(dis) connected

amazing paper dolls from this website here

It seems that I have become so dependent on my ability to instantly communicate with people that those moments when I am not afforded this connection I start to find myself lost, caught in a tailspin of disconnection and suddenly second guessing not only my ability to communicate, but my existence in a world so intrinsically interconnected with each other.

And this is not to say that there is anything actually wrong in my life, that I would need the contact and connection in order to feel validated, alive; rather, my simple efforts at reaching out, asking questions that become unanswered, sending words that are left unresponded to, are trivial, simple reminders and thoughts that are otherwise immaterial and not really worth articulating.

However, in the absence of any kind of response, the idea that someone may be unavailable to me, that something may actually be wrong, begins to ebb and etch its way in to my psyche... why hasn't she replied? What have I done to offend her? Is she busy? Is she okay? Is she upset with me? Did I say something upsetting? Am I being too much?...Most definitely, yes. Yes, much too much... why did I send the second message? Why did I say that? Why didn't I say that? What?! Why? Why? Why?

And then... the phone trills. A reply! A simple, appropriately non-committal response deserving of the simple, appropriately non-committal text message that I sent her hours earlier.

And all is well within the world.

from your thoughts your future.com

I wonder about the idea of a vast ocean as an analogy for our lives. The vista is endless;  the promise of a great expanse of waves and water crashing about us is at once intimidating and comforting.

Why do we prefer the unknown to the known? 

I am aware that this does not apply for all people; many are perfectly content pursuing a daily sameness - but for those that don't... why?

And, because I am ultimately incredibly self-absorbed, where do I fit on this spectrum?

If I say I prefer simplicity and an uncomplicated life, love and happiness, but am forever living in a world that is complicated, sometimes over-dramatised and, at times, really fucking challenging... so what does this make me?

And dare I feel  a simulacrum of hope for a life less overwhelmingly complex? Or is this part of the wash-rinse-repeat cycle of yearning for what is not?

Sometimes if I think too hard about something, I completely forget what it is

The same thing generally happens with blogging. Case in point, this.

I was told off for not updating my blog recently, by one of the ... oh, two people that read it (not including you, Mum). And really, I have no particular reason for doing so, except that I tend to find that if I really focus on being hilariously interesting, then I fail.

Miserably.

Added to that, PhDing takes up an inordinate amount of my time as I hone my (already highly developed) skills at looking-terribly-busy-while-not-actually-doing-much. I have also been concentrating-very-hard on not eating a metric shitload of chocolate, and doing lots of boring rugby-related things. And other stuff, probably, but I am far too absent minded to remember what this is.


So instead, here is  a picture of Skeletor with a unicorn My Litttle Pony:

proof that skeletor loves ponies from here

And what I imagine his reaction would have been at the prospect of giving Rainbow Dash a new hairdo:

OMFG, PONIES!

Because when my brain stops functioning normally, this is what I revert to.

stupid food

from here

No bloody wonder I lost my appetite.

There was a cock in the noodles.

Or the noodles were cock flavoured.

Or the cock soup was really... noodly.
Yeah.

kiss me kate

from this super blog about vintage fashion

So, fuck it. I know I'm mixing my metaphors, mashing my cultural references and such like, but I'm fairly sure I don't fucking care.

I just love Katharine Hepburn.

Such an aggressively individual woman; Hepburn grew up within a suffragist household where she was exposed to the kind of forthright frankness that she later became known for ... and that I admire her so greatly for. In a time when women were still expected to be demure, precious little petals, she was everything but that.

Hepburn was also outspoken regarding religion, which she believed was "a sop for the masses".

"I'm an atheist and that's it. I believe there's nothing we can know except that we should be kind to each other and do what we can for other people" (from here)

Yeah. 

little boxes

I love the ocean. I think if I didn't live near the hills, I would have to live next to the ocean. Perhaps I could live on a deserted hillside by an ocean.



My cousin was posted on facebook a video of a cover The Decemberists did of Malvina Reynold's song, Little Boxes.

I love that song (particularly Malvina Reynold's original) as such a scathingly accurate depiction of the expectations (and assumptions) of conformity in middle class society. The desire to fit within the box that we are assigned is, I am sure, overwhelming for many people, to the point where those that do not fit within our prescribed 'types' of appropriate behaviour are problematised and isolated as abnormal.

And while I appreciate that this is a broad, sweeping statement that does not apply to all people, at all times, I would argue that, well, it's not intended to. But the fact that it applies at all, I think says much about the cultural values and norms of the society within which we (or I) live.

It is the differences that make us unique, and although I don't feel that we should all strive to be different for the sake of it, I suppose I find the expectation to be the same is both exasperating and for many, difficult to resist.

I say this because it seems to apply to so many things and so many people in so many different facets of our daily lives. Occasionally I stop and look and am surprised by this.

So, yeah.

