so like, you know

oc1.jpg
So I’ve watched the OC about 4 or maybe even 5 weeks in a row now.
I think I’m hooked.
It’s so completely ridiculous – the ‘teenagers’ speak like world-weary script writers, everyone’s either really rich or ‘living in a caravan’ and really rich. Even the ‘poorest’ characters wear clothes that are about 10 million times more expensive than mine. They all live by the sea, drive expensive cars and are ridiculously skinny.
I was a bit of a Dawson’s Creek fan, in that I wouldn’t turn it off it was on, but I wouldn’t tape it or seek it out. I was delighted in the last episode of Buffy that I watched (Out of my Mind to see Spike declare that Pacey was being an idiot because ‘she’ didn’t love him.
Poor old Pacey. I was sure he was a special needs character from the ads. But he …wasn’t?
Yeah, so I’m watching the OC. I forget about it as soon as the program finishes, though the ads kind of catch my interest.
It is so ridiculous. I have no idea what’s going on. But I have Opinions about the characters:
Marissa (the teeny sex queen one who’s on all the ads for shampoo and stuff):
Is a skinny dog who really annoys me. She needs to pin her hair back.
I’m not convinced that she’s actually an alcaholic.
Seth (the dark haired young fullah):
is obviously the one I’m supposed to dig because he likes manga and arty stuff and reading.
His minor lispy thing is meant to be hot.
I like him but he kind of annoys me. I can’t bring myself to be really impressed or to actually care.
Look, I’ve lost interest in this silly list.
Why are all the characters so young? Even the mums and dads are young, or trying desperately to look young. Yucky.
The only thing I really care about is that these kids seem to go to Buffy’s high school in Beverly Hills/Sunnydale. The same school that the film Loser was set in.

melbourne is obsessed

The adult population of Brunswick is somewhat subdued today. Last night’s finals match between Australia and Italy offered everyone in this part of Melbourne a team to barack for, whether you’re born in Australia, Italy, Greece or some other part of the soccer-playing universe.
In one of the most Italian cafes in Brunswick the owner wasn’t in, but there was a vigorous play-by-play discussion of the match carried on by the Irish and Scotts staff.
At Nino and Joes, there were only two butchers working, neither of whom was moving very quickly. There was no bantering.
And the mediterannean supermarket was deserted except for a few skips wandering vaguely up and down the isles, fondling all sorts of things but really only coming home with a dozen cans of diced tomatoes.
It’s the second week of the school holidays here, and the parks and streets and front yards in my neighbourhood are full of unsupervised gangs of kids playing complex variations on the regulation soccer match, adapted for concrete pitches and passing cars. It’s only 8 degrees, the wind is bitingly cold, but it seems appropriate.
I haven’t seen any of the soccer, but it’s everywhere. Melbourne is obsessed. And Brunswick is particularly so. Perhaps my favourite story is from the bus ride home the other day. The Italian bus driver (the one who steps down to welcome people onto the bus, or stops the bus to chat with passing friends) was busily engaged in a complicated discussion of the matches to date with a young skip alternakid and a tall and elegant African lady. After the tentative “who did you go for?” and “Australia of course” responses, they assessed the socceroos all the way to my stop.

look, we’re on the internet!

It’s odd to see bits of my world on the internet. If you go here you can see a building that I pass every week as I ride into town to go dancing. And that’s about the time of day I ride past (with allowances for seasonal variation of course).
The bit that’s strange though, is that I don’t often see the building from that angle – mostly as I’m barelling past trying not to die on the roundabout of death.

where’s the good goddamn chocolate? WHERE?

