From this point on, this journal is friends only. If you'd like to be added, just leave a comment here letting me know. I don't have any particular requirements for friends, except perhaps that you speak English, for obvious reasons, and find me tolerable.

Some warnings for your consideration;
I am prone to obsessing over fandoms, characters, actors, historical figures... just about anything really. Although I'm not very big pairings. I can and will post about these.
Don't expect to always understand what I'm going on about. I sometimes adopt vague and slightly odd writing habits which don't make a lot of sense.

If you're curious there's more information in my profile.
For reference purposes; I'm an INTP personality type on the Myer-Briggs test and a type 5 on the Enneagram test. If you understand those terms I'm sure you can form a pretty accurate picture of my personality.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!
I had to say that within the next five minutes, because after that it won't be Christmas anymore. Also, I've reached that stage of exhaustion that feels like intoxication BUT I SWEAR I DIDN'T DRINK ANYTHING. I AM HIGH ON CHRISTMAS SPIRIT, IS ALL. Yes. Good grief, I need sleep.

GOD REST YE MERRY HIPPOGRIFFS LA LA LA LA LAAAAAA
ETC., ETC.

My apologies that this is such an obnoxious post. Will be back to normal tomorrow, hopefully.
Night!

Back now. Tired. Incoherent.

Rant coming tomorrow. Big. Prepare yourself.

G'night.

Just to let you all know, I'm going on a tiny and impromptu hiatus. Visiting far and away family members. Be back Monday. The internet separation will kill me. LJ is like crack and the withdrawal symptoms are going to be unpleasant.

To keep yourselves entertained I suggest repeated viewings of the old qantas add. Just because the song has been in my head for DAYS and I need it to annoy other people now. Maybe I can pass it on as such, and when it's stuck circling in somebody else's mind it will leave mine.



Now I'm feeling all nostalgic and patriotic. Damn you Peter Allen.

Someday we'll all be together once more, when all of the ships come back to the shore.

I have been wanting to do this for a while.

Step 1. Put your playlist on random.
Step 2. Post a line from the first 20 songs that play.
Step 3. Have your friends guess the song and the artist.
Step 4. Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly

( The songs )

I should be ashamed of that list. I really do have horrendous taste. Hey, I like it. But it must be noted that I have an unhealthy love of 80s music.

Speaking of which, SOMEONE IS GETTING A NEW IPOD FOR CHRISTMAS! I can't decide if I want black or silver. Thoughts? And this baby will need a name. Will have to start thinking on it now, it took forever to name Penny. The poor thing cannot go a month being called "the iPod", oh no.

Indisputable evidence;


Cheno is made of win.
I am obsessing, I know, BUT IT'S MY BLOG DAMNIT AND I'LL OBSESS IF I WANT TO.

OH OH I found some lamingtons. Y HALO THAR DESSERT.

This bouncy mood must cease and desist. I'm beginning to even annoy myself. Blame the caffeine.

It's that feeling again. Like when you miss a stair and for a second there's nothing but fear. Like somewhere between flashback and deja vu. It won't go away.
I'd like very much to be that girl, the one you want me to be. The one that waits up and writes long and poignant letters and smiles at bad jokes. But I can't, because that feeling is hanging around in all the wrong moments; when trains sway around corners, when an old letter falls off the bookshelf, when I remember the vague possibility I never took.

Another email today. I can't believe you are still trying to keep in contact. Aren't the differences obvious to you? I am all too aware of them. I am happy alone, honestly. You I have only seen happy when surrounded by people, or alone with me. Why? I'm not doing anything to provoke this. You, the one so fascinated with the big happenings in life; the rocket launches, plagues, music festivals. Whereas I am still caught up in the little details, newspaper print smudged on fingertips, children's laughter echoing up a stairway, the finding of shapes in clouds. All of which is beyond you.

You can't, you don't and I won't let you.

I didn't think it would come to this. I could really use a friend. We got along well enough, right? But I can't give you what you want. I wish I could, but I value my own happiness above yours, and it wouldn't make you happy for long anyway. I can't be that person. In the end, I won't change you and you certainly can't change me. Please leave it be.

 

Stole this from Mello. It's so very ftw.

