A town called turkey

I don't normally do this (in the four months I've had this blog), but I'm gonna review 'A Town Called Mercy'. It was awful. Singularly awful. Unforgivably awful.
Not only was it not funny, it was unfunny: the parodical elements were nothing less than cringeworthy ('I'll have a tea, but the strong stuff; leave the bag in'- I wanted to thump him) and the only good line was 'his name's susan and he wants you to respect his life choices'; the rest of the horse thing was just a rip off of 'I speak baby', which was slicker and came first.
The plot was ridiculous- it was meant to be a moral dilemma, but it just wasn't. They should've just let the doc die at the beginning. Yes, he'd done some good, but as the doctor said, you don't get to choose your justice- and as the cyborg said, the victim does get to choose. Amy's logic 'Are you gonna hunt down everyone who's built a gun' doesn't work as an argument because guns aren't sentient- the doctor wasn't angry because the doc had built a weapon, it was cos he altered people against their will. The doc even ended up killing himself (and where did that come from?), rendering the entire thing pointless.
Overall, it was boring and overwraught and didn't have enough in it to last forty minutes. I expect more of Doctor Who, and honestly it's a shame that this was one of Amy and Rory's last episodes- they didn't even need to be in it. They did bugger all. Shame on whoever wrote it.

I wanna take you to the island

Hoo boy, do I have a lot to tell you?

Yes, yes I do.

I can now cross quite a bit off my Australian Bucket list. I saw Koalas:

Hush time, little munchkin.

Wallabies:

Upon seeing it, I was heard to cry "That rabbit's huge!"

A peregrine falcon

Yeah, I'm the fastest animal on earth. What of it?

And a platypus

Which I sadly didn’t manage to photograph (thing was bloody quick).

All of them were in the wild. Not behind bars or nothing.

I also saw a raft (collective noun for the win) of penguins, and sadly photography was forbidden, but I’m such a naughty little thing:

What other animal could pull off that scarf?

Just kidding. But I totally did get a picture of some other fairy penguins:

Four men died smuggling this out.

I also cracked a whip:

Whips and chains fail to excite him.

Saw a sheep shearing:

Milked a cow:

As you can see, I'm pretty experienced with a teat.

And watched a dog herding turkeys:

True Australiana, right there.

I really liked Phillip Island; there was lots to do, it was pretty and easy to traverse, and there was even a nightclub which played music that I liked. I didn't even get to do all there was to do there: I didn't visit the chocolate factory or go on the seal cruise. You can also take helicopter joy rides, and there's twenty percent off until the end of September, so I may be making a return sooner than expected. 

Smartsy artsy

It would seem I am now secretary of a theatre company. Huh. I thought I'd feel more powerful. Alack.
This unexpected turn of events comes after a meeting with a nice young man named Andrew with whom I discussed theatre, the goals of art, what I enjoyed seeing/accomplishing in art and the works I'd produced specifically. He reminded me of Paul Hughes, in that they held the exact opposite views and therefore sounded exactly the same (I do believe that was almost profound).
We also discussed my quitting Facebook, and he pointed out that I had this blog and thus had only transferred my addiction, not kicked it. But, I countered, I'm not spending time obsessing over and comparing myself to other peoples' lives, which was what was damaging about Facebook in the first place. I never wanted to stop talking about myself documenting my life; I just needed to stop fixating on others'.
He said he thought this was a good point, and that it was indicative of a wider trend in society in general, a need to achieve and an obsession with saving face and living up to expectations (even ones which are stupid). I'm twenty and need to grow out of feeling smug when someone older than me compliments my thought process, but Andrew's 32 and I now feel like the cleverest little swat in the class.
This is the second blog post today showing off about my academic achievement, metaphorical or otherwise. I'm glad no one's reading this.

Could do better

So, I'm officially on spring break! Woo! Spring break! I feel like such a frat boy.

So very frat.

These last few days of term have been somewhat uneventful, hence the lack of updates (because I am certainly not one to get hung up on minutiae). But I feel I need to update y'all before I head out this evening. Because, yes, your beloved wizard is heading out on a small trip, to Phillip Island.
If you google it, or if you're Esmond, who happened to be with me when I discovered what was on Phillip Island, you'll know why I'm excited. I'll give you a hint:

Ladies.

Last time, I spectacularly failed to photograph the little blighters, and apparently you're not allowed to take pictures on Phillip Island, but we'll see how we go: you may yet get a snap of a Fairy by mine own hand.
This trip will be taken in the company of messieur Jason, and a bunch of his friends who I've never met. We'll be driving in a car and staying in a hotel together, so this should be interesting at least.


Driving a rental car with a bunch of strangers across a penguin island called Phillip; what could possibly go wrong?

