Holy cow!
I'm sorry to sound like a buffoon, but Erlend looks so endearing with his flippable sunglasses/glasses, he has officially joined the ranks of people I lust after but will never meet. Move over Edward Norton, shift aside young John Cusack, give the man some room. Let him sit next to all the Korean actors I've got lined up.
There's even another video already, for Mrs Cold, go watch it.
A friend of mine got tickets to go see Phoenix in Birmingham, apparently, which made me relive the awesomeness of watching them here. The highlight of highlights was the encore, of course, they ended with 1901, which was off the hook! Luckily some person on youtube recorded it, because I recorded squat.
Still my favourite song off the new album, and the lights! Whoo.
One thing that bugs me when I go to a gig is when there are people near me who stand stock still during the show, or only concede to bop their heads or sway ever so slightly. It's their choice, of course, but it sort of defeats the whole purpose, doesn't it? How can you not instinctively want to move when you hear a riff like that? Or, to be more honest, it makes me feel idiotic when I shake around by myself.
I was watching a milk commercial on tv, they used this really pretty song which I couldn't find out by whom, but thanks to the kuasa that is yahoo answers, some nice person revealed that it's a song called Picture Frames by Georgia Fair. Can I be really douchey and just put it here?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I'd convinced myself that I wouldn't be able to concentrate on my assignment without doing my chores first, so today I didn't bother to shower and did some semi-massive straightening up. I managed to khatam my sentimental playlist while doing so, working my way through lovely guitar-strumming-type songs, as the weather bounced between gloomy and sunny. If you'd dropped by you would have caught me in my pajamas, singing out loud as I vacuumed the floor/ironed my clothes/did my laundry/baked cupcakes. I am still in a gross un-showered state(I'm taking a bath after this, I swear), but my apartment floor is pretty clean, whoo. While I'm procrastinating, I might as well pop in a picture here.
Gambar!
A muhibbah aidilfitri
Gambar!
A muhibbah aidilfitriWednesday, September 23, 2009
Hot
Hello. It's been a while but it feels like it's been much longer. I have an essay due for when I meet my group assignment members tomorrow but I still haven't finished, and funnily enough, I don't want to. I'm not worried it's late and that we're meeting at 10, that I still have 700 words to go. I don't want to do this, and therefore I won't. What's wrong with me? I don't know. But selamat hari raya.
I've been really enjoying dance class, have I mentioned this? Leaves me exhausted, but in a good way. and I've also really been enjoying this weetabix cereal Kelly gave me to try. It's got berry bits and stuff in it,annoyingly chewy and they get stuck in my teeth at times when eaten with milk, but still delightful nonetheless.
We've got a gig this weekend(woo!), and secretly, I find it thrilling. Very glad I'll have my Kellogs there with me. I'll tell you something, dancing is empowering, man. All the hair flicks, body rolls and hand swishes entail some sort of diva-esque quality that you have to deliver to make them work! Obviously all my sexy moves were suppressed during school, so perhaps that gives me all the more reason to swing my hips with a vengeance.
I really, really, don't want to do this essay.
But I don't want dance class to equate corruption. It's that funny split personality again, where you have one side gaping at yourself, going "hello. slut. tolong sikit?" and another side going "Bloody hell, it's not like I'm doing all this to go to a club and grind against some guy, this is just fun and a form of exercise."
Oh well.
700 words. come on, come on!
I've been really enjoying dance class, have I mentioned this? Leaves me exhausted, but in a good way. and I've also really been enjoying this weetabix cereal Kelly gave me to try. It's got berry bits and stuff in it,annoyingly chewy and they get stuck in my teeth at times when eaten with milk, but still delightful nonetheless.
We've got a gig this weekend(woo!), and secretly, I find it thrilling. Very glad I'll have my Kellogs there with me. I'll tell you something, dancing is empowering, man. All the hair flicks, body rolls and hand swishes entail some sort of diva-esque quality that you have to deliver to make them work! Obviously all my sexy moves were suppressed during school, so perhaps that gives me all the more reason to swing my hips with a vengeance.
I really, really, don't want to do this essay.
But I don't want dance class to equate corruption. It's that funny split personality again, where you have one side gaping at yourself, going "hello. slut. tolong sikit?" and another side going "Bloody hell, it's not like I'm doing all this to go to a club and grind against some guy, this is just fun and a form of exercise."
Oh well.
700 words. come on, come on!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Vous croyez en Dieu?
Thanks for sticking by when I go crazy. For that, you deserve some sort of baked good, so come see me to claim it.
Got my oral over and done with, and I've submitted my assignment. Two points!
