helloooo...

It's been a rather long time since I was on here last. Not that much has actually happened in that period. I have a new nephew, which is pretty cool. Haven't seen him yet as he lives in Malaysia, but he'll be back for Christmas - yay! Big family Christmas... first summer holidays that I'm going to have to work over. I'm not looking forward to that.

Rest assured that time has not decreased my love for U2 - nor for Jane Austen. The more I read books at university or anywhere else, the more I appreciate Austen for making her writing so enjoyable. I've been hiding a dark secret from the world for a while, but have decided to come clean on it: I don't like Dickens. I think his writing is extremely hard to read; I would never manage to read a book of his more than once; a lot of his characters are ridiculously overblown and I could never imagine meeting them in real life - Miss Havisham for example. I think he's only so well-known as an author of classics because people are too scared to admit they find him boring; like the Emperor's new clothes, if you will. I'm sure I have a totally biased viewpoint, but there is something satisfying about unloading your spleen on the internet.

Jane Austen, on the other hand... how could she write books that were so set in their times but so characteristic of people of any time? I think she tapped into some essential part of us when she created characters like Mr Collins, like Mrs Norris, like Sir Walter Elliot, like Mrs Elton. I love them so much. Every time I read them they astound me even more. The detail, the thought...

On the other side of the coin, I have really come to respect Bono. I didn't realise how many people hate it when celebrities start trying to be humanitarian. Someone told me the other day, "what do they know about it? They're just an actor/a singer!" True enough, in most cases. But Bono knows a lot about it. He's not afraid to lose some element of coolness, or being accused of publicity-seeking, or whatever, in fighting for the cause he's taken most to heart. I really, really admire him for that.

help me!

I am lost in a pile of notes. I am trying to write an essay for my American literature class and it's VERY HARD. History is so much easier; you don't have to try to be philosophical or think about how to answer the question so much - at least, as far as I'm concerned!
This is the question:
"Explain how Kate Chopin's treatment of nature identifies The Awakening as a romantic novel and how it complicates this description of it."
Don't get me wrong, I like the book. But I just find this course so hard. I'm sick of all these mega-intellectual literary movements. I have a feeling it will end up like Calculus did last year - by the end of the year, I just wanted to pass. I didn't care about high marks. And passing wasn't such a huge big deal to me after a while anyway, because I had no desire to do any more Calculus in my life. But I suppose this is different - I'm definitely doing more English at uni. And I do want to do well. BUT. At some point I'm sure I'll begin asking myself if I really care that much, which is BAD BAD BAD. I must be optimistic. This is an opportunity for me to SHINE.
(Have you noticed I like colours today?!)

I feel depressed

I wrote a fanfic which I put on fanfiction.net - just a totally unrealistic yet fun story based on the characters of Pride and Prejudice. Well, apparently someone else on another website has written a story which is eerily similar to this one (they couldn't have copied me because they published it before me) and I'm being accused of copying by a reader. It's really depressing. If any of you write, you would understand how embarrassing it is, because the idea of copying someone else's writing is totally disgusting to anyone who writes seriously - as far as I'm concerned. I'm way too proud to do anything of the sort. I've said several times now, very strongly, that I didn't do it, but the girl says she's going to 'report me' to the person who wrote the other story. Although I don't really see what she could do (other than maybe get me banned from fanfiction.net?), it's really getting me down, and I feel really embarrassed, even though I didn't do anything wrong.

I am in love

I have an incredibly good looking tutor at university. He has an extremely sexy accent (he's from America) and that almost Mr-Darcy-ish dignity - ie he's nice but he's not silly. And that Italian sort of look with the Zoolander eyebrows. :) Except he is not ridiculous like Zoolander. My friend and I are both in lurve with him, it's so much fun. It feels like we're thirteen all over again. Of course we don't take it very seriously (naturally) but it is honestly so much fun having such a silly crush again. We have both been at different schools for the last couple of years and now we're together again at uni, and it's almost as if we've gone back to the ages when we were separated. Haha we're so pathetic. It's very very fun.

holidays!!!!!!!!!

Tomorrow I am off on my first road trip!! Yippee! My German friend Eva and I are going away for five days - we're staying at Lake Tekapo for three nights and Wanaka for one and it's all very exciting. Almost overwhelming. I feel very independent. I have bought lots of film and I am ALL set. I will probably post a photo or two on here when I get back - that is, if I get any good ones. :) We'll probably go and do a little Lord of the Rings pilgrimage; Wanaka has quite a few places around it, or on the way to it, that were in the film. But we're also planning on going to Lakes Alexandrina and Pukaki, and Mount Cook (Aoraki), the biggest mountain in New Zealand, and several other places. It's been such a long time since I've been in that part of the country and I always remember how beautiful it is, so I'm very excited.

something that makes me frustrated

It's only one 'something', I promise you! There are so many things that frustrate me that I feel the need to complain about, but today, I will only complain about one.

