The Last Bastion Of Absurdity

I trapped a tiny spider under the box that holds my retainers. I should have got new ones last year or the year before, but my orthodontist kept saying I wouldn't need them at all soon. Then my wisdom teeth showed up, and they said to ask again once I got them out, but alas: procrastination. I thought I killed the spider but the centre of the box is raised on the bottom, and it ran away when I lifted the box again. I let it go.

There are seven toothbrushes in my bathroom. The little dinosaur one is my brother's, and mine is one of the green pair (I can never remember which). The dark red one is old and has been consigned now to those hard-to-reach places belonging to the bathroom sink. That leaves three pink ones and whichever green one isn't mine. Can my mother possibly be using all of them? My dad only ever uses their en-suite, but mum thinks it's too cold on that side of the house. The toothbrushes are never put away, so it doesn't seem like you could accidentally open a new one before you needed it, but my mother works in mysterious ways.

Today she decided the fridge needed cleaning. It did, but she only got as far as taking everything out before falling asleep in front of the TV. When I found her and turned it off, she woke up, mumbled about her stomach and went upstairs. Dad came home while I was cleaning the fridge shelves and we had a nice chat as we returned all the produce whence it belonged, including the five roots of ginger and two of turmeric that mum bought on a whim and none of us actually know what to do with. Also beetroot. Do any of us eat beetroot? Why do we have so much parsley? The only dish I know of incorporating large quantities of parsley is boscaiola pasta, but I know this because Alexander likes to make it. That doesn't normally happen at my house. My parents' house. My house. My parents' house. Double vision.

Double vision. I still expect my cat to turn up underfoot. Poor old thing. We didn't even bury her, we figured the vet would know what to do with animal corpses. My parents are thinking of minding a foster kitty for a few weeks. Not my responsibility. No pets allowed where I'll be living now, or at least no mammals. I like snakes. Do I still have that tiny mummified lizard somewhere? I'm going to have to move all my knick knacks off the bookshelf and decide which ones to take with me. Finally an excuse to leave behind the porcelain dolls my grandma gave me that I never played with. They can gather dust somewhere else.

My grandparents (or rather the more active busybody in each pair, being my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather), collectively appear to be worried that my new flatmate will either seduce me, steal my shit, or seduce some random guy who will then steal my shit. They're also vaguely relieved that I'm moving into a white-ish neighborhood. Previous generations, huh? Alexander offers in consolation that a) he's just down the train line to ~protect my virtue~ and b) his grandma is technically the class enemy. I think that's because she owns property and rents it out at market value. Alexander is very concerned about the housing market in his area, specifically its place in the gentrification of a traditionally poor black neighborhood and dispersal of housing commission tenants to economically dead outer suburbs. Or something like that, I get this stuff basically by osmosis - it's hard to follow along on any individual rant because of his tendency to interrupt himself four times in a row with nesting parentheses. This is as yet more cute than irritating. I've made a game out of counting the levels of tangent and then holding up a number of fingers and saying "ding ding ding." One must find amusement where one can.

The place in Summer Hill has nothing on the walls yet. I meant to write more on the ceiling of my room here, so the words from that insomniac episode was a few years ago seemed more artistic, but I didn't get around to it. I'm moving into a smaller room and one I can't write on because of that large bond I just transferred. On the other hand - no more surprise ginger. My dad says ginger juice tastes awful. I'm going to miss him.

Well, it's been a bit of a week. On Monday night I noticed an odd lump on the left side of my neck, just at the base of my skull. Having been sitting in front of the computer all day, I thought it must be a tension knot, despite never having had a protruding one like that. BUT THEN I felt two tiny ones right next to each other lower down on my neck, kind of like someone had surgically implanted smarties beneath my skin when I wasn't looking. Naturally I was a bit freaked out, I mean, what? LUMPS? NECK CANCER! But then I told my mum, who immediately took over ALLLLLL OF THE WORRYING DUTIES and flailed around calling all my grandparents and This One Friend Of Hers Who Is A Doctor. I promised to make a doctor's appointment forthwith, which turned out to be Wednesday, so she decided to continue to panic.

( We cut to a commercial break as Maggie contemplates the ultimate destiny of... NECK LUUUUMPS! ...actually this is mostly about buses and thespians, sry )

Thing Of The Day: RIOT NRRD, a webcomic linked from Tiger Beatdown, which is SO VERY ADORABLE. I mean its name is RIOT NRRD, for fuck's sake. It basically does what it says on tghe tin :P also JOSS WHEDON PUPPYYYYY. I totally made a DW feed :P

Reading this and watching this, both are brilliant.

