Look, I hate to be the jerk around town, but I am royally unimpressed by your blog plagiarism. Not to be really presumptuous, but It's just too much of a coincidence that my previously used analogies involving Madonna's breasts and Miley Cyrus's ego, and phrases like "unemployment, i welcome you with arms as wide as my wit is lacking," are littered across your blog.

Sure, I have no hold of the English language, so just for that, I can let slide your usage of "deities of academia", "karmic retribution" and "cretin". Just fyi, you spelled cretin wrong - "creten" - hilarious that I held that same spelling error for the better part of last year.

Yes, I stumbled upon your blog, skimmed through the most recent entries, thought it a little uncanny that we had such similar idioms, but thought nothing of it. I even thought "WELL HEY, IT'S A KINDERED SPIRIT!" That until, I saw the sentence, "It would be presumptuous of me to say that my car doesn't like it up the arse." Seriously? I only wrote that line four months ago. If you're going to plagiarise, at least have the decency to steal something at least a year old, that way I might have forgotten I had written it. Jerk.

Look pal, you can kick at my threadbare self-esteem, steal my parking spot or be the obnoxious prick on the treadmill next to me who detracts from my running focus, and yeah I'll be a little miffed. But you take my line about adopting self-defence so that when assailed in the back of an alleyway, I'll have better than my "I can do origami" catchphrase, then we have a problem. Such a problem involves me wanting to make mashed potato of your face with my fist alone.

You think I'm creepy? Damn straight I am. I went to the very start of your blog archives, opened up a word document, and copied down all the lines that sounded terribly suspect. I've organised it under month headings too. I have the intention of going back through my own blog and copying down my original statements and the dates of when I posted them. Why? I don't know. Probably will just be an exercise in personal masochism.

I know what your name is and I know you live in my city. Don't think I'm above shaming you. If I feel so inspired, I will put your link up on here. Better yet, I'll start a new section on the sidebar aptly titled "Wall of Shame" and will christen you as its pioneer. I don't know what I'm expecting. I'd feel terrible to ask you to take your posts down. Who am I to play the holier-than-thou stance, but really, I am livid. Self-expression doesn't come as easy for me as I'd like it to, and for you to come and pedal on the back of my measly wisdom does not sit well with me. Maybe I would just like some sort of acknowledgment - "oh hey, I read your post. I'm really sorry about offending you. Won't do it again." I don't know. All I know is I'm really unimpressed.

I could damn well be overacting. So be it. But just know that this is a mighty pet-peeve, and its people like you who reinforce my increasing displeasure about sharing content. Criticism and trolling I can take, I've dealt with them for a long time. But this, the pilfering of ideas, I do not stand for. I don't mean to be a huge bitch, but I am not going to sit down and take it like a man. I will take it with the full force of the adolescent brat I will never grow out of, got it?

Posted in: fuck off on Friday, August 21, 2009 at at 9:58 AM 15 comments  

Posted in: on Sunday, August 9, 2009 at at 11:07 PM 2 comments  

In an attempt to conceal just how much I struggle with writing up blog entries, I'll begin this post with an irrelevant but worthwhile tidbit like how a can of corn kernels has the capacity to smell like cheap wine. Are you riveted? I dearly hope not. Otherwise, I'll chastise you for being a low-quality reader (but secretly be thrilled that my weak statements have an easily moved audience).

In the past week, I've managed to uphold two negative stereotypes that may or may not involve "women" and "asians" with relation to driving. How might one do this, you ask? Simple. Reverse into a midget-sized pole in a carpark. I'm not even going to make excuses for myself; in fact, I'll even add that the smash repairs guy and I are totally on a first name basis. I said, "HELLO, I'VE COME BACK TO BRING YOU BUSINESS," with the chipper air of one who is not a war veteran. He laughed and said, "I should give you a frequent flyers card." (*Will just note that this is the first of my road misadventures where fault rests on my shoulders, mmkay)

So, I've been enjoying the bustle of the outside world. My rustiness at blogging can attest to this. Yesterday after class, I made my way to the Museum of Contemporary Art with Alex, whereupon he informed me that he totally had some rehearsed comments and art appraisals at the ready, ahaha bless! Then I took the following picture at some point during a leisurely stroll. Sometimes I forget how beautiful I find the city I live in, but instants like these are like refreshing gusts of clarity.


