kites, grass stains, adrenaline and Stravinsky… 4 things which are better than revision.

to be truly honest i could have kept that list going on for as long as i wanted, for ever and ever until time itself died… but i thought i would focus on this weekend to show you what lengths the creative procrastinator will reach in the ultimate goal of not doing stuff. There are some also pretty hilarious stories spawning from the shenannigans of this weekend also. So, lets crackalack

the other week i spontaneously splurged £120 on a giant, 5sqm kite made by some sketchy company in china, and said kite arrived (finally) the other day, so of course the first thing i did was call up an assistant and go fly it… thank go I did. I am used to flying tiny little 2 m dual line kites, and the power coming from those is pretty pathetic at best, so i saw the trees swaying gently in the breeze and was all like ‘paaaaah this is fine’ about half an hour later i got the kite into the air, then promptly found myself skidding across the field at a rate of knots directly at a hedgerow, then i took off, pulled a spectacular superman style leap and promptly landed on my face. This whole time i was whooping with glee and laughing my head off, just after i came to a halt i noticed just how close to doing myself a serious injury i actually was. We looked at my tracks after and discovered i had covered about 150 meters sliding on my feet, and and extra 10 odd meters whilst airborne, again to reiterate right at a big ass fucking hedge. This is what i now do for fun pretty much every evening, because i haven’t yet found something which gives me the same adrenaline rush as being pulled around a field by an over sized version of a child’s toy…

Following this i decided that, being a wonderful boyfriend and all, That I should go and watch my girlfriend, who is the principal flute  in the Hampshire county youth orchestra (band camp jokes got old years ago). What i wasnt told were two things: Firstly, that there was going to be interpretive dance involving flailing, rolling and shoes… and secondly that i would be served at the bar which frankly is the only reason I could stand the whole ordeal, i mean its fine if you want to take up dance, or theater as one of your hobbies… but i find interpretive dance is in the awkward middle ground where you are trying to convey a theatrical message through the medium of dance, and it’s a bit like trying to sing a piece of modern art… it just doesn’t really work and you end up looking a bit silly. and yes, i am aware that i am saying this after trying to convey the subtle joys of power kiting to the masses…

IN OTHER NEWS

i have started having terrifying night terrors which i have decided to turn into creepy stories… because i’m totally normal like that and totally not crazy in any way, so if i start posing at like 2 AM its because THEY WONT LET ME SLEEP (ooooh creepy teaser)

Ciao for now… hey that rhymes 😀

 

The magical pastie x

 

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yes, i would love to revise, but first i want to be the very best… the best there ever was

GREETINGS INTERNET

so basically my a levels are now completely doomed since i decided to kill some time and avoid revision by tidying one of my old cupboards. In which i found my old game boy advance sp. This thing was practically my only source of entertainment for most of my childhood, and the best part, I still had my old Pokemon games saved, i loaded up leaf green and found myself in the old power station en route to catching zapdos with a level 68 mewtwo in my party. I have never been more proud of young me. Ever. and that’s the reason i will now fail my a levels: when i feel like being a god of all things Pokemon i can play leaf green, but if i want to truly re live my childhood i started my journey of rediscovery by restarting my game on sapphire, Nostalgia is the best thing.

On a slightly more depressing note, my parents are now home and my life has become almost completely unbearable; dad jumps down my throat about everything and mum is convinced that i hate her, i now don’t want to leave my room for fear of being shouted at by dad or guilt-tripped by mum for not arranging some sofa cushions properly, I can’t revise properly because i’m too busy trying to deal with all the tiny things i have done wrong around the house. I can’t sleep any more because I just worry about everything and on top of all of this a whole number of other shitty personal things happened over Easter which i shan’t go in to. I dont know how much more of this i can take, just leaving and getting the train somewhere else is getting to seem like a more and more enticing option just to get away from my parents.

So that’s what i did over my Easter holidays

the magical pastie xx

two weeks alone, one month until a levels, zero hours of revisison.

ahoyhoy internet peoples

so yea, as you may know already, in England anyone over the age of about 15 mortally fears the dates between about the first of April and the end of June, this is not due to some sort of horrific ceremony of permanently attaching a top hat to their heads, and replacing their blood with tea (that happens on your 18th birthday) but because of the horror that is exams (dun dun DUUUUUUUN). Basically rather than using exams to check if we have learned stuff like they are supposed to be used, these two hour long data vomiting sessions now decide the outcome of your entire life, and frankly its a bit silly.

