Dear Boy in tight jeans,
Sorry, but you look ridiculous. Your legs are about the circumference of my arm and quite frankly this makes me feel uncomfortable. Are your legs too skinny? Possibly. Are my arms too fat? Most likely.
....
.
...
Ok, so I lied. I find your nonchalant charm endearing and I quite like your jeans. I'm just jealous. You have a nice haircut, too. Your worn-in vans make me think that you're a skater and I dig that. Oh, and you play bass really well.
Signed,
Jealous Girl.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Things That I Like
In no particular order, these are things that I enjoy:
- That washing powder/sunlight smell that your clothes and sheets have after the washing/drying process.
- Walking places.
- Thinking about situations that never eventuate but are pleasant to think about.
- The fact that I do not listen to heinous music.
- Dancing when there is noone else in the house (and not just a wee jig, I'm talking full blown intense dance moves...so shocking that if you ever caught me doing such things I would mentally wish myself to death).
- Life through a lense; taking snaps of people when they aren't looking and are acting natural. No posers, puh-lease.
- Studying people, their movements and expressions
- Crazy questions off little kids when I'm teaching. For example, "Miss Kent, why don't snakes have legs?"
- Biking with my ladies.
- Drinking red wine with good company.
- Hair and head ornaments. This means bows, head scarves, head bands, feathers, flowers etc. The possibilities are endless really.
- My Thursday morning coffee which is made by a complete babe (he pours it into a love heart EVERYTIME *swoon*).
- Living the uni dream.
- That moment in time when you're at a gig and you finally get over the "everyone-is-so-staring-at-me-right-now-I-bet-I-look-like-a-weirdo-tapping-my-foot" phase.
- The country side somewhere in between Yass and Jugiong (especially in the Spring time) when the hills are unnaturally green and the sky is a perfect cloud free hue of blue.
- Laughing at silly things until I hurt.
- Dinner dates. Actually, any form of dates.
- Tights with no holes in them.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I Hate the Beach.
Yes, I do. I will not lie. I absolutely loathe Summer and its contextual companion, Le Beach. It is the worst combination of the year.
When people are down at the beach frolicking about practically naked I am sitting at home watching day time television and eating my sorrows.
The beach is sandy, sticky and uncomfortable. Sand gets in every nook and cranny of the items you take to the beach, it scratches your sunnies and gets in between the buttons of your phone.
You know how those annoying people shake the sand off their beach towel and it goes all over some innocent soul that doesn't even want to be there in the first place? Yep, I'm that innocent soul or rather, sandy soul.
You know those guys? The ones that go to the beach just to check out the 'talent' and poke fun at anyone that does not look super hot and babein'? Yep, they ruin the beach. They are meat heads whom I would rather not run into.
I can understand how most people like the beach. Sure, its a nice place to cool off when its super hot outside. Its a nice place to burn yourself to a crisp so you can get that non-orange tan. But for the obsessively body conscious (OBC) that place is like a frickin' war zone. OBC people account for about 1 in 20 beach dwellers. You can spot them from a mile away slowly but surely stumbling over the sand, finding a spot amongst the tanning bodies that isn't too close to someone else but not too far away as to draw attention to oneself. They peel off the many layers they have warn to the beach (unfortunately it is impossible to peel off the winter coat you have developed over the cooler months-I have tried) and immediately drop to the sand like a bag of...er...sand and try to execute their next move; do they lay in the sun and get frazzled, pretending to be asleep, or dare I suggest get up and wander to the water for a dip that could turn into a soak if anxiety sets in and OBC person cannot extract themselves for fear of looking like a beached whale. Whatever OBC person chooses to do, the most exciting part of the beach trip is putting an end to the beach trip.
The beach is heinous.
...
But really, it wouldn't be so heinous if I looked like Zooey Deschanel.
Signed,
OBC lass
When people are down at the beach frolicking about practically naked I am sitting at home watching day time television and eating my sorrows.
The beach is sandy, sticky and uncomfortable. Sand gets in every nook and cranny of the items you take to the beach, it scratches your sunnies and gets in between the buttons of your phone.
