Celebrity Blogs

Alright, I may or may not have a newfound obsession with celebrity life. I think it is derived from me worrying I might (heaven forbid) miss huge entertainment industry happenings while over here. Unfortunately, I think I know more now than I did when I was in the States. I just have a fascination with the personalities of people who are famous. It's such an odd little state of affairs. Are people really that cool? I mean, P. Diddy, for instance. He can throw a mean party, he is quite the business man, but why does he get international recognition for just being sweet? I mean, you expect these people to have huge amounts of suave-ness unmatched by anyone you'll ever dream to meet, but it's just a guy.

I was reminded of this through a news story that mentioned Rosie O'Donnell's blog. They mocked her lack of grammatical abilities. Alright, when you find a way to combine celebrity gossip and grammar, I am there. I read it and her grammar does suck, although she says that right at the beginning, but her thoughts aren't earth shattering. I mean, life for Rosie O'Donnell is pretty much the same as a lot of people. She hangs out with her kids, writes about the things they teach her. Well, a lot of people's kids teach them stuff. It's one of the reasons you keep kids around. She has some vague political ponderings, again not that impressive. I liked it for being so normal, but it was weird. Then I looked up other celebrity blogs. Well, Forbes ranked some and mentioned Moby's blog. I like Moby's blog. But I would. He's not any more interesting, honestly. He just says things I like. And he used punctuation and probably a spellchecker.

Is there something to too much publicity giving away the mystery of celebrities? I think perhaps only the ones who aren't mysterious anyway. I like Moby's blog and he doesn't just bare all. He just talks about the world around him. Same with Rosie's. People are just people and perhaps our billions of dollars we pour into the entertainment industry is really just a hope that there's something more to being a person. We, too, could obtain their superhuman-esque powers. You know, if we really wanted to that is. Either way, check out the blogs. It's fun.

Draw

Quick update: We didn't lose our soccer game today. We didn't win either. 1-1 draw. It's like a victory.

Also, a girl kicked me twice in a row, in different legs (smart girl) and asked, "How do you like it?" Karma sucks.

Bonus, I get a cool looking bruise on my knee and I am pretty much able to walk painfree again. Who's the sucka now?

Arts and Entertainment

I chose that title because the only place that I thrive in Trivial Pursuits is in the pink section. Only, of course, if those pink questions have to do with the past decade. Yeah, don't choose me for Trivial Pursuits. Regardless, I am concerned with the entertainment industry (such a fickle mistress) as of late. These are things that I have been pondering and considering:

~Do you ever wonder if the Survivor type shows are going to eventually get back into the battles to the death of yore? I mean, reality to the extreme. "I want to see who survives!!" Of course, we probably wouldn't actually get to that point, but I wonder how close it will get.

~Conversely, how fake do you think personal fashion trends will go? Botox, plastic surgery, etc.

~The Osbournes' have been all over the place here and I have been haunted by this realisation: I want Kelly Osbourne to be all successful, but I just can't like her. I didn't want Jack to be all good, but actually he's looking kinda hot lately.

~I've had a recent paranoia that the popular music here isn't the same as in the States and how would I know?? What if it somehow changes these pivotal years of my life? In twenty years, my friends will be like This song defines my existence! and I'll think, Boy I think the soundtrack to Grease defines me!! Stupid New Zealand bar music.

These are all my brilliant ponderings of the day. I may have to sacrifice my pink piece when I get back to the States now. It was the one thing I had going for my trivia knowledge. Do you think they'll start including the history of New Zealand's education system? Cuz then, I'm the chica to pick!

Princess Annika!

I found this with this description courtesy of Walmart:

Barbie as Princess Annika, the lead character in the Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus movie inspired this beautiful doll with a fashion transformation feature. The dress opens and can be turned to create two princess looks. Comes with a girl size light up wand.

If you click on the link, you will find that they also recommend purchasing Princess Annika's prince... Aidan. Okay, "Aidan and Annika" even sounds too Barbie for me. Either way, you can guess what everyone I know is getting for Christmas!!

Do I Look Fat, Honey?

While reading Ann Althouse's blog (which is phenomenal, by the way), I saw that she referenced this funny wee article about the inevitable day when some malicious woman will ask her significant other, "Do I look fat in this?" only hoping to be able to behead him. While the post is hilarious, I have to remind people that once again, not all women are this insane. I still maintain that my friends and I are way better girlfriends than most of the population. Yes, we have our moments: Reb throwing the phone at Sam's head (he totally deserved it though), Beth's ill-timed flatulence (which was a definite accident), I could mention my mistakes, but hello - it's my blog, why would I?

