Nothing to Write Home About

Hey.
Been busy as hell lately. The boring kind of busy. Working at a new job in a cafe and I'm getting a ton of shifts, which is pissing off Spunky cos it means that we havn't spent an entire day together for over a week.

Then we finally DO get to spend time together, and my phone is on silent after work, and then I miss three calls from my mother. Turns out my grandmother is sick. As in hospital tests sick. Fan fucking tastic. Nothing like a Christmas illness to put things in perspective.

Went out to the Gin Palace in Melbourne. The place rocks. Its just a nice, chilled out lounge, lots of seats and sofas, dimly lit. A great place to hang out with your friends, chat, and blow cash on expensive alcahol. I was very nicely drunk after 2 long island iced teas and a black russian. A fun night of chatting, bitching etc. Spunky had to work untill midnight, but frankly I think I learned more from other people cos he wasn't there.

What...the...fuck?

Yes yes, I know, I'm on holidays. I should be updating every day. Quite frankly my dear readers, I don't give a damn. I'm busy. Every one's asking me to go do stuff, as is my darling boyfriend who shall now be referred to as Spunky. Something about how I give his life meaning so spending a day away from me is a day wasted. Seems a tad over the top to me, but whatever. He understands I need me time, and days out with the girls which I can do now that I am employed.

My exam results came out today. Yay for me. I got well over the score I needed to get into the course I wanted, and I did great in Drama and Studio. :)

Anyway, now onto stuff that is shitting me.


Riddle me this, dear readers. What century is this?
Are we not, in fact, 8 years into the 21st century, the new enlightened age? Explain to me, then, why people still harbor outmoded ideas about sex.

Case in point: my mother. She continues to dumbfound me. Seriously, just when I think I have her pegged she throws me a curve ball.
At age 14 I get invited to a friends 18th Birthday bash in the rough part of a local neighborhood, and was sure she would never let me go. On the contrary, she was all for it.
Since then I had a bit of an ordeal involving several friends attempting to hasten their departure to the great comic book store/music haven in the sky, and I was able to talk to her about it all. However, if I even broach the subject of sex in her presence (at least, in a serious sense) she changes the topic.
BUT! Woah ho again, when I announce for the first time that I shall be crashing at my boyfriend's house, she's fine. Possibly because she can harbor the illusion that I'm sleeping on the couch. Huh. He has a double bed. I am not sleeping on any couch when there is a double bed. No, my dear readers, we aren't having sex (I won't give you the details of what we do get up to, because that's neither here nor there). So, when my dearest Spunky stays late at mine one night, father suggests he just sleeps on the spare mattress I keep in my room, rather than make the journey home. Great idea! So we pull out the mattress and he sleeps on the floor, as I am unlucky enough to still have the same single bed that I did at age 10.

THIS evening, however, I mention that Spunky will again be staying the night. Mother INSISTS that we drag the mattress out of my room and that Spunky sleep in the lounge room.
Does this seem odd to you? I should probably point out that Spunky is well liked by my entire family (except possibly my grandmother, who will be nice and civil but wont love him until he slaps a ring on my finger). Spunky is now snoozing on the opposite side of the wall. I'm trying to decide whether I should go and sleep on the couch near him, just to make a point.

Father dearest says that this is because this was how mother was raised, and what happened when the two of them were seeing each other.... twenty five years ago, and he is not taking sides on the matter. He also mentioned that its partially because it might cause raised eyebrows where friends and family are concerned.
To which I counted, "Who's going to know?"
I also said, "Spunky will be on the floor. I will be in my bed. You two have the ears of wolves and sleep very lightly. Would I really do something so stupid?"
What really gets me is that for all of my mother's grand statements of giving me independence and trust, she pulls crap like this which proves that she does not, in fact, trust me. Whether or not she trusts Spunky doesn't enter into it. She should trust me enough to say no, and trust my judgement enough in that I would never date a guy who didn't respect me. I could never love someone who didn't respect me.
I just don't see what the big deal is. What's more she's grossly inconsistent. Yes, I am aware that I'm her baby girl, but she can't keep playing that card forever!
I'm not religious in any way either, so my morals and ideas are a tad more liberated than the rest of my family, but she always told me that the reason she never had sex before she was engaged wasn't to do with her faith, but because she felt that none of her boyfriends were right or respected her enough. I respect her for that very much, and it's the same principle I employed, long before she even said that to me. Truth be told, I'm not sure shes convinced that the faith she was raised on is exactly fantastic.
There is no question that religion has demonised an act which is in fact essential and natural. The idea that you should wait for marriage is ludicrous, the idea that you should wait for someone you love and trust to come along is not.

You can be damn sure that if/when I have a daughter I'll be honest and up front with her, and that I wont be fazed by having a boy sleep on the floor of her room. I'd like to think that I'd trust her enough to be comfortable with it and besides, it's not like it's any of my business. It sure as hell isn't my mothers, nor will it be.

Its Over

I am officially free. Free I tellz ya!! Mwahahahahaaaaahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!



Excuse me while I sing Alice Cooper (You know the one I meen).

Thats right friends, followers and admirers (pftt...thats a good one) I am now done with Highschool and the VCE. My results are released on the 15th of December.

Anyway, I need to make a list of all of the things I want to do this Summer. I'l write more later. Adios.

The madness that is the publishing industry

I'm going to let you in on a secret. Come closer. Closer. Okay...shhhh! ..... here goes.... when I was six years of age, I knew what I wanted to do as a career.

As soon as my teacher, Mrs Green, told the class about creative writing and about how we could write whatever we wanted, and then set us down with some paper and pencils to quietly write whatever popped into our little minds so as she could have some quiet time involving a gin and tonic and a saucy Mills and Boon paperback, I stepped into a fantastic world from which I did not want to return. I had already discovered the magic of reading and the escapism associated with it, but here I could step into my own story and share them with the world. And it was then that I knew that I wanted to be a writer.



