I like your solo.

And well, this is starting to feel like a diary or journal more than a blog. I'm thinking of taking some high-contrast, over-exposed, photographs of ordinary objects or landscapes, and then Photoshopping the life out of them, and then post them and call them art. Maybe that'll prove how individual I am. Great.

We watched Pride and Prejudice in Lit today. The Keira Knightley version. She is possibly the most gorgeous female being to walk the earth as of late. And I actually loved the movie, despite it being completely, perfectly, incandescently...a huge, huge chick flick. I would ramble more about it, but seeing as we've been studying the book, my ramble would be really, really boring. So. I liked the ranga because he was all awkward and goofy and a bit of a doofus, but in a cute way. And Keira and the girl that played Jane were both gorgeous. And I liked the candlelight and the rain, and the mist and the tension.

And now I have to do some homework, because I'm in my free. Blah.

Absolutely incapable of focus.

I have flickered between about 15 different movies and TV shows today, unable to settle on just one. I've been refreshing Facebook constantly, checking MSN even though it keeps disconnecting, trying to load Youtube videos, listening to different bands, singing, playing guitar, playing Guitar Hero, rewallpapering my room with posters, doing English homework, Accounting homework, texting, running, eating, reading newspapers, reading Chuck Palahniuk, reading blog entries, fidgeting, taking photos, and just...thinking. Overthinking.

It's exhausting.

And stuff.

I really loved Scott Pilgrim. It was laugh-out-loud-worthy, which the audience did, a lot, and you sort of get immersed. Especially because it's so jumpy, and I did read some sort of review that mentioned it was good for our ADD generation, and older people might dislike it because of that. Ton of video game references which are funny if you get them, but quite funny regardless.

I got sort of sick of people munching and opening Cokes, or whatever they were doing. Michael Cera was a dick some of the time, but hey, that's life, right? I wish I could have comic book visuals when I play guitar. That would be pretty rad. There were good

I sort of didn't like how my life sort of corresponds to Knives, just a bit. Like, older guy breaking up with school girl with some line like, "You're too young for me," or it might have been "I'm too old for you." Regardless, it made me uncomfortable. And it made me never want to commit to a relationship again, because she was sort of portrayed in a hapless, obsessive way, and he so obviously wasn't into it. So like. There goes my trust (again). Great.

The actual going to a cinema to watch a movie with someone who is not H, or coupled, was good. I don't know. Argh. And I can't. Yeah. Uhmm.  It was awkward, a little. I'm not good at using words. I can write them down or type them. They just don't like coming out of my mouth.

Also, we've somehow managed to use 120GB of data in 28 days. So my internet is pretty much non-existent for the next three days. God help me.

Pretty in pink.

By God, I love 80's movies. I love the Brat Pack. I love Ally Sheedy and Andrew McCarthy and ancient looking computers and ridiculous innocence and dancing. And stereotypical nerds and young love and sunglasses and flowery things and nice hats.


Cinecultist.com

So like.

I noticed I start sentences with 'so' a lot. Oops. But. Good news: I won something. Bad news: I'm not sure what it is yet. Something to do with my story. Hmm. What else. I'm planning on taking my cousin out to the city on Friday, her last night in Melbourne. The next morning (at something like 5am?) she'll be leaving to get on a plane back to China.

The problem is, I'm not sure where to take her. I'm pretty sure she should visit Chinatown ^^ Because y'know, she's Chinese and all. Okay, it's not that funny. Whatever. I have a feeling the Tim Burton exhibition will be largely meaningless to her.

Also, I'm watching Scott Pilgrim vs. The World on Saturday! I'm watching with this serendipitous guy. I have a feeling that's not the way you use serendipitous. Oh well. I have to use a five syllable to make myself sound smarter. Mission failure! I actually love Michael Cera, like, a lot. He's super cute. My top three Michael Cera movies:

• Paper Heart
• Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
• Juno

 So, I was typing the word 'blogging', and I accidentally typed 'bogging'. Haha.

Finally! Does anyone have any ideas for a climate change ad for this competition I'm thinking of entering? sharona out.

'There's a wonderful Xhosa/Zulu word down here, "Ubuntu" which means (my personal favourite translation):

"I am because you are."'