Despite our flaws, we tend not be jealous, manipulative, high maintenance or mean spirited. I would like to blow your minds here with a conversation that actually happened last year:

Me: Do I look fat in this?
The Then-Boy: Do you want a real answer or a self-esteem answer?
Me: after considering Real answer, please.
Then-Boy: It's not the most flattering outfit. Why don't you wear your black "good butt" pants?
Me: Yeah, okay. I'll be more comfortable anyway.

I will wait for gasps and applause. Basically, if you're dating a girl who would attack you for her own insecurities, break up with her immediately and give me a call. ;)

Weather Girl

I am getting more and more convinced that I decide what the weather will be based on my mood. I realize the more "sensible" thing would be to assume that I am greatly affected by the weather. I refuse to believe that though. Sometimes I'll be happy on my way into a building (away from seeing the weather), will get unhappy inside the building and sure enough, when I leave, it's clouded over.

I rule all weather patterns. It's a fun little power to have. And no, I will not be swayed by supposed logic that tells me this is impossible. I rule the weather and you're just jealous.

Picture Perfect

This will not be the world's most exciting or thought-provoking post. I know, I know. You all depend on this blog being your gateway into the deep recesses of the human mind. Alas, I only have a little comment.

People like to take pictures of my work.

Yep, on a fairly regular basis, people will come in with their cameras and ask if they can walk around taking pictures. Sure, I say. I am not actually sure that I can give them such permission, but I think it's fun so I allow it. Today a poor guy was trying to take a picture of the stairway that is in front of the doors. He was standing in between the two automatic sliding doors for the best shot. Well, the doors kept closing on him. So there he was, kicking the door with his foot, quickly trying to line up his shot, having the doors get in the way again and starting the process all over. It was hilariuos.

Also, he was cute. A cute photographer. He can be cute in my door anytime he wants to. Silly photographers.

Depends on How You Look at It

Today is a beautiful sunny day. Or so I thought. I ventured out after work to run some errands. I was warm in my jacket and blissfully so as I have experienced seemingly endless months of winter when you stack the US winter against the NZ winter. As I'm walking in this gorgeous weather, I hear some girls complaining about how (and this is a verbatim quote) "f-ing hot it is!" I didn't even know the phrase "f-ing" had travelled all this way. It is better than its non-abbreviated form, I suppose, but it has to be like 65 degrees out. Not f-ing hot, no matter how you say it.

Then, I decided to take the bullet and go talk to my professor about our most recent paper. No, I was not singled out to talk to (although I was last time and did not see her. Giving me a stupid low grade when it isn't me who's all unclear... sorry.) but the whole class is to see her individually to discuss the paper. I was proud of myself for jumping on this bullet so soon, but whatever. The sun is getting to me. She had emailed that she would be ready to discuss papers after one pm. I was there at precisely 1.26 pm and she was not her in office. Grr. I wrote a scathing (okay, not really, but I wrote really hard) note telling her to let me know when to come back. On my way to the elevator, I ran into a classmate. Upon hearing my "she's not even there", he replied, "Ah, well it's only like twenty minutes after one... I'll just stop back up in a bit." I thought it funny how I thought she was inexcusably late, and he thought she was right on schedule.

Then he discussed with me how it was obvious that some people in the class got the more abstract concepts and some didn't. I eyed him suspiciously because I don't know that I have convinced anyone in that class that I know what's going on. I surmised that he wouldn't say anything if he thought I was one of the ones who didn't get it, and thought how he and my professor would have a wee debate on that subject.

I don't mean to get all into my philosophy that they're force feeding me, but reality really is subjective. Was it hot or nice? Was she late or not? Am I "getting it" or not? Fun times. I choose nice, late, and getting it -- in that order.

Things That Make Me Happy

Recently, lots of things have been happening that remind me why I am just such a huge fan of life. They are:

~my new cool red resin ring that reminds me of the Flintstones or the Jetsons

~that a girl on our opposing soccer team today called me a "path of total destruction"

~my toilet paper that has fuzzy blue sheep on it

~the movie Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

~that this week might just hold a Sex & the City marathon (part duex) and Mexican food

~that I've rediscovered corn and we've rekindled our love affair

~the sun finally relocated New Zealand

~that I'm easily satisfied in life with these simple pleasures.