In other news, I went for lunch in the queerspace, which is where the theory session from Tuesday was held, in case you can't put two and two together. It was fine; the conversation was less intellectualised, which was appreciated, but also less focussed, which was not. I got invited to a party, which I don't think I'll be attending, due to a sudden case of the penguins, but it was nice to be invited- the guy even gave me his number (though he gave it to everyone else, lessening the impact).
And finally, although the lunch thing has been the only real news, so more, and secondly, I got a very good mark on my Language, Society and Culture essay, so I'm feeling really smug at the moment.

Smug? Moi?

Queery

Today I went to a queer theory discussion group. I didn't know quite what queer theory was, but I thought I might as well give it a go and see what happened.

The group was run by Quinn, whom I had encountered before; I had thought Quinn to be male, as she does not act in a particular feminine manner (though is somewhat effeminate), and still looks somewhat masculine. I was mistaken, as Quinn refers to herself as 'she'; this is not the first time I've encountered a transgender person, but was the first time I'd met someone who identified as another gender and did not particularly espouse any mannerisms associated with that gender. I'm trying desperately hard not to be offensive here, and am not intending to disparage anyone in a similar position- this blog is at least somewhat diaristic in nature and this was a first for me.
I soon realised that in this group I was the normal one for only identifying as a gay biologically-born male; I do not think anyone else there was quite as solid about their identity. I heard at least one 'I don't like labels', which I've never understood, because labels are incredibly useful and you can be labelled as something without demonstrating all the traits associated with it, which, from what I understand, is that from which the objections spring. Of course, if someone doesn't want to apply labels to themselves, then I have no right to force them to, but there are so many labels available that I can't imagine there isn't one that describes you. For example, sexuality, I can think of: heterosexual, homosexual, asexual, bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual. What permeation of sexuality has not been covered by these? I personally don't see why we need both 'pansexual' and 'omnisexual' as no one has explained to me the difference between them. And then, with gender, there is biologically-male, biologically-female, mentally-male, mentally-female (I would personally collapse these into two categories 'male' and 'female' but I can see why some may want to distinguish), intersex, agendered. Yet again, I cannot see what has not been covered by these. Unless you want to propose an entire other gender (as opposed to a twist on a current one) I don't see what isn't there in the labels currently. And you can pick two of these labels from the category and combine them; that's two labels, that's all, to describe how you identify. I fail to see what's lacking from this system. I understand that people's attitudes towards some of the identities are problematic, but that's a different issue entirely.
But, as I said, I cannot force people to accept labels, if they don't want to, then they don't have to. We discussed the power of words, and why the department calls itself the 'queer department' as opposed to LGBTIQA, which admittedly is a little cumbersome. I don't like the word 'queer', simply because its definition is 'unusual' and I like to think it's my personality that sets me apart, not my sexuality. And what was odd was that someone who identified as 'queer' actually asked me 'well, who's to say what's normal'? Well, you're denoting everyone else as normal by declaring yourself queer; you're defining yourself in opposition to them.
Of course, being on the left, we are not allowed to tell people how to act or get cross when they don't agree with us, so we were all very polite and careful not to offend. I don't know if I'll go back, because although some of the people seemed cool, I don't know if I'm particularly interested in discussing queer theory. Or 'not heteronormative theory' if we're being blunt.

Dinosaurs on a spaceship, snakes on a plane, freshers on my turf

If my calculations are correct, which is by no means certain, Edinburgh Freshers' week began this weekend (a quick google confirms this).
I'm trying to work out what I'd be doing were I still in Edinburgh; no doubt part of me would be tempted to repeat my actions of the previous Freshers' week, where I tried to reinvent myself by attending all manner of different events, including, *shudder*, a bingo night, before returning, somewhat gingerly and with my tail firmly between my legs, to Bedlam.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

Of course, it's impossible to know what I'd be doing, as I would've acted differently towards the end of last term if I'd thought for a second that I'd be coming back. I probably would've tried to put a play on during Freshers' week, and maybe auditioned for one of the plays already on, or maybe I would've even waited to put on TWWOO until this semester. I wouldn't have spoken to some people so frankly, and I also wouldn't have buried the hatchet with some people (I'm looking at you, Gem).
I'd have most likely spent the summer in Edinburgh, so maybe I would've suffered a relapse to the state I was in last July. Or maybe I would've risen triumphantly above the black dog like a phoenix (anyone else flashing back to Harry Potter?).

Above: my (hypothetical) summer.

I'd go and watch Becky perform stand-up and Daniel perform Blue Room (this is the thing I'm most sad about missing.)

Imagine this in a sex play.

I'd maybe staff at Bedlam a few times, try and get to know some of the newbies- there'd be numerous trips to Doctors, no doubt, and a bit of mythicising those who'd have departed (I've decided in this alternate reality that Esmond also didn't leave, so the whole ladies' man thing didn't come into play).

Dreammaker, heartbreaker.