You know how those annoying people shake the sand off their beach towel and it goes all over some innocent soul that doesn't even want to be there in the first place? Yep, I'm that innocent soul or rather, sandy soul.
You know those guys? The ones that go to the beach just to check out the 'talent' and poke fun at anyone that does not look super hot and babein'? Yep, they ruin the beach. They are meat heads whom I would rather not run into.
I can understand how most people like the beach. Sure, its a nice place to cool off when its super hot outside. Its a nice place to burn yourself to a crisp so you can get that non-orange tan. But for the obsessively body conscious (OBC) that place is like a frickin' war zone. OBC people account for about 1 in 20 beach dwellers. You can spot them from a mile away slowly but surely stumbling over the sand, finding a spot amongst the tanning bodies that isn't too close to someone else but not too far away as to draw attention to oneself. They peel off the many layers they have warn to the beach (unfortunately it is impossible to peel off the winter coat you have developed over the cooler months-I have tried) and immediately drop to the sand like a bag of...er...sand and try to execute their next move; do they lay in the sun and get frazzled, pretending to be asleep, or dare I suggest get up and wander to the water for a dip that could turn into a soak if anxiety sets in and OBC person cannot extract themselves for fear of looking like a beached whale. Whatever OBC person chooses to do, the most exciting part of the beach trip is putting an end to the beach trip.
The beach is heinous.
...
But really, it wouldn't be so heinous if I looked like Zooey Deschanel.
Signed,
OBC lass
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Bikes & Wine.
Last night some friends and I rode our bikes to the Brewery to watch a friends band play. Reluctant to go at first because of my Friday morning/afternoon/night commitments, I eventually gave in to peer pressure and pulled Heidi's bike out of the garage. I have to admitt that I'm fairly nonchalant when it comes to noticing other people and my immediate surroundings, HOWEVER as I was walking my sweet ride out of my driveway the girl next door was also doing the same. We both noticed that we were simultaneously doing strange things late at night and broke out in smiles as she asked if I knew certain people. I replied with a yes and it turns out we both have mutual friends, and on this particular night, bike riding friends. As we were riding along the beach path I couldn't help but giggle incesantly the whole trip. It was dark and six of us were barreling down a footpath, inappropriately dressed to be riding a bike, wobbling all over the place. Needless to say, we arrived safely. Throughout our time there we all drank wine and pitchers of beer and ultimately got a touch rowdy. This morning when I awoke my ribbs were sore from laughing so much the previous night.
Oh, the gig was good but thats not the point I'd like to make. My friends feel no need to impress me and I feel no need to impress them. We share a common sense of humour among ourselves and I feel unusually comfortable being myself around them. They dont care what I'm wearing, how my hair is cut or what brand my accessories are. They let me shove my camera in their face with no displeasure and we laugh and tell jokes about the most ridiculous things. Times like these make me realise how lucky I am to be able to study, work and have the most amazing times with new and old friends.
Oh, the gig was good but thats not the point I'd like to make. My friends feel no need to impress me and I feel no need to impress them. We share a common sense of humour among ourselves and I feel unusually comfortable being myself around them. They dont care what I'm wearing, how my hair is cut or what brand my accessories are. They let me shove my camera in their face with no displeasure and we laugh and tell jokes about the most ridiculous things. Times like these make me realise how lucky I am to be able to study, work and have the most amazing times with new and old friends.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Unconsciously Conscious: Part One
I have this uncanny ability to be able to push anything from my mind and feign ignorance towards the most gut wrenching memories, even when tempted to replay those futile moments inside my mind. Sometimes it works too well. I believe there is an underlying reason we were programmed to remember such things. When you block out the worst parts of someone and only have the good memories, whats to stop you from making the same mistake again?
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Point & Shoot With A Purpose
My housemate and I were walking to Camera House yesterday to purchase some 120 film for my Holga 120 CFN. She brought up the topic of analog photography and how she feels there are too many billion photos available on the internet today. This got me thinking about a subject I'm really passionate about-the essence of photography and why we choose to capture the moments we do.
