for the eight hour bus trip. nd sleeping on the floor of a school in Wee Waa! holy rhyming batman if I'm not careful I'll get THIS song stuck in my head again. Honestly right when I think i'm not that big of a nerd I get songs fro episodes of TV shows stuck in my head even though I don't like the song at all.

Let's face it I will always be a big nerd. I kind of wish I was the kind of ned that had something to show for it like straight A's or a diploma or an impressive model of the solar system. Unfortunately all I have is quotes from various TV shows and literature. Also I know enough about comic books to feel like an incredible nerd when I say something in reference to them in conversation with peple who only know of the from the movie adaptions. I mean I know a fair bit about them considering I don't own any. Well I don't own any that I talk abut. . . . . I swear it' only a few and I only rea them once! They were a gift!!!!!

Who am I kidding? I say it's time to embrace my true inner nerd and admit to things that might come as a shock and a few might not make sense to you unless you have heard the term or are an owner of the label . . . . I am a Browncoat, Caskett shipper, Stanatic, and a Nathan Fillion fan. I am also a nerd whe it comes to books, not just TV shows. Jodi Picoult, Derek Landy, Jeff Lindsay and Jay Asher are just a few of my favorite literary rockstars. Also I really want to read 'the princess bride'. I grew up watching that movie and laugh everytim i hear someone say "inconceivable"! OK if you know me well none of these things are shocking.

I say why be ashamed of things that make you happy, works you can respect or actresses like Stana Katic?
I heard she does falconry. That's when you train a bird to kill things. How cool is that? I'm going to stop now. This post probably wouldn't have made much more sense even without the typos. See you either next Saturday or Sunday with a new post! 

RachOddSocks

needalifeneedalifeneedalifeneedalifeneedajob

So I was talking to someone the other day and we somehow got on to the subject of "why did the first person to eat a pineapple think to do so?" I mean they are spiney and don't look like a fruit. So from this subject I naturally brought up the story of Albert the pineapple and even showed them some of the Albert photos on my phone. As I told them the tale of Albert and how I walked around the place with this pineapple in my handbag with a pair of sunnies wrapped around it, I realised something that has been noted and has been brought up and is quite apparent to me but is now painfully obvious:

I Need A Life.

And A Job.

RachOddSocks

Weekly Blur and music

School turns week days into a blur of paper, pens and ties. I am trying right now to remember at least one interesting thing I have done on each day of this week, not just the weekend. Brain gears start turning and loosening the cobwebs in my head. You know, if I concentrate they do. Somehow on a Sunday I can only think of my brain as early nineteenth century machinery. Rusty gears and steam pipes shifting and smoking inside my skull untill I am done stalling and can think of what I did this week. . . .

There was school involved I'm sure of it. Every morning is roughly the same. Alarm blearing the theme music from Castle at six AM till I press off or snooze. Ever since I got my new touch screen phone I always forget which side of it the snooze button comes up on and which side the off button comes up on. Which is why I have alarms go off at five different times between six and seven, each one blaring that impossibly catchy whistling. I am terrible with alarms which is why I have so many. It's probably why I find myself whistling the Castle theme at random times during the day too. It's a pretty awesome tune.

Eventually dragged myself out of bed, I'm pretty sure, and poured myself an epic bowl of froot loops. Every bowl of froot loops I have is epic. Especially when I read while eating. I try to read every day a little and I find the only time I can do that is while I eat my froot loops. The fact that I am at the moment making my way through the Dexter series, a series of books in which the main character is a serial killer with morals, makes reading while eating froot loops seem a bit odd from an outside view. I think it is very fitting to eat cereal while reading about a serial killer.

Anyway the mad rush to get ready eventually leads to me arriving at school just in the nick of time. Were I a space cowboy this would make me a big damn hero. I gotta stop quoting firefly when none of my readers get the reference.

So summary of an average week day for Rach: Stay in bed for as long as possible, eat froot loops, read part of Jeff Lindsay's awesome series, get to school right before the time in which excuses and late slips are necessary then deal with the blur of paper, pens, ties and talking teachers known as the school day.