It's this: All these shops in NZ are going all up in arms because they are not allowed to open on Good Friday unless they're 'necessary', like a petrol station or something. This annoys me. I even wrote a letter to the newspaper, first time ever, and I'm going to show you the letter. Yes, I know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, and this is sodden with it. However, here it is.

Dear Sir,

I'm glad to hear that some gardening centres (March 28 - A23) and other businesses like Paper Plus in Wanaka (March 26 - A5) are so committed to fighting for their religious rights. Naturally, they and their families will not be touching a single Easter egg or hot cross bun over the Easter weekend. Naturally they will not give or accept a single present at Christmas time, and many New Zealanders will be happy to know that their shops will be open for custom on Christmas Day. If not, it seems like maybe - just maybe - their heroism in opening on Good Friday is just a little bit hypocritical, and really is not so much about religious freedom as the money.

Terrible, isn't it?! I hate being so sarcastic but I was just so annoyed. I'm so sick of hearing waffle from business people about how tuned in they are spiritually and how they really care about the community when all they really care about is MONEY.

nothing in particular

I am on holiday. And it feels good.

Weird thing is, I'm home alone for the weekend because my parents are on holiday somewhere random. Almost all my friends are at Easter camp or busy, almost all my family are on holiday, etc, so I feel actually a little bit alone. That's okay though; I'm just watching heaps of DVDs and eating. :)

I went to hear this Christian author from England called Adrian Plass speak the other day. It was so SO exciting. He's SO funny, and one of my favourite authors - his probably most famous book is The Sacred Diary of Adrian Plass, Aged 37&3/4, of which he is the main character but everyone else is fictional. I got him to sign one of my books too - SPOKE to him close up - which was very very odd. I actually started crying when I walked out the door. Yes, I know, it's pathetic. I guess it was because it was so exciting, and because he's really helped me through his writing; meeting him face to face was just so cool.

Of course I managed to make a fool of myself though. This is what happened.
Me: "Hi, can you sign my book?"
Him: "Of course. Who is it for?"
Me: "Me."
*wince*
Oh well, he doesn't exactly portray himself as a brain in his books. :)

Silent Keys

The other night you had a dream. You dreamt that you woke up deaf. You couldn’t hear music anymore. You couldn’t play music. All you could do was stare at the keys as you pounded out old, familiar patterns and automatically pushed up, down, up, down on the damper but no matter how hard or loud or long you played, nothing would release the music trapped inside the piano.

It was a nightmare, in fact.

You longed to be blind instead. At least if you were blind you could listen to Bono, sitting in your ear, telling you to walk on and be strong, the same way he always had when something went wrong. You would be able to close your eyes and pretend that if you opened them you could see. The moon would illuminate the darkness in your head as you listened to Clair de Lune; you would cry along with Chopin’s saddest étude and feel lucky, as always. It would be good for you; you would learn to play by ear properly at last.

But you were not blind. You were deaf. Trapped in the nightmare, you wanted to die, because it didn’t feel like you were living properly, without music. Sight was torture because you saw everyone else playing music, fiddling with the radio, whistling along to a tune, and every part of you tensed as you tried to hear it. But you couldn’t. There was no pretending because in the life before, hearing was like the blood running through your veins. And all you could look forward to were years and years of silence, because you were young and deafness is apparently not fatal. Not even degenerative.

You felt like Beethoven, trying so valiantly to conduct his orchestra, so much more of a genius than anyone in the audience ever would be, but at a disadvantage to every single person there.

You did wake up. And you could hear. But now you are perpetually terrified that you will lose your ears. You make bargains with God, and you ask Him, if He has to take away one or the other, please let it be your eyes. You feel even more absent from your friends. They don’t understand music. For them, music is something one can use or create; they don’t understand that the notes have always been there, that you are merely unlocking a door and freeing them, that in truth the music is using you and bewitching you. You are disgusted, incredulous when they say they don’t listen to music much; you try to understand and to tell yourself that everyone is different and what does it matter if they prefer mountain-climbing to Mendelssohn. You hate the way they look so unaware when you talk about good acoustics and how they come away from Andrew Lloyd Webber saying there was too much singing. Yes, you know you are being irrational, snobbish, unfair. And you don’t care. Instead you worry incessantly.