Just got back from rehearsal. My campaign to convince the director to scrap the final two lines from my Hey Kids It's A Moral speech at the end of the play on the basis of shiteness, triteness and jesus-fuck-rewrite-this has succeeded. Score! +2 Subtlety.

My uni's theatresports group has started up again. Out of last year's complement there was only me and Janek, who has taken over running things as whoever organised it last year has graduated or something, and Cale Bain, who used to come and teach us stuff, is busy with his live shows and journalism awards and stuff, so the two of us are pretty much just jamming with some noobs, which is actually pretty fun. Plans to attend inter-uni stuff as our uni is crap. The trouble we have booking a room from the fucking student union, I swear - it's not just the impro, TROUTS proper and the Writer's Society have had this shit pulled on us as well. Twice now we've booked something by phone only to discover it was not written in the correct place and so some other group showed up later and booked over the top of us and nobody told us till we got kicked out in the middle of auditions/meetings.

Meanwhile I stayed up late Wednesday night to finish a fairytale rework in 800 words for Intro To Short Fiction homework, tall order much, but it went over well! I shall post it later. But all these two am bedtimes have wreaked havoc on my alertness level, I keep forgetting I've scheduled things to go before my afternoon classes and hence ACTUALLY HAVE TO GET UP AUGH. Tomorrow is sleep ing day though! If my parents let me.

Last night I had the following exchange with my mother (in russian):

Mum, peering through my door: Look at this junkyard you never learn omg
Me: What junkyard? There are two sweaters and a sock on my bed!
Mum: I didn't say junkyard. What are you reading my mind now?
Me: ......

This sort of thing happens all the time, although not usually WITHIN THIRTY SECONDS UM and she always defends her position vigorously. Leading source of conflict in the household aside from her micromanagement issues.

As I expected, twitter has sucked me in. It's not so bad though, I don't really think stuff like "these A Perfect Circle lyrics really do say "fucking tomatoes" and nothing will convince me otherwise. I refuse to google! For the lulz!" is worth saving up for an LJ post and I can always just ignore it if I'm horribly busy.

Hokay, so. I had a nice break from the internet and my terrible sleeping habits, now for a nice break from my family! I have no idea why they woke me up at nine in the morning because it's not like we managed to get out of the house till after midday, and then there was Christmas day traffic, ugh. The trip there was everything about why I did not want to go, the rest of the stay was pretty much fine. Here is a taste of what I have to put up with:

Me, after two hours sitting in a hot car: Argh, I really envy boys the ability to pee standing up right now.
Dad: Why?
Mum: I'm sure boys envy things about girls too!
Me: I gotta go, but my butt hurts too much to contemplate toilet seats for at least five minutes after we get out of the car.
Dad: *g*
Mum, after a small pause: You know, I've been where you are right now, I remember going through that phase when I was your age, you know, of fighting my femininity...
Me: ...
Me: Mum, there. There wasn't any deeper meaning in-
Mum: I know, I know, I'm just observing a general trend, you know.
Me: Mum, I cry and wear make-up. How much more feminine does it get?
Mum: I'm not IMPLYING anything
Me: Oh you so are.
Mum: No, no, everybody goes through this, there are different stages of your life, you know, I remember it well, I was young and immature and I went through that phase-
Me: ...and obviously the one where I'm more feminine is going to coincide with the one where I'm more mature, what do you MEAN you're not implying anything?
Mum: I'm not! I'm just stating my opinion!
Me: For god's sake!
Mum: Don't use that tone of voice with me!

*a melee ensues, with incursions by my little brother, as my dad grits his teeth*

Me, three hours later, unloading the car out of mum's earshot: So. Dad. What's your opinion on my femininity?
Dad: I have no opinion on your femininity. It is none of my business and doesn't affect me in any way.
Me: Good answer.

By the time we arrived things had calmed down somewhat, and in any case we were sharing the house we rented with my dad's brother and his family, so Mum womanfully repressed in order not to air the dirty laundry in front of the inlaws. Said inlaws included my adorable baby cousin Lara, who is currently utterly terrified of everybody she doesn't live with or at least see on a regular basis, which means she starts crying whenever I say hi, or accidentally make eye contact with her, or walk through the room she's in while she isn't distracted. This is sad because it means I don't get adorable Lara cuddles. I hope she doesn't grow up all social phobic like me.