In the evening, Nerida picked me up for a gig, and added me to the collection of girls in her car. I instantly warmed to them like a potato in a microwave after hearing, "Oh, we'll look after you tonight!" in response to my delcaration that I was the baby of the bunch.

Here, have some myrth:










I love live music, the atmosphere of a small pub, and the collective easygoing quality of people who frequent these venues. There's little pretentiousness to stab through, unlike at clubs, and falling into conversation with anyone is as easy as settling into a an armchair specifically designed for the grooves and ridges of my tender bottom! Stumbling into bed at a time of day pre-emancipated-Cinderella did not have the luxury of enjoying, sleep was short-lived, and I drove Isabelle to school prior to jumping onto a train with Min, in order to make it to a television shoot. We were extras, courtesy of the darling Chris, and all I'm prepared to say on the matter is I am mother trucking better at tennis than I ever gave myself credit for!

Look, all I'm asking for right now is a calf massage. I am exhausted.
It should also be noted that I haven't gone to the gym since Monday. You see how treacherous old age is?!? Excuse me while I have a quarter life crisis...

Night

Posted in: babyporridge, car accident, gigs, nikki malvar, photoblog, picturepost, tv on Thursday, August 6, 2009 at at 11:14 PM 4 comments  

Somewhere between craving cinnamon donuts, psyching myself up for my last ever academic semester and dealing with things slightly beyond the healthy limits of my emotional quota, I turned twenty.

Here is where I say 'thank you' to anyone who contributed to the fruitfulness of my day through sms / youtube / facebook / twitter / dailybooth comments, actual gropes and telekinetic energy. I felt the vibes, thank you.

Since I regrettably cannot personally hug or affectionately pat any of your heads, I thought the next best thing would be to compile and illegally distribute a mixtape of sorts, whereby you could:
a) enjoy what my ears (and nostalgic recollection) enjoy
b) subsequently broaden the horizons of your music favourites, or
c) decisively attack me for everything I stand for, starting with my music taste

Then I remembered that legal run-ins regarding intellectual property and copyright are actually severely intimidating, and are things with which I don't want to be involved.

In conclusion, I have not uploaded and will not freely distribute a collection of songs.
I have, however, still compiled a set of twenty songs in youtube form - with one song from every year I've been alive. Hope you enjoy; do let me know if you've decided to fall in love with any of my picks (:

1989 - Personal Jesus : Depeche Mode
1990 - Roam : B52s
1991 - Jeremy : Pearl Jam
1992 - Date Rape : Sublime
1993 - Mr. Wendal : Arrested Development
1994 - Cornflake Girl : Tori Amos
1995 - Waterfalls : TLC
1996 - Lady Picture Show : Stone Temple Pilots
1997 - Suddenly Strange : Bic Runga
1998 - Teardrop : Massive Attack
1999 - Paper Bag : Fiona Apple
2000 - Sparks : Coldplay
2001 - Love Affair : Regina Spektor
2002 - Innervision : System of a Down
2003 - Collide : Rachael Yamagata
2004 - Too Drunk To F*ck : Nouvelle Vague
2005 - Virginia Moon : Foo Fighters
2006 - Mushaboom : Feist
2007 - Nude : Radiohead
2008 - Hiphopopotamus Vs. Rhymenoceros : Flight of the Conchords
2009 - R U Kidding Me : Kate Miller-Heidke

The usual, unstimulating trivial commentary will resume in the following blog posts. I leave you with a teaser of sorts, by the clubbing snaparazzi. Yeah, this mug totally made it to one of those party photo websites, ha. Clearly my life is much closer to fulfillment!


Goodnight.

Posted in: on Friday, July 31, 2009 at at 12:17 AM 8 comments  

Posted in: on Thursday, July 23, 2009 at at 11:52 PM 7 comments  

I should begin by noting that the title of this entry is vastly more interesting than the story itself. I will now proceed. So about two nights ago, this guy I know from a class at uni played a cameo role in my dreams. I have exercised all of about sixty words to him from when he asked for computer help, his features never caused a stir in my loins or heart, and I wouldn't even go so far as to call us acquaintances. Despite this and for whatever inexplicable reason, he made an appearance in my dreams.

Lo and behold, while accompanying my mother to an appointment in King's Cross, (yes, it's exactly what you're thinking... if what you're thinking involves questionable circumstances) who should walk by but mr-in-my-dreams himself! I had the riveting compulsion to grab him by my ankles and yell, "fate! we are bound by fate!"