But even through all of this, you are aware of a dim understanding that should you lose all you are afraid of, music could never quite desert you. Music is in everything.


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Hopefully that worked. Hope you enjoyed it! I hope the photos came out!

Happy Easter

Yay, Jesus is risen!! Every time I think about this, I always get excited. He is not in the tomb, he is risen! YAY! Technically one is not supposed to think about this until Easter Sunday, but I think Jesus would rather I thanked him for three days rather than felt miserable for two that he had to go through all that, and then thanked him on one. :) Of course it's not that simple, but oh well. I think my point is clear.

This has no relevance to Easter at all: I'm going to post another short thingy like my U2 short thingy... hang on... should be on here soon.

Eureka!

I just remembered the name of the little plastic dish I was trying to make a metaphor out of a few posts back - PETRIE DISH. I think that's how you spell it. *Allie sits back, feeling satisfied*

Because

Here's the rough draft on a piece of writing I'm working on. Okay, sure, it's not a REAL piece of fiction; it's not even an essay. But here it is (hope you enjoy!):

BECAUSE

U2 is my favourite band because.

They don’t contrive. They just make music. They are seriously into it, too – if you saw Edge discussing the different chords they could have used for Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own which didn’t quite feel right, on the DVD that came with the album, and then you saw my brother-in-law unable to tell the difference between the chord sequences, and unable to figure out why it was all so important, even when he played that part over three times, you’d understand. They don’t just slap some words on top of some music. Everything is significant. They stretch the boundaries of effort; they are sitting on a fence that runs along the field of trying-too-hard and the field of not-quite-there.

Their music is not a template. Slow songs, fast songs; happy songs, sad songs; inspirational songs, who-cares songs. There is always a song by U2 that can fit my mood, unless I need utter silence. U2 effortlessly goes right to the extreme of dramatic/melancholy and boomerangs back to ridiculous/pointless. And they’re credible every place they go.

Bono appears to sound like he can’t sing that much better than Joe Bloggs, but then he’s live and an opera singer. Edge’s guitar riff is nice, but then it’s live and it pushes the blood through your veins. You don’t really notice the bass until you hear Adam live and realise how useless the music would be without it. Then you hear Larry drumming in Desire on stage in Boston and wonder how you could ever have not noticed that song.

You have to like U2 by principle as well as by taste. Any band that has been together for so long and continued to make such music, doing it their own way, differently every time, has to be admired. Then there’s the fact that you can’t actually fully understand the ideas behind every song because Bono’s so bloody intelligent he can be unintelligible. You never get some boring, immediately understandable lyric with bad rhyme and dull ideas. I have to admit that one can never know, but it seems to me that they are totally genuine people. Bono especially. Maybe he smokes and drinks and swears, but I feel he’s a lot closer to Jesus, and more willing to go out of his way for Him, than a lot of ‘godly’ people who have never touched a cigarette in their lives.

They make me feel better. On moving house, I was a wreck. Then I heard Walk On. Everything Bono sang felt like it was directed at me, sitting there with a headache from crying too much. They don’t laugh at me for feeling the way I do about things. They change the way I think and live; generally, I hope, this is for the better. They feed me. Perhaps I’m going mad, but I feel like I could tell Bono all my secrets and he might understand some of them. They’re so fun. What other band have I heard of that does cool stuff like coming onto stage in a giant lemon, and what other lead singer can pull off pretending to be a fly or a devil called MacPhisto, then have discussions about third world poverty with George W. Bush?

Sometimes I like them just because I do.

not so grumpy any more

It's Monday! Mondays are either extremely depressing because you realise you've got four more days of pain until the weekend - or they're very happy because you are feeling particularly bright-eyed, bushy-tailed. In this case, I'm happy. Not for any particular reason. Just because I have had enough sleep, I'm keeping up with work, I had a little bit of social interaction this weekend... and so on.

On the other hand, I'm depressed. Because the competition on the radio that my friend and I were destined to win - trip to London to see U2 live, plus $10,000 - was won by someone else. Some stupid woman called Julia. She probably doesn't even like U2. What is most frustrating is that I left the radio to go have breakfast, came back ten minutes later, and the competition was all over. After I'd been waiting by the radio for hours the last few days.

Oh well. That's fate. I'll just have to go see them in Oz. (As in, Australia.)

Grump

Firstly, my American Literature lecturer is TOO INTELLECTUAL. We're reading Walt Whitman's poem Song of Myself, and I hesitate to say it but here it is - I HATE IT. I think it's a load of bollocks, mostly; it's too long; it's just NOT my cup of tea. I like good old Shakespeare and Donne and Tennyson and so on. I love sonnets. But my lecturer thinks it's all marvellous and waxes lyrical about it in every class - never mind clear, concise notes that one can write an essay from! That's not artistic enough! Instead, he says things like, "Humanism galvanised the American people" (or something along those lines) which is completely unintelligible, and anyway, he's already onto the next horrible sentence.

