Sunday, February 26, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Excuse much, rude or anything? The Artist and Teacher Fashion
Today I went to the Palace Kino with Mum to see The Artist. I hadn't read anything about it before I went and I'm glad I didn't because it may have put me off going; silent, and in black and white, it was not really the type of film I would usually see. Set in the late 1920s and early 30s the plot follows a silent movie star as he deals with the decline of his career when films with sound are introduced. I'm not really sure whether I enjoyed it or not. I'm glad I went to see it but the thought of watching it again is not appealing at all.
When I wonder why I wouldn't want to watch this film again, even though I didn't mind the plot, I realise that what I love about so many movies are the memorable dialogues: bantering lead characters with witty comments and (cringe) romantic speeches. I think watching a film without sound limits the depth of the characters. It is easy to read their faces and watch their actions to discern what is going on but without words there is less to savour after the film is over. I like my quotes. I used to watch individual episodes of Buffy a dozen times before I tired of them, and I would quote characters from the show in everyday life (what a geek, I know) whether I thought people would realise what I was doing or not.
Topic change.
I am going to be a History teacher and I am so effing excited about it. I am also excited about looking like a history teacher. Not one of those camel toe, squinty-glasses, smeared lipstick history teachers, no no no...well, I guess all of those badstyle things can happen to good people. In my spare moments (there are too many of them at the moment) I have been 1. looking for a new flatmate (knock myself unconscious can't deal with the stress) and 2. browsing the interwebs for some teacher fashion inspiration (knock myself unconscious I don't have any money to buy clothes).
When I wonder why I wouldn't want to watch this film again, even though I didn't mind the plot, I realise that what I love about so many movies are the memorable dialogues: bantering lead characters with witty comments and (cringe) romantic speeches. I think watching a film without sound limits the depth of the characters. It is easy to read their faces and watch their actions to discern what is going on but without words there is less to savour after the film is over. I like my quotes. I used to watch individual episodes of Buffy a dozen times before I tired of them, and I would quote characters from the show in everyday life (what a geek, I know) whether I thought people would realise what I was doing or not.
Topic change.
I am going to be a History teacher and I am so effing excited about it. I am also excited about looking like a history teacher. Not one of those camel toe, squinty-glasses, smeared lipstick history teachers, no no no...well, I guess all of those badstyle things can happen to good people. In my spare moments (there are too many of them at the moment) I have been 1. looking for a new flatmate (knock myself unconscious can't deal with the stress) and 2. browsing the interwebs for some teacher fashion inspiration (knock myself unconscious I don't have any money to buy clothes).
Photos: All from The Sartorialist except for the third one down which is from Garance Doré
Monday, January 23, 2012
Changes
I have a love/hate relationship with change. I find it exciting, but I also find it stressful. When I have the immediate future planned out and pinned down I find it easier to relax and get excited about things... but when I know there are things to come which could cause hassles, I can't focus on anything but that.
My rent has gone up and I can no longer live in my current apartment. My flatmate has decided to move to a suburb I'd rather avoid (I've heard those stories of syringes in cinema seats) so I'm on my own. I would love to live alone, I've been fantasizing about it for quite a while now, but I just can't afford it. I know I sound like a brat, but I'm not used to knowing what I want and simply not being able to have it. But, I suppose I've never wanted anything quite so expensive before.
As well as having to find a new abode I'm also starting a new course at uni: Secondary Teaching. That's right folks, here's a huge shocking twist - the girl who studied history at university is going to become a history teacher. I'm actually really happy about my decision to get a proper teaching qualification, although we'll see how I feel three weeks into the course when I start doing pracs and remember what little shitfaces teenagers can be.
My 25th Birthday is coming up. The older I get the more I am convinced that age is just a number. Writing that I am 25....25....25....it just doesn't seem correct. It doesn't look real. Gosh, I even struggle with being 24. It's not that I feel old, I don't, it's that I've grown up with notions of what it means to be 18, 21, 25, 30...etc. and as I reach (and pass) these ages I'm realising that although I become wiser, age doesn't dictate when you should have achieved something or when you should act a particular way. You change as you get older but age is not an accurate marker of when significant life events should occur. Yeah, I'm aware that probably doesn't make much sense, that's because I'm not planning on becoming coherent until I'm thirty. Suck it, bitches.
Well, that's just a bit of an update. Time to go shopping in the 35 degree heat. Leaving you with a couple of photos of my dream homes.
Photos: The Selby
My rent has gone up and I can no longer live in my current apartment. My flatmate has decided to move to a suburb I'd rather avoid (I've heard those stories of syringes in cinema seats) so I'm on my own. I would love to live alone, I've been fantasizing about it for quite a while now, but I just can't afford it. I know I sound like a brat, but I'm not used to knowing what I want and simply not being able to have it. But, I suppose I've never wanted anything quite so expensive before.