Hermit Wannabe

I would like to start out this post by making clear that my attitude throughout this post is not negative, even if it sounds like it. :) That being said, I don't like most people. They bother me, it's true. I was in the library the other day reading some obscenely dense philosophical article and this girl sits down right next to me. First off, that's irritating right there. It's like the urinal rule... you don't go right next to someone if you don't have to (or so I hear). It's an invasion of personal space. Then, the girl starts texting away. And playing with her hair. This shouldn't bother me, but she was swinging this long hair around having it almost hit my face every two seconds. It had reminiscence of being younger and having your brother sit there almost touching you and saying, "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!" She also reeked of bad perfume. After no less than fifteen minutes of hair adjusting, make up touch ups, texting, and clothes rearranging, she settled into reading some book and kept flipping her hair almost into my face. Argh.

Then there was Squeaky Joe. He came and sat down across from me. Seriously, there were dozens of empty seats around, I don't know why I was like a flame to these really annoying moths. He sat down and started adjusting his chair. Squeak as he puts the back forward, squeak as he puts it back again, squeak as he makes the chair taller, squeak as he puts it back down again. After many attempts to make that chair work for him, he switches it with another chair and begins the whole asinine process all over again. Sigh.

Then today, as I was walking to work, I had to cross the little bridge that goes over the Leith. It is about 2 1/2 people wide, but has these stupid bars on either end to keep people from riding their bikes over it, which it doesn't. Instead, it bottlenecks the bridge on either end. Well, today, a group of four people were just casually talking right at the bottleneck. Rows of people were developing on either side of them. They were talking about where they were going to go for lunch. I mean, honestly. Then, just as I broke through the traffic jam they had created, and I was nearing work, a bus started coming at me. It's a bit hard to explain this, but where I work is really on a walkway, but technically people can drive on it. No one ever does, except tour buses or people who do business right here, but there you have it. So the traffic has to yield to the acres of students and the like. I was nearest the bus, but there were heaps of people right on the other side of me, clearly blocking its way. Well, it just kept on trucking at me, albeit 5 miles an hour. I just looked at the guy (he was close enough that we could clearly interact) and said, "Are you friggin' kidding me?"

I don't like people. They aren't fun, for the most part. For the most part, they are annoying and troublesome and get in my way. Boo, people, boo. I want to be a hermit. But again, I am not yelling this story as you might thing, but gently explaining my exasperation. Sigh. People. Can't live with them, can't live without them... wait, yeah you can.

Potterhead

I like Harry Potter and I don't care who knows it. I think it's funny because half of people just don't like the sound of liking Harry Potter and so haven't read it. The other half throw socialite caution to the wind and enjoy a good couple books. Who wins? That's right: me. Oh, and all the other people who read Harry Potter.

I again read the book in two days. This is a problem because who can remember all of the intricacies of the novel when the next book comes out? But I'll say this for J.K. Rowling. You can't put any of the books down for the last 200 pages or so. It's just true. This one was no different and I think I daresay this was my favorite so far. Of course, I bawled like a baby with a dirty diaper who just got hit in the face, but I haven't had such a reaction to a book in years and years. Touche, Rowling, touche.

If you haven't read it, stop being a big, fat baby and go read it. If you haven't read any of the others, start now. You can even get them from the library (that's free!). By the time you read the first five, the sixth will be out in the libraries too. Everybody wins. Now, doesn't that make you feel better?

The Cheesiest!

I bought my first Kiwi mac 'n cheese yesterday. Wow, was it bad. I know that American, specifically Kraft, mac 'n cheese is hardly natural or even what one would call relatively good for you. But you know what? No one cares. I love that artificial cheese like substance they pass off for food. They just simply don't have that kind of thing here. I don't think it would sell either. They have this silly little thing where they like to have their food taste like real food. Even their McDonald's commercials (and one could only assume, products as well) mock the stereotype of terribly bad food in favor of deli sandwiches, salads, and fruits for options. People who don't like fries aren't going to like powdered cheese.

Still. Regardless of their cheese snobbery, I love it. They have a line of instant food (my favorite kind) that includes mashed potatoes and gravy and it's vegetarian. Unlike Americans, they don't enjoy arbitrarily tossing chicken fat into things "just for taste!" This same line of food had some instant "macaroni pasta and cheese." Well, I'll try anything once, so I bought it. It was gross. They put seasonings in it. Like garlic and pepper and things. And it was all saucy. It was poop is what it was. I was hoping for some good old fashioned whole serving of nothing good for you and they had to go and try and make it gourmet. Sigh.