I told this to my mother and father, and the general response was "that's nice dear" coupled with a pat on the head and a cookie. But the idea has never faded from my thoughts - its what I want to do.

In the ensuing years, various people said to me "It's very hard to get published, you know. Maybe you want to consider another career move? Perhaps a doctor? or a Lawyer?" and I did not. I still don't. I have since expanded my repertoire from just wanting to write fiction novels to just wanting to write. This has many advantages, the main one being that I am slightly more likely to live somewhere other than a cardboard box.

Recently, though, I have observed a phenomenon that makes me think that the publishing industry standards must be slipping.



What phenomenon?

Twilight.



Never heard of it? Let me sum it up.



The Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer is being hailed as the new Harry Potter. It's about this girl named Bella who moves to Washington with her father and instantly hates everyone at school, despite the fact that they all generally seem to worship the ground she walks on. Except for Edward Cullen, who seems to hate her on sight. This is only because he is secretly in love with her, and after several angst-ridden chapters of Bella wondering why this beautiful boy doesn't kiss her feet like the rest of them, and then the two finally talking, Bella finally comes to the painfully obvious conclusion that Edward is a Vampire.

This takes half of the first book. Then all of a sudden, it seems that Meyer realised that books are supposed to contain something called a 'plot' and Bella is being pursued by baddie Vampires for some flimsy reason or another.



And that's just book one.



Anyway, here I feel it is time for....

LOU SINGER-MIND'S TOP 10...

things about Twilight that make me cry with mirth and/or despair on behalf of my deteriorating brain-cells.



10)
Bella Swan is a Mary-Sue. There is no avoiding it. She's popular yet angsty and completely self absorbed, but the real kicker is that the 'writer' has made her overly clumsy. Clumsy. As if this will somehow make her more believable and/or likable.
FUCK. OFF. It just makes you more of a predictable, whiny cow.

9)
In adding to the "Mary-Sue" aspect, she has several guys sniffing her overly-perfect arse, including one normal, perfectly nice guy and one slightly younger boy who it very obviously a werewolf.

8)
In the second novel she cannot believe that aforementioned boy is a werewolf, because werewolves can't exist. Well, Vampires do, but that's different, I guess.

7)
In second book she dumps said werewolf for Edward when she thinks he will come back.
Mmm. Great example.

6)
When she is dumped by Edward, Bella mopes. For four months. Four Months. And I don't mean steadily gets over it like normal people, I mean that she stays in the first numbed, zombie stage of the breakup. For four. fucking. goddamn. months. And she bitches about it. She even compares her relationship with Romeo and Juliet. To think that Meyer is comparing herself with Shakespeare... it would have him turning over in his grave. Hell, I'm suprised he hasn't risen and payed Meyer a visit, if not to eat her non-existant brains then at least to give her a tip or two.

5)
Since Edward dropped her, Bella hates music.
What kind of teenager is she?? Everyone knows that pumping up the bass/Alanis/New York Dolls/Dido/Slayer (it really depends on your taste, and if its an angry break-up or just a sad one) until the windows rattle and the local police come knocking is the first port of call for your average teen, closely followed by ice cream and/or bourbon. Its therapy. All of that believability and empathy for Bella and her clumsy elephant ways has instantly gone out the window, Meyer.

4) Dream sequences. An over-abundance of DREAM SEQUENCES. Complete with the Mary-Sue-wake-up-and-gasp-with-revelation endings. It honestly makes me want to bash Bella's head into the wall over and over and over.
Stephanie Meyer has discovered a device which allows the reader to figure out whats going on.... as if it isn't already SO BLATANTLY OBVIOUS SO A BLIND AND RETARDED CHIMP WOULD BE WONDERING WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MODERN PROSE. Whoops. Caps lock on. Meh, I'll leave it.


3)
Where the fuck was the plot?????
A well written story has the plot woven throughout, not tacked onto the end in a nasty, cheap and ultimately mind-numbing way that smacks of "Oh wait... where do I go now... um... Ah! More vampires want her cos I'm- I mean she's - awesome! Yeah... that'll hold over those little SOB's...."



2)
Meyer is creating completely unrealistic expectations for the young girls who read this series, with regards to relationships. Not only is Bella completely dependant on Edward, but she does everything he tells her to, including how to feel. To cap it off, Bella decides to spend her college fund on a life endangering hobby, instead of using it to go to college and get away from a town she supposedly despises, and getting an education where she might just realise that the entire universe does in fact not revolve around her, and that there is more to life than bonking (or not bonking, as the case may be) two dimentional underdeveloped Vampire characters. Way to go sweetheart, you're educating a whole generation of readers to revert by about fifty years or more, male and female alike.

Hate to break it to you girls, but boys are not like Edward. Some are nice. Some are bastards. Some are brave. Some are cowards. Some are beautiful. Some are butt ugly. Some are devoted. Some care more about their car. None are perfect. They will mess up, or you will. Relationships come and go. Enjoy it while you can.
Most importantly, the first guy that comes along is not necessarily 'the one,' and it's not the end of the world if things don't work out. Sure, be sad, but you need to remember the good times you had together, and have no regrets. Be realistic. DO NOT take relationship advice or expectations from a novel of any sort. You will be let down. Especially if that advice is to sit quietly and do as he says - this is not always a good idea.

Boys? Unfortunately for you, some of you may have to deal with a ton of Bella Swan/ Stephanie Meyer clones. Have fun with that.

1)
What do the vampires do when they go out into the sun?
Do they burst into flame?

No.

Do they maybe sizzle?

No.

Well, do they at least scream and yell "MY EYES!! THE POLARISING SUNGLASSES! THEY DO NOTHING!!" ??

No.

You know what they do?

They sparkle.

Yes, that's right. They fucking sparkle. Really badass, no?

And a whole generation now takes that to be vampire lore, given that some of the movie trailers are beginning with the words "Everything you know about Vampires is wrong."