basically universities say that in order to study a certain course with them then you need a set of three letters (most of the time not related to anything) that determine how well you can brutally force information in to your brain, fueled by only coffee and dubstep at 3AM in the morning, before regurgitating that knowledge back on to some paper, kind of like filling a balloon  with really chunky pasta sauce, then letting go of the neck and aiming it at a canvas, hoping that the result looks a bit like the mona lisa. At A – level… level… we have to learn 4 subjects to a pretty high level in order to do well in these exams and get the necessary grades to go study one thing at uni, Universities sometimes (and usually incorrectly) separate these subjects in to ‘soft’ (art, DT, interpretive dance, underwater basket weaving) and ‘hard’ subjects (science and maths (but not psychology, because:

PSYCHOLOGY IS’NT A REAL SCIENCE BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE TOO DIFFERENT AND THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MENTAL ILLNESS AND DEPRESSED PEOPLE JUST NEED TO MAN UP AND BLERGHHHHHHHH  

but anyway, apart from that it doesn’t really matter what subjects you choose, so long as they are ‘hard’, to the extent that university entry requirements have begun to sound like badly scripted porn, always asking for harder and harder subjects. But studies have shown that all these exams don’t actually mean we remember things better, someone could get 100% in an exam, then a month later, or in my case 30 seconds after finishing, not remember a thing about the subject. I got a solid A in history, and yet now i can barely recall anything that we learned, that data space in my brain has been filled with song lyrics, internal rants and movie quotes. So why don’t we go all Finnish on the education system, with only one exam when students are 16, apart from the occasional topic test, and then train people for specific jobs once they apply. For proof that it works just look at how happy the Fins are…

and the answer, as with most things British  is that it’s tradition to drill information into our skulls so we can robotically repeat it on the whim of any teacher who dares question our knowledge of Pittite economic policy (Google it, its fascinating…). Its the same with most of our crazy traditions that don’t really make sense (queuing, ridiculous language rules, the school house system… even in non boarding schools, bear baiting, degrading the lower classes and casual racism towards anyone [or thing] who ‘looks a bit foreign’) we are so scared to grow up and accept that breaking some traditions may actually be a good thing (shock and awe ensue) we, as people, have learned that change is bad. I think that this is because we assume we are too weak  minded to actually adapt ourselves to this break from normality if it ever happens, despite how ridiculous we look (i mean think how stupid the segregationists in australia look these days, then go look at a picture of an anti gar parade, notice any similarities)  we assume that we wont be able to keep up with change and so we resist it.

so to summarize, that was a really long rant about how A – levels can go lick a bug zapper.

This was a public service announcement brought to you by:

the magical pastie 

try to read this without music (unless you normally have music… then turn music on and try and read)

Greetings, faceless peons of the abyss

I was at work the other day at the wonderfully glamorous establishment of J.D. wetherspoons, lymington, clearing plates of microwaved pre-heated food into a bin full of other microwaved, pre-heated food and generally being anyone who was sat a tables bitch when it suddenly struck me how damn quiet the damn place was, i’m used to the place being really noisy and, ya know, generally like a wetherspoons bar, but today was different. Despite the place being nearly full there was only a light buzz of conversation, no shouting, no laughter, and no drunken singing (much to everyone’s disappointment) and i realized just how uncomfortable i was with the lack of noise. I mentioned this to another woman who was on shift and a fair bit more senior to me, and she said that she loved nothing more than when the bar was all quiet and dull like this, which prompted an interesting and useless debate in my head which i will share with you all right now. The question was this: why the hell do teenagers always need noise?

and i came up with many fascinating and obscure tangents involving evolution and awkward, drunken love children of two psychological theories which were never supposed to be mixed, but they are simply too crazy to shoot in to the ether willy – nilly, so i will tell you the one which makes some kind of sense to most people ( i hope)

The idea was that we have been brought up with permanent noise, not necessarily talk but music, or traffic outside, or the tv or the almost tangibly grey drone which politicians emit on a daily basis … the list goes on forever as to what noises we hear throughout the day, and this is why, when we are actually in a place which isn’t constantly feeding our ear holes with useless sound, we feel like it is quiet. To quiet, almost any situation these days can be turned awkward or just straight up eerie by a lack of sounds, and hence the title.

For people who do always have music on to break the silence (such as myself (in case anyone was wondering the current song is: the bitch that stole my wife, by chancery blame and the gadjo club, i can strongly recommend)) then you will have noticed by now the inherent sense of discomfort gained from the lack of usual stimulus to your ears. And people who don’t need music to function when alone, i am simply curious to see if you have the same reaction, but in reverse YES, YOU HAVE BEEN MY UN KNOWING LAB RATS ALL ALONG MWAHHAHAHA… ahem… anyway, if you do feel the same, go ahead and comment, go on, humour me.

Love and Kisses from the land where the sun never shines (England)

The magical Pastie x