Any donations of Kraft Mac 'n Cheese can be sent to me in bulk. No questions asked.

Save the Possums!

Yes, that's the message you would have heard yelled at you from across the Leith, had you been on Otago's campus in recent days. There were a group of uni students who had literally set up camp on one side of the Leith and chalked the crap out of the sidewalks within a short walking distance of their campground. My favorite was when the realized the correct spelling for opossum (I can only assume) about halfway through their chalkings. This was their brilliant marketing ploy:

(for some reason the blogging gods won't let me leave spaces, so I must adapt...The word STOP actually was written horizontally, but bear with me.)

Save
The
O
Possum!

I know, you're ready and willing to give them every cent you have for this valuable cause. There were also chalk outlines of roadkill opossums all over the sidewalk, which unfortunately can be described only as cute. They looked like opossums in the fetal position taking cute little furry naps.

Apparently the opossum is hated here. I don't know why. I haven't seen many, roadkill or otherwise. Perhaps they see them like I see the gulls. In any case, it was funny to see some people fight for the cause of the little mammal. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be ironic, make some sort of statement or what, but I'm pretty sure that the meeting where they thought up this grand idea involved large quantities of booze.

Lights, Camera, Action

So I went to see two movies in a row again today. While twice does not a habit make, it surely encourages one. Why is it that I so love movies? I can't even pinpoint when it was that I started loving movies, but I really do. Sadly, I don't love them enough to have seen all the classics or even all the new ones. I bet I would watch more classics if I wasn't in New Zealand because here I don't have a DVD player and their movie rental places suck.

The actual point I wanted to make though (I know at times it can be rough to figure out what exactly that is) is that I wonder if film is becoming a more reputable form of literature. I know that some movies are utter sentimental crap, but so are some novels. The comparisons are endless, I think. As for the good movies, there is a lot to read into, generally just a lot going on that is interesting to talk about. I wonder if someday I will be teaching a film aesthetics course (oh, if there is a Lord in heaven, I better be teaching that course someday) and if the impressive thing will be that a course of that nature is utterly unremarkable. Naturally, the class itself would be world changing, but the fact that I was teaching a class using film as the major medium would be humdrum.

Can you imagine a class where you would sit around and analyze movies? Because that's basically my Saturdays. Then again, imagining a class where you sit around and analyze books sounds pretty great to me, so I guess it's lucky for us all I'll be an English teacher.

Desperate Housewives

"Finally, here's a show that takes issue with the so-called American dream." I was surprised to find this article talking about Desperate Housewives this way. Is the American dream still something seen as good, pure, and attainable by all? I mean, yes, I think that Americans have the belief that if you work hard, you can overcome most obstacles. Working hard still does have its benefits, but surely no one sees the end result of that hard work as flawless and extreme wealth.

When I think of perfection, I don't think of my life as any of the housewives' parodied existences. I don't think I'd be happy be a stay at home mom with a bunch of kids, even if I didn't get hooked on their ADD meds. If my marriage was founded on the thrill of having an affair with the gardener, I'd say something was lacking in my life. I mean, my basic response to that that being the "true American dream" bothers me because no one has pictured that as wonderful in a long time. It all depends on what you see the end goal of the American dream as, I suppose.

I don't think that the life of luxury is exactly what I am pining for. A comfortable life that allows my children a better chance than I had? Sure. Only because you want your kids to be even better off than you. Not the life of the Hiltons. Then again, I'm still on cold medication, so this could all be nonsense.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

People like to comment on how unhappy I look. I consider myself a generally happy person, although I will acknowledge realistic (some might call that cynical) tendencies in my attitude towards life. Considering how bleak I think life can be, it's a wonder I am as happy as I am. Still, people love to tell me to smile. It happens in bars, when horrid men will come and say, "C'mon... give me a smile!" Has that ever worked for you? I mean, basically, the guy is telling me that he thinks I look depressed, but fear not! His charm will woo me into blissful nirvana.

Sometimes, it will happen when I am shopping. A cashier says, "Oh, well maybe this new terribly expensive eyeliner/bracelet/new pair of pants will brighten your day and put a smile on your face!" This sentiment reeks of the Office Space "Sounds like somebody's got a case of the Mondays!" If I were in a bad mood, do you think that a perfect stranger's admonishment will make me feel better somehow?