For the love of god people, read some goddamn Dracula. Or, if you still want some complete brain-rotting candy, read the Anita Blake series. Its actually mostly focused on violence, guns and blood until about book six when it makes a steady decline, but at least after that you get some bang for your buck, in more ways than one. Hell, if need be you just skip the vampire-lyconthrope-orgy-porn and you re finished in half the time and you can go back to reading something with substance. Like the latest edition of Hustler. Now there's some classic Literature.

Lou

PS: One of my favourite Bloggers has taken not one, but two for the team. Have a read. Love her.

First This

Then This

Changes a brewin....

Well folks, big changes are occuring in my life...at least according to everyone around me. I have decided to show this by changing the layout of the blog. Flippant little scamp, aint I?
Yesterday was my last official day of classes as a highschool student, and today we had our leaving assembly. But for some reason, I'm not all that sad. It doesnt seem like the end yet, I guess its because I still have exams to go.

Yes, the exam period has officially begun (for me). I had my french oral exam (hawhaw har har gaffaw...grow up) last week and I have my Drama solo exam this Friday.... something which I am procrastenating over rehearsing rather successfully by actually updating my blog! Why is that? I know I have limited time yet I insist on wasting it! Why is that?? I don't know. Maybe I feel all Dramaed out. I just want to get these exams out of the way and bring on a summer of frivolity, beachy fun and naughty escapades with my paramour. I also intend to spend much time writing and updating RP, and hopefully laughing at John McCain and Sara Palin's crushing defeat in the states. I swear if those two get in Johhny Mac will have some sort of anurism out of shock and we'll be left with a gun-toating, pro death penalty, pro life, redneck barbie as the first woman president. Still, I suppose that it would stand to reason that the first woman to make it to the White House would only get there because shes 'hot.' She reminds me of the most popular pop tart of the year who is voted school captain despite a complete lack of policies, insight, or vague illusions of having a clue.

So, thats my pathetic attempt at an interesting update. Maybe itll improve once I'm free. Then again, maybe not.

Lou

.......update?

Okay okay, so it's been three months. So sue me. I've been busy! Im in year 12, I'm allowed to be. Our Rock Eisteddfod got into the finals and did very well indeed, I just finished a semesters hard work of Studio Art by handing in my final folio yesterday, exams are fast approaching so Ive been stressing about those (they include a 7 minute drama solo about a prescribed character...Yikes!) and somewhere along the way I managed to pick up a boyfriend. Contrary to my first reaction, I think he came along at just the right time - I would be a nervous wreck right now if it wasn't for his calming influence.

Okay, so I said this wouldn't be a blog all about me bitching about my life cos I don't think I have much to bitch about, but I had to give you some perspective so as you will understand why I won't be updating again untill at least late November.
But fret not my dears, because I leave you with something to ponder in the interum......

Would you rather act the part of a protagonist or an antagonist in a movie?

Now ask yourself, "why?"

Get back to me on that.

Lou out.

Some Fan Prose for your reading... pleasure?

That's right people, I write prose. Surprised? Probably not.

So, in year 12 Literature we are studying Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas. Its a radio play for over 60 voices, and I'm enjoying it even if the rest of my class is not.
Easily my favourite character is Mr Pugh, who wants to kill his sadistic bitch of a wife.

Holiday homework consisted of us turning a passage of our choosing into some prose, and I am quite proud of how this turned out, so here it is.

This is the original Passage from the text....

Mr Pugh: Here's your arsenic dear
And your weedkiller biscuit
I've throttled your parakeet
I've spat in the vases
I've put cheese in the mouse holes
Here's your... (door creeks open)
...nice tea, dear
Mrs Pugh: Too much sugar
Mr Pugh: You haven't tasted it yet, dear.
Mrs Pugh: Too much milk then. Has Mr Jenkins said his poetry?
Mr Pugh: Yes, dear.
Mrs Pugh: Then it's time to get up. Give me my glasses. Not my reading glasses, I want to look out. I want to see.


Annoying cow, isn't she?

They do talk for a bit longer after this, but for my purposes I had him leave. Artistic licence and all that.

So anyway, here is my version. Enjoy :)

Under Milk Wood, Mr Pugh Makes the Tea

Mr. Pugh contemplated as he made the tea, his rat-like features sharp, his brow furrowed in thought. How to go about it?
Arsenic in the tea would surely get the job done, however the authorities may find the culprit rather obvious. He would have to leave the country.

He could push the harridan down the stairs, and say that she slipped. But what if she were to survive? He’d have to care for her, and that would make her more unbearable than ever.

He turned the pot clockwise.

Shoot her? He had his father’s military pistol in the attic… but it was rusty, and would most probably jam. Then where would he be? He would have to club her with the relic as she tried to run screaming into the street to alert the neighbors.

He paced the kitchen in thought, his carpet slippers making scuffing sounds on the linoleum. In the distance, Reverend Jenkins could be heard delivering his morning sermon to the town, or anyone who cared to listen.

Drown her?In the bath? Hold her under until the last bubble goes ‘pop!’…. and she would be nagging all the way. It would provide a certain grim satisfaction.

He turned the pot again, and glanced at the catalogue on the table, last month’s special edition of a magazine he subscribed to, “Historical oddities Monthly.” It was full of titles of all manner of interesting books one could order via mail. It was open, and on the page were two titles alongside images of their covers –“The A-Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers,” and below it, “Lives of the Great Poisoners.”
The latter was circled.

How about forced suicide? He mused as he strained the tea into a smaller, silver pot – Mrs. Pugh couldn't abide by stewed tea.
He could put his fathers military issue gun to her head, and make her write a note. Then she could jump off the roof!
No, he sighed as he assembled the tea tray. Mrs. Pugh would sit there as stubborn as ever, and demand that he shoot her if he had the gall.