I think the reason why we take photos has been lost in transit, somewhere between the moment we were shooting 35mm film on the family point and shoot, choosing only a special occasion to taint the films surface, to the overwhelming introduction of digital photography in every nook and cranny of our technological lives.
Heidi and I reminisced of the times when we would go to the local camera store with our Mum to get a roll of film developed, not knowing what the outcome of those 27 unviewable shots would be. The photographs always ended up being that much more special; snaps that we couldn't remember taking were gems, the faces of our friends and family beaming up at us from the photograph (more often than not my face was screwed up in a squint because Mum had to have the sun behind her).
Photo albums were raw, sequential documentations of our favourite moments captured on film. Organising photo albums was one of Mums yearly jobs. She brought out the photo box which was filled to the brim with happy snaps from her teens all the way to the present (so many medium format photographs to die for!) and trawled through the silly moments, the birthdays, the bloopers, the Christmas lunches and the holidays, sequentially ordering them into an amazing page by page documentation of her life.
Photography has lost the emotional connection between subject and the photographer. Cameras aren't being used to capture memories and document them as a special point in time. They're being used to advertise oneself to a world wide audience, a quick, ego stroking upload to remind people that yes, you did get a hair cut or buy that expensive dress. Which brings me to my next point, the point and shoot debate. People are so obsessed with being in the picture that they take the picture themselves. I remember those times when an innocent passerby was asked to take the family photograph. This required Dad to show him how the camera worked (which I find hilarious, as there was only one button you could push). Next, we would all look at one another hoping that this individual wasn't some criminal that was going to take off with the beloved family cam. The photograph would be taken, a swift "Thanks mate!" would be uttered and we'd be on our way.
Repping a Digital SLR myself I know I sound like a hypocrite but what I'm trying to get at is an acknowledgement of that fantastic moment when you give yourself one chance to take that perfect (or not so perfect) capture; letting it be, treasuring its flaws and hiding it safely away, ready to look at it in what seems like an age to come.
Pointing and shooting with the intention to freeze the moment, savour time and carry that moment with me is the reason I pick up a camera.
I think the reason why we take photos has been lost in transit, somewhere between the moment we were shooting 35mm film on the family point and shoot, choosing only a special occasion to taint the films surface, to the overwhelming introduction of digital photography in every nook and cranny of our technological lives.
Heidi and I reminisced of the times when we would go to the local camera store with our Mum to get a roll of film developed, not knowing what the outcome of those 27 unviewable shots would be. The photographs always ended up being that much more special; snaps that we couldn't remember taking were gems, the faces of our friends and family beaming up at us from the photograph (more often than not my face was screwed up in a squint because Mum had to have the sun behind her).
Photo albums were raw, sequential documentations of our favourite moments captured on film. Organising photo albums was one of Mums yearly jobs. She brought out the photo box which was filled to the brim with happy snaps from her teens all the way to the present (so many medium format photographs to die for!) and trawled through the silly moments, the birthdays, the bloopers, the Christmas lunches and the holidays, sequentially ordering them into an amazing page by page documentation of her life.
Photography has lost the emotional connection between subject and the photographer. Cameras aren't being used to capture memories and document them as a special point in time. They're being used to advertise oneself to a world wide audience, a quick, ego stroking upload to remind people that yes, you did get a hair cut or buy that expensive dress. Which brings me to my next point, the point and shoot debate. People are so obsessed with being in the picture that they take the picture themselves. I remember those times when an innocent passerby was asked to take the family photograph. This required Dad to show him how the camera worked (which I find hilarious, as there was only one button you could push). Next, we would all look at one another hoping that this individual wasn't some criminal that was going to take off with the beloved family cam. The photograph would be taken, a swift "Thanks mate!" would be uttered and we'd be on our way.
Repping a Digital SLR myself I know I sound like a hypocrite but what I'm trying to get at is an acknowledgement of that fantastic moment when you give yourself one chance to take that perfect (or not so perfect) capture; letting it be, treasuring its flaws and hiding it safely away, ready to look at it in what seems like an age to come.
Pointing and shooting with the intention to freeze the moment, savour time and carry that moment with me is the reason I pick up a camera.
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