I had bargained down to three days, with the rest of the family staying for six - the plan being for me to leave with Maria, a family friend whose family was also holidaying in the area. My parents had also planned to pawn me off on them for most of the days I was staying so I wouldn't complain about being bored and lonely, but we only ended up meeting up twice. This means that I finished my Vorkosigan book ("have accidentally commandeered space fleet plz advise!!!") on day one (and it was awesome and I immediately have to read the rest of the series, and my dad concurs because he finished HIS Roger Zelazny book on the first day as well, so we swapped) and Batman: The Killing Joke on day two. Also all the fanfiction I had saved on my laptop.

It wasn't all bad aside from the free time to read, though. There was a bushwalk, and the beach! Maria and I spent all of five minutes in the water, and collected shells. Also there was shopping, and the horrifying discovery that despite two internet cafes (neither of which I had a chance to use), Nelson Bay contains ABSOLUTELY NO BOOKSHOPS. This travesty I think I can put down to the fact that books are rather more difficult to mark up for the tourist crowd than clothes and knick knacks. Speaking of knacks to knick, I totally bought a tiny ceramic skull for a dollar.

Todaaay I spent mostly in a car. Again. Maria's folks took a somewhat detourous route home, including stops to say hi to family of theirs that was arriving just as they left, buy half a swimsuit to replace one stolen off the line, and lunch with Maria's stepfather's uni buddies, which took several hours, but was tasty, and we tried unsuccessfully to sneak up on some rabbits in their yard. In any case, I am finally home and can look forward to having the house to myself for two and a half days! I am celebrating by writing this post in my underwear.

From three days of my friends list (just the "people" tag, the "fandom" tag terrifies me): ( images and a video )

And now, to catch up on forums, webcomics and FACEBOOOOOK. ...and my fandom tag. erk.

So my mum just casually mentioned the Hadron Colander in conversation. She then followed that up with the following exchange:

Mum: So what do you do in D'n'D?
Me: It's a roleplaying game.
Mum: Is your character nice?
Me: ...right now she's carrying around a head in a sack.
Mum: But how can she breathe?
Me: ...what?
Mum: How can she breathe?
Me: ...
Mum: ...
Me: WHAT?
Mum: How can she breathe with her head in a sack?
Me: FOR GOD'S SAKE, IT'S SOMEBODY ELSE'S HEAD.

Mum: We're watching King Kong.
Me: We're watching King Kong?
Mum: Yes. It's on TV. Put the kettle on.
Me: *puts on kettle*
Dad: *plays with remote*
Timmy: *whines because the channel keeps changing*
Me: *gets sugar (gloria gloria)*
Sugar Bowl: *has no lid* (this state of affairs has been going on for some weeks now, and the sugar has been protected from the damp by means of a small plastic lid off a small plastic box that we have presumably lost or broken, just like the original lid from the sugar bowl.)
Me: Hey, how come-
Mum: Ssssh, we're watching TV.
Me: ...
Dad: ?
Me: *waves plastic lid around in exasperation*
Blonde Monkey Lady: *wears hat, pouts*
Timmy: *hums Scooby Doo theme*
Mum: SSSSH.
Dad: *shrugs*
Me (quietly): it's just that-
Dad: Not my problem. Your mother wants to buy a new sugar bowl herself, so I can't.
Me: But she isn't going to buy a new sugar bowl- mum, are you going to buy a new sugar bowl?
Mum: I thought we were going to listen to the dialogue!
Me: But-
Mum: I'm delegating! You live in this house, you can buy a new sugar bowl.
Me: *raises eyebrow at dad*
Dad: *places hand over eyes*
Me: Mum.
Dad: You said you wanted to buy a new bowl.
Mum: No, she said we needed a new bowl and I said "okay."
Dad: No, you said, to me, several weeks ago, that you wanted to buy a new sugar bowl, yourself.
Blonde Monkey Lady: *pouts*
Dad: *pouts*
Mum: Oh, that's right. I want to go shopping.
Me: You know, I'll show you this animation, it's about consumerism, you won't want to go shopping.
Mum: Are we chatting or are we watching TV!?
Me: You're watching TV.
Dad: You know, you always talk during movies, there's no reason for us not to.
Me: *quietly picks up preciousss teacup and leaves*
1 minute later
Mum: Oh, I think they're going to shoot a movie on an island, right Maggie? Maggie? Where'd she go?