Slowly he shuffled up the creaking, groaning stairs with his creaking, groaning joints, relishing each moment spent away from her company and dreading entering the bedroom.
No, poisoning would be the way to go. He had heard Bermuda was nice at this time of year.

The door creaked open. There she was, sitting in her off-white nightgown, scowling at him over the top of the newspaper. Her two sets of spectacles glinted in the morning sunlight from the open window, as they sat on the table under it. One pair for reading, the other for every day wear. Mr. Pugh could never tell the difference- they looked exactly the same to him. Either way, she could not have been reading the paper. He suspected she just guessed by looking at what she could see of the pictures.
“Nice tea dear,” he said in a pleasant voice, as always. He placed the tray over her lap, and before he could even step back she barked, “Too much sugar!”

Mr. Pugh took a deep breath. He was not a generally angry person; however twelve years of the same hateful routine morning after morning will wear a man down. He bit back the tirade of venom threatening to spill forth from his conscience to his tongue, and said placidly, “You haven’t tasted it yet dear.”
She grunted. “Too much milk then.”
Mr. Pugh resisted the urge to overturn the tray and throttle her. He would have to clean the sheets.
“Has Mr. Jenkins said his poetry?” she asked, as of every morning.
“Yes, dear,” came the well rehearsed reply.
“Then it’s time to get up. Give me my glasses.”

Now came the part of the morning he disliked most. His wife always tricked him – her spectacles were never where he thought they would be – he could never anticipate the order she placed them in the night before.
“Not my reading glasses, I want to look out, I want to see.”
He chose wrong, as usual. Mr. Pugh handed her the correct glasses and scurried from the room while she got dressed – a sight he did not wish to witness.

Down the creaking stairs again. Maybe Tahiti.

He ambled into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of what was now strong tea, and waited for the post to arrive.

....................................

Hope you liked that. If not... oh well, you read it, so, suck!

Konichiwa, bitches.
Lou

We Put it on Down Under.... oh yeah!

I love the Australian spirit, don't you?

The Pope is coming to Australia for World Youth Day - Sydney, to be exact - and the good old NSW government is concerned that there will be rioting in the streets.

Fair enough.

How do they prevent such an occurance?
By passing some laws against being an annoyance.

Seriously! Police are alowed to arrest anyone being an annoyance to people attending World Youth Day.
Oh, the Chaser Boys, what a year you chose to leave TV!!!!!

But today Sydney siders calling themselves the 'NoToPope Coalition' spat in the face of the new laws, by having an Annoying Fasion Show. Oh Australian 'fuck you spirit,' how I've missed you!

DON'T YOU JUST LOVE IT??!!!

But wait... they get better....

You can be debaptized?! Sweet!

Take THAT!!

And this one Rhymes!!! Ooooh.... shiny.....




Anyone else think that the photographers arn't particularly interested in the shirt per-se?

My personal favourite.

Hmm... I think it may be too punchy. How about "Thou art human - deal with it!"?

Untill next time,

Lou out.

Fishing For Unicorns

Okay, I haven't updated very frequently, so I'm making up for it...sort of. Big whoop it's not like anyone reads this thing. Well, just in case some bored Inuit is sitting in his DSL equipped igloo and stumbles across my ill informed views and was actually upset that I haven't posted much in a while, here's another one.

I've been wondering this for a while, so I'm just going to throw this out there - why does nobody say what they mean? And I'm not talking about when you're talking to someone you despise and rather than smack them in the face and call them a whore, you make polite conversation and act like you don't want to kill the bitch, no, I'm talking about when you talk with close friends and family, and you act like you're fine when you're quite obviously not. We make them fish... why is that?

The usual start to a conversation goes like this:

Hi, whats up?

Not much, you?

Yeah, bout the same. How are you?

Yeah, not bad. You?

Yeah, I'm alright.

Eventually, you know these two will end up talking up a storm about every aspect of their crappy lives, but to start with they have to go through this ritual. Wouldn't it be so much easier to start with,

Hey, whats up?

I'm depressed... my family just got gored by a herd of rampaging unicorns

Yeah, I hear that's been going around. Well, I just won the lottery and am living
on the moon. So how have you been?

I just told you, depressed. Unicorns, remember? Oh, and no one loves me.

Man that must suck. Ah well, at least the unicorn didn't get you!


Seriously people, why don't we just cut the bullshit? You know the two in the first conversation would eventually get around to whats shitting them, or what they've been up to, after making one another tell by pretending to be interested, but why not just SAY it? Surely these friends of yours will be good enough friends that they want to know, otherwise they won't fish.

Short and sweet.Lou

OUTRAGE! So much outrage...

Well, to begin with here's something not quite so outrageous.... I'd like you to scroll to the bottom of the page again now... go on! Yep... look at that counter! It's up to over 200 now. After 5 weeks, it jumped 120 hits. Now, subtract about half from my own logging on etc, and you still have a decent amount of hits. That's pretty cool, if I do say so myself :)

Okay, so I haven't posted recently but fuck it, it's my blog and I'll do what I want to. I have a life, believe it or not.

Now, onto not so cool things.

So, I started to write this post so long ago that it seems to have lost all relevance, but I want to finish it anyway.

For those of you who haven't been bothered scrolling down and reading my other posts, I'm a year 12 art/photography student. As a photography student, part of my study is Australian Contemporary photographers, one of which was Bill Henson.

Not familiar with his name? You must be living somewhere other than Australia - helloooo to my international reader(s?)!

