I fixed the comments on the blog!

Do mind the hyperbole regarding my intelect but. . . I am a freaking prodigy or something.

For far too long this blog has been without it's comment section. I recieved many* complaints from my many* readers because they all just desperately wanted to leave their two cents among mine on this blog.

Well complain and quip and leave as many LOL's as you please because the comment section is back. It also has a word verification thing you have to go through for every comment. It doesn't have to be there, it just is because I find them annoying and I am the only one who can comment without having to go through it. Tremble at my power.

There are also lots of other little buttons that have showed up with the working comment one. I don't know what half of them do but it will be fun to find out.

That was a fun post full of exaggeration and sarcasm.


RachOddSocks

*many in this scenario means something completely different and much less impressive than what you are used to.

Why, hello dynamic duo!

I do believe I have a bit of an Angus and Julia Stone obsession. If you have not been able to come to this conclusion by default yourself then you are clearly no Sherlock Holmes. If you don't have a degree in medicine, you are no Doctor John Watson either. Guess you'll have to relate yourself to some other character from English literature.

The reason I bring up the musical Stone siblings is because they both have solo albums. Today when I bought Julia's album and listened to the whole thing right through, then went on myspace and listened to Angus's solo album right through, I had to wonder why they would part ways musically.

I know I wouldn't always want my name to just be the extension of my sibling's name. I get enough "Hey aren't you Matt's sister?" at school. Of course when they ask that I say "No Matt is my brother" and walk on while they give me the weirdest look of confusion ever.

I'm not trying to say Angus and Julia were fools for going solo, I am just trying to complain that their together stuff was better than their not together stuff. I must be in a complaining mood, I mean did you see that last sentence? It read like it was typed by an illiterate child rather than the literary rock star I am.

I listened to their solo albums and, while I did enjoy them (except for the two tracks where Angus tried to be a rock star from the 80's and failed miserably) I enjoyed the two songs from their partnered days I listened to after a little bit more. They were two songs I hadn't heard before so you can't say I am biased by enjoying songs that I have enjoyed many times before. That's right judgemental people. I thought of everything.

I am done complaining now. I am onto the next stop my train of thought took while I was listening to those lovely Australian tunes. Keeping up? I think this is a high speed, multiple carriage train of thought. I also recently had a frozen coke so that might explain my rapid subject change. The Silver Frozen Coke* has been unleashed, I guess.

On to the subject change. All this referring to the dynamic duo in my thoughts got me referring to them as the dynamic duo rather than Angus and Julia Stone. Even in my head I get tired of using all those syllables. Then I got thinking "How many awesome, dynamic duo's are there?" I know of many, within music, television, film and even in my own life.

Where would Angus be without his Julia? Trying to be an 80's rock star. It may haunt me. Where would Julia be without her Angus? Making many very nice slow songs with nice lyrics and nice album art, but no wistfully tortured ballads or songs that wish to pick up the pace. Where would Buzz be without Woody? Still trying to reach star command. Where would Woody be without Buzz? On display in a Woody's round up museum in Tokyo.

Dynamic duo's manage to work for us. They tug at the heart strings, they make us relate, they remind us that humans do have superpowers, one being friendship. Gosh that last one was so cheesy I feel obliged to put this here.
Cheese and Biscuits! That can be number one on our list of dynamic duo's.

Holmes and Watson
can anyone say 'Classic duo?'. I can. I can spell it too. Didn't need spell check or anything. It's OK to be impressed.



Sherlock Holmes: You have the grand gift of silence, Watson; it makes you quite invaluable as a companion.

[Watson punches him in the face]

Lois and Clark.
I tried to keep the super heroes to a minimum because of my last really long, superhero heavy post. Can't deny this dynamic duo their spotlight though.



Lois Lane: And let's get something straight, I did not work my buns off to become an investigative reporter for the Daily Planet just to baby-sit some hack from Nowheresville! And another thing, you are not working with me, you are working for me. I call the shots, I ask the questions. You are low man - I am top banana and that's the way I like it, comprende?

Clark Kent: You like to be on top. Got it.

Castle and Beckett.
Now would I be a hardcore Castle fan without mentioning the self proclaimed ruggedly handsome, literary rock star and his inspiration? Can't help but love it when the dynamic duo are completely opposite. Not to mention when there is murder involved. I love this show.


Richard Castle: When I'm writing a new character, there's no telling when inspiration might strike.

Kate Beckett: I thought I was your inspiration.

Richard Castle: Oh you are, detective, and in so many ways.

Kate Beckett: Yeah, well, your inspiration might strike you sooner than you think.

Wayne and Garth
Wayne's world! Wayne's world! Party Time! Excellent! Love their solid friendship. No matter how ridonkulous** things get, they always have each other's backs.



Garth Algar: Did you ever find Bugs Bunny attractive when he put on a dress and played girl bunny?
Wayne Campbell: No.
[cracks up laughing]
Wayne Campbell: No.
Garth Algar: Neither did I. I was just asking

Buzz and Woody
Spaceman? Cowboy? Space cowboy?! I knew there was a reason this combination just bursts with AWESOME!


Woody: All right, that's enough! Look, we're all - *very* impressed with Andy's new toy.
Buzz: Toy?
Woody: T-O-Y, t-oy.
Buzz: Excuse me, I think the word you're searching for is "space ranger".
Woody: The word I'm searching for, I can't say, because there's preschool toys present

Brennen (Bones) and Booth
More awesome team ups with complete opposites that involves murder. I wonder why it is on directly before Castle on Sunday. . .


Booth: Did you know that giraffes can weigh up to two tons?
Bones: Yes. Everyone knows that.
Booth: And they sleep less than two hours a day.
Bones: That I did not know.
Booth: Yes! Pinky stumps The Brain!

Bret and Jemaine (flight of the conchords)
Kiwi musicians that can't catch a break? Gotta love it. Their songs are absolutely hilarious.


Bret: I would never go out with an Australian!
Jemaine: But if you were to, I would be fine with it.
Bret: When I first met you you tried to have me deported from New Zealand because you thought I was an Australian.
Jemaine: That was a misunderstanding; you were wearing a vest top.
Bret: My mum gave me that; thought it made me look like Bruce Willis.
Jemaine: Well it didn’t, it made you look like an Australian

Spongebob and Patrick
Last but not least, the best friends to live under the sea. They are the most up-beat delusional buddies there are.


Spongebob: What do you usually do when I’m gone?
Patrick: Wait for you to come back




There you have it a very long blog post fueled by Frozen coke. Hope you enjoyed it. Just to make sure there are no misunderstandings. . . I still love Angus and Julia Stone's solo work. In fact, I listened to the whole Julia album several times while writing this. Anyway I'm done!

RachOddSocks



*if you reveal The Silver Frozen Coke's secret identity you will have to face the point of her shiny sword! Also her wrath. Also a few sentences in which she refers to herself in the third person.

**I am trying to use the word ridonkulous as many times as possible. Lots of fun.

There aint' no denyin' it folks, this sentence is a gramatical nightmare.

Face book is fun isn't it? My friend put as her status on face book, the following:

What is your Superhero name? (2nd favorite color + favorite drink, and add "THE" at the beginning)

Naturally I wrote The Silver Frozen Coke. Then I got thinking, imagine if I were the silver frozen coke. I couldn't help myself after that. I got carried away.It went from "What would my superhero name be" to "What would my powers be" to "What would my costume be" and it just escalated from there. So I thought I would use this train of thought to practice that free writing I mentioned before the train got de-railed.