 From here.

sharona [feels things too much]

TO BUY:

• More pencil lead.
• Bread.

TO DO:

• Be healthier and fitter
• Get singing lessons
• Be in musical/s
• Become awesome at stuff
• Do homework.

 Also, I would like to live in a musical please.

I know I'm deathly whiny a lot.

Have an amazing day.

Warning: Another whiny post.

So. You know what really sucks. BEING ASIAN. I'm not being racist or anything. I know heritage, pride, etc etc.

But the fact of the matter is, most musicals are written for white people. There are a few that are Asian-specific (Miss Saigon, The King and I, etc), but on the whole, European/American/WHITE.

All the musicals I think about and dream about and want with all my heart to be a part of. Les Mis - French. Next to Normal - American. Rent - Spanish girl, black girl, black guy, no Asian. Chess - American/Russian. Spring Awakening - German.

I am so effing sick of this.

What's in a name?

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

I love Romeo and Juliet to death (haha, I'm so funny) and especially the adaption with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. But while Shakespeare's point is valid, I do think names play a big part in the world.

There's a big difference between calling someone 'Charlie' and calling someone 'Charles'. The first one immediately sounds more casual and friendly. People instantly form their impressions based on names. For example, when I think of a name like...Gerard, I imagine someone sort of dark-ish and mysterious. Which is why vampires usually have cool names such as Angel and Drusilla and etc.

There has been a big push for more original names, hence celebrity kids being called 'Apple', 'Moon Unit', 'Kal-El Coppola' (Kudos for the Superman reference), and...'Princess Tiaamii'.

I recently hosted a kiddy party where I work, and I swear the only normal name there was Cynthia. Every one of the kids had one of those 'unique' names. Which is awesome, but there is a fine line between 'unique' and 'pretentious and lame'.

This ramble was mostly just to explain my blog's name - 'girl anachronism'. Firstly, it's a song by the Dresden Dolls. They're pretty amazing.

An anachronism is an error in chronology, especially putting something (object, person, idea, custom, technology, whatever) in the wrong time period. So this song is basically wishing that she'd been born in a different time, and that she's always out of place. Which I (and most people probably) can relate to.

Also, I really dislike Macbeth. Just putting it out there.

Completely addicted...

To music. Odd, isn't it?

I've been noticing it more lately. Like...I have to have my iPod speakers playing while I'm in the shower or brushing my teeth. And I listen to them when I sleep. And then on my Macbook when I wake up. Recently I had a mini spaz when I had to go from the car's music to my room to listen to music again. It was so weird.

Last night I listening to musicals, and I was convinced that musical theatre was my calling, and if I didn't sing on stage in a musical, I would die unhappy and unfulfilled.

Today I'm listening to Eminem and I have come to the conclusion that I just need music. Need it, sort of the same way I need oxygen or water.

Mini-tangent: I actually really like Eminem. I first got into him in Grade 5, and I'm pretty sure I had a huge crush on him. And I've decided that the reason Eminem is so much more awesome than other rappers is that he's a minority for one. A minority in his field, but not in you know, life. Or America. Or...whatever. It's sort of like...there is no shortage of Asians. But look at musical theatre and they are definitely a minority. That's sort of what I mean.

And I still like him. Because he's not like 'CHICKS. MONEY. RIDES. CHICKS. BOOBS. SEX. SEX. SEX.' At least, not all the time like other rappers. I like the way he rhymes.

I guess all I'm trying to say is that, I don't think I could handle any sort of future that doesn't involve music. I was thinking about music industry, like managing, but I don't know if I could be that close to so much yet not have it.

And so ends another post about what to do. Time for some Buffy.

Changes

Choices are exhausting.

I'm going slightly mad.

I just spent literally, 15 minutes creating a blood graphic and then another 20 minutes picking out the perfect font for my keynote for school. About Macbeth. I really dislike Macbeth. Why am I doing this? I don't know.

I would like to talk to someone, but don't want to interrupt anyone. I feel sort of...sick, at heart. I don't know why and it's unsettling. Maybe because I was looking through this book of Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs. And there were so many of death, and bad things, all because of people. Human beings' fault. You sort of wonder, will we ever learn?


Nick Ut/The Associated Press



Same earth. Same...
Yes? No? Existential angst? Yesnomaybe?