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Today, as some of you may be aware, was Pi Day. March fourteenth, in the American date system, 3/14.There is no 31/4, so we have to use the American Pi. This should be the geek's Valentine's Day, really. It is compulsory to eat pie. Pi shaped pie. Not that I did, but I did have pi on my face. In eyeliner. My lecture buddies looked at me funny when I tried to explain. I can only conclude that I require geekier lecture buddies. Why must all the friends I made during O Week have morning schedules? The lecture itself - not that interesting. I mean, native title, right, it's important, but by god our teachers are dull. The Lecture Buddies spent most of it passing notes to each other and giggling - not that I didn't partake in a bit of note-passing myself, mostly on the topic of how the map on the screen would be much more interesting if it showed all the islands that would be created in sydney if global warming raised sea-levels sufficiently. Then the giant squids come. (yes, I am still bitter about that mapping failure a few years ago, why do you ask?) LB1 replied that he wished it marked all the Baskin Robbins' in the city, because he and LB2 wanted ice-cream. 3.14 scoops!

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This is a really interesting talk about copyright and the internet remix culture, which is very relevant to everyone in fandom - hell most people on my flist at all, fandom or not, and awesome besides. Speaking of awesome things related to fandom, Audrey's animation storyboard to My Chemical Romance's "Mama" is absolutely fantastic and I urge you all to watch it. It's a sequel to "The Ghost Of You" (which is an amazing video clip, v. sad).

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The thing about fandom is that many good fanfic writers have more than one. Duh, right, but the thing about really good authors is that they can make you read stuff in fandoms you'd never even heard of - I read some Sentinel fic the other day, which, I have NO IDEA what the hell that is, but it was awesome! Because it was by someone whose SG:A fic I loved, and so I checked out her other stuff, and it was well-written enough to require no knowledge of the fandom beyond that googleable within a few seconds.

This gets back to SG:A because I discovered that fandom in just such a way. And I hadn't actually seen any of the show whose fanfiction I was reading, and non-fandom folks would just knit their eyebrows at me and say things like "it's not that good" and "you should watch Battlestar Galactica" and "what is this fanfiction you speak of?"

Last night, I went downstairs to wash dishes and found my dad watching - bom bom bom - STARGATE ATLANTIS. O HAI, says I. I then proceed to confuzzle my dad a little by knowing who all the characters are (but not how to pronounce their names). So yeah, Stargate: Atlantis. It's deliciously cheesy! All the aliens walk like animations! There are laser guns, and scotty-beams! People turn their heads dramatically like on The Bold And The Beautiful! (Somebody has to do a crossover, now. Rule 34.) There is snarking, and also snarling, and I find myself struggling to orient myself in a non-slashy way (John and Ronon are just staring meaningfully at each other in manly warrior solidarity, Maggie. Rodney and Carson fighting over a gun are just two guys fighting over a gun. NO HE DOESN'T MEAN COME AND GET ME LIKE THAT, DAMMIT.)

Anyway, I find myself preferring the world of certain people's fanfics highly over the show, and I don't just mean that there are more (read: any) dudes making out. The dialogue is actually better written, and the plot is more believable, and because all the special effects are in your head there are no cheesy lightshows. Of course I don't get to giggle at Rodney's ludicrous underwear, but I can live with that.

Oh dear god. I just sat through an excruciating conversation with my mother about my uni preferences. Conclusions:

1. My mother does not want me to go to QUT because
1.a. she does not believe it is a reputable institution that future employers will look kindly upon
1.a.i. despite the recommendations of three of my teachers and it being in the top ten Australian universities
1.b. she does not believe I am capable of surviving outside the nest
1.b.i. this is an opinion shared by my grandmother
1.b.ii. note to self: valid point, work on this

2. My mother does want me to do "something with computers" because
2.a. something about them being the future
2.a.i. my mother's expertise on this topic: nil
2.b. something about opening up vast fields of gainful employment

3. My mother will strongly, nay, vehemently deny points 1 and 2.a.i
3.a. point 1 is however strongly enough implied to justify the deployment of logic to back her into a corner on the topic

4. Not unlike a mongoose the cornered mother is dangerous and will persist in claiming that everyone has grossly misinterpreted her clear, concise and rational discussion
4.a. this is commonly known as "bullshit"

5. My final decision will have to be made completely independently of my mother
5.a. because it's really quite difficult to sift the good advice out of the layers upon layers of
5.a.i. misconceptions
5.a.ii. parent-child projection
5.a.iii. emotional blackmail
5.a.iv. really stubborn misconceptions
5.a.v. defensive posturing
5.b. I don't think that's really sunk in with her
5.b.i. although I've tried to be blunt

6. If my final decision is pointing in a sort of queenslandy direction I can expect
6.a. further argument
6.a.i. identical to this one
6.a.ii. ad infinitum
6.b. little support
6.b.i. financially (we're SITKOMs, it's horrible)
6.b.ii. logistically
6.b.iii. emotionally (until she hits the "acceptance" stage)


In sum: look! A comedienne!