If I were The Silver Frozen Coke I would be like Popeye the sailor man, but rather than downing cans of spinach to activate my incredible powers, I would down large frozen cokes. My name and outfit would be connected in a heartbeat, from my silver cape and boots to the shiny utility belt around my waist. I would be armed with an awesome sword, a rapier, the kind pirates use.

When the call for help is heard I will chug down my super power juice of frozen coke and be on my way to save the day. Running faster than a speeding superman on a sugar high, I would swoop in with my crazy hyped up energy and strike down whoever dare cross me and my blade.


[note: not actually me at any point in my life it was just the funniest thing google came up with when I wrote 'female superhero' in the search box]

. . . . Bored. Anyway I'll just fill the rest of this with pictures of my favorite superhero/villain combinations.

Superman and Lex Luthor. Superman is a legend. Lex Luthor is relentlessly self centered and evil. Allow the feuding to ensue.

Captain Hammer and Dr. Horrible. If you have never heard of these two, go to youtube and search Dr. Horrible's sing along blog. Best waste of time ever. It is one instance where you will like the villain better than the hero.

Batman And the Joker. Let's face it, I just absolutely love Batman the dark knight because Heath Ledger made an awesome lunatic. Rest in peace dude!

Captain Malcolm Reynolds and 'The Operative'. I just wouldn't be a nerd If I didn't mention the coolest hero of them all now would I? Space cowboys rock.


Though I think I should mention one of the other completely twisted villains from this show called Niska. He is Russian and has torture toys. Need I say more?


I guess I do. I couldn't find a picture of Niska and his torture toys so I put up that one. No relevence whatsoever.

RachNeedsALife

Hate being sick

I have to make myself blog more, and about more interesting topics. Lately my posts seem to have been empty of meaning and marginally uninteresting, to me anyway. I remember my earlier posts were deep and meaningful. . . sort of. Guess I'm just getting bored or running out of things to say.

I was reading a book, all weekend, and in it there was mention of a Stephen King novel about a writer. When the writer got stuck he would free-write in a way that involved him practically conversing with himself on paper. He would start by asking "What are you looking for?" or something like that then would continue the conversation with himself on paper until he uncovered something from his subconscious that would get him back on track.

I thought it was pretty cool, in a multiple personality kind of way. The whole idea of this free writing thing is to just write whatever comes into ones head without stopping. Sure the result isn't always worthy of any ones time but at least it gets words on paper. Or in this case, on screen.

I'm at the point when what I am writing doesn't matter just the fact that I am writing at all. I don't want to leave a blank screen on my computer every time I open up my blog. I would have it open, stare at the blank title box, glance down at the blank page then slide the mouse up to one of the other tabs and click away from blogger to face book or twitter or mylifeisaverage.com.

Depending on how many updates there are on face book or twitter I usually glance back at the blogger page once or twice but if I am on mylifeisaverage.com I rarely return to the blog for any reason but to close it and tell myself that I will update on another day. If you have never been to www.mylifeisaverage.com, go there now. Or finish reading this then go there. That would probably be better since once you go there you will more than likely be entertained for hours.

Today I realised that I had gotten slack with my blogging. Just now I realise that last sentence sounded like a post on MLIA. I don't even remember where I was going with this when I started. Maybe I should stop this post and lie down or something.

For no reason here is a picture of a T-shirt I think is awesome.



It says "Speakerphone. Not nearly as fun as the alternative."


RachHeadHurts

Random scribbles

We are not held to earth by gravity
That wore off long ago
Our shadows are just so accustomed to life on the ground
that they keep us there with them
That is why when we leap, we fall
Were it not for the shadows stitched to our toes,
no one would be able to say we can't fly

-Rach

What an odd creature.

Have you ever seen a platypus? It is an extremely random animal and if you ever see one it is difficult to believe such a thing can exist out side a myth. It has the tail of a beaver, the bill of a duck, the feet of an otter, lays eggs like a bird but is a mammal, and the males even have a poisonous barb in their foot.

Why is it that creatures as random as the platypus, the narwhal, or even the camel exist, yet creatures like unicorns, or even gremlins, can't? If someone says they saw a platypus at the zoo people won't think twice but if you say you saw a unicorn they will think you are crazy.

Unless of coarse you explain that rhinos are actually unicorns that have let themselves go a bit.

-Rachel

I bet you could use this little bit of cheer

Tim Burton, you have much to teach us.

Braces for your teeth are weird. The whole process is awkward, uncomfortable and just plain odd. Yesterday I came into the orthodontists, lay back in the fancy chair, wore the fancy sunglasses and they got to work.

I think the most uncomfortable thing about the process was the plastic things that held my lips apart. They stretched my cheeks and made me look ridiculous. Then they got to work covering my teeth with weird glue and sticking the little metal clamps to each individual tooth. To finish off they threaded a wire through the clamps. The unusual contraption attached to my teeth is meant to straighten them.

When described like this, don't braces sound completely random? Who on earth would think to create a device that sits in ones mouth for more than a year in order to straighten ones teeth? It sounds like something from a Tim Burton film. Edward scissorhands had nasty metal contraptions on his fingers so, if you think about it, metal teeth isn't such a far stretch from one of Tim Burton's works of art.



Rach

Lame movies.

Second week of the school holidays has come far too soon. Can't they just drag on forever so I don't have to ever do school work, assignments, exams or actually speak to teachers?

I remember the days when the end of the holidays was practically a god send. Those were primary school holidays for you. The holidays would start, I would maybe have some plans for the first week or so, but after a little while the days would drag on.

I'd lose track of what day it was, thinking Wednesday was Friday and Saturday was Thursday somehow. Now I see the losing track of days as blissful ignorance that fuels a relaxed break from that hell hole they call school.

I suppose school isn't that bad, but I might just be saying that because it has been almost a week and a half since I have had to deal with it. Some more of that blissful ignorance working for me.

I remember what drove me insane the most, back in the primary school days when I actually got over being on holiday, was the extremely lame movies they always play at lunchtime on channel seven.

Weather it is a story about a dog saving the world, a little boy getting lost on a mountain trail, or a kid born with a condition that causes calcium build up in the skull making him look like he'd face planted into a moving train (I'm serious that was the plot of a midday movie I saw once), the midday movies on channel seven are always fun to laugh at.

Apparently, according to my dad at least, there are sometimes decent midday movies. . . . . Right. I'll believe that when I see it.

All I know is that when I was in primary school the lack of interesting action on TV during the day made me go crazy enough to not be devastated at returning to school. You are a fool, past-me! You should have lazed about and sucked up every ounce of your freedom! Or better yet, you should have constructed a Tardis out of a handy refrigerator box so you could bring me back to those times so I could enjoy the holidays for you!

. . . . OK, you know you have been sitting in the house watching lame movies for too long when you start having figurative conversations with your past self.

-Rachel gone mad

Wow, what an interesting title.

I love it when pet mice crawl all over my arms when I'm on the computer.

Random short story for you!

I wrote this because a friend of mine was telling me that her father used to be a ninja. I was in a random mood and decided to say "I'm going to base a short story on your ninja father." I think it was a heat of the moment thing because after writing half the story I got bored. Also I got another idea for a story that has taken up my creative thinking. What I am trying to say is, I don't think the story is very good. Enjoy?

-----------------------------------------

Leather bound secrets

As I unpack my box of books and start filling the shelf in my new office, I find a small, red, leather bound book that I am almost certain my father planted in there. The memories I have of my childhood days all seem to go back to the day I found that little red book crammed among the hundreds of others in my father’s study.

I remember the day clearly, right down to the feel of the soft scarlet carpet that tickled my toes as I stretched to reach the book that had caught my eye. The book shelf loomed so high above my seven year old form that I once wondered if it was tall enough to keel over and spill books onto the deep brown strands on my head.

