Yesterday, I went about the course of collecting actual Linguistic data (I know, I know living red letter). I ventured into the suburbs of Central Melbourne with a flotilla of my fellow Linguistadors and recorded a 22-month-old girl named Molly talking at us.
It was actually a lot of fun: Molly showed us her DVDs and was surprisingly film literate for a toddler, having seen Finding Nemo, Alice in Wonderland and The Little Mermaid, which is more than Esmond- although she insisted Ursula the sea witch was nice and liked Ariel. Not an interpretation I'd encountered before.
Although...
She also argued with her mother over whether a pink koala toy was a pig or a marsupial and won with the astounding display of reasoning 'koalas aren't pink', which none of us could refute (although Koala joeys are hairless.) She also brought a little of that lovely child reasoning when, upon being informed that a dentist was a 'doctor who looks at your teeth', she inquired, with some alarm, 'why?!'
All in all, not a bad way to collect data for one's subject; in fact, Barbara told us about a man who gave his children special backpacks which would record his young children speaking...and caught his wife carrying on with, as Barbara put it, 'Mr. Neighbor'.
So, practical, too.
In other news, I went to two parties this weekend, and so am just the belle of the ball, aren't I? One was a get together with the guys from B.E.S.T., who were my 24 hour play group (I meant to blog about that...oops), where we watched a bunch of movie musicals and realised just how rapey Grease is. Sadly, I had to go to bed before Les Mis was put on, otherwise I very well may have brought Gavroche back to life, nine years (what the hell?) after his untimely death.
T'other was an Amadeus get-to-know-the-cast affair, where two very promising candidates for quotes of the year were delivered. One came from Henry Shaw, director extraordinaire, and was in the manner of a film trailer voice-over; t'other came from Dave, who plays Salieri, and was a brand new species of Pokemon; both can be found on the Quotes page.
And, finally, according to Victoria Andrew, I was in tune for an entire song last Wednesday. This is a personal record.
So, Jason has left. This is saddening- but we must soldier on. We will reforge the shattered pieces into a glorious new jigsaw puzzle, one free of Jason and his incessant boasting of how much he has done with his life.
Right after two days of moping in bed.
'But, Rory!' You cry, spittle flying and a crazed look in your eye (my god, you do get passionate about these blog posts, don't you?), 'I wanna hear about Australian Christmas!' At this point, you stamp your feet and throw all your toys out of the cot because I haven't housebroken you properly. Well, fine, metaphorical baby readers, here's how christmas went down: on christmas eve, Jason and I attended a double bill of Shop Around the Corner and It's a Wonderful Life; we had to leave the second slightly early and so in my mind that film now ends with him committing suicide- I don't know why everyone calls it uplifting.
Pictures from the Astor, where we viewed this depressionfest.
Jason and I then returned home and drunkenly chatted with loved ones on the internet, and showed each other pictures of how we used to look (so much hair...*shudder*).
The next morning, Shane, Jason, me and some douche I've never met before had a barbecue for breakfast.
Not pictured: croissants in the conservatory.
There were sausages, sauce and bread. We'd hunted the bread ourselves, because we're MEN. During this time we tried to name all fifty states of the US because the brain can atrophy like any other muscle.
All that's left of the dropbears that jumped us during the bread hunt.
Then, the douche left, stung by his inability to remember New Hampshire, and the three real men sat down to smoke and ruminate. Not cigarettes, little one, my heavens no, but a hukkah pipe. It was really rather relaxing.
Jason's christmas hukkah.
After this, we watched some christmas movies, includingCharlie Brown and, perhaps more bizarrely, Batman the Animated series, then Jason and I went for a walk, wherein we encountered a brown snake. Let me dictate for you how it went down:
JASON: (Thick Gloucestershire accent that is somehow at once both homely and grating) Oi'm not looking where I'm going, so oi'm no!
(The brown snake appears. Jason makes to step on it.)
ME: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
(I dive between Jason and the snake, and, using my incredible kung fu skills, vanquish the fucker (the snake that is, not Jason))
JASON: Oi've never seen a snake trounced so thouroughly before! Neato!
Starring Rik Hart as the serpent.
Truly, I am both the st Patrick and the shakespeare of our time.
On Boxing Day, I saw the Hobbit, and honestly I was disappointed: they've turned what is an enjoyable fantasy heist movie into a bloated diatribe on what 'home' means. There's a lot to be enjoyed, but also a lot that could be cut.
Gandalf the grumpy.