Secondly, although I am very much enjoying playing recorder in a quartet for background music before an outdoor performance of The Merchant of Venice for a week, the guy who's in charge of the music is driving me INSANE. He is just so pretentious. One of those people who think they're a maestro but can't keep in tune. *boils in anger* I have got to stop thinking about this or I will become very bitter.

Oh well, on the bright side of things, I joined four university clubs today!! Amnesty International, United Future (a political party who has a university club), Navigators, and International Christian Fellowship - the last two are Christian groups, which should be obvious, at least for the latter one. I'm excited about getting involved! I'm also going to join the choir, yay!

Writing this blog felt like a massive mood swing.

There are organisms crawling round on my metaphorical plastic-thingy-that-people-use-in-science

Wow for the first time I find there is life on my blog. It is very inspiring. I find myself actually wanting to write something on here again. I am back, everyone!!!! :)

Here I am at university. I'm hopelessly confused most of the time. Still trying to figure out how to get myself to places without arriving half an hour late or something. I love most of my classes - this semester I'm doing Medieval Europe, American Literature, and The English Language (a Linguistics course). Next semester I'll be doing Shakespeare, American History, Roman History, and French Film. <--- that's my fun one. Luckily I have friends in all my classes which makes me very happy and much more relaxed. I'm even enjoying homework; pathetic eh?
Sorry if I've been through that before, I can't remember doing so but I'm pretty sure I haven't.

I had better go, I have an appointment with the Careers Advisor but I will be back soon now that I feel like it!!

well that's that

I'm shifted in now. The computer is working, the tv is going, the dvd player is plugged in. The stereo still doesn't go though. It looks better in the house with all our familiar furniture but I drove past home tonight on the way back to the new house from a party, and even though I couldn't see any lights on or any people, that was pretty hard. It's just difficult telling yourself that you can never go back inside. That someplace that fits you so well is no longer your property, your right.

I was really quite a wreck on the day. I think that it was truthfully one of the worst days of my life. I know it sounds pathetic when you think about all the sorrow there is in the world, but that's how it felt.

U2 helped. I got into the car after my second bout of tears and coincidentally, Walk On was the next song to play on my mix of U2 songs that I always have playing. It helped me so much; everything Bono sang seemed to be directed straight at me. Everything he said was relevant. It was really what I needed to hear. He understood how hard it was but he told me firmly that I needed to walk on and be strong. Sounds corny and trite when I try to explain it now but it was unbelievable. That is an example of a song changing someone's life, even if in a minor way; since then I've been okay, if sad.

Just to bend in a completely different direction, I finally bought the Live from Boston DVD - from the Elevation tour. It's amazing. I love it.

Had a scary experience tonight when a friend told me someone else told her that U2 are splitting up. I actually started crying; pathetic, eh? But I've had a look on the internet and haven't seen anything to do with it, not even rumours, so it must just be a very local rumour. If it is true... I'll be so upset. I'll HAVE to go to their tour, fly to Australia to see them live, if it's the last chance I've got. I've seen the Slane Castle and Boston concerts a few times and every time, I know that someday I HAVE to see them live.

How I feel about moving house

This is a story I wrote a few months ago for my former school's literature competition. (I won it!)

ON MOVING HOUSE

The worst part about open homes is not the tidying-up. It’s not the fact that you’re being kicked out unceremoniously for half an hour. It’s when you come back before it has finished and sit waiting outside in the car and watch people walking brazenly into your home as if it were just a house, wandering around checking out your wardrobe and flicking their eyes over your bookshelves, criticising your wallpaper and letting their kids play on your bars. You didn’t know that seeing it would make your stomach clench like this.

It makes you think about how much you love your house. There is something about it; you don’t know if it’s just because you’ve been there forever or if there really is something magical and safe and alive about it. And the memories flash through your mind like a slideshow. Fragmented orange light through the leaves of the hideaway; daisy chains in the long grass; red currant picking of a summer evening; tall, personable corn dominating the vegetables; hanging upside down off the bars with your head touching the grass; violets at the bottom of the garden; leaving gifts for the fairies under the Halswell Quarry stone; plum blossom and daffodils; hot potatoes in tin foil and ash; tennis against the red brick wall; screams through the sprinkler.