And today as I was walking into work, my boss said, "Aw, it can't be all that bad! Smile!" See, the important thing here is not even their reaction to my "unhappiness." It's that I'm not in a bad mood to begin with! In my most recent smile attack I was thinking about a book I'm reading. Granted, it's not the most uplifting book, but it had me contemplating the greater purpose of human existence and what that means in everyday life. These are things I enjoy thinking about. It might not be daisies and puppy kisses, but neither is life. Just because I'm not smiling doesn't mean I am in a bad mood. I just think that people who constantly smile are creepy and abnormal.

As an added bonus, after I get a smile attack, I am usually not in a good mood any longer. Stupid people projecting their bad mood perceptions onto me.

Balloon Head

Remember those commercials that had a guy saying that taking cold medicine made you feel like you had ahold of your head via a string, like a balloon? Yeah. I feel that. I am in the early stages of being sick. I had a good run. After quitting the daycare, I was sick for like a month straight. Stupid immune system. Then I came to the wonderful world of New Zealand and I wasn't ever sick ever again. Until now.

I have been frantically, or dare I say desperately, trying to avoid the full onslaught of illness. I drink water constantly, take multivitamins, eat vegetables and take naps. And yes, I do those things on a regular basis, but now I am in health overload. Plus, I take these sweet little red sinus pills my dad got from his old job. They are awesome. But they make me feel like my head is floating around above my body. Small price to pay.

Even with the pills, I woke up at four in the morning because it hurt so intensely as I swallowed. Downed some more water, went back to sleep. If I keep up this routine, I will overcome!! Or I'll be sick and my spirit will be crushed. Any takers on which of those it's bound to be?

Wireless

I just read this article describing a school in Arizona that is going paperless... or at least textbook-less. I have to admit that I see the world getting a little less paper dependent eventually. Still, it seems a little unfair that while some schools are using textbooks that cover the latebreaking news of WWII ending, some schools are getting a laptop per student. Besides that, I hate to be suspicious of high school students, but each student gets to keep the laptop as his or her own for the year. How many of those are going to last the whole time? So not only are these schools supplying laptops, but they are supplying new laptops whenever old ones fail to hold up for the coming year.

I am all for improving education (even though the article implies that this method will keep those pesky teachers from teaching to the textbook, although most schools' funding is dependent on just that fact), but I am again hit with the issue-- how do you improve education for everybody without overstepping the bounds of fairness? I know education will veer to a more technologically focused regime, but with technology being expensive, I worry for the less advantaged schools.

Big Sur

Many of my more hippie-inclined friends have admonished me for never having read any Kerouac. I admit, it's a shameful truth. Still, there are an awful lot of demands on what an English teacher should have read. Namely, everything. I remember admiring a teacher I had in high school because he could give you a specialized list of authors and books you should read based on who you were. I thought that was absolutely great. Now, I am frantically trying to read everything old, everything classic, everything under and overrated, and everything that's just coming out this second. It's hard work. But I have started my Kerouac portion of that list with Big Sur. Now, I'm only about 70 pages in or so, but Good Lord Almighty. Yes, yes, we all know that I tend to fall in love with every author I read, but I can't even love him because I admire him so much. I can't get over how perfect his writing is.

I mean, it's not actually perfect in any way. The thing that is perfect about it is the way it so perfectly explains how I experience life. I wish that from now on when people want to get to know me, I'll just say, "Read Big Sur. Yeah, that's me. That how I feel about... well, everything." Granted, I think it would disappoint everyone, not the least of which would be me and Jack, if I stopped trying to explain my world around me and rather used his words to do it instead. But seriously, I've never read anything that was so much like what I think.

I frequently say that what goes on in my head is pretty interesting and rather different than what comes out of my mouth, but I never really knew how to bring what was in my head out. Well, Kerouac did it. He made it into concise (or as concise as you can make your thoughts) easy to understand words. And I, for one, am in complete and utter awe. I still think that Dave Eggers and I are soulmates (I'm only slightly kidding), but I don't even think I could handle Jack Kerouac. Too intense because it's too perfectly correct. And if anyone dares tell me that he is overrated, I will cry a thousand crocodile tears because I will feel that you've personally attacked my psyche. No pressure.