The following is taken from an assignment I wrote on contemporary Australian photography

Bill Henson is an Australian contemporary photographer who is interested in exploring opposites, like the relationship between light and shadow, man and woman, nature and suburbia. Some of his most acclaimed photographs explore Teenagers. The fragility of being childlike, yet almost adult at the same time, curiously balanced between the two comes up again and again throughout his work.
He achieves the high impact of his photos by editing his not on computer, but in the darkroom. He uses a huge space to create images with a giant enlarger on rails, which he uses to expose different parts of the paper and create a noticeable contrast between light and dark.
Henson has a very ‘loose’ style, in that he will set up a scenario, then take roll after roll of colour negative film on a 35mm camera to find the perfect shot. Because he takes and works with so many different images, they are most often untitled.
As a result, the pictures are muted and almost look as if they have been painted (which, in some ways they have, given Henson’s darkroom technique) and have a faded quality, rather than the sharp lines we are used to when viewing photographs.

Henson seems to capture random “snapshots” in time to explore issues in our society while creating images that are aesthetically amazing, haunting and beautiful all at once.


So, hows the coincidence when, a mere matter of weeks after we finish much detailed study of Henson's work, I wake up one morning and hear a news report on Triple J saying that the latest Bill Henson exhibition and the Roslyn Oxly9 gallery in NSW has had several images removed, pending a police investigation. All charges were subsequently dropped, however the rioting in the streets, pitchfork brandishing and flaming bags of poop on the Roslyn gallery remain, initiated by one bitchface queen cowmother Hetty Johnston.


It should be noted at this point that I hate it when people make assumptions and spout out ill informed opinions, when they are not in possession of all the facts. To quote Jane Austin, "It makes me most vexed!" I also tend to tear into these people as often as possible, and I also hate hypocrites, so I made sure I researched this issue as much as possible.


So, for all three of you that give a damn, this is the way I see it:

We live in a society where people think nudity = sex, therefore naked children= exploitation = Paedophile!! Kill it!!!! To arms with pitchforks and torches, everyone!!

However, because I can't be arsed writing a huge rant about it I'm going to get straight to the point: Nudity does not always mean sex, and children are not always exploited (pay attention Hetty Johnston, I know you're out there!). Bill Henson is a professional - first of all he asks permission from the teenagers involved and their parents, and there is no pressure, and the models are not made to feel uncomfortable.

Furthermore, the photo's have no sexual charge to them. Yes, this display of submissiveness from the subject could be a turn on for a pedophile, but one could argue that anyone that even considers this conclusion could be a paedophile in the making (Hey, if you conservatives can jump to strange and messed up conclusions, so can I). Not only that, but pedophiles will get their fix anywhere they can, and most of the time it makes no difference weather or not the child is fully clothed.

Another factor pissing me off is that some people are saying, "so they had permission from their parents and gave their own consent! They're only thirteen, they can't possibly comprehend what they're getting into!"

......................................



Shows how much they know, doesn't it?
I know people who lost their virginity at thirteen. There are thirteen year olds at my school who drink and smoke on a regular basis.
They're not kids any more, and thirteen year olds are capable of making their own decisions.

One should also note, that these artworks are beautiful, and are beautiful to the people who made them. These 'children' as you call them had nothing to be ashamed of, and yet when people like Hetty Bitchface Johnson start telling everyone that this is indecent and that what they did was wrong... that's when they feel violated and dirty. They felt fine about the artwork before, even proud, but the damage caused by conservative groups to their self esteem may be irreparable.

Finally, I researched Hetty Johnson. One would think that all of her harping and bitching may be the cause of some sort of insight..... not so.
Johnson has no qualifications or background in the field of child psychology, or even art. She is, however, an ex politician. One could even say "failed" politician.
So why is she so vocal?
She recently released an autobiography... and its not selling very well at all. In fact, its barely registering on peoples radar.

I suppose that now all charges have been dropped, we can celebrate.

Hey Hetty... just FYI, you may have muddied Henson's name, but more people are viewing his exhibitions than ever before... and your book still isn't selling.

Is that hard to swallow? Yeah... Ill bet it is.

.........................................................................

Anyway, I might post more tomorrow. I'm holidays for the next week, so if something tickles my fancy, you'll know about it. :-)

Lou

Question Time

What ho? An update? Why yes, yes it is!
I've been busy you know how it is.

Now, before I get onto my main topic I want to draw your attention to the bottom of my page. That's right, at the bottom. Go on. Look! It's a hit counter. Ain't it neat?It's currently in the fourties, which I frankly find odd, though not discouraging. That means that my page has been opened over 40 times. Admittedly, around half will be from me just logging on and seeming not to care about how many views I have, but that still leaves around 20 views. With no comments. And they can't all be from my Mum. Comments, people! Please? .... hello?

Okay, so on to my rhetorical questions... which you may feel free to answer in some way anyway.

1) Do you think emo's know that they are? We all bitch about them and make fun of them, but do they join in? Do they realise that they are in fact seen as part of the group that society at large is mocking? Seriously! Sometimes I wonder, what if I'm emo, and don't know it? That would be more than just a bit embarrassing. Still, I don't think I am- I may be bitter and twisted and prematurely cranky, but I smile too much. And sure, I write about myself in a poorly constructed, self indulging, semi-witty blog, but I take solice in the fact that at least it's anonymous and most importantly, not a FaceSpace page. And it's not like I'm writing shitty poetry or songs and being certain that it will one day earn me respect equal to that of Edgar Allan Poe. I know my poetry/songs are shitty. And yes, I read Poe, but I see it as a stepping stone to greater things. It's a right of passage for a self obsessed brainiac teenager like myself. Haha! And I guess my blogging is something to do - it stems from the whole 'need-some-way-to-look-superior-because-I-don't-get-invited-to-parties-so-I-spend-my-Saturday's-Blogging' syndrome. I fully acknowledge that I have a full blown, very bad case of pretentious teenage git writer disease. Oh well, It's a fun ride I guess, even if I will regret it in the future.
Which leads me on to my next question:

2) Why do we always become the people we didn't want to be?
As a teen without a whole lot of life experience I'm speaking from a fairly limited view, but take for example the 12/13 year old you who looked up to some of the seniors in your school. We held them in a certain reverence, possibly because they seem to embody everything that you wanted to become as a senior. A role model and well, in your eyes, cool. Sometimes they seemed to appreciate you and treat you as an equal. Other times they seemed a little cold and distant. Remember?

