Eh? Another win? Two in a row? Something's not right... seriously though, once again Putteridge High took to the indoor soccer court and once again walked away victorious - this time it was 4-3 vs. the Santorini Shooters. So it looks like we've figured out (at least a little bit) how the game is actually played. Swede. Special mention to Tim for being leet in goal once again.
In other news, I've gone and decided to take out my anger about not doing my thesis (I know, I know. I could just do the damn thing...) on actual guitar lessons. Classical, even. Hopefully this'll have the dual benefit of improving all aspects of my playing (it could hardly have the opposite effect, anyway), while also reducing the anger/stress levels of lack of writing. Fingers crossed.
Um, and did I mention that Ouzo is good? As is Knights of the Old Republic, as mentioned here, along with some very strange rants.
Right.
Once again, Montana provided Sara, and assorted TBALC associates, with the oportunity to get free stuff. In this case the free stuff (tm) came in the form of wine, cheese and a Julia Deans backed by the Christchurch Symphany Orchestra concert. A bloody good time was had by all (although claims that this idea was "new and exciting" were a little stretched, given that I'd just been listening to Enzso a couple of days ago...), including the little old ladies who seemed regular CSO concert goers (judging by their overheard conversation about imported Russian violinists) and who thoroughly enjoyed the show put on by Julia and co.. Although I think the person who was most excited by the whole affair was the conducter, given his pre-concert speech and leaping about on the podium antics.
Unfortunately (or fortunately - it meant the atmosphere was a lot more, um, intimate? In an echoey kinda way...) the town hall was less than half full. This was a shame as more people should have seen it. The woman has a fantastic voice, oh yes, and a great stage presence.
Special mention to Tom Watson (formerely Head Like A Hole, now Cassette) who was the intro act, all on his lonesome with an acoustic guitar in a big, empty, echoey townhall. Must've been a bit strange...
So, thanks again Sara, Montana and Norman (aka Unky Norm, Big Norm, Norm...)
Other than that, life moves on slowly. I hate my thesis (doo dah, doo dah) and sit staring out the window thinking of all those things that I'd rather be doing - things that will instantly become less attractive once the thesis is finished and the need to procrastinate is handed in with it. As it is with the Way of the Procrastinator. Still, adds life to the dreams of the moment.
As it stands, only 1,357 relevant words have thus far graced the "!!Thesis" folder of P drive. I have a whole lot more irrelevant words up my sleeves that will no doubt be canabilised when the appropriate time rolls around, and I have no desire to write approximately 10-15,000 unnecessary words as some have done in the near past, but for now...
1,357 of 30,000.
Hmmm. And its Friday...
Update: Thanks to Emma I stumbled upon a whole lot of online short stories and spent a good few hours reading them rather than writing stuff about Genesis, progress and the seed being both the alpha and the omega - the means of production and the product itself (hence the traditional difficulty capitalism has had at fully penetrating the agricultural sector, at least until Intellectual Property and modern biotechnology arrived on the scene from the 1980s onwards... but that's a story for another day). Anyway, two stories of note include "What To Do When You Enter The Room" and "Requirements For A Position As My Lover." Well they kept me amused.
"Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe. ceehiro."
Way cool.
So, spring, eh? Saw the first ducklings of the year; the daffodils and magnolias are out all over the place; the first light green buds are breaking on the trees outside Brasilia; giant, fuckoff storm clouds with the thunder and the lightning and the hurt me < glaben > are circling the city.
Cool.
And so a date was gone on. The first, ever, "real" date. Fun, interesting, a little scary... hmmm...
(I told you I'd be writing about parties...)
Right, so I went to my Father's partner's daughter's 21st last night. It was cool, and was held at a farm somewhere near Charing Cross, which is about halfway between Darfield and Hororata. I was worried that I was running late to begin with, but soon after I arrived it became obvious that I am in fact leet, as I can follow instructions way, way better than a whole lot of Kat's friends - many of whom paid a visit to scenic Hororata at some stage last night. (Big thanks to Frank at this point, as because of him I knew that when I hit the ford, I'd gone too far, and so the big multi-intersection thingo I'd driven through just before must be in fact Charing Cross. Oops.)
