So, in between playing tennis with small children, listening to Step Up soundtrack (something for which I will never be ashamed. Slightly more embarrassing was my week in which all I could listen to was Carrie Underwood songs, for which I totally blame Glee.), youtubing Bon Qui Qui videos, and inventing every way possible in which to insert "next minute" into a sentence while still remaining vaguely coherent, I have managed to write TWO PAGES of my dissertation.
I know right.
To be fair (though I have a feeling my supervisor would be less than sympathetic to any of these reasons), quite a considerable margin of my time has been taken up with constructing flow diagrams of rugby world cup probabilities, and writing short poems in iambic pentameter* about how stressed I am**.
But, now that it seems that NZ will be out at the semis (Joke! Joke! Don't shoot me!) and nobody has ever read Keats (and only seen the movie cos of Fanny Brawne, ding DONG!), it seems to me to be about time to finish up in Dunedin and move on out into the worrrld. Get a job in public health. A lovely socially-acceptable same-sex relationship (ideally involving a great deal of interior decorating and home-made preserves). A six pack like Jillian Michaels. All very likely occurrences. (Sarcasm here is variable according to political persuasion; I try to cater to all masteries of ironic cynicism. You hipsters. I have a bike, too. And one time I bought organic shampoo. It made my hair smell like like SBW's armpit in Ramadan (dead lemons mixed with rexona, for the curious) and clump in an interestingly vertical yet aesthetically displeasing manner).
(I also want to learn to spell occurrences without spellcheck, that is up there on the wish list, just beneath unpasteurised cheese and rhyming better.)
Babe, amiright. I would be fat anyday to put on gym shorts and be abused by her.
Anyhow;
[brief sojourn into apathetic politics.]
Do other people worry about these things?
I mean, not cheese so much. The future. Do you worry that you may not have matching sofa cushions one day? Or that you will never own a home? I am somewhere between the two. Unfortunately, I also acknowledge that it is not only what I do that will make me who I become; it is where I came from and the people I (and my family) know. I have been a little occupied, you could say. I'd like to do something about it. Explain to people that they are all part of a larger functioning society, and what is paid back comes full circle. But I will have to muster my thoughts somewhat. Cut down on Glee time. And maybe read something not containing "pooled relative risks were controlled for intra-examiner measurement error and eighty-three other adjustments, rendering the secondary analysis completely worthless haha shame you had to read 30 pages to figure this out, loser postgrad". Before I can figure out exactly WHAT is wrong (if anything) with the world.
[Over now. Well done. Continue.]
To conclude; I get to go in a plane on Tuesday. I am very, very excited.
Some people hate planes (David. Hysterical*** woman off Bridesmaids. Terrorists (I assume, from the evidence.) It is safe to say I do not. In fact, I get so excited by planes that one time Dad seriously offered me codeine in order that he would not have to play eye spy with me one more time. Eye spy (in the sky) is often difficult once we get beyond the regulars of W is for wandering albatross ("you did not!" "Dad! They fly more than 100,000km/year! They obviously move a hell of a lot faster than you can see, it's not my fault you're old and decrepit, one point for me. Hah!"), S is for slipstream, and C is for circulating air generating differential lift.
I absolutely LOVE looking out the window. (I always request a window seat, and if anyone takes it I just look at them. Like this. Until they move. Heh.)
I ADORE free coffee! Even though it is very shitty and requires addition of three tiny sugar packets and UHT milk (fondly reminiscent of the time I accidentally ate melted spatula off the stove-top because I thought it was just old cheese.) and also makes me have to pee. Which I love as well! The hilarious noise! Vacuum-cleaner loo!
I TOTALLY get off on (inappropriate? Too late.) landing. So exciting! I know (from PHSI102, which I passed. I know physics gets all up in your grill disproving magic but I swear to the Higgs boson they were just impressed by my patronus. (It is a bear. Just in case you were wondering. One of those sunbears they have in Wellington Zoo that look like cuddly little snugglebuddies but would rather eat your kneecap than watch Gossip Girl with you. I assume. (Dear androgynous outmoded primitive self-help system, I want a bear. I will call her fluffypants and take her jogging and yes, maybe she will eat Jack Russells but I will kick her bone-filled poo off the path afterwards and give tearful ex-pet owners a stolen airline mint each.)) that planes stay up coz of like, the wind goes faster underneath than above? But still, YOU ARE IN THE AIR ON NOTHING! Awesome, right.
And I think this sums up nicely exactly what points I have been trying to make!
1) Tennis is fun. But do not play the day after you play squash unless you want to have to chase balls down Opoho hill for 20 minutes. Hannah, one day I will beat you. (Dad: you; I probably never will.)
1a) I want a job. (Employ me. I am fun and can make pina coladas. Fact.) But, I would like a bear more.
4) Cheese is the best thing ever. (Yeah really? Typical. And yes it is. I would totally rather have sexy cheese than cheesy sex. (This sounds vaguely unhygienic also.))
16) The end. Have a nice day.
*why do people not know things. It mystifies me.
**Hemm heeeemmmm:
Iambic pentameter thesis.
I did receive a mail that said to me
"I do believe the page has not been writ"
I hit reply "I fear it will not be...
complete before the date that was foretold."
My lecturer then sent another mail
"if you do not hand in on time; you fail."
I now return, from net to word, to try...
and type some words. Against my fate I rail.
***THIS is proper usage of hysterical. Thank you.
I know right.
To be fair (though I have a feeling my supervisor would be less than sympathetic to any of these reasons), quite a considerable margin of my time has been taken up with constructing flow diagrams of rugby world cup probabilities, and writing short poems in iambic pentameter* about how stressed I am**.