Then suddenly we are the seniors! And the younger kids seem so small, annoying, and what we think may be lighthearted barbs we chuck their way actually cut as deep as only words can. Poor mites. We're too busy looking forward, and caring about the barbs thrown toward us by the people who are where we want to be, who have moved on from where we are now.
Yeah I know. Deep, huh? Excuse me, I think this calls for me to put on my beret and look thoughtfully alluring and snazzy. Ooh! Look! Green Tea!

3) So, What's the deal with airline food?

4) When will bands get it- that their film clips which are just full of 'symbolism' and 'meaning' just gives the rest of us the impression of them having boarded the last train to Wanksville.
Case in point - Metallca's 'The Unforgiven.' What the hell is with the old guy and the key???
Metallica are the Rock equivalent of Oasis and the Gallagher brothers when it comes to be drama queen wank masters. That and the temper tantrums that would make a 6-year-old proud.

5) Why, oh why, is Gene Simmons' tongue so long? Is he part gecko? Did he have some sort of to-do as a child with a pair of pliers, am anaesthetised mouth and lack of adult supervision?

6) Should I clarify?
Okay, so I just read over what I wrote... and realised that I sound like one of those really annoying teenagers who acts like they know everything, is better than everyone else and is actually a great modern philosopher. Whoops. Aw... crap.
I'll think this out better next time.
Promise.

Lou.

This Weeks Music Research:
Kate Nash (Pumpkin Soup is such a fucking addictive song!!)
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Bush
Billy Bragg
The Cardigans
Little Birdy
Mystery Jets
PJ Harvey
Feist
New Order - 60mph
Peaches and Iggy Pop - Kick it.

(Ive been watching Rage... there's some great stuff there I need to look up)

Yes... but where will it GET you?

Okay, so I haven't updated recently. Big whoop it's not like anyone reads this thing. Well, just in case some bored Inuit is sitting in his DSL equipped igloo and stumbles across my ill informed views and was actually upset that I haven't posted in a while, here's another one.

Something you may or may not know about me- I am currently completing year 12. I did a few "sciency" subjects last year (if you can call English, Psychology and the easiest level of maths "sciency") which left this year clear for subjects I feel I am more suited for - "Artsy" stuff.

One of my bestest buddies in the whole world, however, wishes to get into medicine. Which is fine, I stand in awe of her to tell you the truth. She needs and ENTER in the high 90's, and as a result has no social life to speak of. Well, she had no real social life to begin with but that's beside the point really. There's a bet running at the moment offering two to one odds that she will be this year's Dux. The point is she will one day be "Dr. Best-friend-of-Lou-Singer-Mind" and to get there she is doing all science subjects, and the mandatory English, and one class with me - French- which I am doing for the love of the language and she is doing for the high mark up.

So one day Doc (like how I slipped that cool nickname in there for you? We've never called her that. And if shes reading she may or may not have figured out already that I'm writing about her. Either way, I'm not giving any more clues!!) and I are sitting around during one of the rare lunches where I don't have a performing arts commitment to attend to, or she doesn't have an extra lunchtime SAC (stands for school assessed coursework....that led to a bit of confusion at my place when I had my first one for Literature and said to my father over breakfast "I have a lit sack") and neither of us had a free period last and we were allowed to go home for lunch.
We were talking about school (for once, gasp!) and how I'm doing all artsy subjects this year (Studio Art, Drama, Lit and French) where she's doing all Sciences and Maths. She said to me (and now I know she'll figure out I'm talking about her) "I wish I was doing an art subject, just for some variety!" I kind of got tight lipped at this point, and felt she need to clarify her statement because Im'n ot sure she said what she meant. that and i was strung out and probably hormonal. I am woman, hear me roar and all that.
Now, a tactful Lou would have asked several well placed, well thought out questions to answer this burning query, but when I'm caught off guard and/or without caffeine I'm about as tactful as a rabid bull trying to talk his way out of paying child support. So I came out and said, "You better not be saying that cos you think the arts are easy. Cos they're not fucking easy!"
At which point she clarified that in no way did she think her work load was worse than mine, and that the arts is not a sissy approach at all. To which I said, "Good. Because if I thaught you were saying that I'd have to KILL you!!"

Arts in VCE It's not a bludge. NOTHING in year 12 is a bludge. WORK IS REQUIRED. This mindset of "the arts are easy and are the wussy way out" is really starting to shit me.

Here's the thing about the VCE, and any other certificate of education - if you re doing it, you want to be there. Usually it's to get into University. But lots of people chose the subjects they do because they have a certain passion for them - if you want to know how organic matter works, you do Biology. If you want to know how things work, you take Physics, or Chemistry. English is compulsory, but if you have a real love of the language and written word you take English Literature, and if you love to create art you take an arts subject or two. Because you find it FUN or it has always interested you and you figure it will be enjoyable to undertake.
THIS.IS.UTTER.FUCKING.ASRSE.MUNCHING.SHIT.ON.A.STICK.
Year 12 sucks the fun out of any subject you find enjoyable. With exams. With assignments. With assessments. With pressure. I USED TO LOVE ART!!! Now I have to make a folio, develop, develop, develop, and while I don't deny it is helping me improve some of my skills, the pressure of all of these subjects piled on top of one another is immense. And whats more, everything is always due AT THE SAME TIME!!!
In Literature, you study the text so much that even though you may have loved the text a lot when you first read it, the analysis takes all the joy out of it!
Same goes for languages. The pressure of assignments, tests et al takes all the joy and fun out of discovering how to speak a new language.
As for Drama... well... relying on an ensemble group to keep it together on stage is one thing, relying them to pull their weight so as you can all pass with a decent mark and not be in the shittiest show on the night is quite another.