Taaaaake on me...

I think if I had to choose my three favourite music videos ever...they would have to be:

1. a-ha - Take On Me
2. Coldplay - Strawberry Swing
3. Death Cab For Cutie - A Movie Script Ending

Now I think about it, these three have a few things in common. They're all love stories in different ways and they all use some form of animation (rotoscoping, chalk drawn and stop motion photos, respectively). And they're all amazing. I just discovered the music video for Take On Me, which is why I want to rave about it. And now I've gotten to the part where I can babble on about how amazing it is, I can't think of what to say...

I just really like the concept. I'm sure everyone has fictional characters, from movies or books or the like, that they wish were real. (This song is totally not on repeat right now, I swear.) I...get so invested in characters onscreen, or in a book or graphic novel, and DAMMIT, I WANT SOME HOT NORWEGIAN GUY TO BREAK HIS WAY OUT OF A COMIC BOOK TO BE WITH ME KTHANKS.

Yes, the band is from Norway. That's what happens when I get obsessed, I look things up. They used rotoscoping, which is when they film the real life actors and then they project it somewhere and trace it all sketchy like. But that's olden day rotoscoping, and they used computers. Now I really want that for my media project. Never mind that it'll probably take months and months. Rawr.

Also, the singer has a range of at least two and a half octaves! That's actually quite incredible.

Completely unrelated, I'm pretty much up to date with my homework. Isn't it amazing? I don't even feel like myself! (A good thing, probably.)

Buffy is making me sad. SPOILER ALERT. Tara died. And Willow went all dark and 'bored now!' and flayed a guy alive. The guy was effed up anyway. He killed his girlfriend and Tara and almost killed Buffy and he was a traitor and loser. But I'm two episodes from finishing Season 6. I'm pretty sure I downloaded/watched the whole season in less than a week. But I keep accidentally reading spoilers, rawr.

Ticket fiasco.

I can finally be bothered blogging about this incident. Which I am still pissed off about, by the way. Bee tee dubs. Haha. Chatspeak is a funny thing.

So I had this Florence ticket and I couldn't go to the concert. The day before, I found a girl who said she really wanted it. Let's call her...bad-word. Or A, for convenience. She said she really wanted to go, which I knew was only true to a degree, because I'd sort of noticed she didn't know anything much about Florence. But hey, I was finally getting the ticket to someone else.

Few hours after that, an awesome person known as KB told me that she wanted the ticket. And it was her birthday, and I love her, and she really wanted to see a girl that was going. But I'd already promised A, who wasn't a particular friend, but I didn't think it was right to go back on a deal.

But I asked A anyway, are you sure you really want to go? It's just someone else really wants it too. And she replied that she'd organised everything and she really, REALLY wanted to go. She'd have the money on Friday! Fair enough.

She didn't go. And she Facebook messaged me shit, but the long and short of it:





Eff her.

Also, I am not feeling like a special little snowflake. I feel like crap, actually. And so here's a Chuck Palahniuk quote:

"We are the middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we'll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won't. And we're just learning this fact. So don't fuck with us."


I would add an appropriately depressing photo, but I really can't be bothered finding one.

Confusion.

Bye Bye Birdie was amazing. I got really attached to it, and the closing night was probably the best performance yet. I took lots of photos. I made a pretty cake that was rainbow, but I didn't take any photos of the insides because I figured it seemed sort of egotistical. Haha.

I had a confusing conversation about liking or not liking a friend who doesn't but used to but has a girlfriend but didn't used to and. It was confusing.

Finally, this has been a most unproductive day. I have been watching Buffy gradually falling in love?! with Spike, and I'm happy with it. Except I'm tired of watching love I'd like it to happen to me. Please and thank you?

I still can't be bothered typing about the ticket fiasco .__.

SO ASIAN.

This story I entered in the Monash short story comp...


The Beginning

“Lucky indeed,” my mother thinks proudly as she gazes around the room. The paint on the walls is peeling, and the TV is staticky. The carpet is threadbare and the chairs are mismatched. The crowded room is overly warm because there is no air conditioner, only a plastic fan that erratically spins cooled air from side to side. But that doesn’t matter. Sitting in the fridge is a large, gaudily-decorated birthday cake. A wondrous thing, purchased just that morning from an Asian bakery in Springvale. In the adjacent cupboard is a wax ‘1’ waiting to be impaled in the brightly coloured icing. A massive array of food, mostly stirfry, gently steams in the mismatched dishes sitting on the wooden table with peeling veneer.