I think there was a difference this week. . . . school photo? Yeah I got my photo taken. But that wasn't the awesome difference there was an awesome difference that was really cool. Oh yeah! Free music. Saint Motel's new song Puzzle Pieces given out by them for free with the message to spread it like a beautiful disease. So HERE it is for your listening pleasure. Makes me want to dance when I listen to it.

RachOddSocks

My socks aren't odd today but my pineapple is

Have you ever considered what it would be like to be a tropical fruit? To be chilling out in the tropics under a glowing sun, to travel to the big city to get your big break, to be hand picked out of a whole collection of fruit by someone who needs a gift for a sixteen year old? This is the story of a pineapple named Albert.

I remember when I first met Albert. I was dressed as a zombie at my sixteenth birthday party. He wore a red ribbon and totally rocked that look. The classiest pineapple around, he was. While we got along great and everyone loved him, the life of a pineapple is a sad one. He sat in my room for a while making the whole thing smell lovely. Then I moved him to the fridge where he wouldn't spoil. I gave him some sunglasses to wear so he wasn't blinded by the fridge light every time the door was opened. I tried to keep him happy but I knew that he was just getting older.

So I sat down with Albert and talked to him. I asked him if he would prefer to be left to get old and die after leading a full life, or if he would prefer that we remember him in his prime, as a delicious smelling and wonderful tasting fruit. He was quiet for a moment as he munched on his Froot Loops and thought long and hard about this.

He knew that if he just got older he would not fulfill his purpose in life. To be eaten, to be enjoyed. To make others happy with his rich juicy taste. Albert was never a man of many words but after a moment of deep thought he said to me "Is a pineapple uneaten a true pineapple at all?" I promised Albert that he would have a great last day, that he would live it up and say goodbye to all his friends, that he wouldn't go down like the canned pineapple slices in the cupboard that never even made friends before going through the processing plant. . . .  then he kind of went pale and asked about the canned pineapple. In retrospect, I really shouldn't have shown him.

He eventually came to and calmed down a little. I asked if he was still up for his last hurrah and he gave me that Albert nod that always said "I'm ready for anything." We went into town to meet all his friends. It was a hard day for all, but we were cheered by Albert's ever present good humor. He could always tell a great joke, that pineapple.

It was a day of joy, a day of sorrow, a day of friendship and a day of farewells. But most importantly, it was a day in which a pineapple rode a lion.

We arrived home that afternoon and Albert asked to be left alone in the fridge, to spend some quality time with his friends in there. I placed him on the shelf and as I closed the door he said "I'll see you tomorrow." a world of meaning threaded his words, but I faced them with the same determination as he did. Because no matter how ruggedly handsome this pineapple is, we both know it has to be done.

And we both know he will taste delicious.

RachOddSocks

Party to die for

When I asked a friend what she had done for her sweet-sixteen birthday party she told me that she and her friends had gone and gotten make-overs. I suppose mine was similar. There was a whole lot of hair styling, dressing up and make-up. There were lot's of photos of everyone hitting up the town and lovely shots of the sunset. I guess there was a bit of a difference with my party. Our make-overs were probably less. . . .pretty.

Sweet sixteen and already dead. I have never been the dress up and get make-overs type. I've always been more of a sit at home, read a murder mystery, watch a crime show, play a zombie game type. So of course when there comes an important birthday it just wouldn't be my style to have a quiet get together with friends and leave it at that. And given the fact that the awesome L.A. band Saint Motel was having a Zombie Prom near the time of my birthday that I would be unable to attend thanks to an inconveniently placed ocean, it just made sense that I take the opportunity to dress as a zombie anyway.

So we all dressed as zombies and went around terrorising town taking photos at every opportunity. We went all over the place. . . .

Gloria Jean's Coffee. . .

 Outside clothes shops . . . .

 . . . OK I saw the sign and just had to pose.

 Yeah that's a bathroom stall. Looks like album art for Evanescence or Fly Leaf if there were more than one female member of each of those bands.