The point I am trying to make is, we chose subjects we love at the beginning of the year, and within a term we hate them. We hate a lot of things, but mostly the fact that the initial reason as to why we chose these subjects is forgotten. This goes for all subjects.
Arts? The wussy, sissy, bludging, lazy way out? Fuck off. If I hear anyone say that again I will shove a pelican so far up their arses they'll be shitting fish for a month.

Rant over.

Lou.

Blatant Plug

What's the use of having a blog if you can't use it to help your friends make it in the biz?

These are some of my friends in a crappy movie they made over the weekend, showcasing their parkour skills. Check out the crappy acting, and flashy jumping. It's so crap it's great!!

check it out here.:)


Lou

How To Become a Politician WITHOUT Resorting To Severe Wankery

I know, another list!

I have decided to help compile a list of all of the things I've noticed Politicians doing wrong and making them lose votes.... yeah... because I know SO MUCH about politics that my opinion is TOTALLY VALID....

Anyway, TO THE LIST!

1. Don't lose touch with the people

And I don't mean "the people would like to keep their jobs" and "The people want us to pull out of Iraq..." I mean promising the people things they WANT, like ponies! Who doesn't want a pony? Hell, what about promising a ride on mower? Or a laptop for every chi... oh... wait a minute....

2. Don't try to 'get down wid da kidz in da hood, dawg.'

If you go that far it becomes obvious to the public that you are trying to do step one the half-assed el cheapo way, by trying to skateboard and wear some costume shop bling.... It didn't work for Mark Vaile (hes a bigger tosser than ever) and it wont work for you!

3. Take a stance on an issue and stick with it, no matter what.

No one likes a pansyassed flim flammer.

4. Learn to accept defeat...

....Speaks for itself really.

5. Kissing Children is a NO NO!

No child needs to see that and besides, you may have Michael Jackson-esq allegations thrown at you... seriously...

If you were a toddler would you really want to see that coming at you? EW! Put yourself in their shoes!

6. Be Family Friendly

Come on folks, appeal to working families!! Nothing wins an election like saying "working families" over and over.... come on, try it with me! "Working Families, Working Families, Working Families....."

7. Never contradict yourself

Again, no-one respects a pansy-assed flim flammer.

8. Never take blogs seriously

If you've taken this one seriously you re screwed, because (if you didn't notice -and like you didn't you sly dogs!) all of these topics are... CONTRADICTIONS!! :O

Proving once and for all folks, you can't become a politician without resorting to severe wankery.

Lou

Things I Suck At, List #1

1. Making Pancakes

Mum, if you are reading, I'm sorry. You can go and die of shame now. Yes folks, the art of making the pancake seems to have eluded me of late. Crepes, them I can make and cook to Frenchy perfection, but ye goode olde down home English Pancake just like grandma makes makes me want to die a little inside each time I mess it up. I mean come on! It can't be that bad right? Well, this morning I awoke with visions of sitting down at the kitchen table with the Sunday Age with a stack of blueberry pancakes and a cup of tea, feeling very smug and happy that I did not, in fact, flick straight to the funnies as I do of a weekday, because that's all the time I have to read of a school morning thank you very much! Alas when I went to the cupboard I found we had no blueberries (hell, when DO we have blueberries in our house??), but no matter! However when I finally set about making the batter, following the recipe down to a T, I greased up the pan and poured in my first lip-smacking cake of the morning. When the time came to flip, however, it stuck. "Oh well," I thought as I slid the burned and broken pancake into the bin, "you should never eat the first off the stove anyway." So I butter up the pan and lo and behold... same thing happens to the second one! And the third. The fourth and fifth ended up on plates looking like extremely sorry excuses for food indeed. But God dammit, I ate those burned, crumbling pancakes and read the paper and it was glorious!!

2. Spelling

Ask any one of my teachers from grades prep and up and you will see that if there is one thing that I fail at, it is Spelling. With a capital S. Either my brain is too fast for my hands and I can't be bothered going back and fixing mistakes, or I just can't spell half of the words in my vocabulary. Either way, this means that I am screwed for my English exams. But hey, its their fault for not letting us type our exam essays and use spell check! I BLAME THE ADMINISTRATION!

3. Procrastinating

And by that I mean, doing it too much. Overly so. Yep.... why do you think I started a blog? I started it so as I'd have yet another thing to do that wasn't homework or study related, and when I don't have any homework to do I can procrastinate over Blogging! Yaaaay!!!

4. Tolerating My Insanely Annoying Little Brother

Even my friends agree that he is even more annoying than any other sibling of his age they have come across

5. Tolerating People that Hang Shit On My Insanely Annoying Little Brother

because even though he is irritating to the extreme, I love him. He's family. NO TOUCHY!!

6. Obeying Copyright Laws

I have downloaded so much TV and burned so many DVDs lately that I'm sure someone must be coming to arrest me at any minute. But it's a vicimless crime, right? Like sneaking into movies... and puppy kicking!

*races to the window and checks for police cruisers down the street.*

Oh Robot Chicken, how you and your fellows have corrupted me.

7. Speaking My Mind About Meatheads I Have to Work With

Well, at least to their face. I can trash them all I like here.

For example, there's one person who I have to deal with on a regular basis who is the most narcissistic person alive. This probably isn't helped by his name, which I am choosing not to divulge here, but lets say his surname is "Is-Seriously-Fucking-Awesome." It's not, it's actually a lot shorter but hey, that's the price of anonymity. And being a prick. Anyway, when I met him I didn't believe that "Is-Seriously-Fucking-Awesome" in fact was his surname. Can you blame me?

Anyway, for as long as I've known him I've thought he was a self absorbed, moronic boys boy who thinks way too much of himself. Getting two lead roles in school plays really didn't help his ego, which I'm pretty sure can now be seen from Alpha Centuri.