It's not that I'm hating on society, but I guess today has been one of those days where I surprised at the conformity to these cultural ideals and societal behaviours and expectations that is so overwhelmingly present in so many people.

That, and I  just that I have nothing funny to say today.



Anyway. Here's the song lyrics.

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

mirror, mirror

frack you, ikea

I can't remember why - because I couldn't possibly have justified needing it- but I bought a mirror from Ikea.

As I walk past it, still in its box on the shelf in the spare room, it glares at me in ways only mirrors can glare - saying, "go frack yourself, Katey".

Well. Frack you too, mirror.

Paper thin



from here via ffffound

 It's true. I am.

I seem to have an alarmingly good ability to think and act in a manner that is so utterly selfish...and then, as I suppose most people do, feign justification - if not to everyone else, at least to myself.

Societal rules and constructs regarding care responsibilities typically necessitate that women are self-sacrificing; one's role as a mother is not without marked compromise and indeed, subsequent judgement. 

We are expected to endure, suffer in silence and persevere irrespective of our feelings.

A large part of me agrees, in so much that I feel that surely the wellbeing of my children is to be given primacy over my own? However, what if the two are intrinsically connected, and the hollow ghost of a mother is no more beneficial than if she were to act as she felt ... and not as she thought she should feel...?

Feminism encourages us to challenge those rules that bind us. But this becomes part of the dilemma - while I feel that the societal rules that may limit us and our actions are rigid (but movable) it is difficult to encourage others to see that this may be the case. And while I know that our willingness to push these boundaries is shaped by our experiences, I recognise that this can be both a limiting, and expansive experience.

"Just because I'm paranoid..."

But perhaps they're over there planning their attack...?

Of course, by they, I mean the Grammar Nazis. Not me, I'm just some bored PhD student who should probably be doing something other than writing in her lame-arsed blog.

While I'm not the most negligent of parents

I certainly fit the criteria or a negligent blogger. But, you know, meh. I'm sure that the none of you reading this really actually care that I missed the most recent update of "fucked up things katey found on the internet recently"... I hope. Note that if you are genuinely disappointed, I strongly recommend you go get a life. STAT. But then, I suspect we're well beyond that if you're sitting up reading my blog at 3am on a Saturday evening. Yeah. You cool dude, you.


SO.

I am in the deep, dark, murky depths of trying to finish my thesis. Or as I like to call it, my FUCKING thesis. It's ok, it's just...bloody long, and a shitload of work. And thus, I am killing time writing irrelevant blog posts.

Awesome!

from from Ask a urinal

And it's true. Misplaced apostrophes make the baby jesus cry.

Potatoes, Churchill and things that drool

from StrangeFunKidz

Ok. I have a confession to make. I'm not that crazy about babies. I could take them or leave them, and more often than not, I'd rather leave them (I mean that in a completely non-negligent parent kind of way). The fact that I had two of my own has little to no bearing on this; I liked my own babes fine but I prefer them now that they're older and argumentative and independent and funny, rather than when they were drooly and whingey and shitty and needed changing and feeding all the time. That's not to say that I have no maternal instincts (hey, well, actually, maybe I don't, I don't know) or that I'm going to footy kick the next wee bairn that's handed to me, rather that... I dunno... babies don't really do anything, except become really cool little people (which is exciting, right) but until they do that... meh.
So I kind of enjoy other people's babies, certainly in the capacity that I like making them smile and coo and then handing them back when they start to emit strange odours. I've done my nappy duty x 2, so I'm not revisiting that ANY time soon (read: at. all). And I don't see any reason why I should.

So... it is perhaps completely incongruous that I am making things for a mate's baby, but really and truly, I like making stuff, and making stuff for babies is cool, you know, because they can't complain that they look kinda lame in the daggy home-made cardigan that you painstakingly knitted for them (and went near blind in the process).
The problem is, I've been googling patterns and have found that my judgement about whether or not a pattern is cute or not is severely clouded by whether or not it's on a, well, funny looking kid. It seems a large proportion of babies bear a very strong resembelance to Winston Churchill, and this is not the most appealing look in the world. Quite fine if you're Winston Churchill's wife, I guess, or in the kid's case, its parents/grandparents/direct relatives, because you love the grunty little thing so damned much you can't tell whether or not it's a bit odd looking. But to me, a slightly anti-baby-partial observer, they're not really all that. And mine were no different - being prem, they were a little on the lean side, and this gave them an appearance not dissimilar to the long skinny potatoes I see in the grocery store occasionally, you know, they're kind of unattractive but you figure they're great for mash or chips or whatever?
Yeah.
That was my kids.
Skinny, lumpy potatoes.
They grew out of it quick enough, once they start getting longer and bigger they invariably become cuter and more person like (less potato like) but up until that point I was frequently bothered by the cooing that inevitably occured by some strange old lady you met on the street and "oh, isn't this one cute!" and "your little boy, look at him!" (I had 2 girls).