 Police car . . .

Police station. . . .

 Police station with their hand picked officer posing with the zombies . . .

 At the movies in front of the Pirates of the Caribbean cardboard display . . .

In the reflection of the Glasshouse elevator. It looks like there is three of me.

See there is a sunset. A sunset with my zombie brother eating it.

That's me the zombie nerd when I received my birthday gift. My friends Jamie and Amanda got me a pineapple with a ribbon on it. I named it Albert. We haven't eaten it yet but I can't wait.

That's me the zombie Nerd with Albert the pineapple after my brother put his top hat on my head.

All in all, best birthday party ever. Zombies rock.

RachOddSocks

I really don't like it when I am too busy or sick to write

I feel like I am in need of another post-every-day-for-a-month challenge to get myself back into this whole blogging thing but I know that if I do that I will just have a whole lot of nonsensical short posts. It is difficult to keep up with school work, a social life, stupid artistic hobbies and a blog all at once. It isn't just a blog that I'm trying to write for though, there are also notebooks to fill. I have almost filled my current notebook actually, which means I can move onto the fancy looking one I got for my birthday.

I am finding that things are jumbled and hectic at the moment. It doesn't seem like I am maxing out my time while I am doing it, but when I finally get an ICDL lesson in which I do nothing but listen to Angus and Julia Stone, go on Facebook, go on Twitter, Google why chameleons change colour and decide to write a blog post, I realise how much stuff I have been doing lately.

I have been working hard with my classmates making a documentary about the surf culture of Australia, which involved going to the beach and interviewing random people I had never met before. That took up an entire Sunday but was extremely productive, and still not finished. Let's just put that on the 'need to complete' pile for now because I have to stare meaningfully at my booklet of history and geography assignments for a moment before deciding it can go straight to the 'need to complete' pile. Oh yeah I also have that little pet project I was working on. . .  I better add it to the pile.

My school work load isn't actually that bad, I just find a majority of it tedious and unnecessary as I already know what I want to do after school. What is adding to the hectic constant doing stuff is my social life. Here i thought I'd never have one of these but alas, people actually want to be associated with me. I'll have to ponder how that happened later because I have to plan a party, make sure I can go to a get together with people, hang out with some people, make some mixes for people because I am slowly spreading Saint Motel through the school like a disease, and remember to put certain books in my school bag so I can lend them to the people I recommended them to. Also I need to go to Timber Town with the awesome Bekasaurous.

Australian's spell Gaol (jail) weird.

I'm not trying to sound like I'm complaining I absolutely love spending all this time with everyone. It is awesome! I just recently realised how much of this socialising business I do. I still have plenty of off time but the point I am trying to make is I have been busy chilling in my off time. Not writing.

Reading, yes but not so much writing.


In my head this is a bit of a problem. For starters It means I am getting out of practice and my blog posts are turning out like this mess. So i decided to post at least once a week. Even if I have to write the post during the ad breaks of my Sunday evening Bones and Castle line up on channel 7, I will make a post before the week is out.

This is my promise to myself and to you. Whoever actually reads this thing.

RachOddSocks

I can't think of an interesting title

It's no secret that change is an odd and inevitable thing. Changes can vary from good to bad to just plain random. Many are annoyingly unavoidable, like getting old or needing a new car because your dearly beloved van exploded. What I think is curious about change is how some changes jump out like a terminator and hit you without so much as an "I'll be back", while others creep up on you, milling in the shadows just out of sight, like a ninja until one day you flick on the light switch and BAM you're ten years older than you realised.

I'm glad to say that the whole growing up thing hasn't slammed me like a freight train just yet. Sixteen is not old enough to start looking for silver strands in the hairline. I am also glad to say that I'm growing up and am pleased with my progress so far. Sure I miss nap time, but I earned my current shoe size and I won't be going back from a 9 anytime soon. That's right, size 9 women's. If you want to buy me shoes, refer to this.