Anyhoo, we now have year 12 drama together, and I have gotten to know him a bit better. He is still a self absorbed moronic boys boy who thinks way too much of himself, but recently he's started body building and has way more muscle than is natural. Seriously, it looks like his head is too small for his body. Add to that his idiot laugh and you have perfect dumb-lackey-runner-up material.

A few weeks ago he asked me, during Drama as we were developing a scene together, he asked me what I used to think of him when we first met. I told him he wouldn't appreciate the answer. He then followed it up with,
"yeah, but now you've gotten to know me, you like me right?".........What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

"Well, actually I DO still think you're a self involved narcissist with some severe issues dealing with who you are and in an endless pursuit of perfection have bulked up so much you have left little room for your pea sized brain. So, hows that scene coming along?"

Haha... curse my cowardice. Instead I replied, "yeah, a bit." Now I think you're also mildly amusing in an always-running-into-walls kind of way.

Damn, what a stuck up little cyber geek I am. :)

8. Video Games

Unlike many of my geek friends, it takes me a long, long time to master a video game. The only one I got in record time was Guitar Hero, and I still don't play that enough to be up to expert yet. Ah well, I consoll myself by saying I have better things to do... like blog stupid lists about things I am crappy at, like... VIDEO GAMES! Woah. We're through the looking glass now people.

Lou

Come on everyone, lets sell out!

Well ladies and gents, I never thought it would come to this, but here I am. I am a teenager with a blog.... please don't hurt me! I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.

So, as I sit hear listening to the Beatles and sipping white wine - I know, how middle aged of you, Lou!- I feel the need to assure my readers (all one of them - Hi Mum) that this will not be the usual teenage angst ridden blog of your average FaceSpace page. At least, I wont go on and on at you about how pathetic my life is and how much it hurts to be at school and not in love and how the latest album by Dashboard Confessional was brilliant and really sooths my anguished soul.... mostly because Dashboard Confessional suck major donkey cock.
Don't worry folks, I promise not to go all emo on you. However, I can't promise that I will always spell correctly, or use correct punctuation or even update regularly. In the immortal words of Bartholomew J. Simpson, "I can't promise that I'll try, but I'll try to try."


So now we have the formalities out of the way, here we go!

Riddle me this my dear reader(s?): since when has it become okay to use derogatory racial terms in semi-civilised conversation? Did I miss the memo somewhere? Did the entire world get together and decide racial slurs were permissible whilst I was otherwise engaged? (Okay, so I was probably playing Guitar Hero at the time, but had someone called a world meeting and I WAS INFORMED I may have taken time out from kicking significant arse on Muse's Knights Of Cydonia to attend this once-in-a-million-lifetimes event. Well.... maybe not.... it is Guitar Hero, after all).

Before I continue, I should confess something - from a social point of view, I am a sad excuse for a teenager. I have been noticeably drunk a full total of... once. I've never had a serious relationship (which I put down to being surrounded by meat heads - discuss). I've never smoked pot. Hell, I've never even smoked. Don't intend to either.
I think a vast majority of the music my 'peers' listen to is pure mass marketed crap. Frankly, I don't give two parts of a flying lubricated lemur how much bling yo possy got, or how much 'junk (you) got in (your) trunk.' (Yes, I actually looked up those lyrics for this blog. They don't get much better than that, I'm afraid. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to be sick now).
Needless to say, these combinations don't exactly make brilliant party-goer material. The point is that I don't often have insights into the goings on of "normal teenagers" who, I have come to the conclusion, must be cerebrally challenged (okay... straying into snob emo territory there. Bad Louie! BAD!).

However, much to my surprise I found myself in a setting where I was able to converse with these people in a casual setting not two days ago, due to an educational event which required that I and eight other students venture into the city of an evening.
It should also be noted at this point that these people I was travelling with were not fundamentally bad, ill spirited people. They're just... well, at the risk of sounding so far up myself I could wear myself as a hat, idiots.

So there we were, sitting on the train and chatting when the talk got around to parties and the exorbitant cab fare home. One of the group was saying how two of her friends were taking a taxi somewhere, and that as soon as the cab stopped they jumped out and ran. Then, and I quote, "So, they were sprinting down the beach and the Packi from the cab was running after them, and tackled one to the ground! Yeah, she was tackled my some skinny Packi."
This story was met with much amused laughing and held sides and guffaws, but it left me somewhat stunned.

Okay children, its time to play"Spot the offensive material with Auntie Lou!"
It's not the racism that shocked me so much as the casualty with which it gets thrown about.

First of all, last time I checked, the use of the word "Packi" to describe someone of middle eastern descent was offensive. Yes? No? .... Yes. Second, how did anyone involved with the telling of or indeed in the story itself know if the cab driver was from Pakistan, except for the driver himself? He could have been Indian, or Egyptian, or even Israeli. For that matter, why not call him the cab driver? Thirdly, is it common practice to try and ditch cab fares? Is it somehow okay to steal the food off of the table of a man who is just doing his job? I ask this last one because the conversation went on to everyone saying how they had skipped out on cab fares and different strategies to achieve this effectively. As far as I'm concerned, if you re going to commit a crime for stealing, why a cab fare? Why not something good, like a TV? or a camper van? Hell, lets go all out and storm parliament with flamethrowers, that way if we get arrested we'll go down with a brilliant flourish!

But back to the original source of my tirade. I know these people reasonably well enough to know that they are not racist in a malicious sense, they just don't think things through. This makes me wonder, do they represent most of the teenage population and am I just "the weird one"?
Seriously people, GET A FREAKING CLUE! Open your eyes to the world around you and grow a goddamn conscience. One day you re going to insult the wrong person at the wrong time and get the fuck beaten out of you.
If that's the sort of thing "normal" people do, it's no wonder that I'm the freak who doesn't fit in. "Normal" people are ignorant, moronic and downright annoying cockmunchers, and I'll have no part of it.

Wow... that got progressively less funny, didn't it? Ah, I'm just warming up. Bite me.

Lou