Today This Girl dies of Friday Poisoning and Boiled Goose

This is the D-Day stage my friends. University is never going to be as easy as some people make it out to be. And if it is - that's because they're not going to lectures, so they don't know what the load of work is like and SMACK! the exams hit them six-love. That's not to say they won't hit the rest of us for six, but I like to think we have a good chunk of wood strapped to our faces for when they do. Kinda like those kids in the old-school boarding days who put books or something in the sit of their pants so that the caning wouldn't hurt as much.

Gone are the days when lectures hall were full. Or even half full. And the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed keen beans from the beginning of the term scare you with faces straight from Grudge. To steal a phrase - most lovingly used here - shit went down. Although, to be fair, laziness is not the only reason for poor attendance. When you’re learning more from your weekly tutorials than in your lectures – you know something’s not quite right. I understand that we’re all adults now (ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!) and that we’re supposed to be doing a lot of the work ourselves, but if I’m (ok fine, my parents) not paying them to teach me anything – then WHAT ARE THEY GETTING PAID FOR!!! We have a tutorial once a week for each subject, and our tutors are 2^nd, 3rd or 4^th year students, HOW am I learning more than in lectures which occur 4 times more during the week and are ‘taught’ by professionals?

Chinese is the exception though, I can actually have a fully-fledged conversation about the time and the weather. Yay, I can now participate in awkward small talk in Mandarin as well as English!    

Rebecca Black. Gave you cold shivers didn’t it.

Well, where to start – the lyrics were indescribable (in a very, very bad way), the casting for the video was atrocious (my word for the weekend – try use it as often as possible), the choreography and general layout of the video was...well there are lots of synonyms for ‘really, really, REALLY bad’ – let’s just apply that to the whole thing shall we. And as for the singing – use auto-tune much? Here’s a snippet of the lyrics – just don’t looks directly at them – eyeballs have been known to shrivel up and fall out.

Kickin’ in the front seat
Sittin’ in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?

It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend

Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend

Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’)
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today

Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after...wards
I don’t want this weekend to end

Yes, someone actually sat down to write these lyrics. Obviously they spent all the money on making the video and there was none left to hire a good lyricist.

Lastly - on a happier note – The Lonely Island have released a new single. Some may not be as excited about this though and say they’re as bad as Rebecca Black (BLASPHEMY!!!), but I LOVE them. There are just some things that are hard to express – things that no-one can put into words (mom, close your eyes). Presenting - I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island:

These guys are legit. They're too legit. They're too legit to quit. Who else has succesfully gotten Jessica Alba, Blake Lively, Akon and John McEnroe all in the same music video? Not to mention singing with celebs such as Justin Timberlake, Natalie Portman, T-Pain, Adam Levine, Rihanna, Seth Rogan, Will Farrell and many more... Click on the following magical highlighted words to watch more: The Creep with Nicki Minaj and Boombox with Julian Casablancas, frontman of The Strokes. Now that's what I call winning.

Today This Girl Dies of a Stubbed Toe

The heading is pretty much self-explanatory...Well, it actually happened on Sunday, but you get the gist. The scene of the crime was my res room, and I was having a particularly messy weekend. Now I do want to iterate that so far I've been really good - I do my laundry once a week, I've been fairly consistent with dish washing, I vacuum every now and then, make my bed and make sure my work area's really tidy. Then this weekend struck and it was hell-in-a-handbasket personified. I had just done a load of laundry and, instead of folding it and putting it away, I dumped it near enough to my door that I had to step on the pile to get out the door. Either that or do a cool little maneuver to swing my way over. Yes, I know - don't look at me in that tone of voice - just plain idiot-tactics right there. To give myself a little leeway, it was 11pm and I was tired, I'd do it the next morning.

Next morning woke me up with the usual (see Today This Girl dies of boredom - opening sentence) and I tumbled towards the door to the bathroom. Coming back into my room, I opened the door, swung my left foot over the pile of clothes, swiped some away with my right foot when the door wouldn't close, and then promptly forgot that my right foot existed. That had to be it, I can't think of any other reason why I would have left my foot in the path of an oncoming door. The oncoming door corner. Right at the fourth toe of my right foot, it was like slow motion - faint screaming in my head, one of those Hollywood-tastic 'Nooooooooooooo!'s and then a rebound as the door hits the victim. Who knew something so small could contain so much pain.