But, now that it seems that NZ will be out at the semis (Joke! Joke! Don't shoot me!) and nobody has ever read Keats (and only seen the movie cos of Fanny Brawne, ding DONG!), it seems to me to be about time to finish up in Dunedin and move on out into the worrrld. Get a job in public health. A lovely socially-acceptable same-sex relationship (ideally involving a great deal of interior decorating and home-made preserves). A six pack like Jillian Michaels. All very likely occurrences. (Sarcasm here is variable according to political persuasion; I try to cater to all masteries of ironic cynicism. You hipsters. I have a bike, too. And one time I bought organic shampoo. It made my hair smell like like SBW's armpit in Ramadan (dead lemons mixed with rexona, for the curious) and clump in an interestingly vertical yet aesthetically displeasing manner).
(I also want to learn to spell occurrences without spellcheck, that is up there on the wish list, just beneath unpasteurised cheese and rhyming better.)
Babe, amiright. I would be fat anyday to put on gym shorts and be abused by her.
Anyhow;
[brief sojourn into apathetic politics.]
Do other people worry about these things?
I mean, not cheese so much. The future. Do you worry that you may not have matching sofa cushions one day? Or that you will never own a home? I am somewhere between the two. Unfortunately, I also acknowledge that it is not only what I do that will make me who I become; it is where I came from and the people I (and my family) know. I have been a little occupied, you could say. I'd like to do something about it. Explain to people that they are all part of a larger functioning society, and what is paid back comes full circle. But I will have to muster my thoughts somewhat. Cut down on Glee time. And maybe read something not containing "pooled relative risks were controlled for intra-examiner measurement error and eighty-three other adjustments, rendering the secondary analysis completely worthless haha shame you had to read 30 pages to figure this out, loser postgrad". Before I can figure out exactly WHAT is wrong (if anything) with the world.
[Over now. Well done. Continue.]
To conclude; I get to go in a plane on Tuesday. I am very, very excited.
Some people hate planes (David. Hysterical*** woman off Bridesmaids. Terrorists (I assume, from the evidence.) It is safe to say I do not. In fact, I get so excited by planes that one time Dad seriously offered me codeine in order that he would not have to play eye spy with me one more time. Eye spy (in the sky) is often difficult once we get beyond the regulars of W is for wandering albatross ("you did not!" "Dad! They fly more than 100,000km/year! They obviously move a hell of a lot faster than you can see, it's not my fault you're old and decrepit, one point for me. Hah!"), S is for slipstream, and C is for circulating air generating differential lift.
I absolutely LOVE looking out the window. (I always request a window seat, and if anyone takes it I just look at them. Like this. Until they move. Heh.)
I ADORE free coffee! Even though it is very shitty and requires addition of three tiny sugar packets and UHT milk (fondly reminiscent of the time I accidentally ate melted spatula off the stove-top because I thought it was just old cheese.) and also makes me have to pee. Which I love as well! The hilarious noise! Vacuum-cleaner loo!
I TOTALLY get off on (inappropriate? Too late.) landing. So exciting! I know (from PHSI102, which I passed. I know physics gets all up in your grill disproving magic but I swear to the Higgs boson they were just impressed by my patronus. (It is a bear. Just in case you were wondering. One of those sunbears they have in Wellington Zoo that look like cuddly little snugglebuddies but would rather eat your kneecap than watch Gossip Girl with you. I assume. (Dear androgynous outmoded primitive self-help system, I want a bear. I will call her fluffypants and take her jogging and yes, maybe she will eat Jack Russells but I will kick her bone-filled poo off the path afterwards and give tearful ex-pet owners a stolen airline mint each.)) that planes stay up coz of like, the wind goes faster underneath than above? But still, YOU ARE IN THE AIR ON NOTHING! Awesome, right.
And I think this sums up nicely exactly what points I have been trying to make!
1) Tennis is fun. But do not play the day after you play squash unless you want to have to chase balls down Opoho hill for 20 minutes. Hannah, one day I will beat you. (Dad: you; I probably never will.)
1a) I want a job. (Employ me. I am fun and can make pina coladas. Fact.) But, I would like a bear more.
4) Cheese is the best thing ever. (Yeah really? Typical. And yes it is. I would totally rather have sexy cheese than cheesy sex. (This sounds vaguely unhygienic also.))
16) The end. Have a nice day.
*why do people not know things. It mystifies me.
**Hemm heeeemmmm:
Iambic pentameter thesis.
I did receive a mail that said to me
"I do believe the page has not been writ"
I hit reply "I fear it will not be...
complete before the date that was foretold."
My lecturer then sent another mail
"if you do not hand in on time; you fail."
I now return, from net to word, to try...
and type some words. Against my fate I rail.
***THIS is proper usage of hysterical. Thank you.
Why does organic/natural shampoo always smell like shit? Really rips my knickers.
ReplyDeleteWhat's your favourite type of cheese?
ReplyDeleteWell this appears to be a good question.
ReplyDeleteAnd I will try answer it in iamb.
The mood I have affects my cheese, my friend.
If I am sad a ripe ched-der I crave.
If life is bad, the day a gouda will save.
A human loves cumin, the dutch had that much to say
But blue my soul has stole, no lie, right away.
BAM.
Try De Lorenzo shampoo, all natural plant-based ingredients, not tested on animals. It smells amazing.
ReplyDeleteI have $220 worth of sofa cushions. Perfectly mis-matched in colour, shape, size and patterns. What a fucking joke... I hardly even use them. Consumerism at its best! I have somewhat unhealthy, Tyler Durden like, visions every time I have to rearrange them on my extremely over-priced corner-suite sofa.
ReplyDelete"Fuck off with your sofa units and strine green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may." - Tyler Durden.