First world problems

I am facing an essential dilemma, and one I would genuinely appreciate opinions on, so please leave a comment telling me what you think.

So, I was just asked by an Aussie friend to show them a picture of Esmond; I searched on my computer and found exactly one picture. I then searched on Google and found exactly one picture. That's two that I have access to; one for every year he's been my friend.
I know I'm being precious- I still know what he looks like, I still have the memories that photos are meant to invoke, and, most importantly, I'll see him again, and can take pictures then if I so wish. But I got to thinking: I have few pictures of my first term in Edinburgh. Or my second. I uploaded them to Facebook and then deleted them from my hard drive, supposedly to save space (notably my flight details for Belgium are still on there). Now I no longer have Facebook, access to those photos is gone. And this is where the dilemma comes in: I could easily reactivate my account, download all the photos I have stored on there, and then redeactivate it (remember how I snuck back on a few months ago to create the cast page?*). The problem this creates is that my Facebook page is finally gone for good- I don't get updates, or pleas for my return, and if I want to reactivate my account then it will take a full 24 hours (I've done my research); if I reopen it, however briefly, I go back to getting invited to crap I wouldn't go to even if I were in Edinburgh, people who blatantly haven't paid attention to anything I've said for the last five months writing to me as though I'm their best friend...all the stuff I've come to resent. I don't want to seem a contrarian- I freely admit that Facebook is a brilliant social tool, just not one I can allow myself access to, and so I have to play up its negative aspects. But this isn't even really a problem- I can just ignore it, I'm a big lad. The problem is the moralizing that inevitably accompanies this move.
See, I feel I shouldn't need the photos; I reiterate- I still have the memories. But even memories need stimuli, they rarely come unbidden. But then, not all my memories are positive ones- do I want to go remember all the bad stuff that happened over those two years? On the other hand, if I somehow forget all the bad stuff, don't I run the risk of making the same mistakes? However, there are some extremely positive memories, which I want to hold onto, some of which are probably already starting to fade, if my inability to remember names or events are any indication (which is kind of scary).
But then, I come back to the idea that I shouldn't need the photos. I'm meant to be living in the moment. And I don't mean that as in a 'this is a philosophy I'm espousing at the moment' kind of way. I genuinely think it's healthier to focus on where one is currently than where one's been/where one's going. I want to live that way. I want to be healthy. I want to be able to let stuff go, not hold grudges, not be bitter and resentful. Leaving has helped with this, but it can't do all the work- I have to make a concentrated effort not to dwell on things I can't change.
But the photos would make me happy...I think. Or, at least, they'd sate a thirst. But then, sating some thirsts can just lead to bad habits (alcoholism springs to mind)...

This goes on and on. And on. And I never reach the end. I don't know what to do, I don't know which argument to listen to, and, unusually, I don't know what I want. So, I beg you for your opinions- I implore your wisdom.

*And somehow failed to get any pictures of Esmond. Alack.

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.

A series of unfortunate events

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.

The Unsocial Network

I'll confess: I logged onto facebook to track down photos for the new Cast page. Apparently, deactivating your account does virtually nothing, as I logged on and it was as though I'd never been away- I had notifications, and people had even been able to write on my wall.

I'm not gonna complain about this, because it's my own fault for not checking what would happen when I joined the damn site. Whatever.
The thing I am gonna say is that I was right about leaving the site. While it was nice to see my friends seem happy (or, they want to seem happy to their facebook friends- there's a difference), it just made me sad that I wasn't. But then I stopped.
I am happy. I know this. I'm not just telling myself it; it's tangible. I want to smile most of the time; music sounds better; I'm actually excited about my subject again (save syntax)!

So, what was going on? Well, I'm not a psychologist, but I think it has to do with jealousy- even though, to be honest, and no offense Edinburgh people, I don't think I have anything to be jealous about. I'm having a blast, I'm meeting new people, I'm winning money for my poetry, I wake up to parrots in the morning. It's just a gut reaction I have: seeing other people posting about their gaiety automatically makes my green eyed monster gland swell up. Which is stupid, I admit. But I'm not alone- I know someone else who stays away from Facebook for the same reason. And I think it's just Facebook; I can be happy for people in real life, or even by email- it's because most of my friends wouldn't think to post about if they're feeling down, but they might admit it to me in confidence, or by email (everyone knows I turn each email sent to me into a stopmotion short film). So it balances out. On Facebook, it's like candyfloss, just saccharine and pink food dye.