I was not as afraid of this outcome as I was awed by it. Each overflowing shelf dipped in the middle where the weight of the books threatened to team up with gravity and break their sturdy home. The dark brown walls that surrounded the matching shelf combined with the scarlet carpet and the soft leather armchair behind the large desk made up the room I always loved to escape to. Not only did I love the room because of the books that loaded it from floor to ceiling, but because the desk was large enough for me to hide behind.

I couldn't read any of the books in the study, they were not written for seven year old boys after all. Whenever I found a book in the shelf within my reach that had pictures though, it was like striking gold. The little red book I pulled from the shelf that day had pictures all through it. I flipped through it, smile plastered across my face, looking at the images. I looked once more at the cover. I may not have been much of a reader but any fan of the teenage mutant ninja turtles can recognise the word ‘ninja’ when they see it.

“What have we got here Danny boy?” I jumped slightly at the sudden sound of my father’s voice. I remember always thinking of him as impossibly sneaky. I could have sworn I had seen him walk silently over a gravel road once. I looked up at him and his finely combed golden locks of hair.

“Why do you have a ninja storybook?” I asked frowning at the white-gold lettering on the book’s cover. My father sat in front of me on the carpet. I could tell by his black suit and navy tie that he must have just returned from a meeting. He looked at me with his unnaturally calm blue gaze and spoke to me like he would an adult.

“Would you believe me if I told you that the book you are holding is not in fact a story book, but a handbook?” I liked that he was never condescending, even to a seven year old. I frowned at the book in my hands, thinking maybe I had read the golden lettering incorrectly.

“But it says ‘ninja’ not ‘hand’. Why would you have a book about hands?” My father smiled at me. “A handbook is like a book that gives you pointers on how to do something.” He explained. “That ninja handbook is a book on how to be a ninja.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “When I was younger, Danny, I trained to be a ninja. I’m not making this up; my teacher gave me that book.” said my father as he reached for the book in my hands. He shifted beside me as he opened the book so we both could see the printed words and images.

“One of the first things I learned was to control my breathing” he began. I was puzzled once more by this comment. “I don’t need training to breathe. Does that mean I’m a ninja?” I asked innocently. My father laughed easily. “I knew how to breathe before the training. They just taught me to breathe in a way that would calm me and give me control over. . .” he trailed off as he looked at my blank expression.

“Maybe I should tell you this story when you are older. Let’s go find one of your picture books instead, OK?” he said getting to his feet and taking my hand. We started walking out of the office, my father picking his cane up from the floor on the way. The familiar soft thuds of his cane on the carpet made me realise something.

“Dad, how could you be a ninja if you can’t walk properly?” I asked. My father gave me one of his knowing smiles, the kind that made him look trustworthy and sneaky at the same time. “I can’t rightly be a ninja without being able to walk properly, can I son?”

“I knew you weren’t really a ninja.” I muttered. “Well I’m not a ninja now.” He said with that same mysterious tone in his voice. “Ever wonder why I can’t walk properly?” I was about to say something but I realised I didn’t know why.

“Being a ninja would be dangerous work, don’t you think?” he said.

Holding the book now in my hands, I realise that there is a lot more of my dad in me then one would think. I have his sly confidence, his eerie calm and his ability to make people believe even for a second the most unlikely things. I have no doubt that he put the book in the box to remind me of that day. It is as if he is saying “If I can be a ninja with a cane, then you can do this job better than anyone.”

I smile and put the book in the top draw of my desk. Just what every desk in every law firm needs: a ninja handbook. Something I learned from that book without actually reading the secrets bound within it is that all lawyers should have ninja fathers.

THE END

----------------------------------------------

Well that was fun.

-Rachel

The contents of my wallet

The other day I was at my sister’s house and I discovered a pile of five cent coins sitting on a shelf in her living room. She let me have the entire pile when I pointed it out. Naturally, I swept up the coins and spilled them into my wallets change section.

Just a moment before, I decided to re-count the coins to see just how much change I have. I discovered that I have three dollars exactly in five cent coins and a couple of ten cent coins too. What surprised me most was the unexpected discovery of an American dime.

How on earth did that get into my sisters pile of five cent coins? I don't even know how she got such a big pile of coins let alone one harbouring illegal immigrants. When I thought of the dime as an illegal immigrant the thought that came after my internal chuckle was "I'm going to keep this coin for as long as possible."

So I opened up the compartment of my wallet that hold my various cards, student I.Ds, and a whole lot of bits of junk that I have at one stage thought "I'm going to keep this for as long as possible" upon discovery. The realisation that the junk was piling up didn't make me think it was time to let go of a few things, it just made me reminisce about why I kept them in the first place.

The four leaf clover I found and covered in clear contact for luck is pinned to the inside of my wallet with a safety pin my friend gave me to keep me safe. Beside that (attached to the wallet with a paperclip that was attached to a Christmas card I received last year and joked about how the paperclip was such a nice present as if the money clipped to it weren't there at all [shut up they thought it was hilarious]), is a few small cards that appear to be 'schrute bucks'. If you are a fan of 'the office', the American adaption that is, you will know what a schrute buck is. Or not.

Those are just a few of the random things I have kept in my wallet because of an inside joke with . . . myself. There is a tag that says 'Hamish the haggis' from a toy that was given to me by the same person who gave me the safety pin to keep me safe. There is one of those unusual toys you get from Christmas bon bons that you really can't tell what it is. That toy is there because I had one much like it when I was little. I thought it was awesome.

Even the key ring type thing on the zipper is there for a reason. It looks like Jack Skellington's head and it came off my Jack Skellington bag when it started falling apart. It is on my wallet now because I really liked that bag.

Now there is also an American dime that I will keep in there because when I found it I thought of it as an illegal immigrant and I thought it was funny. Every time I see it in my wallet I will think of that silly thought, or maybe this blog post.

Every one of these obscure items tells a story, brings a memory and more often then not makes me smile. The bits of junk in my wallet are more valuable then they seem. After all, what are we without our memories?

-Rachel

Hello painting!

"We'll paint them red" by me.

-Rachel

My life according to Angus and Julia Stone.

Here is an interesting activity to fill a lazy Saturday. Pick a band or musician then answer the following questions using only the titles of the artist's songs.

Pick Your Artist:
Angus and Julia Stone

Describe Yourself:
Jewels and gold

How do you feel:
sadder than you (not really it just fit the question well)

Describe where you currently live:
Hollywood

If you could go anywhere where would you go?
Big jet plane

Your Favorite Form of Transportation:
Horse and Cart

Your Best Friend is:
Old friend

What's the weather like:
wasted

Favorite Time of Day
another day

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
Draw your swords ;)

What is life to you:
Santa Monica dream

Your fear:
the beast

What is the best advice you have to give:
hold on

Thought for the day:
heart full of wine

How I would like to die:
Choking

My motto:
walk it off


Sure most of them aren't really true but it was fun. I am so bored.

-Rach

I'm so postmodern I found the lyrics to a hilarious song and put them on a blogpost with a really long title.

I’m So Post Modern by The Bedroom Philosopher

I’m so postmodern that I just don’t talk anymore, I wear different coloured t-shirts according to my mood.

I’m so postmodern that I work from home as a surf life saving consumer hotline.

I’m so postmodern all my clothes are made out of sleeping bags, I don’t need pockets, I’m a pocket myself.

I’m so postmodern I go to parties I’m not invited to and locate the vegemite and write my name on everyone.

I’m so postmodern that I write reviews for funerals, and heckle at weddings from inside a suitcase.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to adopt a child, and teach him how to knit, and call him Adolf Diggler.