Something about Pizza Hut

Soccer today went well, even though we lost, we improved since the last time we played this team to the point that they even commented on our vast improvement. This time next year, we will totally be a force to be reckoned with. (Did that split infinitive bother anyone else? And yet, I don't change it...) I have come to the conclusion that I am falling apart. I hurt my knee in a mysterious drinking accident, my legs are already bruised to all heck from soccer, and I just simply am not good enough to get the ball off anyone without first running into them at full speed. In a humorous note, one girl saw me running towards her and screamed. That makes me happy.

More to the point, I felt that my surroundings were falling apart. The birthday weekend left my flat in a pitiful state, littered with wine bottles and rejected outfits for the evening. Laundry and dishes desperately needed me and emails were stacked up to respond to. It was time... to clean like Annika's never cleaned before. Good times. But you know what the best part of the evening was? After I cleaned like it was my job (yeah, so what if it is kinda my job to keep my flat clean), I realized I had accomplished all I had meant to, but I was still starving. I ordered me up a Pizza Hut cheese pizza and I ate it. The whole friggin' thing. Okay, so it was a small and I was famished, but I ate it while I watched That 70's Show and Will & Grace and it was like life had just fallen back into place. Is that so wrong? Pizza Hut and American TV are just a great combo.

My idea of a perfect end to a birthday weekend is sitting by myself in a clean flat with greasy food and bad TV and if that makes me a hermit, so be it. Hermits rule. Just not together. They rule individually on their own in their own special ways.

Accidental Splurging

I have felt the need to splurge lately. Perhaps being frugal is only good for so long. I never buy anything except for nice times out, be that movies, plays, dinner, copious amounts of alcohol, etc. Still, having things is rather nice too. There goes that whole minimalism thing I was striving for.

I had run out of eyeliner. I got hooked on Clinique eyeliner after I borrowed some of Dana's and realized that my life would never again be complete without Clinique's blacker than black eyeliner. But it's like fifteen bucks in the States. Well, boo, but sometimes a girl's gotta splurge. I finally ran out of my stockpiled Clinique (which was a bad idea anyway because the Yuma airport evidently finds traces of terrorist chemicals, whatever those are, in certain brands of makeup, Clinique included. "Man, it's just everywhere, lady!" Yeah well, screw you airport security man in Yuma.). I decided it was time to brave the stinky part of every mall in the world... the make up and perfume part. Granted, the smell isn't as bad here as they just aren't into those kinds of things as much as you might think, but still. Ew. So I tell her I want "New Black" eyeliner, but she tells me that it doesn't exist. Oh okay. The kind I have been using for the past several months is a figment of my imagination. You'd think she'd just tell me she doesn't carry that kind, but she insisted that it did not exist.

I conceded and just wanted whatever they had in the black realm. I asked how much the mascara was (if you're gonna splurge, might as well go big) and was told, "Forty two dollars." Good Lord, I could get a black market kidney for less. So I say that I'm only interested in the eyeliner. Since it's $15 in the States, I assume $20-$30 at the most. Nope, forty dollars. Sadly, I still bought it. I just can't turn down this eyeliner. I can't say it was highway robbery as I was willing, but it's more like I threw money at robbers for no apparent reason. Good thing I worked a lot of extra hours this week.

Sad Day

I don't mean to get philosophical or political as neither is my strength, but how do you not mention the attacks on London? I think it's just so sad that things like this happen. The real core-shaker, if you will, is not the death toll in my opinion. In all honesty, not as many were hurt and killed (at least by latest counts) as were in the Madrid attacks in March 2004, even more were in the US attacks of 2001, but still... all those numbers pale in comparison to the death tolls that occur in countries I don't even know about, let alone things like the Sudan that I am more aware of. The death toll in itself isn't the scary part, it's how they attack. They, terrorists in general, seem to want to disturb the general perception of reality. I hate thinking that a cities like NYC, Madrid, or London can be affected -- they are my stereotype of civilized, stable places. Attacks like this remind the masses how temporal our everyday reality is. These comfortable lives we live are not our right, nor are they guaranteed. I think that I squirm, along with the rest of the civilized world, with that reminder.

Secondly, I am upset with the reactions people have to this sort of thing. I hate seeing the comments on away messages, in blogs, in casual conversations with people (sorry for the language, my blog is usually clean): "Let's bomb the bastards! Let's bomb the whole lot!" It amazes me that these comments can be made without the slightest hint of irony. That's what the terrorists think; you can see that, right?! No one deserves to have their country blown to bits. Bombing a country that you think might be the country of origin for the terrorists is just like terrorists bombing London for being upset with Tony Blair. I hear the debate over what the response should be politically which I think is a totally different issue. Sometimes ugly things need to happen to preserve a greater peace in the future. Maybe not. That decision remains in the hands of politicians who can make an unemotional, logical response to the whole situation. Still, the general attitude of bombing a whole race of people because "the bastards deserve it" frightens me almost as much as the original terrorist attacks.