I take time out to focus my eyes.
I’m having trouble staying focussed on these nasty chapter rewrites. I certainly can’t divide the text up into individual words any more – it’s just one blob of known-by-heart text now, and I can no longer (if I ever could) tell what’s crap and what’s not. I am relying entirely on the Supes’ scribbledy comments, praying she knows what she’s doing. The bits where she says ‘rewrite this’ or ‘need to make this clearer’ almost make me cry. Creative work is kind of beyond me right now. I’m not even sure I know what the thesis is about any more, let alone what each chapter is about.
I am definitely No Good at introductions. Each one has been so scribbled over it looks like a nest of black jellyfish squabbling over fountain pen. I just suck at this part. I’m still not entirely sure about what I should actually be doing. Because I’m just following directions now (it seemed the best idea, especially after I was instructed to edit the same section at least 3 times, crossing back and forth over the same lines, editing, reverting, editing and reverting again), I’m not actually learning anything. I do feel a bit like a real dummy.
But it’s not a sad thing – it’s kind of nice to just stop thinking (critically or otherwise) and just be told what to do. I think I want one of those menial jobs where you do repetitive tasks over and over again. Maybe I should work at McDonalds, or do a *deleted* dance class.
I’m not sure if I should be making things shorter and crisper, or longer and artier. I’m pretty sure some parts were to be longer and artier, but some parts which I had made artier are now to be reverted to crisper forms. Sigh.
And why is it that I only seem to know about 20 words, now? Surely there are more words out there in the english language?
Look, I’ll just go back to Doing As I’m Told for now, then when I’ve finished each individual chapter’s overall edit, I’ll go on and actually write (for about the zillionth time) The Introduction again (formerly Chapter One the literature review and The Introduction. And formerly-to-that Capter one: the Introduction). Can you feel my pain?
Frankly, I have no idea, at all, whatsoever, about what I’m doing, what I should do, and what counts as ‘good stuff’ or not.
Double sigh.
Where’s the good goddamn chocolate? WHERE? I’m not normally the sort of barbie who fusses over things like chocolate – you know the type. They have posters or tshirts that say things like ‘i love chocolate’. I like the stuff, but heck, there are other, more important things in my (gastronomic) life.
But right now, I just feel that it would be appropriate.

recent reading

Ok, so I haven’t read that article, yet, but I have read most of this:

It’s one of the most recent contriubtions to dance studies work on African American vernacular dance history, edited by Tommy DeFrantz, who does some interesting work on queer black masculinity in dance. While there’s a little more emphasis on concert dance than I’m really interested in, there are also some neat articles, especially one on ring shouts which is really worth reading for a discussion of African slaves’ experiences with christianity, as represented in dance.

man, i have to lie down

hellooooo HECs debt. Smaller than I thought, larger than I’d like, and with nasty added on bits they call ‘indexation’ but that I call CRAP.
Hello 189 pages of thesis for editing. Oh yes – it’s back, and the supes is off, out of the country tonight so I can’t get her back for all the annoying editing jobs she’s give me. It’s not her fault, though I don’t think I could cope with any more it’s-my-fault guilt.
Yeah, so anyway, she thinks it rocks, and this is the penultimate draft (penultimate draft #5 or so). Basically, I’m going to ditch the intro she got me to write a couple of weeks ago, revert to the earlier version of chapter one (pre-reccommended changes), fix up my crap intros and conclusions on each chapter, and sort out the gross conclusion to the whole thing. I’m obviously terrible at beginnings and endings. Despite all that, there are dozens of pages without any scribbles on them at all.
Basically, I’m looking at about 3 weeks of work (as predicted), then the ‘final’ copy will go back to her.
Thankfully, I’m a quick writer, and I’m now kicking arse at producing new stuff that’s decent quickly.
We each know every word off by heart now, and are heartily sick of the whole thing. Every now and then we remind ourselves that I rock, and so we’re not wasting our time. I say we, because neither of us could continue without the other to bolster our flagging spirits. Even calling each other a cocksucker didn’t help.
Meanwhile, MLX6 planning continues (drupal sucks dogs’ balls btw – avoid that piece of shit. we are exploring other options (including a wiki and plone), so any suggestions for easy-to-use document management/threadable discussiony type things would be appreciated).
It’s cold as fuck, I haven’t slept enough lately, owing to mild thesis anxiety, and I need a nap.
I’m also waiting for a cd to arrive from amazon. I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s a 2 or 3 cd set of remastered ellington stuf. I’m quite excited. Not that I’ve listened to ANY music AT ALL in at least a week. I simply haven’t had time. What with all that Buffy to be watched.
On other fronts, I’ve lined up some tutoring for next semester, which is neat, as the scholarship ends in August, but also means a bit of work coming my way. Right when I’m ready to just Stop. But I’m very happy to be keeping in the game.
I’m also DJing Friday night, which is nice, as there’s been very little of it about lately. Seems a bunch of new young guns have cottoned on to the caper. Sigh. Best be getting on with pimping myself about before I lose all of the few skills I’ve gained this last few months. It’s kind of annoying, as I’ve not had a chance to test out my new headphones situation. And I’m not sure I will for a while. Oh well.
Man, I have to lie down. Even Lionel Hampton isn’t keeping me alert.