So why all this talk of change? Well just today when I was hanging out the washing for my dad (aren't I nice?) I remembered when I was younger and had some dark blue shoes that were pretty cool. I have no idea why I recalled this while hanging out the washing and I have no idea where my shoe obsession has come from but it is relevant I assure you.

So, I had these cool dark blue jogging shoes that I would wear an awful lot. I wore them so much that they got massive holes in the soles and out the front. My feet also outgrew them to the point that my toe would stick out the hole. Mum didn't notice for a while because I didn't draw attention to it but when she did we went straight to Big W to get a new pair. Would you believe they had a shiny new and nicer smelling pair of the same shoes in a bigger size just waiting for me? Honestly I think my mum must have been incredibly relieved to have such a quick shoe shopping trip. If I remember my toddler years correctly, shoe shopping with kids is horrible.

My mum got me the new shoes that fit much better and I was shocked to see the real damage to my old pair in comparison to their beautiful and young replacements. It wasn't just the obvious holes that made walking through puddles a sock-drenching wonder, but what was really surprising was how much the blue had faded. I knew I had needed the new shoes but really, how had the colour vanished so much without me noticing? Had it bled while I walked through the door of Big W? Would I find a dark blue puddle in front of one of those wet floor signs at the check out?

It's the sneaky ninja changes that are the real wonder. The changes that happen so gradually your eyes get used to them and it seems like there is no change at all, until you get a glimpse of how it used to be. You spot a pencil line somewhere low on the wall where you were measured as a kid, you find an old t-shirt in a box tucked away in the garage that looks small enough to fit on a teddy bear and remember fitting in it yourself. Or maybe you find a mix you made years ago, listen to it for nostalgia's sake, and find yourself wondering aloud "Who on earth would put this much Kelly Clarkson on a mix?" only to realise you are making fun of your own tastes.

From Kelly Clarkson to Saint Motel, from impossibly tiny to women's 9, from gameboy colour to a Samsung Netbook named George. These are just a few gradual changes that I am immensely pleased for, but there are still changes that I would be OK about taking back even for just a moment. Like the change from nap time and ABC's to sleep deprivation and World War II research.

Though now that I try to think of things that I associate with childhood that have changed drastically, I have trouble finding them. I'm looking around my room for examples only to see a sailor hat, a pile of soft toy monkeys, bed sheets of Lightning McQueen from Disney's 'Cars', a Nerf Gun and Nerf Sword, and a pair of rainbow striped gumboots. Guess I'm not as grown up as I claimed.

RachOddSocks

The Kidnapper's Throne

I recently displayed my completed instillation art sculpture around my school and had my friend take pictures. I like making really creepy art, mostly because I'm a fan of irony and people don't expect bright happy little Rachy to tie her younger brother to a chair, cut him lose, write a message on the chair in what appears to be blood then name the grotesque piece "the Kidnapper's throne".

While you may question my mental state a bit, I do ask you to let me explain the concept behind my chair, though I have a sneaking suspicion that I have done this once before already. Bear with me, even if you are human and not a bear.

The Kidnapper's Throne was an idea born from an Angus and Julia Stone song called draw your swords. Whenever I hear the verse "See them snakes come through the ground, they choke me to the bone. They tie me to that wooden chair, here, on my throne" I get the image in my mind of someone tied to a wooden chair, bound by snakes that coil around their tensed wrists and ankles like ropes. Their fingers scratch feebly at the arms of their unwanted throne as they are choked by the reptiles and held, helpless, in place.

I do have quite an unusually vivid imagination and listening to the song made me wonder if anyone else would think that way about it, or if they would need the image before their eyes. So I decided to make the throne I envisioned, but make it one of freedom.

I want the audience to look at the chair and imagine a scenario. I want them to see someone that had been trapped in this chair in the middle of a Field looking at a freedom they could not reach. I want them to look at it perplexed by the possibility that someone could be tied to a place, an unwanted throne, with no way out and no one looking to help. I want them to wonder how the victim escaped. I want them to imagine, like I do when I look at the chair, what it would be like to be trapped in freedom.

