Dramarama

We did not get through to state level. Oh well, c'est la vie. Besides, the judges were total... um, guanos =).

Yes, yes, 'tis not mature to blame this on someone else, but STILL. We were pitch pefect, for pete's sake (*ahem*). The cast emoted and projected flawlessly, crew were peerless in moving props in and out. Admittedly, sound was a bit wonky (remember to pay attention, di-anne), but everything else was impeccable.

Anyway, the cast has improved insanely since day one. I am so proud of them. All of them. Soph, albert, jia hong, michelle, shaun, alex, maxine, calvin, daena, tyron, and the two bestest people ever!: Parvinder Kaur and Winnie Tan Zhi Ping. I love love love you all!

(this will/might be continued if/when I get the pictures)

Oh, and everyone should listen to: Heloise and the Savoir Faire. Dance-y synthpop electrodisco. Try Illusions, my favourite so far.

The Story of the Bald Frog with the Wig

(This whole story came from the random question generator on the profiles page. the original question was

The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig:

There was once a frog. Not a very wise frog, but wise enough to know when spring was coming so he could burrow out of his hibernatory mudhole to greet the new day.

One day, he saw humans. A little boy and a little girl, to be exact. The little girl, who had been terribly sheltered (this was the first time she had been out of the House since the plague, which had started before she was born), said to the little boy (who was her brother, older and wiser in years and experience), "Oh! Look at the poor ickle frog, with not a strand of hair on his ickle head. How strange!"

For, you see, her reading books had been filled with fanciful, anthropomorphised creatures. Bipedal dogs, monocled cats, top hatted sparrows, the very picture of civilisation. And the frogs, in the imagination of the reading book writer, were always, always, judges. Impartial and composed and sober, always hearing each piece of evidence before passing fair judgement on each case.

(In fact, there was a case which stuck out in her mind, of the tuxedo cat v. the greyhound, involving several pounds of goat meat, rohypnol, and a distressed mouse that had impressed her highly due to the impartiality of the frog-judge in declaring the greyhound (who was the crowd favourite) guilty, and his cool logic in recounting the details of the case in the face of a rising mob, the specifics of which are far too long to involve in this tale, which is getting convoluted enough already as it is, and so we will tackle it another day, perhaps.)

So she had been accustomed, through no fault of hers to seeing good, honourable frogs in their black flowing robes, perfectly round tortoiseshell spectacles and dust white wigs. It was no surprise, then, when on her first jaunt Outside (which was what she called the world beyond the mahogany blind doors; the House was Inside), on spotting a Common Frog (Latin name Rana temporariam, size nine centimetres, olive-brown with yellow markings) who was in all aspects highly respected in the pond community, she would denounce it as follically challenged and, most hurtfully to the frog, strange.

While the frog (who had really been set upon quite unfairly, he thought) was ruminating on the unfairness of the human race and its narrow views on species other than themselves, the little girl and the little boy were called back to the House by the Patriarch, who had all the while been watching them, hawk-eyed, fox-during-a-hunt wary, through high powered binoculars. They have had enough, he thought, of green earth and sunshine. A bit of dark floor and fluorescent lighting never hurt anyone, he mused, all the while stroking a picture in an elaborate gilt frame with white, spidery, scar-ridden hands adorned by a murky emerald signet. Ah, Genevieve, he said to the woman in the picture, the woman in the chiffon flower-patterned dress, blowing about her knees on a blustery summer day long past, would that you were here to see our children running in the green green grass of the (at long last) plague free plains.

Meanwhile, the frog (who really was feeling very displeased), decided to go out into the wide world, to seek his fortune (which was what he told his dear mother, who, upon hearing the news, fainted, was revived with smelling salts, and upon awakening declared him no longer her son, then broke down into tears and begged him not to leave, and then, when the tears dried, accepted the news stoically and made ten lunches’ worth of fly sandwiches for him “for the road”, she said. All in the space of ten minutes).

But really, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to find a wig. A wig as majestic as a pharaohs’, as dainty as a lady’s, as uncorrupted as a judges’. A wig to impress the little girl (who was not at all a bad looker, he agreed with himself, while nibbling on a fly sandwich. Just a wee bit air headed, maybe.). A handsome, aristocratic wig to knock the socks off the little girl living in the shadow of the House on the (at long last) plague free plains.

Must Resolve to Blog More Often

Or at least, write more often.