I wrote this yesterday, but my internet had some sort of fit. It was disconnected mostly, but every 10 minutes or so it would reconnect for about 30 seconds in which I'd frantically try to get things done.

Out again today. This is getting to be a strain on my bank balance. I adore you, really I do, but how much longer must this go on? I am trying my hardest to be a supportive friend, but it's difficult. I can't continually entertain you to keep your mind off him. I am dying to say it, it was always going to end up this way. It's condescending to mention, nobody wants to be told they made a horrible decision and wasted a year of their life, I can't help but think it though. Hey, you live and you learn. At any rate, you live. I hope you did learn. It's something you have to do yourself, the only proper way to learn. Lord knows you're teetering towards doing it again. It isn't my job to rescue you and I won't try, but that doesn't mean it won't break my heart to watch it happen. I cannot stand to see anyone hurt, least of all you. Note the underlying hypocrisy, I speak from up here on my soapbox as if I didn't do exactly the same thing not so long ago. In fact, you wouldn't be lying in saying what I did was worse. It was far more obvious that my situation would crash and burn but I did it anyway. I'm no better than you. I learned at least. I knew all along where I was headed, but I don't think you had a clue where you were. Although if I had to do it over again I wouldn't change anything. You would. I'm not sure what statement that makes about our differences, or who is the wiser for it. 

Thunderstorm again. I could have died of happiness. Staying under cover for the duration was awful though.

I finally finished off Wicked. Wow. I'm still sort of digesting it. It's hardly a bit like the musical, but that was to be expected. Truthfully, I like both very much, but you really have to consider them as entirely separate entities. The novel provided a lot in the way of food for thought (expect more ramblings on it later, after some processing time), whereas the musical is pure mush. I have to confess, I love me some mush.
Here's a weird bit; my favourite character, in both (despite the fact that she's presented very differently in them), was Glinda. It puzzles me a bit, as she seems (seemed?) the type I would utterly loathe on principle. But there was more than one way to be smart. That's the thing. She is smart, in her way. That particular brand of social intelligence that I have never grasped. Not that I'm sure I care to, but all the same I'm a little in awe of those who possess it.

Melbourne trip is ON, even though we have no clue about the when-where-how of it. We are going to dress up, like the lunatics we are. You're never too old to play dressups. Perhaps you are, but I don't care. I am just trying to make up for lost years- there is no Halloween here and my childhood was sorely lacking in the annual donning of ridiculous costumes for chocolate-obtaining purposes. Thus I feel the need to prance about in silly garb now. M. has dibs on Elphie, but I prefer it that way, it will not be easy explaining that getup to the customs people at the airport. I mean, they get worked up enough over turbans these days, I can't imagine the dilemma that big black hat will cause, not to mention the green. I'm also trying to get her to answer that "are you traveling for business or pleasure" question with 'business'. She's going to be stuck in customs for hours. I, however, expect to be able to skip right through the metal detectors and such with nothing but cheery greetings from the security personnel. Who ever said nobody judges by appearance? Not that it's necessary to travel dressed like that, but we will anyway, for the lulz. Must remember to take pictures this time. Too many of our little stunts go without proper documentation. I still wish we had photos of the bubblebath fountain incident, but alas it will have to live only in our memories and the security report.

Christmas shopping tomorrow! Good fun. Every year I load up on caffeine then buzz around trying to buy everything in one go. Never works, but it's fun.

An uneventful day. Would you like to hear about it?

I rush through the bathroom door in search of... I don't remember. There she is, curled in a pool of blood on the tiles, tears tracking down her face. Looking like twisted perfection. Typical. I know before you grab me that you're there. You press your lips to the edge of my ear and growl could've been you. Then your arm is around her and I'm halfway through the door already. I don't want to look at you and I really don't want to see her turning tragedy into beauty, as always, like I couldn't. I thunder down the stairs, out the door, onto the... sand? This isn't right, isn't right at all. There shouldn't be a beach here. The rain starts, the waves are getting louder. They're... ringing. Something is wrong.

Finally, I stumble into consciousness, my hair pulled across my face, and turn over everything on the table grasping for the phone. This is half the reason I dislike sleeping.