I'd have fish pie at Teviot, and meet with Bammers and Henriette and talk about what we did all summer, and I'd hang with Luci and Bryn and feel awkward as they lit up and started getting all metaphysical. I'd have hot chocolate with Freya and discuss Lord knows what.
And then a black hole would open up over Edinburgh and everything I know would be consumed by the void. Because, after all, this is all postulation and furthermore, is completely useless because I'm not there, I'm in Melbourne and besides, Freshers are all mistakes. Filthy, nasty things. Glad I never was one.

Of course, I also can't help looking forward a year and trying to imagine how I'll act during my fourth (God, that's too many) Freshers' week. Maybe during final year I'll finally have figured it out and I'll be cool as Corbin, taking in the sights but not getting unnecessarily agitated over little things of no significance. Somehow, I doubt it.

Hammered, Tanked, Wasted, Plastered, Canned, Sloshed, Housed, Juiced Up & Crocked

Dear reader, I know you hold me up as a paragon of virtue and decorum. I know that what you are about to read will destroy your faith in humankind, ie. me. But I must be honest with you, reader, otherwise this entire blog is just a pointless exercise in onanism for me.
And none of us want that.
So, I'll level with you, reader, treat you like an adult and tell you things that I hope you're mature enough to understand.
I got absolutely wasted last night.

Not quite as wasted as this.

I wouldn't normally use 'wasted' when I can still, with relative confidence, remember what happened the previous night. And I can. Every. Sordid. Detail.
Allow me to set the scene; it's Milly's birthday today and she decided to host a party in her parents' house, about an hour and a half away from Yarra, as Kookaburra flies. I drove up with Aspen, Manthy, Jason and Smeargle, and we were all pretty tightly packed into the back (Manthy gets carsick and so got to sit in the front.)
It was hot and uncomfortable, but I was excited and we passed the time playing twenty questions (we all got stumped over Michael Caine, who, did you know, has won an oscar? Smeargle did.)

Suave mother, ain't he?

Anyway, we arrive, after a minor drama over a tollroad and the accidental taking thereof, and pile into 'the unit' (a second building built on the main land of Milly's house) where the party was to take place. We settled in, watched a little TV, snooped about the house and then the business of presents began. I read Milly  the poem I wrote (an acrostic), Aspen and Smeargle gave her drawings, Logan got her a USB, Alec got her Fifty Shades of Grey and Cass got her a potato. I believe it was around this time I took my first drink; I'd purchased some vodka with cranberry (40%) and Manthy was kind enough to give me some raspberryade with which to to mix it.

Above: my bloodstream, last night.

I was drunk within minutes, and I don't mean tipsy, I mean drunk. There's a video of me singing along to Nelly Furtado's I'm like a bird from about twenty minutes after this drink. I was the first one drunk and I don;'t know why cos it took me about two hours to get drunk after TWWOO, and a lot more vodka (I remember I was halfway through the bottle when it was pointed out I was even heavier on my feet than normal- I'd had maybe a quarter of a bottle when I was three sheets to the wind last night.)

Can you tell?

All I could do was be thankful that I was happy, TWWOO drunk Rory and not miserable, Bedlam drunk Rory. I participated in all the games, danced, sang, made people laugh and was generally agreed to be the life and soul of the party; some people, notably Adrian with whom I duetted on Circle of Life (lifting Jason as an impromptu Simba) and Cee Lo Green.

I see you driving 'round town with the girl I love!

Sadly, it wasn't all sweetness and light- I managed to smash a glass with my bare hands (but didn't cut myself)- just by banging on the side of it, in the manner of a speech. Luckily, I wasn't the only one and I did learn my lesson and managed to avoid punching the TV placed precariously against the dancing wall. I did start to sober up shortly after this incident, and decided I didn't want to face the rest of the party sober, knowing what I'd done (it was about ten o'clock at this point); so, I deliberately re-intoxicated myself.

Really didn't take that long.

This might have been a bad thing to do, having already broken something in my drunken state, but I find it hard to regret, since I went right back to singing, dancing and generally living it large.

Large and in charge.

I remember drunk pass the parcel, with questions instead of prizes, and how I fashioned a hat and gloves out of the discarded newspaper (after building myself a nest).

Made from 100% recycled materials.

During this game, Ellie said she wanted me as her child; I was also declared most likely to appear of Sixty Minutes (a news talk show) and go to jail, so I had to do two dares: one tell a story about someone in the room (I chose to make Martin a fairy princess of Oz) and do an interpretive dance entitled 'the death of the butterfly', which I'm really hoping wasn't filmed. This was filmed, for some reason:

There was a Milly trivia round, where I insisted we be called 'the Periwinkles', still not sure why, pizza, which I devoured and with which I managed to avoid a hangover (in the stead of weetabix, see) and a deep, meaningful conversation with Logan and Jason where I opened up about my depression last summer.
All in all a really enjoyable night in a part of Australia I hadn't seen before (Check out 'The Mornington Peninsula' page for photos taken from my walk there this morning, WARNING: there are a lot of photos).