What a difference from China, where birthdays were celebrated arbitrarily, if they were celebrated at all, and where a birthday feast was an egg boiled with some noodles. My parents didn’t even have birth certificates until they migrated to Australia, and they simply made up their dates of birth because no one had bothered to properly record it - my father’s birth certificate reads two years older than he actually is.



Right now one-year-old me is crawling around on the floor, seemingly oblivious to the mass of people chattering - which one is she going to pick? Surrounding me is a circle of objects - money, pens, a calculator, cards, and various other symbolic items. This is traditional on a baby’s first birthday - the item they choose shows what the baby is going to grow up to be. Personally, my mother hopes I will choose the money. That means I’m going to be very rich. It doesn’t really matter, as long as I don’t pick the cards and become a destitute gambler, she thinks. But of course I won’t. Because I’m growing up in the Lucky Country.



The friends cheer as little me grasps the pen with both hands, and I look up with wide baby eyes. One of my parents’ friends, Edwin, the one who is forever wielding a camera, takes a shot, and this photo of a plump one-year-old wielding a pen ends up in a flowery, pink photo album which was purchased at a stocktake sale at Target.



“Just like her father!” they cry, congratulating my parents on their little daughter. The feast soon begins, getting rowdier and rowdier the more alcohol is consumed. The assortment of guests range from George, the elderly white next-door neighbour whom I adore, to my mother’s best friend who has a daughter just a few months younger. Little me watches the proceedings solemnly. My mother does the customary hostess’ job of piling copious amounts of food onto everyone’s plates but her own, despite the various loud but futile protests.



She thinks again how lucky her child is, beaming at the raucous crowd assembled in her small living room. The pen means that I will be an academic child. At the ripe old age of one, my future is set out. A scholar, because I chose a pen. A good girl, because I almost never cry. Prosperous, because my Chinese name means ‘little stream running through the forest’, and also beautiful, because my English name is the same as one of the most beautiful actresses of the time, or so my father thinks.



I will be perfect. My mother cannot conceive of me being a rebellious teenager, because she never remembers being one. She cannot imagine her daughter as an artist, a musician, an author. In her hometown, if you didn’t work, didn’t try, didn’t study, you were stuck there, among overworked fields, dirty snow. She was the one who went to a school for the gifted, went to university in Beijing, and flew to a distant land named Australia which had just opened its doors to new immigrants. Australia, where the grass was green and the toilets weren’t holes in the ground.



So she simply smiles, content in the knowledge that I will grow up in the Lucky Country.

People are effing stupid.

Since when did socialist become such a bad thing? People are getting more and more selfish. Hillary Clinton was amazing and American corporations are effing idiots. And I'm watching Sicko in media class, obviously.

AND I GOT TICKETS FOR THE GETAWAY PLAN. EFF YEAH.

I really suck.

I messed up pretty much everything yesterday in the show. The actors/dancers/singers were awesome, I just sucked.

There's this ticket issue which I cannot be bothered going through at the moment.

And you should really read this, because it's rather beautiful.

Here's a poem from e. e. cummings. Original formatting.



nearer:breath of my breath:take not thy tingling
limbs from me:make my pain their crazy meal
letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal
slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling:
deeper:blood of my blood:with upwardcringing
swiftness plunge these leopards of white dream
in the glad flesh of my fear:more neatly ream
this pith of darkness:carve an evilfringing
flower of madness on gritted lips
and on sprawled eyes squriming with light insane
chisel the killing flame that dizzily grips.

Querying greys between mouthed houses curl

thirstily. Dead stars stink. dawn. Inane,

the poetic carcass of a girl

List of things I am pissed off about.

1. Only getting an A.
2. Half-finished English essay due in less than 12 hours.
3. Inability to focus
4. My general lack of appeal.
5. Being forced to quit.
6. Attractive and talented people.
7. Always being in the background.
8. Not being able to do something when people need it.
9. Not being able to win at anything.
10. Him not talking to me.
11. The Ex.
12. Myself.