I have never been one to shrug off sleep easily. It takes a very long shower before I can be classified as entirely awake. I drip water across the house while I look for a towel, and greet Lucifer as I pass another bathroom (he has taken up residence there after finding my wardrobe unsatisfactory). The towels are all in the dryer. Passing the kitchen's wide open window I wave absentmindedly at a neighbour outside gardening before I realise I'm not wearing anything. This exhibitionist tendency must be suppressed before it gets the better of me.

Dressed now (in a towel, but it counts) I scrounge up a breakfast of a cold burrito and half a bag of Maltesers. Nutritious, I know. Beats lunch, which was a large, very strong coffee. I ought to eat more I suppose, but I forget to. Right. Clothing. The little red dress. Shoes? Wait, how far am I going? No, I won't need them. Mirror check. Oh no, my hair looks like it's trying to eat my head. Hat. Brilliant. Now down the stairs and out the door (no beach this time). Ahhh no, need a book. Back to the bedroom. Where is it? Under the pillow, how did that happen? Grab the sunblock, mustn't burn. Slip my watch on. Jewellery today? There's no point.  My crucifix, I'll wear that. Leaving now. Really.

I decide on the bushwalk to the north. It's a weekday and it'll be tourist-free. Wave again at the nosey neighbour. His eyes boggle and he makes some glib remark about clothing being overrated. Dirty pervert. Why am I nice to these people? Hurrying past, I make it without incident to the smaller waterfall. Across the large stones. One of these days I'm going to slip right off one of them into the water. Thankfully, not today. The grassy patch over the fallen tree will do. I read for a few hours. Still haven't finished the book. I am reading slower than I used to lately. Out of practice I suspect. Exams had me adapt to writing rather than reading. Not that that's bad, it's wonderful to create, but I like better to simply absorb information. I love the city very much, but I'm glad we live here. The city has none of this, no quiet spots. Part of the thrill of it, but I couldn't live in that permanently. I need solitude a lot. You're never alone in the city. You are, in a sense, alone but surrounded simultaneously. It has its benefits, but I need genuine solitude to function.

I reach the point at which the witches part company and choke back a lump of emotion. Books seem to always affect me like this. No bookmark, I file away the page number (217) in my head and hope I can remember it later. 217 pages in, what, 4 hours? My my, I am slowing. It isn't even small print. How pathetic. I hum a string of random notes on the walk home and cut my foot on a rogue twig. I should wear shoes out here.

At home I potter around drinking coffee and half-heartedly cleaning my room. Dad has a new set of Chasers DVDs so I immerse myself in a couple of episodes for a while. They go too far sometimes and it isn't as funny as everyone thinks. Still, they're entertaining.

Then I muck around on the internet a bit before abandoning my post of Queen Hermit to join the others for dinner and the following discussion on Christmas gifts. I am trying to talk them into an 80GB iPod. Penny, my dear mini, is nearing 3 years of age and I fear for her lifespan. Although she's a sturdy old bugger and would probably live another 3 just to prove she could. She's only 4GB though and my music library takes up quite a bit more than that.

And now I am here again blogging, as per usual.
That, my dears, was an account of the dreary wonders of my day. (Dreary wonders? I am spouting the oxymorons lately.)

I like to write in that, my own odd form, sometimes. Not for anyone else's benefit of course. Well, the whole thing is for my own benefit. I've been keeping journals, although not always the traditional kind, since I was 6. It's something I hope never to outgrow. It's a wonderfully therapeutic outlet. I may not be the best writer, lord knows I'm not even a good one, but I love to tell stories. Mine, someone else's, real, imagined, theoretical, whatever. It's like jogging for fun (though I shiver at the idea, excercise is an awful, awful thing), testing your abilities, keeping yourself fit, despite the fact that you don't go very fast at all, or intend to compete ever. Sometimes it's nice to just play, because you can.

What a day.
An uncomfortably long train trip. Discovering the oddities of Oxford Street. A table named Venezia, and pinball. It was wonderful.

I finally found myself a copy of the book. So now I am off to shower the day off (I am so muddy, you wouldn't believe...) and curl up with my book and a large hot chocolate. What bliss.

Mello tagged me.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4-7 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5.Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest (unless it's too troublesome to reach and is really heavy. Then go back to step 1).
6. Tag five people. Bugger that.

