saw an ad for the next season of big brother…
we rode to ann’s house for the first time on the 8th march. it was ok.
should i keep the group social dancing responses bit in the chapter? i have more than enough stuff on DJing to make the whole chapter just about DJing. should i ditch the other stuff on music? i like the bits about strolls, etc. i really do. but i think they might just work nicely in the chapter on the dance act.
oh, this thesis is too big. i have too much to say.
i’ve gotta give a paper in may (on music stuff i guess), i’m getting the lotr stuff done today so i can write the report (go look here for a project description, you can even do the survey if you like), and i’m trying to edit my ridiculously long chapter on music and djing. which is why, of course, i’m doing bloggage.
but i love it. i love my thesis so much. it’s really interesting stuff. i wish, though, that i could be a bit cleverer with the theory stuff. i just know i’m not reading enough hardcore lit. but i sure am wanking on a fair bit about swingers’ use of music. djing as professional identity… i’m getting a feeling about the development of professional roles in subcultures… is it a sign of a complicating of the community? is it a sign of community development?
only if you figure go-capitalism is a marker of community growth. maybe it’d be less distressing to see it as a marker of corruption. degeneration… nah.
but it’s certainly a marker for patterns of power and status.
maybe i should should wack some of my work up on here? not like anyone would read it, though, i guess.
Red Singlet Girl was at the gym on tuesday when i was.
i think i’ve got a crush. she’s so cool. she was doing this thing where she was lifting her whole body up from two parallel bars (like the gymnastic ones), she was just hanging there, going up and down, up and down, her legs together, toes pointed, muscles rippling. it was so cool. so i made sure i did the very best fitball squats ever. because i reckon i could be that cool. and i’m sure even exercises with the name ‘fitball squats’ could be as cool as lifting your own body weight up and down, up and down, suspended between two parallel bars.
i was considering making my own togs.
i was going to make a swimming costume. obviously ill-fitting trousers and weirdo stripey shirts weren’t enough. i was seriously thinking about full-scale public humiliation.
oh goddess, help me to restrain myself.
i had planned to write more regularly. but i got all caught up in some postgraduate angst and couldn’t face the computer. so i went to the gym. i’m now very obsessed with yoga, avoiding aerobics and have bought a new pair of bathers.
ok, so i’ve found that broken thing again. if you go to the ‘march’ entries, and try to look at the comments… you can’t. i’ve broken something. woops. will try to fix soon.
i’m concerned that my last post made me sound like an anorexic barbie, panicking about her appearance and arse.
i’d just like to state, categorically, that:
1) i am not a barbie
2) i am not anorexic
3) i do actually quite like my body
4) i am going to the gym to get fit enough so that i don’t die at herrang in july (provided i get the grant so i can go do the field work)
5) i do secretly fancy myself as a linda hamilton type. i think i could look good in muscles
so why the gym, not-barbie?
i wasn’t getting enough exercise and was increasing in girth. not a huge problem in itself (i always feel the same size, and am surprised when i can’t fit into pants), but had practical concerns: i couldn’t afford to keep myself in pants; it was harder to dance a lot; i was getting less flexible – mass = harder to bend; and so on.
so far it has been observed that ‘yes, you are getting smaller’ and ‘you jiggle less now’. unfortunately, the latter point also applies to the bust area, as the natural consequence of weight loss. and while The Squeeze greets my front with ever-increasing mournfulness, i am assuring him that a stronger ‘poss will also mean more robust displays of affection, which he quite likes.
i care only for fitballs, stretches and weights. the rest is for babies.