Thankfully, nothing of that ridiculous extent transpired, and the scenario was grossly anticlimactic. He just walked on by like the lyrics to Burt Bacharach's song aptly titled 'Walk On By', and he didn't acknowledge me! I like to dismiss the idea that he totally just didn't see me, considering I was way out of his peripheral vision, but the story is much more enthralling if I pretend that it was an act of defiance to his reciprocated burning lust.

But then my mother bought me a burrito, and all was well. God, I'm such an easy bribe. I jump at the chance to accompany her to appointments, clean dog shit, go for routine lobotomies... all for the promise of food.

(Image stolen from the Guzman y Gomez website. Does product placement get me free burritos? Because I will totally be a repeat customerrr...)

And totally off topic, but whatever, Min. D-Radcliffe is totally a babe.


Guys, I can't thank you enough for reading my blog and reacting to what I say. I wish you could know how incredibly grateful I am for the fact that I have such quality people following and responding to my words. Thank you for such phenomenal comments in the last entry. At risk of sounding any more like a big sap, I throw in the word "hernia" to break the monotony.

Lovelovelove.

Posted in: babyporridge, burrito, daniel radcliffe, guzman y gomez, nikki malvar on Tuesday, July 14, 2009 at at 10:13 PM 11 comments  

So, after just having read Hayley's last post, I feel like an unworthy blogger. I blog about my misadventures and the things I'm obscenely passionate about, which invariably are creative self-expression and fat thighs (more appropriately, the eternal pursuit to remove them from my life). As far as saving the world goes though, what am I doing? I'm vaguely conscious about recycling and I volunteered for a summer at the YMCA as a soft-spoken twelve year old. These token graces are as far as I go in terms of being an environmentalist / humanitarian / good samaritan / relevant human.

I see people on the streets. I read about those people suffering from poverty or carnage. I know that so much stuff of real substance occurs that don't even register on my personal radar of importance. All I can do is briefly feel empathetic and genuinely sorry for people in these sort of circumstances, but I don't do more than that. I haven't gone to a camp for abused children, made a positive impression, and subsequently enriched someone's life for a week. At this point in my life, I can't willingly say that I would consider adopting, much less consider the prospect of having my own offspring. Lots of admiration, Hayls. (Seriously, if you haven't read Hayley's blog yet right now, do so.)

I dunno. I guess I'm just sad that wanting change is not synonymous with actual change. I don't know if I'll be forever afflicted with apathy; I hope not. It's not the thought that counts after all. As they say, the dead are still dead.

There's a lot I don't write about and put up in the public domain. I self-censor a lot of what goes on in my personal life (I know, hard to believe, right?). I like to write about lighthearted things, and if I do touch on something a little more poignant, I'll stay vague. I'm sorry that this post deviated from the structure, but at the same time I addressed something that needed to be addressed. But my penchant for the lighthearted means that I will forever be an unworthy blogger with no real address to the relevant things of today's society. Hate it when I'm being a confused downer? YEAH, YOU AND ME BOTH!

Back to my typical non-riveting, regular musings. I know this totally defeats the aforesaid paragraphs, but eh. Like I said, I like to chronicle the lighthearted things.

So I went to dinner and The Butterfly Effect gig last night, and went snap-happy. In the following images, you will see my dinner also known as Pad Thai Prawn, the faces of Nerida, Rose, Crystal and myself, and Rose's conceptual artwork more aptly called 'Rice on a table'.







This is the view from where we were. That's right, those two heads you see are made of finite human flesh.


I didn't bring my zoom lens, so no close-ups of faces mid money-note, no heaving drummer pecs and the like. I should note that I learned of the art form of timing precision since I had to time my 'clicks' in the split-seconds when the two side-bobbing heads in front of me bobbed out of my frame. I also may or may not have stolen Zab's watermark style.

Now please make sense of the following two pictures, as the implication creeps me the truck out. Disregard the awkward poses; working with the allotted seconds of self-timer in the wee hours of the morning is not my strong suit. I remember having such a hard time keeping my eyes open. I attributed it to dry contacts. If you look at these, my face is considerably fuzzy. WHAT THE TRUCK. Is that a ghost sitting on my face?! HALP.

Posted in: babyporridge, butterfly effect, hayleyghoover, hungry ghost, nikki malvar, pad thai, picturepost on Sunday, July 12, 2009 at at 7:55 PM 8 comments