My oral partner appeared to be on some sort of mission (unintentionally, or so he pleads) to test my patience. Had he been deployed by God to uji my kesabaran during these last few days ramadhan? Either way, I failed. I would like to believe I attempted to be accommodating the first few times, but at some point you would just like to smack someone across the back of their head and say "Dude. You just can't function like this if you expect to live in an interdependent community, which we do".
I think, if I may be so indulgent to make a self-describing statement; that I am one scary bitch when I get mad. I don't scream in your face (though 9 times out of 10 I probably imagined it at some point), but I choose the shamefully cowardly method of being mad: I get moody, I give you the silent treatment, the death glare, the imaginary thunderbolts. Sometimes I resort to sarcasm and the occasional scathing word, but mostly I go for a vision of frostiness. Which may just be annoying to some (never rubbed well against my parents, I tell you), but sometimes the Machiavellian aspect of my soul is vindicated and achieves its objective to scare the bejesus out of the object of my contempt.
Which just goes to show how dysfunctional I am as a person. This whole thing came to light as I was talking with my partner, and I realized I was having to resist the urge to stop talking and just GLARE at him. Machiavelli was saying "Insult him! Disregard common courtesy, make him weep!". Vlad the Impaler, who often surfaces when I'm angry and want to physically assault someone was with Machiavelli on this, asking me to "IMPALE HIM! Find a pole!".
On the other hand, another side of me (Mother Teresa side?) was going over the fact that he had apologized each time he made a mistake (which is more that what some would have done), he was scared enough as it is, and the fact that he likes to put smiley faces in his messages. You can't pick a fight with someone who puts smiley faces in their messages, it just doesn't seem right.
I was internally arguing all this in my head while he was asking me things I believe in ( We were learning the verb 'croire' today). At what point can you disregard the need to be the bigger person and have the inherent right to show that you're irked? I suppose, ideally, you're not supposed to show it at all. You're supposed to take it in stride, realise that this person made mistakes but then again so have you, etc. The frosty treatment would only end up with both of us being discomfited. Kesian dia. I knew what I should have done but didn't do it. I didn't pick a fight, but I wasn't exactly making him a friendship bracelet either.
No matter, no matter. We'll pick up where we've left it in two weeks. Two weeks of holidays! This calls for a happy song.
Got my oral over and done with, and I've submitted my assignment. Two points!
My oral partner appeared to be on some sort of mission (unintentionally, or so he pleads) to test my patience. Had he been deployed by God to uji my kesabaran during these last few days ramadhan? Either way, I failed. I would like to believe I attempted to be accommodating the first few times, but at some point you would just like to smack someone across the back of their head and say "Dude. You just can't function like this if you expect to live in an interdependent community, which we do".
I think, if I may be so indulgent to make a self-describing statement; that I am one scary bitch when I get mad. I don't scream in your face (though 9 times out of 10 I probably imagined it at some point), but I choose the shamefully cowardly method of being mad: I get moody, I give you the silent treatment, the death glare, the imaginary thunderbolts. Sometimes I resort to sarcasm and the occasional scathing word, but mostly I go for a vision of frostiness. Which may just be annoying to some (never rubbed well against my parents, I tell you), but sometimes the Machiavellian aspect of my soul is vindicated and achieves its objective to scare the bejesus out of the object of my contempt.
Which just goes to show how dysfunctional I am as a person. This whole thing came to light as I was talking with my partner, and I realized I was having to resist the urge to stop talking and just GLARE at him. Machiavelli was saying "Insult him! Disregard common courtesy, make him weep!". Vlad the Impaler, who often surfaces when I'm angry and want to physically assault someone was with Machiavelli on this, asking me to "IMPALE HIM! Find a pole!".
On the other hand, another side of me (Mother Teresa side?) was going over the fact that he had apologized each time he made a mistake (which is more that what some would have done), he was scared enough as it is, and the fact that he likes to put smiley faces in his messages. You can't pick a fight with someone who puts smiley faces in their messages, it just doesn't seem right.
I was internally arguing all this in my head while he was asking me things I believe in ( We were learning the verb 'croire' today). At what point can you disregard the need to be the bigger person and have the inherent right to show that you're irked? I suppose, ideally, you're not supposed to show it at all. You're supposed to take it in stride, realise that this person made mistakes but then again so have you, etc. The frosty treatment would only end up with both of us being discomfited. Kesian dia. I knew what I should have done but didn't do it. I didn't pick a fight, but I wasn't exactly making him a friendship bracelet either.
No matter, no matter. We'll pick up where we've left it in two weeks. Two weeks of holidays! This calls for a happy song.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Triste
I need to put on my thundercloud earrings.