( I would much rather watch Maria Bamford than argue with my mother over things we don't really disagree on while skirting around the things we do disagree on while my dad sits by reading a book and occasionally being badgered to chip in by my mum, but alas, such is life )

First up, performance ice skating on TV last night. I have now concluded that Aleksei Yagudin is sex on skates¹. I'm so confused as to why so many guys are all "hur hur, ice skating is a girly sport." I mean. Dude, what? You do realise the dorky costumes are purely optional?

In further APEC news: this video (warning: nudity. Also, cops)

Speaking of cops (although not [thankfully?] nudity): your daily WTF, courtesy of scans_daily, which I've been reading lately. The entire "context is for the weak" tag is gold, I'm telling you.

And in the latest adventures of My Mother Works In Mysterious Ways²... why would you even consider the possibility of ironing underwear? Just, why? She actually told me to stretch them before hanging up the laundry so that they wouldn't get creased. Underwear.

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_{¹(...yeah, he did hat tricks. so sue me, I own my kinks)
²I'm so making that a tag right now.}

It really was as embarrassing as my drunk post made it sound.

Mum: You still like boys and not girls, I hope?
Me: Why do you hope?
Mum: Cos, you know. Boys are better. They have the equipment.
My brain: AUGH. *Shuts down*
My mouth (on autopilot): Technically these days you can buy equipment in stores.
Mum: It's just not the same...
My brain: *snaps out of it in horror*
Me: WE WILL NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN.

The story prompted some discussion at school as to how various parents would react to their daughter batting for the other team - including people I'm pretty sure are not (although technically most of us aren't batting at all... this metaphor needs work.¹). Diana had conveniently already given her parents a Hypothetical by cunningly telling them that her Chinese teacher reckoned Asian parents would kick you out of home, and would you really mum?

Her answer was, basically, "Nooot... kicked out as such. But I would nag you until you broke up with her."

Ruxi ventured to predict that her mother would tell her she'd broken her heart, and then break her legs.

Nicky, bless'er, smugly declared that her parents would simply be relieved that she wasn't pregnant.

So I'm thinking team European Parents win two to zero point five here.

Speaking of Ruxi (but otherwise unrelated), she caused hysterics at the bus stop today by donning Jenny's red headband with a bow on it. It was just like that scene from Saiunkoku where the official takes off his mask and everybody is blinded by his beauty² - for some reason Ruxi in a headband with a bow on it has the Cute Power of several pet stores worth of chinchillas. She'll never live it down :P

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¹ For one thing, who's pitching? And can we buy hot dogs?
² For a given value of "just like," alright.

My maternal grandmother and I share a strange sort of bond. Until quite recently I just found her irritating, and while it's still annoying to be constantly offered food some humour has crept in under the door. She and my grandfather were over here tonight, and grandad had insisted on having a "pesach" "seder" - and I use both terms loosely, even in quotation marks as they are. For one thing, the matzah on the table was completely at odds with the three loaves of bread and countless biscuits remaining in the house.

My grandad has resently had a resurgence of religious feeling, so he had lit a candle in the window and was wearing a jaunty white headpiece which kept falling off. He also insisted on loudly mispronouncing some prayer or another at dinner. And then doing it again. Because he felt like it. Meanwhile my mother was desperately trying to feed my brother his (totally not kosher-le-pesach) porridge, an event which escalated into him crying and her yelling at him and trying to shove the spoon in his mouth, still to the tune of grandad's incomprehensible Hebrew, and my grandma and I just shared this Look. It went something like "you've gotta laugh or you'll cry."

Then my grandad started going on about how we were supposed to have an egg, and bitter herbs, and a shank bone, whatever that is. So I rolled my eyes, got up, pulled a raw egg, an onion and a random piece of meat (raw) out of the fridge and dumped them on the table.

"And apples! Apples and honey!"
"Grandad, that's for Rosh Ha Shana."
"Apples! Ira, pick up my hat, it's fallen down again."

My dad was fiddling with things in the kitchen (because there weren't enough stools around the tiny table and he couldn't be bothered going and fetching a big chair) and my brother had exhausted my mum's supply of persuasive techniques and was climbing on the couch. I retreated back into my corner with a jar of mulberry jam and a spoon, and some matzah. Then my mum asked for the prawns, so I got up to get them, and what do I hear but a crack and the following (and do remember that all conversation is primarily in Russian):

"Whoops."
"What's the matter?"
"The egg's raw."
"I thought it was boiled?"
"...it's not."

I return to find that yes, my grandad has indeed tried to eat the egg. Which was now sitting drippily in a bowl on the table.

Naturally, we all cracked up laughing.