I’m so postmodern that I break dance in waiting rooms, play Yahtzee in nightclubs, at three in the afternoon.

I’m so postmodern I only go on dates that last thirteen minutes, via walky talky, while hiding under the bed.

I’m so postmodern I invite strangers to my house, and put on a slide show of other people’s Nans.

I’m so postmodern I went home and typed up everything you said and printed it out in wingdings and gave it back to you.

I’m so postmodern I held an art exhibition – a Chuppa Chup stuck to a swimming cap, and no one was invited.

I’m so postmodern I make alphabet soup, and dye it purple, and pour it on the lawn.

I’m so postmodern I request Hey Mona on karaoke, then sing my life story to the tune of My Sharona.

I’m so postmodern I only think in palindromic haikus – “Madam, I, Glenelg, I’m Adam!”

I’m so postmodern that I sit down to wee, and stand up to poo, at job interviews.

I’m so postmodern that I dress up as Santa, in the middle of August, and haunt golf courses.

I’m so postmodern that I cut off all my hair, and knitted it into a beanie, and threw it off a bridge.

I’m so postmodern that I stole everyone’s mail, and cut them up into a ransom note and hid it in a thermos.

I’m so postmodern I take my lego to the supermarket and build my own shopping trolley, and only buy one nut.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a letter to the council – .I think it was ‘M.’

I’m so postmodern I bought a round the world plane ticket, and stuffed my clothes with eggplant and pretended it was me.

I’m so postmodern I’ve got a tattoo of my pin number in hieroglyphics on my neighbour’s guide
dog.

I’m so postmodern I fought my way into parliament and made a law banning Nuttelex, and then moved to Spain.

I’m so postmodern that I iron all my lettuce leaves, put my shirts in the crisper – they’re real crisp.

I’m so postmodern I give live mice to buskers, dirty tea towels to the Mormons, and pavlova to crabs.

I’m so postmodern that I live in a tent, on a platform of skateboards that’s tied to a tram.

I’m so postmodern I write four thousand-word essays on the cultural significance of party pies.

I’m so postmodern I recite Shakespeare at KFC drive thru, through a megaphone, in sign language.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to watch the Olympics on a black & white TV, with the sound down.

I’m so postmodern I go to the gym after hours, push up against the door, then cry myself to sleep.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a trilogy of novels from the perspective of a possum that Jesus patted once.

I’m so postmodern that I marry all my friends, soak myself in metho, and tell them that they’ve changed.

I’m so postmodern I bought every book written in 1963 as a reading challenge, and clogged up a waterslide.

I’m so postmodern I think I might be a god in my undies rolling in sugar, in the carpark of a rodeo.

I’m so postmodern I prerecorded this song, and laced a message subliminally telling Shane Porteous to buy a smock.

Hilarious sign

How ever will I fill this silly title box?

Mario is just about the most dedicated plumber there is. If there were spiky turtles, angry mushrooms and walking bombs strolling about my plumbing, that red hatted man with the moustache and overalls is the guy I would want to take care of it.

I don't actually have much to say I just know that if I don't write something it could be ages before I write something else. I was just thinking that the game super Mario bros. has evolved somewhat from a plumber doing the most expensive job in the most complicated sewers in history to a vigilante that travels the universe.

What if that happened with other jobs? What if a post man went to open a mail box just to have a bomb with eyes and feet leap out and attack? What if a guy is delivering a pizza only to discover one of the mushrooms has obtained an expression of grumpiness?

It is fun contemplating the impossible.

Rach

Just a random picture to brighten your day

I'm afraid my Internets availability is being limited for a while. Just so you know, I might not be able to post much. Here, have a silly picture.

There is a fish in my lightbulb.

I have put a picture behind the heading of my blog because I am bored. How the fish got in that light bulb remains a mystery.

There are many things people do out of sheer boredom. Writing on a blog is one. Wondering how a fish could get in a light bulb is another. Eating chocolate while watching the biggest loser as you pretend they can see you eating is also a good way to relieve boredom.

I have run out of enthusiasm for this post.

Has it really been a month already?

This is the final post in my everyday posting, but in no way is it my final post ever. If anything making myself write at least once a day, even if it wasn't meaningful, has made me more confident with my writing. I don't think it is a secret that I want to make writing part of my profession in some way or another. The term 'writer' is old hat though. I prefer 'literary rock star'. It will catch on I'm sure.

Now while I will not be posting every day without precedent, I will be sure to post at least 3 times a week. Maybe more if I feel like it. This whole blogging business is much fun and it gives me a whole new way to procrastinate.

I mean in addition to reading, watching TV, going on various websites such as facebook, IMDB.com and mylifeisaverage.com, drawing, practicing my aim with a Nerf gun, putting a whole box full of paperclips together to make an epic chain that stretches right across the room, pulling the paperclip chain apart, drawing faces on the eggs in the refrigerator. . . .



All in all I am proud to have accomplished the blog every day thing, even if I did miss a day or two and had to go back. . . I still feel accomplished.

-Rachel

Hello Everyone!

Writing westerns isn't as awesome as one would think. Maybe if I didn't have a word limit on this western story writing English assignment I would enjoy it more. Oh well, I think I shall go do something else now.

-Rach

I think Jodi Picoult endorses antisocialism

Controversy is just part of Jodi Picoults job, it seems. Is there no subject she ventures from for fear of ridicule? I haven't read all her books, but I have gone through a fair few and a majority of them are confronting in one way or another.

Second glance was probably the least controversial that I have read so far. It is about ghosts, essentially. It was pretty cool though, had a whole cold-case thing going on. Still there are a few people that would look at the blurb of that book and think 'Wow this author believes in ghosts. Psycho.'

Vanishing acts is a little more confronting. A girl who has grown up and finds out her devoted father kidnapped her when she was young. He did it out of love, sure, but the fact remains that whatever verdict the jury comes to at the end of the book can be seen as the authors opinion. I won't tell you what the decision is, I'll just say this: Does the end justify the means, or not?

House Rules is all about being biased when it comes to drawing conclusions about someone when they suffer a mental illness. I admit it probably isn't the riskiest of subjects to discuss, no doubt someone with Asperges syndrome acts and is treated differently.

(Note: I just put down all the books I have read by her so far and plan to give them each a run through. Feel free to step away from your computer any time.)

Nineteen Minutes is definitely a controversial subject. I am sure I have mentioned a lot of these books before, but just in case you forget, nineteen minutes is the one with the kid that is bullied enough to come to school one day and shoot up the place. Saying that the kid has some level of innocence because of the bullying could offend anyone.

The Pact is probably the most intense and crazily realistic and heart wrenching book ever. If you would like a more detailed description of this book about suicide, scroll to my extremely long post near the bottom of the blog. Basically with the pact you have no idea weather to believe it was a suicide pact or if it was a murder. Pretty confronting stuff.

Keeping Faith is the one I read this weekend. Religion is about the most controversial subject you can get. The story is basically about a little girl that starts seeing and having conversations with God. This starts a whole lot of media attention for her family, and a lot of crazy happenings. If she had just seen God she would be marked as crazy. If she had just started bleeding spontaneously from the hands, her mother would be marked as crazy and abusive. The fact that she starts bringing people back from the dead kind of makes her marked as some sort of martyr.

Can't help but love a collection of great reads that make court drama way more entertaining than Law and Order makes it. Anyway that is my boredom and enjoyment of writing book reviews spent for one day.

-Rachel.

Another day another blog post.

What do I put here? Since I have nothing to say I will just inform you of a few things, like I did another time I think.

-Keeping Faith by Jodi Picoult was definately worth burning up my whole weekend for.

-Angus and Julia Stone's album, A Book Like This was definately worth losing $15 over.