My heart goes out to London; what an utter tragedy.

Chaotic Otter Ducks

I've come to the realization that I watch far too much TV. I would like to defend this with the fact that I have heaps of time in my day, what with my one hour of work and holiday from classes right now. That being said, I can watch huge amounts of TV, read a lot, work out for an hour, work for an hour, make elaborate dinners and still make time to master the art of Spider Solitaire. My taste in shows has been altered quite drastically since my arrival in the land down under the Land Down Under. I now watch Oprah, CSI, Charmed, and other shows I am equally ashamed of. When your options are limited, you take what you can get. Life is looking up in my televised world because Desperate Housewives and Futurama are soon joining the lineup. I'm a happy girl. Still, for being as behind the game as we are, we do have Chaotic. I happened upon it accidentally because it started at like 11.30 pm or something and I was willing to watch a few minutes of the show that had gotten such horrid reviews. With this confession, I have to hang my head in utter dismay: I liked it. I liked Britney, I liked what she was saying, and I even identified with her. She was showing desperate signs of loneliness, forcing friendship on her employees, but who doesn't feel lonely at times? I am still not a fan of Kevin, but I can see why she is attracted to him. He reeks of bad news and drama, but for the girl who is feeling socially isolated, it makes sense. What has become of me? I am actually looking forward to the next public display of shameless narcissism that is Chaotic. Sigh.

In other news that I am including just so the public doesn't fear my overindulgence in matters of TV, there is a cool duck that I think I may have mentioned in past posts. It is a sleek, long black duck looking thing that hangs out in the Leith near my flat. This duck hangs out on a low hanging branch that, if I were a duck, I would hang out on too. Very picturesque. Well, yesterday I saw said black duck dip under the water, like many ducks can and do. But Black Duck stayed under. I literally stopped in shock and worry for Black Duck, scanning the surrounding area hoping for him to pop up. He was under far too long and I was just about to jump in the Leith to find and save him (well, almost) when he popped up miles away from where he had started (figuratively speaking). I renamed him Otter Duck and loved him all the more. I asked a Kiwi friend about this fascinating bird and it turns out they're called Shags, which I find endlessly funny. They can hang out underwater for a long time and are considered much more graceful and pretty than ducks. And I'm a pretty big fan of ducks as it is. While Shag is his proper name, I will continue to call him Otter Duck because it better hints at his mysterious capabilities. All Hail Otter Duck. :)

Ooh, and I just looked up a site to get more information and you will be even more astounded when you read all about them here! As a disclaimer, my Otter Duck doesn't look like the picture exactly because it's mostly black, as described lower on the page.

Stupid Scary Movies

It is a widely known fact that I despise scary movies. I don't like being scared. I don't need help fearing my environment. The movie It has scarred me for life, leaving me with a fear of clowns unmatched by most fears of my life. I prefer the reasoning my dad uses: I just don't like people who openly try and deceive me about who they are. Most likely though, it's just some asinine fear I got from watching It when I was far too young. Also, the movie Joyride (was that what it was called? The one with Steve Zahn and Paul Walker and that girl who never wears a bra but totally should... Leelee Sobieski, I think...) made me fear semi trucks, truckers, corn fields, gruff men's voices on the telephone, and ice cream trucks. Scream made me scared of Matthew Lilliard, Skeet Ulrich, cracking your neck (ironic considering I still do it), and garage doors. Then there is the mother of all insomniac-creating movies. You know what it is. Drumroll... The Ring. It made me fear everything: phones, TVs that are on, TV's that are off, little girls, wells, little boys, circles, the phrase "seven days," horses, flies, static on TVs, water, and nighttime. That's just the short list. The other disappointing factor is that I haven't actually watched this movie in over a year and a half. Still I fear it.