As well as having to find a new abode I'm also starting a new course at uni: Secondary Teaching. That's right folks, here's a huge shocking twist - the girl who studied history at university is going to become a history teacher. I'm actually really happy about my decision to get a proper teaching qualification, although we'll see how I feel three weeks into the course when I start doing pracs and remember what little shitfaces teenagers can be.
My 25th Birthday is coming up. The older I get the more I am convinced that age is just a number. Writing that I am 25....25....25....it just doesn't seem correct. It doesn't look real. Gosh, I even struggle with being 24. It's not that I feel old, I don't, it's that I've grown up with notions of what it means to be 18, 21, 25, 30...etc. and as I reach (and pass) these ages I'm realising that although I become wiser, age doesn't dictate when you should have achieved something or when you should act a particular way. You change as you get older but age is not an accurate marker of when significant life events should occur. Yeah, I'm aware that probably doesn't make much sense, that's because I'm not planning on becoming coherent until I'm thirty. Suck it, bitches.
Well, that's just a bit of an update. Time to go shopping in the 35 degree heat. Leaving you with a couple of photos of my dream homes.
Photos: The Selby
Friday, January 20, 2012
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
Sleepwalking in Wellington
Hello! I'm in Wellington, New Zealand. Sitting in a lovely cafe called The Lido, on Wakefield Street, where I have been twice in the 18 hours I have been in the windy city. Staying in a hostel last night has promptly destroyed the hint of backpacker romanticism which was creeping back into my naive and nostalgic mind. My back hurts. My head hurts. I slept all night with the light on. My bunk bed creaked every time I exhaled. YAY TRAVEL.
Perhaps being sleep deprived makes travel feel like more of an adventure. It's like travelling on a hazy cloud of grumpy. Also, being tired makes one care slightly less about the fact that they look like shit thanks to having to keep bathroom trips/makeup application to a maximum of five minutes so that the others in the dorm don't go on a sighing, moaning, foreign-language mumbling rampage. Yes. I am tired and I look like shit. I don't know how I did this backpacking thing for three months straight at a time.
Anyhow, no more hostel sleeps now as I'm meeting my parents today and we're going to stay in our beach bach for a week or so. It's a rickety old house (with retro furniture and definitely no internet) next to an isolated beach of black sand, seashells, and driftwood. It used to belong to my Grandad and I love going there because it is the only place which has stayed constant throughout my entire life. I have so many childhood memories of building sandcastles with my Dad and Grandad, and riding the motorbike over sand dunes while my Grandad ran along behind me swearing at me because I wouldn't stop. My best friend is coming to stay with us for a few days, the last time we were there together we were nine and everything seemed so big and exciting; climbing a sand dune was like climbing a mountain. I haven't been back since my Grandad died and I am hoping I feel the same way about the place as I did when he was there.
Third coffee coming up.
Perhaps being sleep deprived makes travel feel like more of an adventure. It's like travelling on a hazy cloud of grumpy. Also, being tired makes one care slightly less about the fact that they look like shit thanks to having to keep bathroom trips/makeup application to a maximum of five minutes so that the others in the dorm don't go on a sighing, moaning, foreign-language mumbling rampage. Yes. I am tired and I look like shit. I don't know how I did this backpacking thing for three months straight at a time.
Anyhow, no more hostel sleeps now as I'm meeting my parents today and we're going to stay in our beach bach for a week or so. It's a rickety old house (with retro furniture and definitely no internet) next to an isolated beach of black sand, seashells, and driftwood. It used to belong to my Grandad and I love going there because it is the only place which has stayed constant throughout my entire life. I have so many childhood memories of building sandcastles with my Dad and Grandad, and riding the motorbike over sand dunes while my Grandad ran along behind me swearing at me because I wouldn't stop. My best friend is coming to stay with us for a few days, the last time we were there together we were nine and everything seemed so big and exciting; climbing a sand dune was like climbing a mountain. I haven't been back since my Grandad died and I am hoping I feel the same way about the place as I did when he was there.
Third coffee coming up.
Photo: Anna Rosa Krau
Monday, December 19, 2011
Daydreamer.
My desire to go back to Europe has hit me like a sledgehammer. I have spent hours over the past few days looking through my photos of the sixteen months I spent living in Europa and reading gleeful status updates from mid-2009 (thanks to the new fb timeline). I know everything wasn't sunshine and slow motion field running over there, but I had some of the best times of my life sprinkled in amongst the angst. My life right now? Reallllly not exciting. Don't get me wrong, I am not unhappy, not by a long shot - I am headed in the direction I want - I guess I am just a greedy little green grass dreamer.
2013.
2013.
Segovia, Spain
Christmas markets in Bruges, Belgium
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