Coconut yoghurt
Nov. 28th, 2003 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenI just ate a coconut yoghurt. I'm metamorphosing into my mother.
Well, the morning is not worth writing about. Our subject profiles never turned up for unspecified reasons (read, incompetence). I was rather disappointed because I wanted to miss Chemistry, but it didn't work out that way. I had to go to Biology as well and I was bored. I went to lunch thinking about, well, lunch. But when I got to the common room, everyone else was just disappearing out of the door. "Auditions!" Becca told me. I followed.
They were in the gym, where I haven't been for absolute aeons. Not since I gave up PE, and even before that, because I used to skive so much. It seems like a long time ago now. In any case, I trooped into the gym with everyone else and perched on the benches. And was promptly thrown out again. Lizzie, whom I do like in small does, was being pushy again. She made me, Becca and Emma go out because we weren't taking part. So we took refuge outside the door, where I met Mrs O'Connor. "What are you doing?" she asked.
I wasn't paying attention. "Trying to stop my friends from making fools of themselves," I said absently, and she went past and into the gym to watch over the auditions. After a moment, the backing track began, and so did they. I had my face pressed against the glass of the windows in the door.
Is it safe to say they were awful? Oh, they were awful. Gemma sang with a terribly serious expression on her face, Meg was five steps behind everyone else, and Bev kept making eye contact with me, which I had no specific objection to, but bear in mind I was ten metres away behind a stout wooden door. The judges must have thought she had an imaginary friend lurking just out of sight.
When they came out, the general consensus was that they were not going through to the next round. As it later turned out, they didn't. I can't say I was surprised. We went up to the common room and waited for Kat and Nicola, off at a lunchtime History lesson. While we were waiting, I noticed Emma and Fidan were talking to Nichola (the other one - Nichola with an "H") and I slipped across to eavesdrop. They were discussing - what else? - the Big Read assembly. Emma was reading from the Goblet of Fire while Fidan scribbled. Her father is going to be Harry Potter, and the English staff are being the judges - Dumbledore, Ludo Bagman, etc - and all we needed was the dragon.
"I'll do it!" said Becca.
Nichola looked rather dumbfounded. "You'll be the dragon? You'll wear a costume and sit on a golden egg."
"Raaar," said Becca.
I later told Mrs Barry that we have our Hungarian Horntail, complete with balloon-as-egg, small plush baby dragon and an ornamental fly-swatter. I had to make a list of things we're going to need. I did find my Eeeyore ears tonight - Becca gave them to me for Christmas last year and they're much nicer than I remember, all furry and soft with long hanging ears and antler-type bits as well. I'm going to look ridiculously perfect, or perfectly ridiculous, whichever you prefer.
I'm so glad that whenever I feel compelled to make a spectacle of myself, I do it by dressing up as a depressed donkey and addressing the world on the wonder that is the written word. I don't sing. Well, I do sing when I think about it, which Rola commented on today. I was in the common room picking up books and idly singing along to Re-offender on the radio (it's by Travis - the one that goes "You say you love me, then you do it again...") and she told me I have a "surprisingly low singing voice." Especially considering, she went on, "your normal voice is high pitched and shrill." I've often been told that, actually, but in listening to my own voice I hear it as being low. It will remain a mystery, at least until my next phone post - I plan to make one the next time the resident lunatics are here.
In other news, Mrs O'Connor made an interesting suggestion to me today. It's about a poetry competition that's being run for people of my age, and I think it's called the Christopher Tower competition. I would like to enter, but I've never written poetry in my life. I wouldn't even know how to start. I like prose. Poetry, I'm not so sure. Any tips would be welcome.
And that is about everything. On our way home, Becca and I were trailed by three scallies who seemed to know my name. At first they were annoying, but in the end they got close enough to flip my scarf. I didn't feel it but Becca saw it, and she whispered something to the effect of let's go into a shop, so we did, and watched them pass by the doorway. I hate scallies. I hate them. They're so stupid and crude and the epitome of everything a sane person wouldn't be. It's impossible to talk to them because they're like the Borg - a plural entity, and they have a single hive mind. So much so that I have difficulty deciding what the singular would be - scally? Scallie? Argh, argh, argh. The definition of being one is simple, however - if you think being one is a good thing, you are one.
And I really have finished now.
Well, sort of. What I don't like about having no time for the internet lately is how I have to just reel off a what-I-did-today type-entry if I want to keep my Lj updated, which I do. I don't have time for the type of entry I like to write once in a while - stuff I've been thinking about rather than stuff that's been happening to me. Stuff happens to me all the time. Thinking; that's a different thing.
Well, I shall write a thoughtful entry when I do get the time. Probably on slash and Discworld (not necessarily together), but what can you do? I never said I was thinking about something new.
Well, the morning is not worth writing about. Our subject profiles never turned up for unspecified reasons (read, incompetence). I was rather disappointed because I wanted to miss Chemistry, but it didn't work out that way. I had to go to Biology as well and I was bored. I went to lunch thinking about, well, lunch. But when I got to the common room, everyone else was just disappearing out of the door. "Auditions!" Becca told me. I followed.
They were in the gym, where I haven't been for absolute aeons. Not since I gave up PE, and even before that, because I used to skive so much. It seems like a long time ago now. In any case, I trooped into the gym with everyone else and perched on the benches. And was promptly thrown out again. Lizzie, whom I do like in small does, was being pushy again. She made me, Becca and Emma go out because we weren't taking part. So we took refuge outside the door, where I met Mrs O'Connor. "What are you doing?" she asked.