I asked the band if they'd ever played a gig in a barn before. Apparently not. (oo, plug here - they were Kathleen Turner Overdrive, and they were good. Go see them, mmk)
Right, and the real point of this entry?
At the 21st I met a guy who is into hunting and mustering and general country living (he and Dad hit it off and told each other hugely amusing stories about killing all sorts of cute fluffy animals... anyway) who hunts up the back of Mount White Station. Mount White, I said, my Mum was brought up there as her dad (Pops to me) was the manager there for a time. Really, says he, what's his name then? Peter Newton.... and in that strange, New Zealand is such a small place kind of way, turns out this guy had just finished readings my Grandfather's first book, Wayleggo.
Strange, but very, very cool.
Which got me thinking. Pops wrote about fourteen books all up, I've read some of them and while I can't say they're exactly my cup of tea, (with titles such as 500 Horses, 10,000 Dogs and The Boss's Story), its pretty damn cool that I have this family history and heritage at my fingertips (oh, I have a full set somewhere or other). So even though he died when I was just eight or so, and I can't really remember him or any of the stories he might have told, I can read and find out what his life was like - perhaps what he was like.
Anyway, I don't think there is necessarily anything more profound to be said than that. Just made me think about how very book it is.
Ahem.
Well, time to get this show on the road - its been far too long...
As you can all see, the journal in its current form is only temporary as I'm looking to do a complete site redesign. (In fact, once you take out the usual slackness associated with me, the lack of journal for quite some time has been linked to this desire to redesign, combined with a lack of motivation for making the effort to do so... watch this space...)
So why now the motivation? Recently I had the first-time experience of actually being vaguely embarrassed due to my site not containing a journal. Weird, I know, but an experience nonetheless. And one that has pushed me towards getting off my lazy arse and doing something about it. (Its not as if I can really blame thesis writing on the site delays - the writer's block continues and the fear of the deadline has yet to grow sufficiently strong to combat this.) Also, we keep having damn good superhappyfuntimes each week - so I feel the need to have somewhere to tell others of this fun (tm), especially as our list of others is becoming more and more globally distributed. No longer are our blogs simply a way of reminding each other where we all were and what we all did on the weekend. Although that does serve a helpful function at times...
So, a regular(ish - don't quote me on it) blog will begin again, and the site will be all prettied up at some stage in the near future. Huzzah (as Jeff kept saying the other night).
The other night? The other night (being Thursday) saw Ben and myself as the TBALC representatives at the Hoo House for the Threesome afterparty. A jolly good time was had by all, and muchos muchos grande compliments go out to all involved for putting on four rather good plays - props especially to Scott and Jessie's play about poets, and Lisa's play about, um, chairs or something (Dan Allan deserves a special mention for his role in this latter production - fantastic). Ben once again played the surly comic relief in the final play of the evening, inducing many a laugh while piling up corpses behind the couch. The award for Best Afterparty Performance definitely goes to Abbie's portrayal of a garbage disposal unit, complete with discussions regarding motivation and other drama-type talk.
Other recent events have been covered well in such places as here and here, although not as yet, I note, here. They were good.
So, onwards and upwards, I say. Summer's acomin', and I think its going to be a damn good one, with many travellers back in the city and much alcohol to be drunk, songs to be sung and fun to be had by all. On that note, I should say (in a journal, like) bon voyage to Teena and Dan and Lis, who have all recently departed to foreign parts to hang with foreign types. Lis has promised to tell every American she meets up with "Charlie says hello". I don't know how long she can keep it up, but I definitely think a Cult of Charlie ("Who is Charlie?") springing up in States would be a fantastic gift from TBALC to the world. Well, better than our current "gifts" (and I'm using that in the loosest sense of the word).
Right, off to find a party somewhere between Darfield and Hororata. Hmmm.