Interestingly, I saw Les Mis and I would have much preferred for that to have been split into multiple films: or, even better, presented like an old film with an interval in between two two hour parts. So, essentially, a stage play on screen. Hmmm...
Then, on the 27th, I stayed up all night with Jason, wishing him farewell and then spent the next two days sleeping it off. Go me. I really will miss the blighter, and am now holding auditions for his replacement, but things aren't looking too swell on that front: I may have to wait til term begins anew. Which is in february. Alack.
P.S. I realise I still owe a Blank slate post and a 'the other stuff I did when I didn't post for ages' post, but hold your horses. They're coming.
Probably.
P.P.S. As of today, this trip is the longest I've ever spent away from home.
I've just completed a syntax assignment; it might not have been pretty, it might not have been clever, but I got it in and that's what counts (that's what he said).
It felt odd to be doing an assignment and not complaining to Becky about it. In fact, I had to do the entire thing without any of the regulars (yet again, totally what he said); Becky going on about how she'll fail and spectacularly failing to fail, Rosie not starting until a month after the deadline and breaking her foot, James knowing all the answers and not telling me AND seeing a point to studying syntax and not telling me.
Yes, much like the final season of house, all the regular characters and their endearingly frustrating antics were gone, leaving only one incredibly grizzled, beaten man to try and solve yet another pointless and nonsensical mystery on his own and pulling the answer out of his ass at the last moment.
I totally just compared myself to Hugh Laurie.
Above: me. Definitely.
Doing a syntax assignment usually comes with a sense of camaraderie; we were all storming the beaches of futility together and even if we weren't enjoying ourselves (except for Jimmy boy, being the rough and tumble scot that he is), we were at least together. Now, it's just me: I did speak to some others in the class about the assignment, and even tried expressing my disdain for it, but either ozzies are much more studious than Brits or I was talking to the squares because they simply didn't get me.
Alack.
The only comfort is that Becky will have to do an assignment without me...whining. That'll show her?
It was also odd to not be on facebook during an assignment- just as workplaces have coffee breaks, assignments have facebook breaks; but, having kicked the metaphorical caffeine habit, I resorted to the much more productive les mis breaks, where I would watch the trailer for the upcoming film:
and then one of the songs, chosen at random from the jauntier numbers:
and I'd pantomime along. Of course, I had to be silent, still being in the Rowden White.
In my defense, it's a really good trailer, and the soundtrack is possibly the best of any musical ever. The sad thing is, this lead to me singing 'I dreamed a dream' to myself, and several accused me of wanting to be Susan Boyle.
Shame on them. This song existed long before the scotswoman claimed it as her signature, and I've had it stuck in my head (rotating with 'Kiss me' and Invocal's back catalogue) since I was in a production of this stirring show, what, eight years ago? Damn. Let's have a moment of silence for my adolescence, shall we?
Anyway, the outcome is I'm super-excited for the new Les Mis film and everyone in the Rowden White thinks I'm a loser, which I guess is better than narc.
In other news, after finishing the ordeal, an ordeal being the collective noun for syntax questions, I treated myself to some ice cream from the student union and then went and sat in the sunshine to enjoy it. As I merrily licked away at my treat (Oreo flavoured, you know) what should descend upon me but a dire raven?
Not pictured: The dire raven. P.S. Got to watch some of TWWOO to try and screencap the raven (failed miserably), but it still makes me so very happy to watch that video. I love you all, wherever you are.
This thing was huge; the ozzie everyman who happened to be sitting opposite even felt compelled to comment on it. It landed next to me, more vulture than bird, and set its beady eye upon me and, more importantly, my ice cream. And then this happened:
I jest. It flew off. But I was kinda concerned with said ozzie said, quite cheerfully, 'he'll 'ave your eye out, no bother'. Thanks. I really wanted to know that, mate.
And then, after finishing the ice cream, I treated myself to some democracy. Yes, I voted in the student elections. I'll spare you the tedium, except for one piece of trivia which I want to share: you weren't allowed to vote for the 'Queer Officers' unless you identified as queer. I have no idea how they planned to enforce this (penile pathismograph?), but it was there, written on the paper. Also worth noting: the woman on the desk told me that I should just skip the Queer officer page, as it wouldn't apply to me.
The Aussies really aren't that good at guessing.
Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, mis padres have been reading and accused me of poor mathematics; I claimed I was here for eight weeks on 30th August, and they said it was six. Well, sucks to be both of us, cos it's actually seven. The difference between you and me, dad? I don't use maths for my job. Learn to count.