-I dislike having hands that are small enough to make playing scales on a guitar difficult, yet large enough for me to be able to, sort of do it, kind of.

-I like the line from the Angus and Julia Stone song 'Soldier' that says "Life is a stranger that won't go away" because it is clever.

-I am pretty keen for the coming week.

That is all you're getting.

-Rachel

Crazy wishes that would be awesome if they came true. . .

I wish you could get a licence for a pair of wings instead of for a car. Think about it: No petrol cost, No car crashes, No pollution, and the price of airplane tickets would drop dramatically due to flying losing it's novelty.

I wish they had a tardis section of the airport with a list of years and planets instead of countries. Imagine it; instead of Rome or Hawaii, Earth in the year 3050!

I wish Angus and Julia Stone would follow me around playing random songs from their repetoir while I do mundane tasks. I could hear 'Big Jet Plane' or 'A Book Like This' while I waited in line at the shopping centre. I would ask them to shut up when ever I felt in the mood for a different artist though. Also, if they want to come to the Paramore concert they are going to leave their instuments outside.

I wish there was a machine that could tell you exactly what your greatest obscure talent was. What if I go through my whole life and never find out I am a master at guessing peoples shoe sizes or something.

I wish Castle season 3 would hurry up and be on TV.

I wish happiness and confidence came in a can and tasted of strawberries.

I wish I didn't have to do my freaking History and Geography assignments because they are pointless and burn worthy. The teacher pretty much told us exactly what she expects us to do on it. So basically she wants a pile of identical papers with different names at the top of each. This is tedium!

I wish puberty was just something from a horror film. Can't we skip the growing pains and mood swings and go straight to being awesome? I mean more awesome than we already are.

I wish everyone was able to see themselves for their awesome qualities and not be distracted by imperfections. I find I do this with everything; My character traits, my appearance, but especially when I draw something. All I see is the things that make it wrong not what makes it right. If everyone could just see the awesome in themselves, there would be more people smiling.

I wish we lived in a world where chickens could cross the road without their motives being questioned.

I wish there was an end to this post. Oh wait, I can make that one come true!

-Rach

You have GOT to be kidding me!

Well last night was a bit disappointing, but it did turn out all right. You see, me and my friends (yes I have friends) went to see the pixiekills perform, only to discover that we needed a parent or guardian with us. So we hung around town for a while then went to the movies.

It was still an awesome night, really annoyed at missing pixiekills though. What has made me extra annoyed is the fact that while we were missing pixiekills, Angus and Julia Stone were playing in New Castle. Imagine how awesome that would have been? If you haven't heard Angus and Julia Stone, or the Pixiekills for that matter, look them up.

I am actually really tired so this is all you get, a short rant and advice on some wonderful musicians. Also Salt isn't a bad movie. It is mostly explosions and hectic gun fights and the plot line is kind of odd, but it was alright.

-Rachel

I swear I didnt miss a day!

I didn't mean to miss yesterday I just kind of forgot after I got home at 10:30pm. Tell you what, I'll pretend I didn't miss the 25th by posting it as if it was posted on the 25th. . . . .So there.

-rach

not in the cheeriest of moods.

Think possitive Rachel! You have lots to be cheerfull about!

You have a space cowboy costume coming along splendidly, you are eating pizza, you have awesome slippers and very comfortable boots. You're even talking in the third person! What more could you want to be in a good mood?

Well some frozen coke would be nice. . . .

There are some people you just can't please.

-Rachel Lehcar

Here is my attempt at optimism.

Synonyms for wonderful:
admirable, amazing, astonishing,
astounding, awe-inspiring, awesome,
brilliant, cool, divine, dynamite,
enjoyable, excellent, fabulous,
fantastic, fine, groovy, incredible,
magnificent, marvelous, miraculous,
outstanding, peachy, phenomenal,
pleasant, pleasing, prime, remarkable,
sensational, something else, staggering,
startling, strange, stupendous, super,
superb, surprising, swell, terrific,
tremendous, unheard-of, wondrous

If there are this many ways and more to say the word wonderful, imagine how much wonder there really is. You wouldn't need all these words if there was only one wonderful thing in existence. All we have to do is look for more.

Rach

Musicians are a different breed

It seems that all musicians need to have some unique quality that has nothing to do with their music. It is like if they want to be musicians they need to look a certain way or act a certain way, even though it is how they sound that will get them the job.

You have your moderately normal artist that aren't extremely weird, such as Paramore, but even they have something noticably different about them. By which I mean Hayley Williams and her obsession with dying her hair bright red. She absolutely rocks the look, but how different would the band be without their lead singers trademark look?



Then there are the outrageous musicians that seem to thrive on the fact that they look weird. Maybe the goth and glam dress like that so they are not recognised when they walk around town dressed normally. Exhibit A, Marilyn Manson. Even without the make up and freaky clothing he looks creepy.



Appearances aside, I have to wonder why musicians like Never Shout Never, Owl City and Play Radio Play! feel the need to have names that make them sound like bands when they are just one person. It is a little excessive.

-Rach

Friendly nameless extras

It was a lovely day today full of blue skies, singing birds and cars parked all over the place as their drivers went into various buildings to vote. I wonder why Australia only has the single day for people to vote. If it were a week then there would be shorter lines at the booths.

I walked past rows of cars on this fine day, intending to reach the shop that sells serendipity ice cream. I thought I would just get my death by chocolate and be on my way but as it happened my plan was foiled by the dreaded lack of planning.

How was I to know that the only shop I have found that sells serendipity ice cream closes at 2:30 on a Saturday? I was twenty minutes too late to get my death by chocolate so I ended up walking to McDonald's and getting one of their cheap yet sugary soft serves.

I was bored out of my mind. I went to Angus and Robinson's book shop but wasn't enthusiastic enough to browse for long. I went by the British Lolly shop but didn't really feel like stopping for sherbet strawberries. I ended up just walking through town until I reached the path that leads to West Port Park.

I had my ever present Jack Skellington bag that contained my Art book and pencil case, so I sat at a bench near West Port Park and looked at the lovely view of the waterfront and tried to draw. . . something.

Several somethings. I tried drawing a duck that wandered past but it looked far too cartoonish. I considered drawing a boat that I saw drifting in the water but my heart wasn't in it. So again, when all else failed, I started drawing my feet. I don't think I will even finish this one I already have a drawing of my feet.

I was sitting there sketching the square tiles of the path beneath the park bench, when I heard someone walking near. She remains nameless, because she didn't say her name. She did however tell me her dog of 12 years was called Molly. I only spoke with her for a short time, but it certainly brightened my day.

You would think people that talk to young teenagers that sit alone sketching pictures of the ground were weirdos. Some of them are, I'll admit, but Molly's owner was a nice person. A bit eccentric perhaps, but still nice. She came over saying "Oh I thought you were reading, but you're drawing! What are you drawing?"

I was a little embarrassed when I admitted I was, in fact, drawing my feet. I didn't think the drawing was turning out all that well but when she said it was looking great it made me feel good. Sure she was probably just being nice but a little compliment can go a long way.

She introduced me to molly, the little white furred dog that scampered along with it's leash dragging behind it. I have no shame in admitting that I liked Molly much more than the dog I encountered during my Newspaper Run. Molly in no way resembled Cerberus.

There was more casual talk between Molly's owner and I. She asked questions people usually ask kids, but she didn't do it in a demeaning way like allot of people do. It wasn't really our conversation that was memorable, I can't even remember most of it and it happened only an hour or two ago. What was memorable was how optimistic this lady was.