None for me. It hurts my teeth.

+2 to improvisation, -6 to navigation

I’ve just returned from a theatre games workshop- yet again, the first time I’ve done one since last year. It was being run by a bunch of ex-students of the University of Melbourne and there was even someone who was in Neighbours there! (A squee, I do confess, a squee.) It was billed to me as an improvisation workshop, but apart from ole reliable Spacejump (“it’s like a Russian doll”, “a one person activity that isn’t that”- theatre introductions are identical the world over, it would seem), there were actually very few games involving theatrical improvisation.

They were more the kind of games that are employed by enthusiastic teens whilst they take care of disinterested youths- but fun, nonetheless. I will be returning next week, assuming I am told the time- the world really is geared towards those with Facebook. It was nice to hang with folks my own age who aren’t the rec room 2 crew and I got a free sociolinguistics textbook out of it- I even met some ex-exchangers, and got a glimpse of what life may be like post-uni for those of us who have flown so close to the sun that is living abroad.

Today also marks the first time I felt I got the full value of my day ticket- I went from Fairfield, to Melbourne central, to Brunswick, back to Melbourne Central and eventually to Clifton Hill. It was in use for nigh on six hours!

I would also like to relate a small incident I had in trying to reach this workshop- as with everything worth doing, there were several minor inconveniences. First off it was, raining, Edinburgh-style. Mini-rivers, with tides and ox-bows, the whole shebang, sprang up like cupcake shops in an affluent cycle. But the real inconvenience was finding the place.

The workshop took place at ‘Broken Mirror Productions’- which I really expected to leave Google blank- but no, it was one of their first suggestions. I noted down the directions from Google maps dutifully, and they got me absolutely nowhere. Unless ‘left’ and ‘right’ have changed meaning in the past few days and I wasn’t informed- it was probably put on Facebook- I was lead to the middle of an alley, between two carpet shops, and the directions were proudly telling me that this was an avant garde arts space.

I then tried using Google navigator on my phone, and was there in minutes. Why they can’t share information between the two, I have no idea, but they’re obviously run by different people, and I gotta say maps, navigator are kicking your ass. You have two weeks to turn it around. 

P.S. I guess I have no sense of direction in Australia, either. Alack. 

It's delovely

So O-week is over and today I started classes. I was in a game of assassins where I lasted a day before I was ousted by a team-up of Logan and someone I've never met before named Dan (who masqueraded as my target, James). Goddamn. All in all it was a successful week, I feel: I made some friends, had some laughs, got some free food and managed to assuege the gnawing solitude I'd been feeling at the bottom of my stomach. Worth the $35, I feel.
Of course, now the real work begins in the form of lectures- I started off with syntax, which is never a good sign and he mentioned X-Bar theory which is ALWAYS a bad sign, but it was mainly an introductory lecture, telling us where fire exits were and who to talk to if our Grandmother dies, etc. The jury's still out, but this is my third time trying to conquer the cold, cruel climate that is syntax and I hope to Helena that third time's a charm, lest I end up feeding myself to a croc. I have another lecture in two hours, which will no doubt be another introduction, but is on a subject that actually piques my curiosity, so my spirits remain elevated for the time being.
What else bears reporting? Hmm. My laptop charger is broken (again) so I'm writing this from the Rowden White Library, which I can't help but feel is a wee bit bohemian. You're allowed to sleep here, should you wish, and they're playing snow patrol, and, shock horror, the librarian's hair is dyed a non-natural colour, so I'm half-expecting to be called a nark any moment.
In terms of typical aussie animals that I've glimpsed, I can add kookaburra and possum to my bingo card, the former gossiping and guffawing around a birdbath and the latter staring down at me from a tree late on friday night. Quite unnerving, actually. I'm also encroaching on two weeks without facebook, which I feel is impressive, as the entire earth is geared towards it, it would seem. (Seriously, my lecturers are encouraging us to use it.) I remain resolute, but I wonder how long this will last. Alack. Anyway, I want to go explore this new library I have found and people are glaring at me for having been on the computer this long. I think I just heard 'nark' being whispered somewhere.
The wizard is out.