What makes me bring it up? Well, two nights ago I was flipping through the three channels I have. They have been showing some pretty decent movies (While You Were Sleeping, Two Weeks Notice, Independence Day, and For Love of the Game...) and I was hoping to hit it well again. There was this kid on the screen. My heart started racing. Why would I be scared of this kid? There wasn't any scary music or anything. The whole picture however was freaking me out. I realized it was a funeral, but c'mon. Then I realized it was The Ring, right after the first death. It was already night, already past 11 o'clock and I was already in bed. That was all it took... I slept with the lights on, the TV on and the volume up, and my hammer by my bed. Because if a girl comes out of my TV from the afterlife, she's for sure gonna be scared of me and a hammer. Scary movies suck. Why would you want to be scared?? I heard Spielberg say that the allure is that you see a movie and it's scary, but then you come out and realize the world is still a-okay and it's comforting. Well, evidently I have issues separating fiction from reality.

Mobile Insanity

I consider myself quite tolerant with others' cell phone use. I think that's because I am out of control obsessed with my cell phone (when I had one...). I think it's okay to answer a phone when at dinner with friends as long as it's a low key dinner. I also think it's acceptable to leave your phone on vibrate during a movie and leave said movie to get that call if it's important. I also think it's okay to never have your cell off. Ever. This is all in light of the fact that I'm an addict. I wouldn't answer the phone during a family dinner, during the actual movie, during church, during a wedding, etc. But you better believe I will have the phone on and on vibrate so I can see who would be calling me even if I didn't answer.

Still... even I was dumbfounded today while I was working out. First off, let me re-explain that Kiwis (and Aussies so I hear) don't use their phones for talking but for texting. You never see people actually talking into their phones. Like, almost never. I was stair stepping my way to heavenly legs and buns when I looked over at the cross trainers to see that a girl, who had been cross training for at least twenty minutes, was chatting away on her mobile. Really? It didn't appear to be an emergency phone call because she kept on working out. I mean, if it was really an emergency, you would think it would warrant her undivided attention. I was staring in disbelief long enough for the girl near me to look over and we just started laughing at the absurdity that was this girl on her cell phone.

This girl's phone obsession blows away any craze I had with my cell phone. Far and away.

Finally

The soccer team got a goal. Yup, that's right. We finally scored. It only took us, well, for those of you who are loyal readers, you can probably remember when I first started writing about soccer. We've played nine games over however many weeks and we finally got a goal.

We had two of our primary offensive players out and they had me up front. Yes, we know that I can't move and kick the ball at the same time. Regardless, we were not at our full potential, this team is ranked third in our grade and it was raining. It was blissful. Apart from the fact that I didn't feel 100%, the game was great. Jo got the goal which made us only lose by four, which is a victory in and of itself. Plus two of their goals were scored by our players. Whoops. We aren't the best of players, but evidently people like to play us.

We celebrating by going out for dinner and drinks where I had a nice little ice cream sundae and beer. Ah soccer celebrations. Here's hoping the goals just start raining down upon us.

Revival

Sometimes I think that I forget how much I like to go out. Part of me wants to crave this adult sophistication that makes me too good for going out and drinking with the uni kids, but you know what? I like it. On occasion, of course. But still. What I don't like, however, is New Zealand's music choice in said bars. The crew (haha, I have a crew again!) went to this one bar first, where there were two guys with guitars rocking out to Sweet Child of Mine. Alright, that's just awesome. But then followed that up with La Bamba. What? I mean, sure I like La Bamba. Who doesn't? But kids in the bar freaked out with giddy hysteria at the mere opening chords of La Bamba. Bars are also known to play the Grease soundtrack to the again giddy stampede toward the dance floor. Really? I mean, really?

Perhaps I am used the stereotypical bar scene of the States. Most music played is ghetto booty music. Its intention is to give young, usually single people the opportunity to drunkenly rub themselves on each other in an attempt at mating. It isn't quality music... "It's Gettin' Hot in Herr" was never commended on its deep and meaningful lyrics. It did the trick though. The alternative to this kind of music is the scene where no one dances, so the music is meant to be "good drinkin' music." While my experience has been tainted by the odd southern white trash pocket that found itself into northwestern Indiana, these songs tend to be the classic rock songs or sappy, nostalgic country music. The only real reason to have this music on is so everyone can say, "Oh, I love this song!" and also avoid the pressure that would be a bar that had no music in the background.

I am comfortable in this surrounding. I am not comfortable with grown men jumping up from their barstools to sing "I Will Survive" along with the rest of the bar patrons. On the other hand, it's a great time for me to sit on the sidelines and gently shake my head with a bemused smile on my face. And for that, it has redeemed itself.