"So do you think you did well in your exams this year?" she asked.
"Um. . . yeah I guess I did OK." I replied. I don't often talk to randoms at the park, can you tell?
"Well are you happy with how you did?" she persisted. It seemed that she didn't want to leave until she had me feeling better about something.
"I guess. . . yeah. Yeah I think I did pretty good actually. Better than I thought I would do." I answered, already feeling more cheerful.

The lady commented on what a wonderful day it was, how nice the weather had been and she even mentioned what a great area it was to walk around and explore. I'll admit that before this conversation, I had been noticing every broken bottle, every discarded plastic bag, every corner that smelled of cigarette smoke. Port Macquarie hadn't seemed all that wonderful until she mentioned it.

I know that at least two of my readers haven't ever been to Port Macquarie, so let me tell you it is in fact a lovely place. The weather is pretty nice allot of the time, there are plenty of nice places to walk. You can't look anywhere without spotting a waterfront or seeing a car with surf boards on the roof racks. I even took some pictures on my phone. Awful quality I am no photographer, but this is a little bit of West Port Park.






Molly and her owner eventually ended up walking on leaving me with a sense of optimism. Sometimes we forget to notice the little wonders don't we? That is what people like Molly's owner are for, to remind us.

It wasn't untill I got home that I realised I had tried to get serendipity, and that serendipity meant to accidentally stumble apon something great. You can't have a serendipitous moment if you TRY to have one.

-Rach.

Whoever said "a little hard work never hurt anyone" was seriously misinformed.

"A little hard work never hurt anyone!"

"The Captain of the Titanic would disagree."


I have nothing meaningful to post so I will share the extremely mundane tale of delivering newspapers. Prepare for boring.

My older brother has the job of delivering newspapers, but when he is unable to, the job falls to one of his other lovely siblings. The fact that my sister and eldest brother don't live at home lets them escape from this task. My younger brother used to do it every week with much complaint and despises paper delivery.

So yesterday when my paper delivering brother came down with a rather nasty cold, the job was handed down to me, the second youngest of five children, the only one with monkey slippers. Okay the monkey slippers used to be my sisters but they are mine now.

Awesome slippers aside, I had a job o do. It was a lovely afternoon; the sun was shining, the cloudless sky was a pure blue blanket spreading far above the rooftops (imagery and a metaphor. My English teacher would be proud). The fact that it was a lovely day and that I would be payed for my efforts had me pretty keen to start working.

So there I was: Backpack full of plastic cover newspapers, mp3 on shuffle and my earphones in my ears blaring some awesome tunes. Paramore, fall out boy, Damien Rice, Angus and Julia Stone, Afi, Placebo, Evanescence. . . . A whole range of musicians accompanied me and I was actually enjoying myself.

If you have ever delivered newspapers you may, or may not, have gotten a paper cut or two. I got more than a few that afternoon. At first it didn't bother me all that much. I would be strolling along to the next letterbox (These aren't the kind of newspapers you can throw from a car window you have to hand deliver them to the letterbox), pulling the next paper from my bag then I might get a cut. It would hurt sure but then I would get over it.

I was doing great, the cuts weren't bothering me, the weight of the bag was manageable, I was even in good enough a mood to not skip 'Jesse's girl' when shuffle decided to play it. It was about the time that I was half way through Condon street (I am serious there is a street near my dad's house with that name) when my mp3 died. At least it reached the end of '9 crimes' by Damien Rice before the battery depleted.

I just put it away thinking "It's cool I'll just have to go without music". I discovered that music makes the time go by faster. Without it, time was going at a snails pace. I seemed to get more paper cuts, the uphill streets inclined further as they sensed my approach, the pebbles on the road leaped into my shoes as I passed and wedged themselves in between my toes to make my job more difficult.

Admittedly I was starting to get annoyed. That lovely blue blanket above me was even beginning to be dotted by clouds. When I was about half way done, refilling my bag with the next stack of papers that had been left for me on the street corner, I was rather irritable. A boy that looked about ten years old was peddling his bike nearby.

As I got up to continue my walk the boy on the bike, observant as he was, noticed my bag full of newspapers and asked "Are you delivering the newspapers?". Me, being in my irritable and sarcastic state replied, "No, I am carrying this for fun."

I have to admit the strange look on his face as he said "Okaaaaaay" very slowly, brightened my mood a little. Smiling to myself, I trudged on, glancing down at my hands that were covered in the dark green ink from the papers. The tiny paper cuts were stinging a little, and I had even managed to cut my leg while I loaded the papers into my bag. These inconveniences meant little to me because I was already half way there.

There is a street that makes up about a 5Th of that run. It goes up and down and up hill once more, the mail boxes have small holes and are difficult to spot among the many hedges. There is not a single apartment complex, gated community, or duplex on the street, which meant there were no places that would allow me to off load 5 or more papers at once.

By the time I reached this area, it had grown dark. There are two street lights on this street and visibility is low for a majority of it. Last night I learned that there is also a large dog that lurks there. More on that dog in a moment, I have to tell you the whole story of my adventure on 'Gray Street', or what I like to call it, the newspaper deprived street from Hell.

I got to the bottom of the hill looking into the mouth of Gray street. It seemed welcoming enough with the light from the street I was exiting filling up the first few houses. My bag was full and loaded, though the small tear beginning at the left strap was making me a little nervous.

I was walking uphill into the newspaper deprived street from hell, grabbing papers from my bag, folding them to fit the slots in the letter boxes, slipping them, or when the slots were annoyingly small, cramming them, into the letter boxes, then reaching for another paper as I approached the next house.

By this stage I was powering on like a machine with a heavy backpack; grab, fold, deliver, grab, fold, deliver, grab, fold, deliver. It seemed that my bag wasn't getting any lighter as I dragged my feet up the hill. Grab, fold, deliver. Then something happened that proved, if not supplied very convincing evidence, that Gray street was in fact the street from hell.

Grab, fold, deliver, grab, fold, deliver, grab, fold-SNAP! THUMP! WHATEVER SOUND PAPER MAKES WHEN IT SCATTERS!

I looked down at the road, barely able to see in the lack of light. Before me lay my open backpack, the left strap torn completely free, the contents of the bag spilling out over the road showing me just how many more papers I had left to deliver. I knelt and started re stacking the papers, getting a few more cuts as I did so, becoming increasingly aware of how many cuts I had, shifting my toes to remove the tiny annoying pebbles, wishing like hell that I had recharged my mp3 the night before.

I managed to refill my bag and tie the half attached strap strategically to stop it from flapping around and dragging on the road. I trudged on, annoyance growing strong, the end of the street within my sight, the knowledge that when I reached that end, the street would only be half finished.

After much struggling to stop my bag from tipping out it's contents, and after breaking a, until then, superfluous handle on my bag, I managed to get to another dark corner of the street, to the last few houses on the end. Then I heard a low grumble coming from the shadow of a hedge.

Remember that hugely massive dog I mentioned earlier? The one that resides on the newspaper deprived street from Hell? It was staring at me from the shadows in that moment. I could see it's outline, it's sharp teeth, the small puddle of drool before it's feet. I knew it was there and that it was staring, even though I could not see it's eyes. I have never been good at identifying dog breeds, but the dog looked a little something like this:



OK the dog wasn't actually Cerberus, and it wasn't three headed, but it did scare the living daylights out of me when it barked, growled, snarled and started coming toward me. I don't know if I was more frightened or relieved when I heard the sudden shout of "Oi! Get out of here stupid mutt!" I'm happy the lady was talking to the dog and not the paper girl, but either way the dog went on it's way. Probably to go guard the gates of Hell or something.