Broken (at least in spirit, if not the actual bones) toes aside, how was your weekend? Mine was pretty surreal - Claire and I went out on Friday to a digs house-warming party. It was interesting to say the least. People drifted in and out of groups, dubbstepped in the little garage, waved around to some alternative in the massive lounge and drank some punch. Philip - a mutual friend of ours - was also floated to and fro; he actually came with us to the party in the boot of the car that took us there. Not an open boot, an actual closed off one. Ahh the joys of youthful weirdness. We all migrated to our local favourite eventually and from their things just went in a lazy spiral... Claire and I somehow attracted multitudes of people just wanting to talk to us that night. We felt quite popular, although one guy did go through his life story quite thouroughly...

Saturday was kareoke night at our res - full of ♪♫♪I've...had...the time of my liiife♪♫♪, it was AMAZING. Yes, I am one of those who need to be dragged away by the end of the night, NEVER a bad thing. Then we went to our local again, for ONE drink. We ended up staying til 1:30am after trying vainly to wait for some good musci to magically appear - that said, we still managed to work up quite a jam by the end of the night...

To end things off, I'm sending lots of good karma and luck to Japan for all the multitudes of reasons for which they need it - despite being rather self-absorbed, I do try to keep them in my thoughts at least once a day. Anyone notice the periods of time between natural disasters getting exponentially shorter? I'm just saying... 

Today This Girl dies of Tiger Blood #charliesheen Overdose

bfawefbarkvg aerghaeja aerghaoe;rg. That was my first thought upon watching this video. Even when I was eventually able to gather up the little pieces of my wits, I couldn't decide whether to think Charlie Sheen is a complete neanderthal - or an absolute genius. But Charlie Sheen doesn't care about what I think, apparently. But isn't that what everyone's aiming for? Not the drugs and prostitutes (you could argue on that point, but that's not where I'm going for this one) - but the complete apathetic attitude. I, being a hopeless people-pleaser, would LOVE to have the I Just Don't Care What You Think attitude. I wouldn't want to be absolutely drenched in it though. What an asshole.

I could give you all the facts about when he was arrested, why, what he was doing with all the drugs and pornstars, but really, all the newspapers and gossip rags have been running that one to death. I'm more interested in the whole conversation in this video. You can tell, as soon as the first word leaves her mouth that the reporter, Andrea Canning has her verdict signed, sealed, delivered and although I really don't agree with the casualness with which Charlie Sheen talks about drugs, it's pretty amusing to watch him knock her for six with every question he answered. Especially when he asked her what bipolar even means and you realise that she actually didn't know what it is. She did regroup and give a semi-correct answer, but it shows how people these days latch onto a 'catch-word' and throw it around without thinking about what it actually means...

I then decided to watch a few more videos, and I now stand corrected - the video above is a highly edited version of a much longer interview and the interviewer seems to be making a concentrated effort to understand what Charlie Sheen is going through, but it soon becomes apparent that  he would try the patience of a whole host of saints and you have to admire te good humour of Andrea Canning as she even laughs at one of his many innappropriate jokes (I couldn't help it, I laughed at them all).

Charlie Sheen is definitely of a different breed altogether and despite (in spite of? because of?) all the outragous comments, weird behaviour and jarring straightford baldness I'm completely fascinated by this man. Maybe all the bull that surrounds a majority of the public figures today makes it easier for everyone to revel in refreshing honesty even while feeling a vague sense of outrage and offense - and explains why Charlie Sheen managed to obtain an astounding 1 000 000 000  followers in  a mere 24 hours - the fastest in Twitter history. Whatever the reason for the fascination that follows Charlie Sheen, it's obvious that 'tiger blood' and 'winning'  are going to be around for a while.

Some 'winnng' quotes from the video:

In response to people thinking he's bipolar:
"Wow, then what's the cure - medicine? Make me just like them? Not gnna happen.