Must get proper journal. It's such a bitch to find just a simple, hardcover lined/unlined book. They're all either dated by day or have irritating little "inspiring quotes" at the bottom of every other page. Look, I bought this book, and I'm gonna be choosing my own quites, capsice?

Gah. I'm hiccuping again. I'm very supsceptible to hiccups. I suspect it's because I inhale my food. I read in White Fang (Jack London) or somewhere that wild wolves gulp down their food very fast because other wolves'll steal it right out of the slow eater's mouths.
Food is hard to come by in the Yukon.
I s'pose that's where to wolf [food] down comes from.

Just checked in the occasionally helpful yet occasioanally misleading wikipedia that hiccups are known to develop often in specific situations, such as eating too quickly, taking a cold drink while eating a hot meal, belching, eating very hot or spicy food, laughing vigorously or ... (etc, etc. Go to the page for full info)

ooh. Me hiccups have ceased. Yesss. And also, I read somewhere else that a girl once hiccuped for two weeks nonstop. Yikes.

Everyone should listen to Andrew Bird.

To New Beginnings, and...

School has started.
(It is the first weekend of the school term)

You'd think, right, that I'd be blogging more often during the holidays. But nooo... I posted at the beginning of le hols last year (fucksocks! It's 2008! I have to say "last year"! Arrrghhh!), and haven't touched the keyboard (not for blogging, anyway) since.

It is the start of SPM year. It surprises me how much form 5's have to do in their last year. They head all the clubs and societies and have to liaise with teachers, teachers expect them to be responsible and do literally everything by themselves, and above all that, they have to maintain excellent grades, or "I will be very disappointed in you."

I mean, why not have everything happen in form 4? We'd be old enough to be "responsible", and the study pressure won't be as hard on us if we were in form 5. In my brother's time (13 years ago), the form 4s headed everything. The head prefect was a form 4, for example. Obviously people seem to think the age of maturity has lowered. They might well be right :S.

Oh, crap! My brother's turning 30 this year! I'm gonna have a middled-aged brother!

Having two much-older brothers is actually quite a convenient arrangement. Both of them aren't living here anymore, so I feel like an only child most of the time. I don't have to fight with anyone for anything. What's more, on my birthday I get $, 'cause they're workin' and reapin' in the dosh. It prolly does get lonely, but I'm used to it. 'Sides, I've got the intornet.

I was just going on about school.
They gave us a little practice karangan and essay to fill up our time while we wait for the textbooks (which I've foolishly bought. Bah), and I wrote some crappy pieces (yes, even in english, WHICH, I might say in defense of myself, was a formal letter. I mean, come on, how can you judge someone's proficiency in writing through a formal letter?! It's got a format! for pete's sake).

Hmph.

badumdumdum

I have a blog. again. this is my... one, two, three, fourth! one. I never have the discipline to keep these things going. It seems like my life is entirely too dull to be worth blogging about.

(The url for this blog, as you've probably noticed, is invisibleleathertardis.blogspot.com. It comes from this comic. I was going to make it verbosity related, but all the urls were taken. I think it's a good thing. Invisible Leather TARDIS is so much catchier. I might change the blog name as well. And yes, I am a Doctor Who fan. Christopher Eccleston FTW! Hee. Might blog on that later)

Anywho, the end term holidays have officialy started, and I've not been doing much. Lots of people have been getting jobs, and I do want a job, if only for the moolah, but... blargh. I want a bookshop job.

and ooh! I might be getting a cat!

I love 'im. He's black with white socks and white vest and belly. He licks and bites. Well more nibbles, but you have to stop him before he chomps on your finger. Dad doesn't usually like cats (dog person) but he seems to be fond of this one.
He's been talking about getting it dewormed, shots, neutered, et cetera, then we can bring it in! Yay!
Although I do feel a twinge of guilt, 'cause I think it does belong to someone. It's so friendly and unafraid of humans. Plus, I think it's a housecat 'cause it keeps trying to get in the house. It pains me to have to shut the door on him.

But he's a good cat. He doesn't drop fur, listens to orders (say "NO" forcefully and he won't come in the house), is terribly affectionate (he'll rub himself against my legs)...

I wanna name him Captain Jack. For Sparrow and Harkness.

Dad wants to name him Schwarz, which means black in german, and Jeek has already nicknamed him Sylvester. Y'know, Sylvester J. Pussycat, Sr, the cat that keeps trying to eat Tweety.

He does look like Sylvester...

ooh, Boston Legal's on.