Introduction to the Practice of Statistics- Fifth Edition
The two scatterplots in Figure 2.9 depict exactly the same data, but the lower plot is drawn smaller in a large field. The lower plot seems to show a stronger relationship. Our eyes can be fooled by changing plot scales or the amount of white space around the cloud of points in a scatterplot. We need to follow our strategy for data analysis by using a numerical measure to supplement the graph. Correlation is the measure we use.

Oh yeah. The closest book was a stats textbook. It's a little pathetic.

I like working for the election people, mostly. The pay is excellent and it isn't hard work. But holy hell, did I see a showcase of morons yesterday. You wouldn't believe the number of ballot papers that included crude drawings. I saw far more penis sketches than I've ever cared to that day. And it is not that hard to vote correctly, the instructions are RIGHT THERE. Yet they keep doing it wrong. I suppose if you can't be arsed reading instructions right in front of you then you don't deserve to vote.

I slept the most I have ever slept in one go last night. It was something like 14 hours. I was absolutely exhausted. It was wonderful. I have avioded the benefits of a full night's sleep for so long, it was really nice to catch up on a bit.

I went to the other church today. Had to, I slept past the mass times of my usual. It's been painted pink inside. The kind of pink you'd paint a newborn girl's room. It's ghastly. I dislike it there. It still reminds me of that night; when we stood, hands held, together yet apart, under the arch in some sick parody of foreshadowing. You always were uncharacteristically tolerant of my odd ways. I am dwelling again. Shouldn't. Promised I wouldn't. And now I'm rhyming. Good grief.

The election is over, FINALLY. No more political ads, no more damned Kevin07s wandering around. Political groupies scare me. I worked 15 hours straight taking votes. Must sleep now.

Why update? I think I have developed an LJ addiction.

I honestly don't give a rats arse who won.

I scoured every bookstore in Westfields for a copy of Wicked today, but no luck. Is it even in print in this country? Dymocks website had it listed but I am NOT paying their price. They want more for shipping than they do for the actual book. In frustration I did some "rearranging" of the store. Twilight goes in the 'Young Readers' section, Harry Potter is now in the 'True Crime' shelf, Catch 22 goes in the 'Biography' section, all the books on Karma Sutra go to the 'Educational Materials' bit. You get the gist of it. Anyhow, the Japanese place in the city has it for $12 so I'm going in next week to get it.

I found a *cough* perfectly legal *cough* video of the entire play online. So, without further ado, my initial thoughts on it.

First, is it just me or is Kristin Chenoweth the most adorable bundle of blonde cuteness ever? I just want to hug the stuffing out of her. Perfect Glinda.

I liked it all, for the most part. Although it's incredibly cheesy, but I guess that's just musical theatre for you. (On that note, wouldn't it be grand if life were a musical? If one could spontaneously burst into song and dance and have everyone else know the lyrics and dance moves?) To tell the truth it didn't meet all my expectations. I had expected that one of the main points would be the friendship of the witches, but they didn't seem to show a lot of it. Sure there was the whole Dancing Through Life and Popular bonding, which was all very sweet, but after that... they go shopping and that's all of it you see until we hit For Good. Wow, that song broke my heart. Which probably isn't saying much, I have absolutely volatile emotions at the moment. The thing is, if I am to believe that song, and I did, then I have trouble with the ending. If they are such good friends, why must Elphaba leave without at least telling Glinda everything? It made it seem as if she cared more for that ridiculous bloody scarecrow, or as if she didn't trust Glinda. It cheapens the friendship, which I hate. It would have been better for her to have died, than do what she did. I'm sure I've said it before, but having someone you love choosing not to be near you is far worse than them not being able to. I understand that it's supposed to be for Glinda's protection, but it's not fair on her. She should have the right to know her friend is alive at least. It seemed to me as if the writer (and perhaps the novel is different, I'll find out soon enough) was too attached to Elphaba to kill her off, as if it was an almost forced happy ending.

Now, this scarecrow fellow. I heartily disliked him. Carbon copy of that Logan Huntzburger type character that is shoved into EVERYTHING these days. I get that he is the plot device to have something come between the friends, but must it always be a man (or munchkin, rather) that does that? I guess it is the most effective way to do it and I don't mind that they threw romance into the plot, people expect it. I just hate that one night with him is enough to convince Elphaba he's worth more to her than Glinda. That must be some damn good sex. Which is grand and all, but wasn't friendship a major point in the whole story?