But nowhere near as funny looking as these potatoes

The good news is, they do grow up in to adorable little miniature people, with opinions and dreams and ideas about stuff, you know, and eventually once they start talking in semi-complete sentences, they make great conversation. But up until that point, kids seem to be more of a conversation topic rather than a conversation holder - which reminds me of the classic Seinfeld episode, "you've got to see the BABY!" (although we never actually saw it, I'm sure it was quite Winston Churchill like).

Maybe the dingo ate your baby?

Because changing my mind is what I do best...

Have completely changed my mind about the invitations. Hand written 'to-do' lists seem daggy and uncool now, have decided to write vital details on a page torn from an old dictionary instead.
N still prefers the to-do list, but I'm over it.

in other, unrelated news:

Dear Sir/Madam,



I am Mr. Raymond Daniel, the Auditor General, Bank Islam Malaysia Berhad. In the course of my auditing, I discovered a floating funds in an account which was opened in 2001 belonging to a dead foreigner name (withheld) a national of your country. I decided to track his last name over the Internet to locate any member of his family hence I got in contact with you. I want to move the sum of $18.5M from Bank Islam Malaysia Berhad in his account to abroad.



I therefore write to solicit your quiet partnership with me in providing an account or setting up a new one that will serve the purpose of receiving this fund, Even an empty account can also serve as long as there will be honesty to me till the end of the deal and I hope you will never let me down.



After going through his records and files, I discovered that:



(1) No one has operated this account since 2001;

(2) He died without an heir; hence the money has been floating.

(3) No other person knows about this account and there was no known

beneficiary.



AND IF I DO NOT REMIT THIS MONEY URGENTLY, IT WOULD BE FORFEITED FOR

NOTHING.

This money can only be approved to you legally as far you are welling to stands as his NEXT OF KIN. Hence I am contacting you. I will require your urgent reply so that I give you the next step. Kindly forward your telephone and fax numbers. I am ready to give you the sum of $7,500,000 ($7.5M) for your assistance and partnership. While 10% shall be set aside to upset all expenses incurred by both parties during the cause of this transaction.



I look forward to your prompt.



Best Regards,

Mr.Raymond Daniel,

Auditor General.

LOL

please bear with me while I open my mouth and spew forth a pile of unintelligable gibberish

I really loathe those days when I feel I swing a pendulum between talking too much (and saying very little) and not talking (and still, saying very little). There is no middle ground here, simply a dire case of foot-in-mouth, and uncomfortable silences.
Case in point - today, when, during a meeting with other Honours students and their supervisors, I felt I either babbled incessantly, or stared at the table intensely, hoping someone else would say anything so that I wouldn't feel the need to continue to blather on about nothing in particular. Fortunately, my supervisor appears to be quite empathetic to this unfortunate condition, as she rescued me on more than one occasion. She's like me, I think, in a short, intense personality kind of way.

Now, because I'm terribly vain, I like to think I'm intense in a Peaches kind of way. Of course, Peaches is brilliant and intense and a musical god, but still, I'd like to think there were parallels between the the more abrasive and challenging aspects of her public persona (she makes no apologies for who she is, indeed, she challenges people to question their presumptions and preconceptions) and myself.
I wish.
Ha!

Picture courtesy of The Scenestar

Cutlery, crockery, and all things servingware

Are plastic plates an absolute no-go?

In the process of planning our little backyard 'event', N and I have had to give thought to what people are actually going to eat off. Normally a mishmash of new and old plates are dragged out of the cupboards for people to use, and in some scenarios, the paper plate makes an appearance. It is an outside event, after all, and being the pseudo-greenie that I am, I can rationalise and justify using disposable products by buying those that are already made from recycled paper to begin with.

Trouble is, they're kinda cheap looking.

And while cheap isn't really a concern of mine, it's not what I would choose if I wanted to set this particular backyard 'event' apart from every other occasion, and doing so seems somewhat important to me at the moment, as if to give some indication of the brevity of the ceremony, while still doing it in a uniquely N & Katey kind of way.

Yet, this seems preferable to the plastic alternative:

from http://i244.photobucket.com/albums/gg40/hikimmo/WriteShop%20Images/217-809PaperPlate9.jpg

versus

http://partywarehouse.co.nz/zen/images/Plastic%20Plates%20White.jpg

I don't know. But I suppose it is one of those very important things that I will need to work out sooner rather than later. Like what we're wearing, and other crap like that. Meh.

trawling the internet

ugh - wading through anti abortion drivel to find comments reflecting public opinion on sex ed tailored to international students is...mind numbing at best, painful at worst.
I promised myself a dip in the pool once i'd fininshed, but this media analysis looks set to bore me to sleep.

A few years back, I'd get all irritated and indignant at the responses I'm reading, "sex education encourages sex, blah blah blah" ... but today, today (perhaps because of tiredness) I just feel bored with it all.

It's tedious, monotonous, repetitive, boring, and often untrue.

Please, bore someone else with your dogma.