I was so startled by Cerberus that I had managed to drop my bag again. The lady that had scared off the freaky hound just said. "Sorry bout that. He's not my dog." Then went on her way. By the sound of her voice, I'd say she was in as good a mood as I was.

I continued on my way eventually, after I tied my broken strap strategically so that it held the papers together. I got back into my mechanical rhythm, sort of, and kept on going with my work through the newspaper deprived street from Hell. By the time I was re organised, I had delivered to every mailbox on Gray street until it was no longer newspaper deprived. Now It is just the street from Hell. Thankfully I didn't run into Cerberus again.

The rest of my trip was mostly uneventful. My shoulders ached from having to hold all the weight of the bag on one shoulder at a time, but the last street was full of gated communities and apartment complexes. At that point in time seeing the row of 14 mailboxes was, in one word, beautiful.

It was like seeing a very short line in front of the ticket booth at the cinema. It was like finding the completed assignment you had lost and were sure you would have to reattempt in class. It was like having a sudden craving for serendipity ice cream and finding a full tub of the stuff waiting for you on your bed side table. It was like walking through a desert and seeing an oasis, a water fountain, a buffet, and a hotel with a sign on the door that says 'If you have been walking through the desert you can spend the night for free.' It was amazing.

If gray street was the street from Hell, then Lake road is the street from multiple mailbox heaven.

There is nothing like the feeling of an empty bag at the end of a long afternoon of delivering papers. My shoulders were aching, my hands were filthy, I had over thirty paper cuts (yes I did count) but I was finished and I had twenty six dollars waiting for me at home.

There you have it, an over dramatised reenactment of my paper delivery job. It wasn't actually that bad, I was just annoyed at my bag breaking. I didn't have any issues the last time I did it, in fact I kind of like doing the job. I just hope next time to have a fully charged mp3, less paper cuts, a bag that remains intact, and no run-ins with Cerberus.

-Rachel the temporary paper girl.

How important do you have to be before your murder classifies as an assassination?

Again I have no idea what to blog about. Give me a break I'm going for my 19th day in a row here. So I will ask a few questions that I hope will make you wonder, at least for a little while.

How important do you have to be before your murder classifies as an assassination?

Why is the singular of feet foot, but the singular of sheep not shoop?

Why is phonetic not spelled the way it sounds?

What horribly cruel person put an s in the word lisp?

Doesn't the number of syllables in the word dyslexia make it difficult for dyslexics to pronounce?

There is a crime novelist named Karen Slaughter. No relevance I just thought you might find it amusing. Doubt it's her real name though.

-Rachel

Monkey slippers.

Aren't news readers strange? They say "Good evening" or "Good morning" etc. then they proceed to talk about alot of horrible events that either include the destruction or end of someones life. Then by the end of the string of depressing horrors, there will be a mention of some famous person doing something in an attempt to brighten the mood.

"Good evening a family has been killed in a house fire that has destroyed their entire home and all their possessions. In lighter news, Justin Bieber has run into another glass door, so we will talk about him for the rest of this month as well!"

. . .

See I don't actually have anything that meaningful to say. Today an idea jumped in my head of something to blog about tonight but I completely forgot what it was. So To fill time and space I will give you some pointless information that I am sure will not interest you in any way.

The last book I read was 'Life expectancy' by Dean Koontz. It was awesome to the max. I much enjoy saying 'Koontz' out loud.

I have tried and failed several times since seeing Inception to explain it's plot line to people without giving too much away.

For the first time I have seen on TV they played the actual credits on the TV show 'Castle' and the tune was very entertaining. I don't know why they haven't done it before, they always show them but with commercials taking over the screen.

I really, really like my monkey shaped slippers.



-Rach

If superman dressed in a clown costume, there would probably be an awful lot of coulrophobics.

Clowns are quite creepy. Superman just might be the most awesome superhero ever. A clown costumed Superman would no doubt produce and awesome amount of creepiness. For the first time I realise that tights weren't such a terrible costume decision on Clark Kent's part.


I get it, clowns are supposed to be cheerful, funny and entertaining, but they just seem to give off an evil impression. You know of many evil clowns; the joker, Stephen King's 'It', Ronald McDonald (though I suppose that is a matter of opinion).

In fact, when I think clowns the only possitive image that comes to mind is of a 'clown' that I saw at a circus a few years ago. He was actually entertaining and quite funny, but the reason I didn't imediately resent the clown was because he didn't dress like one.

He wore a calm and welcoming light blue suit, complete with sparkling blue bow tie, and everyone, including Dr. Who, knows that bow ties are cool. He didn't wear the painted red smile or the gloomy painted eyes. There was no mess of wild brightly coloured hair, and he had no red nose. Without The polka-dotted baggy pants or any other rediculous clown get-up, the man was not threatening in any way.

In conclusion, clowns are only non creepy when they don't look like clowns, and Superman is awesome, dispite his weakness to a rare type of stone.

-Rachel

Awesome things.

1. Popping bubble wrap. Bubble wrap is like cheap effective therapy.

2. When you open a can of pringles and the wonderful smell of it escapes the package.

3. When you whistle the first few bars of a really old TV theme and someone nearby joins in.

4. Having a song in your head that, rather than bothering you with it's presence, makes you feel great.

5. Finding a nice spot that is close enough to walk to from home, but far enough from civilisation to give you the feeling of being alone in the world.

6. The moment when you wake up on Saturday morning and realise you don't have to get out of bed.

7. When you have a book that you literally can't put down because it is so good.

8. When an old song comes on the radio during a long bus trip and you aren't the only one singing along.

9. Walking in the rain without being cold.

10. Stealing spoonfuls of ice cream, nutella etc. from the kitchen when no one is watching.

11. Unexpected good moods.

12. Discovering 1000awesomethings.com, reading through them and smiling at the fact that someone can name 1000 little pleasures life has to offer.

13. Having a longer 'awesome things' list than your 'annoying things' list.

Annoying things.

1. U.F.Os (Unavoidable Family Outings)- Sure they can be fun, but sometimes they happen when you really would rather be doing something else. It is worse when the outing involves waking up early.

2. Walking past a fence and having the dog on the other side scare the hell out of you by barking like mad.

3. When awesome songs get remade and remixed into grotesque and butchered versions that ruin the original for you.

4. When cartoon characters get on your nerves- Like the show babar, all about rich elephants. Shut up elephants your lives are charmed.

5. When you are sitting in a room alone with the door closed, someone comes in to ask you something, and they leave without closing the door. -the other day my little brother did this to me. I tried to close the door by throwing my slippers at it. It worked but I got up any way to retrieve my slippers.

6. When you spend for ever developing a skill, thinking you are awesome at it, then someone comes along and is pro at it straight away.

7. Reality television shows. -"We are going to wave a giant cheque in front of your face, tell you to do something ridiculously mundane, talk to you like the failure of doing this mundane task will make your life end, and we expect you to cry every time we mention something even mildly dramatic. Welcome to every reality television show invented."

8. That dramatic noise on law and order that happens whenever they cut to the next scene. -I am yet to find someone else that finds this as annoying as I do. Hearing it makes me physically cringe and whenever the show comes on I search desperately for the remote so I can mute the TV before the monotone introduction message ends. Because I know that almost immediately after the robot voice says "These are their stories" the noise will sound and it will be awful.

9. Things that I find annoying but have no idea why (see numbers 4 and 8)

Life is just a bowl of fancy assorted cashews

Recently my 18 year old brother got hold of a box set of Spongebob Squarepants episodes. He borrowed them from my 23 year old brother. Family maturity aside, we have been watching them when there is nothing else to do. Being teenagers, we can rarely find something more worth while to occupy our time, so we have watched it a lot.