Ending aside, I enjoyed it. Mind you, I didn't see that twist involving the wizard coming, which makes me feel thick. He first appeared and I thought "HEY, you can't see his face, how very odd." Then he's drinking the green stuff and I'm going "HEY, that's the same as the stuff the other guy had, maybe they knew each other!" Man, I'm having a lot of stupid moments lately.

I expect the whole examination of good and evil is much deeper in the book, which I'm looking forward to. I love that theme though, I've never believed that there are solid definitions of good and evil in the real world.

Oh, and I love the way they make up words- Braverism! You've been Galindafied! All of which I'm sure will become part of my everyday vocabulary.

So. Haha. This hasn't happened in a while. I went out with M. and some German backpacker she'd met yesterday. That girl attracts the strangest people I swear. She's a walking backpacker-magnet. But I digress. We're walking down main street when we pass a former teacher of ours, an Umbridge type that we loathed. M. comments "that woman is evil" and I agree heartily.
The German is perplexed by this, "Evil? Like murderer? Cannibal?"
We rush to correct ourselves and I blurt something along the lines of "not the flying monkeys type of evil, just the not-very-nice type of evil."
M.'s eyes practically pop out of her head, "ELPHABA WASN'T EVIL!"
"Come again?"
"Oh. My. GOD, Iz. You haven't read it?"
"Oh, that Wicked book? Nope."
Next thing I know I'm being dragged to her house so she can force a copy of this book on me. Meanwhile, I am trying to explain to the German what The Wizard of Oz is, because, wait for it... HE'D NEVER SEEN IT. I was so stunned by that. There's a good chance he thinks I'm nuts now. Well, if you heard that plot explained to you without ever having seen the movie you'd probably think it was crack too. Anyhow, we couldn't find the book anywhere but she lent me the soundtrack. I listened to it driving home and now OHMYFREAKINGOD I'M IN LOVE. After some frantic youtube-ing I found videos of the play and... wow. I must must must see this, read this, everything. Tomorrow I'm going to sift through every bookstore in town if I have to. Apparantly the production is coming to Melbourne next year (why no Sydney? WHYWHYWHY?) so we're going to try to go to that. I haven't any earthly idea how, I may have to sell a few of my body parts to afford everything, but we're going. Somehow. Wish me luck.

A conversation with J.
I am lying under a kitchen table.
"Izzie?"
"Yeah?"
"You need to pull yourself up."
"Don't want to. You do it."
"Why are you there anyway?"
"Air hot. Tiles cold."
"Okay then."
...
"Iz, you want some cake?"
"Sure. Bring a tablecloth. Do you have one?"
"Two actually."
"The underside of this table is one of the most interesting things I've ever seen."
"You know, you have the soul of an artist... and not a scrap of artistic ability. How is that even possible?"

Sometimes I think I live for moments like these. We ate cake under the table, after I turned it into a tent with some creative tablecloth placement, and found shapes in the woodwork. Overall, it was a very pleasant day. It is rare that I can convince someone else to participate in my odd shenanigans. Rarer still that I actually want someone else to participate.

The weather is perfect. Meltingly hot for most of the day before a sudden thunderstorm and now it is raining very heavily. I went out in the storm, during the heaviest rain. My self restraint just wasn't good enough. Barefoot, as always, and trailing my skirt through the muddy track. I wonder if anyone saw, and what they thought of it? I am sure nobody home noticed, although I had to clean the mud I left across the floor and had to shower in cold water because the rain kills our hot water system. Which seems to be a fundamental flaw, the times one most needs hot water it fails.

I feel better. The head cold of doom is easing up, going out in the weather probably didn't help though. I may actually manage more than four hours of sleep tonight.

Live in a country in which it isn't customary :P
If the waiter is still smiling by the end of the meal they get whatever spare change I've got. I'm such a cheap bastard. And I'm a waitress. I should be sympathizing and tipping 50%. I understand the enormous effort it takes to keep smiling at people like a freakin' Barbie all night.