I have an essay due on Wednesday and I’ve misplaced my assignment partner, who probably thinks I’m an unreliable ass by now. My French oral partner has yet to email me his part, every little thing is getting to me, and it pisses me off to have to use PMS as an excuse. My internet quota’s finished and I’ve exceeded my phone cap so I can’t call my mom.
My relationship with Allah is not in a good place right now, and I know I’ll get over my stupidity and arrogance in due time, but I can’t seem to do so at the moment. Which is too bad, because it’s lonely when you’re not on good terms with the one you’re supposed to turn to. Everything else I try to seek solace from seems to be falling flat, which may be God’s way of punishing me, but He’s not spiteful (I always keep forgetting and tend to attribute Allah with some qualities of a human, which is just proof of my own folly as a human myself) so maybe He’s just trying to gently nudge me and make me see sense. I’d like to believe that.
I know I’m a little fucked up for complaining like this. I don’t want to have anything bad enough happen before I realise the good things going for me at the moment, and at the same time I don’t want to have to force-feed myself with optimism and cheerfulness. I just want to be sad for a little while before I get up, brush myself off, and move on, ok?
Ok.
I have an essay due on Wednesday and I’ve misplaced my assignment partner, who probably thinks I’m an unreliable ass by now. My French oral partner has yet to email me his part, every little thing is getting to me, and it pisses me off to have to use PMS as an excuse. My internet quota’s finished and I’ve exceeded my phone cap so I can’t call my mom.
My relationship with Allah is not in a good place right now, and I know I’ll get over my stupidity and arrogance in due time, but I can’t seem to do so at the moment. Which is too bad, because it’s lonely when you’re not on good terms with the one you’re supposed to turn to. Everything else I try to seek solace from seems to be falling flat, which may be God’s way of punishing me, but He’s not spiteful (I always keep forgetting and tend to attribute Allah with some qualities of a human, which is just proof of my own folly as a human myself) so maybe He’s just trying to gently nudge me and make me see sense. I’d like to believe that.
I know I’m a little fucked up for complaining like this. I don’t want to have anything bad enough happen before I realise the good things going for me at the moment, and at the same time I don’t want to have to force-feed myself with optimism and cheerfulness. I just want to be sad for a little while before I get up, brush myself off, and move on, ok?
Ok.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
The so-called troubles of the nondescript life
Quelle horreur!
I have 3(or 4) assignments pending, a french test, a french oral exam, and the usual tutorials. The tutorials I would like to just disregard, but last week's macro tute had me feeling very inadequate(read:stupid), so I better read the literature and do the work this time.
I shouldn't be blogging, but I've just completed my portion of a group assignment and emailed it off to my group-mates, so I can breathe easy for a bit. I have to do my french oral though, (pour quoi est-ce que tu ne email pas moi, Jonathan?), which is tedious. My topic is that I've had an awful day and am telling what happened to me to my housemate. So I've been trying to come up with all sorts of bad things that could have happened and more importantly, things I can actually find the words in french for. No point in coming up with a wonderfully elaborate tale of how I saw a white rabbit and decided to follow it a la Alice in Wonderland if I don't even know the french word for 'rabbit', is there?
Dance class has been enjoyable. I like dance class. I like dancing. I'm rubbish at it, but there is something ultimately satisfying about hearing a catchy song (even if that song is something as empty-headed and pointless as Krazy by Pitbull. have you seen the video? completely tasteless, the director should be elbowed in the eyes) that makes you want to move. It's intriguing, this natural instinct to groove to the rhythm.
Anyway, I have to go to bed. Esok is the 17th day of puasa!
I have 3(or 4) assignments pending, a french test, a french oral exam, and the usual tutorials. The tutorials I would like to just disregard, but last week's macro tute had me feeling very inadequate(read:stupid), so I better read the literature and do the work this time.
I shouldn't be blogging, but I've just completed my portion of a group assignment and emailed it off to my group-mates, so I can breathe easy for a bit. I have to do my french oral though, (pour quoi est-ce que tu ne email pas moi, Jonathan?), which is tedious. My topic is that I've had an awful day and am telling what happened to me to my housemate. So I've been trying to come up with all sorts of bad things that could have happened and more importantly, things I can actually find the words in french for. No point in coming up with a wonderfully elaborate tale of how I saw a white rabbit and decided to follow it a la Alice in Wonderland if I don't even know the french word for 'rabbit', is there?
Dance class has been enjoyable. I like dance class. I like dancing. I'm rubbish at it, but there is something ultimately satisfying about hearing a catchy song (even if that song is something as empty-headed and pointless as Krazy by Pitbull. have you seen the video? completely tasteless, the director should be elbowed in the eyes) that makes you want to move. It's intriguing, this natural instinct to groove to the rhythm.
Anyway, I have to go to bed. Esok is the 17th day of puasa!
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