And then there was the huddling around the fire with marshmallows; the candlelight games of Snap when the power failed; lying on your stomach gazing at the flames and feeling like you couldn’t be more comfortable if this was Buckingham Palace and you were the Queen; the sprints up the stairs in the freezing cold with two extra blankets; Mum’s lemon and honey drinks when you’re dying of a runny nose.

Still more images attack you, and you can’t get up, smile, and think about something else. Getting up at 6:00 on your birthday and groping around in the dark for your presents; waking up your teenage sister at 6:15 to say thank you; being sick and lying on the couch looking through the window at the mountain beech leaves and the patterns they make with the clouds and feeling like you’re the most special person in the world; the way you come down the stairs and open the door and are suddenly hit with the smell of the roast chicken or bacon or whatever it is that’s for dinner; the house full of people and noises and smells and laughter at Christmas; songs in the new-lounge with everyone playing a different kind of instrument or making do on a tin whistle; bookshelves exploding with every kind of book; your sisters and brothers coming home and you being so excited to see them come and so miserable when they leave; returning from holidays in the old blue van and the house being so pleasingly familiar and solid.

No house can ever compare. Suddenly it feels like leaving the house will be like betraying your best friend. You’ll drive past in the future and everything about the house will say, ‘I’m not yours anymore. You have no right to look at me.’ They’ll cut down the deformed silver birch that Dad annually mangled and install a second bathroom with tasteful wallpaper, or they’ll dig up the vegetable garden, filling it up with manageable concrete, and they’ll transform the kitchen into a symphony of stainless steel. You hope the dodgy gutter falls on their fat heads. You hope they freeze upstairs in winter. You hope the roof leaks on their beds. You hope the mice plague them.

You never want to leave.

back again

Well hello again, here I am after a very long break. Sorry! Funny thing is, as yet I am pretty sure I have no readers of my blog, so it seems rather ridiculous to apologise for being gone. I therefore direct my apology to the spirit of the internet. :)

I've been a little bit busy I suppose... maybe not though. We're moving house on the 25th. Which I don't want to do. So I've been packing and so on. Then I suddenly decided I was going to go to university this year. So I enrolled. Now I'm panicking that my student loan won't go through in time or I won't get a student allowance or something, because I left it too late!

Here is what I am doing: (in case the internet spirit cares)
A Bachelor of Arts, majoring in English and History.
English papers: Shakespeare, and American Literature
History papers: American History, and Medieval Europe
Linguistics: The English Language
French: France and the French through Film (<--- my fun one!)
Classics: Roman History

So, as you can see, immensely practical. But I think I'll enjoy it!

yummmm

Today I tried out my new vinyl bowl with licorice allsorts. I'm very satisfied with the result. :)

cool bowls

Because we're moving soon, my parents are trying to get rid of stuff. Thus they have been throwing out old records which I have been rescuing, and this is one of the things I'm going to do with them!
Enjoy.

VINYL RECORD BOWLS

Adults need to supervise in making this craft.

Preheat oven to 200 degrees Fahrenheit

You will need:
Vinyl records (as many as you want to make)
Oven safe bowls
Directions:
Place one vinyl record over an inverted oven safe bowl and cook for about 5 minutes at 200 degrees Fahrenheit, or until the record starts to drape the sides of the bowl.
Remove from oven and flip the gooey record into the bottom of another bowl, making sure the record label sits flat in the bottom of the bowl. Press the record against the sides of the cool bowl until it is smooth. You may want to use a small glass jar to smooth it out.
The record will start to cool almost immediately, so work fast. Tailor the bowls to the musical taste of your recipient. They're great for snacks, candy, coins or pocket debris or any other kind of item you might put things in.

Being home

Just returned from the Coast. I had a fantastic time; nice and relaxing. Didn't do a whole lot, come to think of it! My nephews and niece are so exhausting that not much seems like a marathon. But it was nice just hanging out with my sisters who came. We don't get to do that very often, as only two of us live in the same city (there's six of us altogether), let alone country! And I must confess that getting a break from my parents is nice, although OF COURSE I appreciate them very much.

I just feel more independent without them, I suppose.

Anyway, the West Coast (of the South Island) is beautiful. I would recommend it to anyone coming to New Zealand. You can't expect it to be great weather constantly, even mid-summer, but even when it's pouring with rain it's beautiful. And there are lots of lovely days as well. We stayed at my uncle's bach in Moana, by Lake Brunner, which is definitely worth seeing; Punakaiki is fabulous, one of my favourite places in New Zealand, although we didn't actually go there this time; Shantytown near Greymouth is great if you have kids (it's also pretty fun for adults anyway!). Hokitika is a nice town as well, with a lovely beach.