There is no symbol of death or torture within this artwork, not intended anyway. It is about the contradictory nature of the world. How you can live in a place of freedom, yet still feel trapped by social inadequacy. Or how you can be king or queen, looked up to by many, high on your throne, but feel like it is torture. But most of all I wanted to show that even when we are bound by both rope and tape, there is always a way out.

More irony for you: This artwork is about optimism and hope. Wouldn't pick it huh?
 

This is by far the best thing I have made ever. What is great about it is that it changed meaning as we moved it around or took shots form different angles. When it was in a playground, it was a symbol of lost innocence or of fleeing a trapped childhood. When it was next to a no exit sign, it was like a rebellious jab at society.

The chair still remained a contradiction though, not just because always smiling Rach was it's creator. The most commonly asked question about my chair was;

 "Can I sit on it?"

This is the chair in which someone was bound to. The chair from which my little brother tried to escape but only succeeded in giving himself slight rope burn. The chair that resembles what the spawn of Satan might be interested in when wandering furniture shops. Holy hyperbole batman!

Needless to say, I am proud of my creepy chair. It is a huge improvement over the last one i did for art. The one that I will take an axe to any day. It was also very fun taking the Kidnapper's Throne around the school. I would like to thank Miss Prue Hazelgrove for taking these awesome pictures. She is featured here in the picture of us having a tea party with the Throne. She's the blond one.

I would also like to thank our school for throwing out tables and chairs and leaving a table of coffee mugs and plates unguarded. You made this picture possible.

RachOddSocks

Sorry about the lack of posting, I was off curing the common cold.

I didn't actually cure the common cold, but I did read Jeff Lindsay's Darkly Dreaming Dexter and am currently reading Dearly Devoted Dexter. That is relevant because Jeff Lindsay appears to be a fan of alliteration and curing common colds is quite alliterating. A love of literary devices is necessary for a literary rock star like a love of instruments is necessary for an actual rock star, weather it be adoring apparent alliteration or appreciating beautifully sculpted and sparkling imagery.

A simile is like a guitar, the metaphor is it's strings. Irony is the 'quiet please' sign in the corner of the music store. Hyperbole's cover the greatest instrument you could own. The sounds escaping to freedom from their entrapping amplifiers are all good friends with personification. The bang of drums is pure onomatopoeia to a literary rock star. Sarcasm is the over-worked employee saying "No it's not a bass guitar it's a pony" when asked a simple question. When the employee acts naturally you can tell he is an oxymoron. Oh look, a pun!

Well that was a fun paragraph. You probably wouldn't get half of it if you hadn't googled literary devices like I did to come up with all that. The burst of creative and nerdy humor, and my lack of posting, is due to the fact that i finally decided to write something other than a blog post or insomnia driven scribblings.

See I was going to write a short story. Then it got to be almost fifty pages long. Sadly, the many pages means I won't be posting it on OddSocks when it is finished. Once I am done editing I can email it to you, if you really want to read it. I'm sure my email is in my profile or something. It's about zombies. Lots of zombies.

RachOddSocks

TEAM ZOMBIES

I would like to start this by giving my younger brother Matthew all the credit for the new profile picture I have. He didn’t just take that one. No, that is one of many that he took. Every time he took a picture I would be very fussy with it. “My shoes weren’t straight” “The light was too bright” “My socks weren’t high enough” “The NERD logo on my shirt wasn’t clear” Thanks for dealing with it Matt, I doubt you will even read this.


In other news, I have been reading a book called Zombies VS Unicorns. The concept originally began in February 2007 when Holly Black and Justine Larbalestier began having a heated discussion over which is better, Zombies or Unicorns. This book is a collection of short stories by various authors all of whom have an opinion on the matter. Every second story is a Zombie story while the rest are Unicorn stories, each one an attempt to convince the reader which creature is best.

So far I’ve enjoyed the Zombie stories most, though there was a Unicorn story (purity test by Naomi Novik) that was absolutely hilarious, mostly because it kind of inadvertently made fun of unicorn legends. When I first started reading I wasn’t sure which side I was on. I was torn because while I love Zombie games, Zombie stories and Zombie movies, Unicorns are magic horses with deadly weapons on their heads.