I wasn't paying attention. "Trying to stop my friends from making fools of themselves," I said absently, and she went past and into the gym to watch over the auditions. After a moment, the backing track began, and so did they. I had my face pressed against the glass of the windows in the door.
Is it safe to say they were awful? Oh, they were awful. Gemma sang with a terribly serious expression on her face, Meg was five steps behind everyone else, and Bev kept making eye contact with me, which I had no specific objection to, but bear in mind I was ten metres away behind a stout wooden door. The judges must have thought she had an imaginary friend lurking just out of sight.
When they came out, the general consensus was that they were not going through to the next round. As it later turned out, they didn't. I can't say I was surprised. We went up to the common room and waited for Kat and Nicola, off at a lunchtime History lesson. While we were waiting, I noticed Emma and Fidan were talking to Nichola (the other one - Nichola with an "H") and I slipped across to eavesdrop. They were discussing - what else? - the Big Read assembly. Emma was reading from the Goblet of Fire while Fidan scribbled. Her father is going to be Harry Potter, and the English staff are being the judges - Dumbledore, Ludo Bagman, etc - and all we needed was the dragon.
"I'll do it!" said Becca.
Nichola looked rather dumbfounded. "You'll be the dragon? You'll wear a costume and sit on a golden egg."
"Raaar," said Becca.
I later told Mrs Barry that we have our Hungarian Horntail, complete with balloon-as-egg, small plush baby dragon and an ornamental fly-swatter. I had to make a list of things we're going to need. I did find my Eeeyore ears tonight - Becca gave them to me for Christmas last year and they're much nicer than I remember, all furry and soft with long hanging ears and antler-type bits as well. I'm going to look ridiculously perfect, or perfectly ridiculous, whichever you prefer.
I'm so glad that whenever I feel compelled to make a spectacle of myself, I do it by dressing up as a depressed donkey and addressing the world on the wonder that is the written word. I don't sing. Well, I do sing when I think about it, which Rola commented on today. I was in the common room picking up books and idly singing along to Re-offender on the radio (it's by Travis - the one that goes "You say you love me, then you do it again...") and she told me I have a "surprisingly low singing voice." Especially considering, she went on, "your normal voice is high pitched and shrill." I've often been told that, actually, but in listening to my own voice I hear it as being low. It will remain a mystery, at least until my next phone post - I plan to make one the next time the resident lunatics are here.
In other news, Mrs O'Connor made an interesting suggestion to me today. It's about a poetry competition that's being run for people of my age, and I think it's called the Christopher Tower competition. I would like to enter, but I've never written poetry in my life. I wouldn't even know how to start. I like prose. Poetry, I'm not so sure. Any tips would be welcome.
And that is about everything. On our way home, Becca and I were trailed by three scallies who seemed to know my name. At first they were annoying, but in the end they got close enough to flip my scarf. I didn't feel it but Becca saw it, and she whispered something to the effect of let's go into a shop, so we did, and watched them pass by the doorway. I hate scallies. I hate them. They're so stupid and crude and the epitome of everything a sane person wouldn't be. It's impossible to talk to them because they're like the Borg - a plural entity, and they have a single hive mind. So much so that I have difficulty deciding what the singular would be - scally? Scallie? Argh, argh, argh. The definition of being one is simple, however - if you think being one is a good thing, you are one.
And I really have finished now.
Well, sort of. What I don't like about having no time for the internet lately is how I have to just reel off a what-I-did-today type-entry if I want to keep my Lj updated, which I do. I don't have time for the type of entry I like to write once in a while - stuff I've been thinking about rather than stuff that's been happening to me. Stuff happens to me all the time. Thinking; that's a different thing.
Well, I shall write a thoughtful entry when I do get the time. Probably on slash and Discworld (not necessarily together), but what can you do? I never said I was thinking about something new.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2003-11-28 12:13 pm (UTC)What I don't like about having no time for the internet lately is how I have to just reel off a what-I-did-today type-entry if I want to keep my Lj updated, which I do.
I know where you're coming from. You're certainly better at keeping your LJ updated than I am, but I still understand that it's frustrating to have so much to say and so little time; and just trying to remember your day and summarize it in an interesting way is so exhausting that you run out of energy for contemplation. That's how it is for me, anyway. For what it's worth, though, I love reading your day-to-day entries as much as I love reading about what you're thinking, albeit for different reasons. When I got to this bit of your entry:
"I'll do it!" said Becca.
Nichola looked rather dumbfounded. "You'll be the dragon? You'll wear a costume and sit on a golden egg."
"Raaar," said Becca.
I thought very clearly that you ought to be a novelist. The prose just had that feel -- very attuned to the patterns of speech and perception. I envy you.
(And I'm looking forward to hearing another phone post from you!)
no subject
on 2003-11-29 10:29 am (UTC)I'm glad I can retain a modicum of interest when saying I did this and then I did that, but I do feel guilty for not writing better when I do have an audience.
The phone post shall be another thing that makes the world cower in fear. (Un)fortunately it won't be until after my mocks; I plan to have 'em all round for Christmas-present-exchanging. It will be... interesting.
Re: Christopher Tower
on 2003-11-29 06:27 am (UTC)Re: Christopher Tower
on 2003-11-29 09:05 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-11-29 10:34 am (UTC)And the other problem facing me was that I couldn't write poetry...
no subject
on 2003-12-01 10:47 am (UTC)And I'm sure you can write poetry. Sure of it. You're so much more literary than me, to start with.
I got your Christmas present today....