"How do you survive that?"
"Because I'm me...I got tiger bood"

When asked f he's afraid he's going to overdose/die:
"Dying's for fools."

"Are you worried you're going to relapse?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not going to - period, the end."
"But how do you know?"
"I blinked and I cured my brain...Can't is the cancer of happen"

"The Nike slogan doesn't say 'Just try it'...Just do it man"

Next Big Brand: Bi-winning tiger blood - the food of champions.

<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7BZA5bOZ6To" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Today This Girl dies Hurtling Through the Past

On Thursday afternoon we were given a Journalism assignment - a personal narrative of 500-700 words about a defining moment in your life. Now, I culd talking about myself all day, and I do - regularly. This task, however, required more than just talking about who my favourite Jonas brother is (which I'm taking to my grave). Defining moments don't just pop by every day, sometimes you have to think about it a bit, others knew as soon as they heard the topic. One of the girls in my res, Abbey, wanted to write about her brother, but found it to be too painful. If you're curious by what I mean about that last one, well, you'll have to ask her yourself - it's not my story to tell, and I wouldn't do it justice anyway.

So, here's mine, Claire says it's pretty good and although I know I could have written it a little better I'm posting it up here for keepsakes, enjoy! :)

Nothing Special

I don’t want to do this. I really REALLY don’t want to do this. Change the double nappies of a 35 year old, non-verbal, Richard Harris; grab my shower gel from sticky-fingered Chris Salierno; calm another one wearing a hole in the floor on the other side of the cabin  – ‘No Charlie, they weren’t shouting at you’; reassuring John that yes, I will be watching you at the talent show tonight; switch Richard Blasco’s shoes around; help Josh pull his pants up; fetch Charlie as he wanders outside; eye a suspiciously gleeful Chris S; thank Cliff for the hug, struggle to get out of it; promise John that he can listen to his Hannah Montana CDs later; No Richard C, you can’t have ‘cawfee’ right this very second, we’ll get you some at breakfast; dodge Cliff’s hug/headlock; rescue my shower gel yet again as it’s cornered by Chris S and herd them all off to breakfast. That takes care of 15 minutes in the 20 hour day-shift. I really, really REALLY don’t want to do this. That was my mantra, and I was sticking to it.

We worked 20 hours a day, 6 days a week constantly supervising, changing nappies, feeding, toileting, showering and coaxing campers to daily activities. We were running on sugar, Gatorade and pure adrenaline. Every night we’d have 3 hours off from 9-12, and so every night found all the counsellors face-planted on the various couches in the staff cabin or playing pool. The highlight, though, was everyone huddled around the TV and trading war-stories of the day; because even if I had woken up to see Natalie standing on her bed, all the sheets completely stripped and thrown off the edge, brown smeared all over her hands, face, legs and bed waiting to be cleaned up by yours truly – there was always someone with a story worse than mine.

Third session was when I first worked with men that summer and even while I was screaming inside as I tried to maintain a calm, soothing front; for the first time in 4 weeks I was loving every second of it. Richard C repeatedly asked for ‘cawfee’ all day long, Josh listened to Harry Potter audio tapes while walking around the cabin and waving his hands around, John blasted ‘I lay my Love on You’ and ‘Best of Both Worlds’ until we begged him to stop and Cliff was 6 foot tall with no front teeth and loved giving hugs with alarming regularity and strength. Then there was Chris Salierno, the exception to every rule. The easiest way to describe him is to imagine what people would be like if we gave in to every impulse we ever had. If Chris Salierno wants to shave his eyebrows off, that’s what he’ll do. If Chris Salierno wants to be Camp Director, well then we make business cards and he becomes ‘my boss’.

For Chris Salierno, nothing is impossible.

Doing something you were set against from the start has fairly obvious issues, and while many of us dreamt of jumping ship and running home to mommy, being in a whole other country made it rather difficult. That and the fact that quitting is never easy, especially when there is an expectation that you will. So I stayed at the special needs camp in Effort, Pennsylvania for 9 weeks being continually driven to the brink of madness and back again. It was exhausting, but our motley group of about 60 people from various countries all trudged through the carnage that was summer camp.

It was a rather fun experience.