I have realised some amazing things about the yellow pineapple inhabiting sponge. If you knew someone with the personality of Spongebob, you would hate them. He is the most annoying company. It is no wonder that cynical octopus neighbour of his dislikes him. Spongebob is annoying there is no doubt about it.

Although I would hate to have an acquaintance as annoying as Spongebob, I would love to have a friend with his outlook on life. While he resembles a cleaning device, he is the brightest most positive fictional character I can recall at this time. He sees the good in everything.

I may be talking about a cartoon yellow sponge here, but it is the character that i am commenting on. Perhaps we confuse negativity with normality, and being positive with being obnoxious. There is an awful lot of negativity in the world, isn't there? Maybe living in a pineapple effects overall cheeriness. I'm seriously considering making the change to undersea life and fruit dwelling. Not only would I be more cheerful but my house would smell and taste amazing.

Rachel

*stares blankly at the title box*

Hmmm. . . . What will I write.

. . . .


When was the last time you had pineapple?

. . . .

There I will leave you with that thought. That is all you get today.

Silly dreams waking me up in the middle of the night and making me sleepy all day. . .

A couple of nights ago I had a dream that me and my friend were sitting in my room chatting idly, when she decided to throw a cockroach at my face. I woke with a start desperately trying to flick the bug away from myself, only to realise I had in fact been dreaming. I was so annoyed at this rude awakening that, despite the dream having nothing to do with her, I was mildly annoyed at my friend when I saw her that morning.

Dreams are strange. They are not real, just mixtures or memory and imagination, yet they can seem unusually real sometimes. They can feel real enough to wake you from the deepest sleep or to even make you wonder if they had further meaning. Perhaps Inception has made my view on my dreams more creative, or just made me curious about them. I know one thing is for sure, I have been remembering more of my dreams lately and it has been both interesting and irritating.

Interesting because dreaming does make sleep less boring, irritating when the dreams wake me up in the middle of the night and leave me exhausted for the whole day. What was really interesting though was when I realised I was dreaming half way through a dream. I don't remember what I was dreaming about, I just remember that when I discovered I was dreaming my instant reaction was "I'm gonna fly!". Flying is fun, even if it was just a dream.

Well that is all I have to say to you.

-Rach

Don't think of a pink elephant.

Why must everything be for a purpose? If something unremarkable happens, chances are someone will give it a meaning for occurring. I don't mean how things happen or the series of events that lead to their happening, I mean the reason they happened. Like people saying that something happened because it was 'fate'. That word is used a little too loosely, don't you think?

This little philosophy, like many of my random snippets of thought, came from a book. What can I say, Jodi Picoult knows her stuff. In the book there is a conversation between a single mum who had apparently found love again, and another single mum who was extremely cynical on the whole concept of love.

The mum in love, I forget that characters name already, was saying that it was fate that she had met this new guy, I think his name was Eli or something. The cynic mum argued that she had probably thought her ex husband meeting her was fate too, at the time. She continued to say something along the lines of justifying why the marriage hadn't worked by saying 'it simply wasn't meant to be' even though it had been fate at one stage.

So does fate really exist or is it just a word used to make happiness a gift from the universe? Saying something is 'fate' or 'meant to be' could be said about anything.

"I ate some ice cream. It was fate."
"I saw a sea gull. It was fate."
"I forgot my lunch. It was fate."

Fate is like a conclusion drawn without the barest hint of evidence, like a detective arresting a murderer on a hunch. I think fate is either a simple statement told by people that need to justify their decent circumstances, or is just a word used for everything that happens. It happened so it was fate. Obviously, if this happened, something else can't possibly happen in its place. We all know that if time travel were possible the future travellers would have come back and told us already.

I think I'll finish this before I make less sense, if that were possible.

-Philosophical me.

An unintersting story of my day.

Sunday afternoon I had reached a state of boredom strong enough to entice me to go for a walk. I always get extra bored when I am walking without at least a small amount of purpose so I decided to take my awesome messenger bag, that has a picture of Jack Skellington of the nightmare before Christmas on it. In my bag I had my sketchbook and my unimpressive pencil case. My goal was to make my way to some sort of nice spot to sit and. . . draw something I guess.

First I walked to a nearby park that I have been meaning to visit just because of its convenient location and how green it is. I discovered quickly that the spacious green Field with its random tree placements was less secluded than I thought. I am not entirely sure why I thought it was secluded, seeing as I discovered it by looking out my car window while driving on the main road.

I tired of the noises of cars and slams of doors (honestly, do people that live on the main road not know how to close their front doors quietly?) a few minutes after I arrived. So I continued walking, planning on going to the memorial cemetery. My mission to visit a cemetery isn't as unusual as you might think. . . OK it is pretty odd. However, in Port Macquarie there is very little to do. There are not many nice places to sit and draw.

Next to the cemetery there is a park, complete with lovely trees, well kept grass and even a flowing river where ducks occasionally drift setting a nice scene. It would be a very calm and serene spot, were it not for the fact that another main road cuts through directly next to it. Also it is across the road from Finnian's Irish Tavern. I don't think the bar was open but the fact that it is there kind of ruins the tranquility of the spot.

I walked down the main road, past pizza hut, domino's, red rooster, several petrol stations, until I reached Finnians and crossed the road to the park next to the cemetery. I was planning to go straight to the cemetery and sketch a broken grave stone or something but I was in the mood to get away from the noise of civilisation. So I went into the park and walked until I reached the tree line and the beginning of the board walk.

I didn't even hesitate to start walking along the board walk. The further I went the quieter it got. Until I reached a single dead end part of the board walk that opened to a nice view of the river, mangroves sticking up through the mud around the edge of the wooden path beneath my feet.I sat down and started sketching. I was going to sketch the river, but the fact that the water was broken in one spot by the hose of a vacuum cleaner put me off a bit. I ended up sketching the wooden path itself, and my feet that were sitting on top of it.



I was having a nice time, the weather was great I was completely chilled out and I was very happy just sitting there sketching my feet. Occasionally other people would walk along the path and come over to look at the view. Mostly they would just notice me then continue on, a couple of people said hello politely and continued on. I was almost finished my drawing when one particularly unusual person wandered over to see the view.

I just glanced up when I heard him coming so I didn't really take in his appearance. I just remember my first impression was that this guy was an idiot. He wandered up to look out at the river, saying "G'day" as average Australians usually do. He continued walking to the edge of the board walk, almost falling into the river as he did so. I tried not to laugh and just kept at my drawing.

He glanced at me and said "You don't look like you smoke. Wouldn't happen to have a lighter?" I said no and he turned back to the river muttering something about all his lighters going missing. He managed to walk almost directly in front of me, blocking my view from the river. I may have been sketching the wooden path beneath my feet but I was still appreciating the view. The guy seemed to just be gazing stupidly at the river. I have to say I am glad his lighters left him. The interruption of my serenity would have been doubly annoying if he had lit up right there.

I did what any annoyed but polite person of my generation would do. I took out my phone, pretending to check the time, and packed up my things as if I had somewhere to be. I muttered a polite "Have a good afternoon." and headed back along the board walk. I did end up going to the cemetery after all.

It may seem like a tad morbid a goal but the cemetery is actually quite lovely. Gravestones scattered randomly around a Field with no real structure. The wonderful amount of grass and trees in the area almost makes up for the broken and graffiti covered blocks of granite everywhere. I even found some mildly creative graffiti on some sort of table.





How low can you get, spray painting a grave. Disrespectful idiots aside, I managed to have a nice walk. I sketched a grave stone that was sitting alone in a wide empty space, much like many of the others were.






And there you have it my boring Sunday afternoon complete with pictures. Hope you liked it.

-Rach