While playing Left 4 Dead 2, I realised I had been a zombie supporter from the start. Sure Unicorns are cool and Robot Unicorn Attack is an epic game, but they are just not as awesome as Zombies and Left 4 dead is also an epic game.

This is my opinion and I am sticking to it. Listen to this though, you might find it interesting. When I first saw the film Zombie Land I was eating a massive bowl of Froot Loops. Now whenever I watch it I think of Froot Loops. A bowl of Froot Loops is practically a bowl of sugary rainbows. Unicorns are often associated with rainbows. My mind was blown when I realised this. I can tell you don’t care either way.

RachOddSocks

You can get extreme caffeine high from six or so glasses of Pepsi max. Who knew?

The thing about the holidays that can be kind of annoying at times is the fact that I don’t have to go to bed early because I don’t have to wake up at a reasonable hour. Sure it is greatly missed when the holidays end, but when I don’t wake up until 12 in the afternoon, I can’t help but feel guilty for wasting the day away. Also when it is that late in the afternoon it is no longer socially acceptable to eat Froot Loops. I still do of course; No one should be told when or when not to eat Froot Loops.


Today, after waking up at about 12 for the second day in a row, I decided to go for a walk. I went to my mum’s house, helped clean stuff up a bit, and then we watched a few episodes of Castle. I had this massive bottle of Pepsi with me and a glass. So as my mother and I watched the awesome crime show, speculating about the crimes, saying things like “I bet you it was that guy” or “I so didn’t see that coming” or “I remember watching this episode on TV. Don’t remember who did it though yay!” As we watched I poured myself glass after glass of Pepsi Max, laughing along with the witty banter and clever one liner’s. That show is much better than I make it sound, I assure you.

Anyway by the time we had watched about three episodes, I had drunk many a glass of Pepsi max. Sure there isn’t sugar in Pepsi Max, but there is definitely caffeine. As I was leaving mum’s house the caffeine was very much coursing through me and hyping me up. The effects have worn of now, but I do recall texting long messages as I walked so I wouldn’t have to make awkward eye contact with the passer-by. Being hyped up on caffeine at the time, they turned out pretty interesting. Here they are.

Text Number 1

I drank too much Pepsi max now the caffeine is getting to me. I’m shaking a little. This text is difficult to type because my fingers are wanting to text faster than my brain wants to. . . .Say things? I don’t even know anymore. I better walk off this caffeine high before something crazy happens like I turn into Astro Boy or something. I don’t know why Astro Boy I’m just texting while I walk so I don’t have to look at people in cars as they silently judge me with their licences and destinations and agendas. I suppose I do have a destination and an agenda but I don’t have a licence or a life. I just saw a guy riding a bike with a fluffy looking trailer attached to it. You know the kind for small dogs. I don’t think he has a dog though it was holding his shopping.

Well that was the first long text I wrote and saved in my phone. If this were a sham-wow commercial, this would be the part where I’d say “But wait, there’s more!”

Text number two

It isn’t fun walking past people on the sidewalk and making awkward glances here and there so I’m going to keep texting to myself. I usually send these texts to people but these ones are getting quite long. Sometimes when waiting for a lift on a bench outside the shops you can’t help but feel like everyone glancing at you as they pass is thinking you have no life so you are sitting there waiting for one to show up and greet you. Feels kind of the same now only I’m walking so they are thinking that I am hoping to stumble upon a life as I wander. If I text as I walk they might believe that I do have a life and that it is texting me now about something so important my reply has to be extremely long. Imagine if you saw me walking and texting right now. If you were to watch me for long enough and actually be curious about what I am doing, you would probably think I was sending an extremely important text. Or maybe I’m texting a cop saying there is a weirdo watching me as I text walk.

That’s right everybody, I am a freak. Still, it gave me something to blog, didn’t it?

RachOddSocks