I woke up with Clair de la Lune stuck in my head the other day. For those of you who don't know this piece, here's a link to it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nvLSWyVqsI
This is just one of the many pieces of (sometimes utterly random) music that I call my sad music. Along with some Beatles. And other golden oldies that my Dad sometimes listens to.
There is something about certain sounds, or themes, in these pieces that makes me incredibly sad. It's really stupid, but they just do. Not a want-to-cry kind of sad, but an empty, hollow kind of hopeless sad, and suddenly I really know that one day everything will be gone and all the people I love will be dead. I can't explain it, but it's happened all my life. Music boxes are bad. I had several as a child, and I told my mother that if she let my sister continue playing them I'd run away. She probably just thought I was being mean, but I wasn't. I just didn't want to hear the music. Certain adverts on the radio had this kind of music when I was small, and if I happened to hear it, no matter how happy I had been before, it had a devastating effect on my mood until I could "wash it out" with other music, and hope that it wouldn't come back to haunt me in my dreams.
It's not when the piece is in a certain key- I like tons of music in both major and minor keys. The only distinguishing feature of my sad music is that the pieces are often almost lullabye-like, or have an air of "innocence" about them. I hear strains of music in my sleep, often not even a piece I know, and I wake up with a shock. I wonder if anybody else feels this way about some music, or if it's just a quirk of my brain...
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Thank God I'm Pretty
Now that I've got your attention with that vain title, (unless you're an Emilie Autumn fan, in which case you'll get the irony)...
I was reading an article on my new favourite time-wasting website, Mookychick, about the essential uselessness of beauty in society. The author compared it to canoeing; it's great to have if you're doing it professionally, but it doesn't serve any purpose other than self-gratification and if you're lucky, a bit of amusement for others. I agree with this, to an extent. I feel that beauty is becoming more and more unobtainable (or at least the degree of it which is expected is becoming higher), and people are frankly taking it way too seriously and wasting too much time agonising over it to be entirely healthy. HOWEVER... Aesthetics is an evolutionary trait, developed so that we could tell the difference between healthy and sick animals, rotten and ripe fruit, which caveman/woman had the best genes. It's so intrinsic to our value-judging system that we've created art, which is exclusively about aesthetics. So having a sense of aesthetics is not the same as being shallow and vapid.
Personally I probably spend more time worrying about my personal aesthetics than a lot of people, but that is in part because of ballet's very heavy emphasis on one's look, so in a way, I am one of those people who are fortunate enough to be able to tell critics that I'm "professionally aesthetic" and therefore have an excuse to look after myself and spend time and money on it. But I do feel that the reaction towards a concern for one's looks can be as judgemental and extreme as the obsession with looking good. Firstly, being healthy should really be everyone's end goal. That's what attractiveness was based on, once upon a time. It wasn't how many colourful twigs and leaves our ancestors put in their hair, or the cut of their loincloth, it was the physical sign of strength and good genes that got you laid. Now aesthetics have changed (drastically), but some of those instincts remain to this day. So while it's lovely and wonderful that people are being encouraged to love each other for their beautiful brains and not their faces or figures, this is no excuse for not eating right and exercising to stay fit. I've seen things on social media sites saying stuff to the effect of "instead of going to the gym (ie being vain), read a book (ie be intellectual)", and while I totally, unequivocally feel that intelligence should be nurtured like crazy, it doesn't mean that you should stop looking after yourself.
Another issue that annoys me, is some feminists getting all up in arms about women doing things such as pole dancing, burlesque, belly dancing etc. Apparently they do not feel that this is the proper way to "empower" yourself as a woman. Excuse me, but how the fuck would you know what makes me feel empowered? And what is wrong with wanting to feel feminine and beautiful and, yes, sexually attractive? As long as you honestly do it for yourself, you are doing nothing wrong, and you most certainly do not have anything to be ashamed of. It is a very different matter when the intention behind it is to be sexually attractive for the sake of someone else, or to gain love or more attention. But you can be a feminist and still be okay with the fact that you are female, which I think a lot of feminists lose sight of.
Essentially, girls need to play nicer, and be more fair toward themselves and each other. Stop judging the girl with no fashion sense or desire to be beautiful. But also, stop judging the one who likes making herself pretty, for her own enjoyment. She's not hurting anyone.
I was reading an article on my new favourite time-wasting website, Mookychick, about the essential uselessness of beauty in society. The author compared it to canoeing; it's great to have if you're doing it professionally, but it doesn't serve any purpose other than self-gratification and if you're lucky, a bit of amusement for others. I agree with this, to an extent. I feel that beauty is becoming more and more unobtainable (or at least the degree of it which is expected is becoming higher), and people are frankly taking it way too seriously and wasting too much time agonising over it to be entirely healthy. HOWEVER... Aesthetics is an evolutionary trait, developed so that we could tell the difference between healthy and sick animals, rotten and ripe fruit, which caveman/woman had the best genes. It's so intrinsic to our value-judging system that we've created art, which is exclusively about aesthetics. So having a sense of aesthetics is not the same as being shallow and vapid.
Personally I probably spend more time worrying about my personal aesthetics than a lot of people, but that is in part because of ballet's very heavy emphasis on one's look, so in a way, I am one of those people who are fortunate enough to be able to tell critics that I'm "professionally aesthetic" and therefore have an excuse to look after myself and spend time and money on it. But I do feel that the reaction towards a concern for one's looks can be as judgemental and extreme as the obsession with looking good. Firstly, being healthy should really be everyone's end goal. That's what attractiveness was based on, once upon a time. It wasn't how many colourful twigs and leaves our ancestors put in their hair, or the cut of their loincloth, it was the physical sign of strength and good genes that got you laid. Now aesthetics have changed (drastically), but some of those instincts remain to this day. So while it's lovely and wonderful that people are being encouraged to love each other for their beautiful brains and not their faces or figures, this is no excuse for not eating right and exercising to stay fit. I've seen things on social media sites saying stuff to the effect of "instead of going to the gym (ie being vain), read a book (ie be intellectual)", and while I totally, unequivocally feel that intelligence should be nurtured like crazy, it doesn't mean that you should stop looking after yourself.
Another issue that annoys me, is some feminists getting all up in arms about women doing things such as pole dancing, burlesque, belly dancing etc. Apparently they do not feel that this is the proper way to "empower" yourself as a woman. Excuse me, but how the fuck would you know what makes me feel empowered? And what is wrong with wanting to feel feminine and beautiful and, yes, sexually attractive? As long as you honestly do it for yourself, you are doing nothing wrong, and you most certainly do not have anything to be ashamed of. It is a very different matter when the intention behind it is to be sexually attractive for the sake of someone else, or to gain love or more attention. But you can be a feminist and still be okay with the fact that you are female, which I think a lot of feminists lose sight of.
Essentially, girls need to play nicer, and be more fair toward themselves and each other. Stop judging the girl with no fashion sense or desire to be beautiful. But also, stop judging the one who likes making herself pretty, for her own enjoyment. She's not hurting anyone.
Atheism
So I'm finally getting around to this (stupidly) delicate subject. I have put a lot of thought into the whole issue, having previously been of the opinion that religion is relatively harmless and that it's the people who kill people, not religion. I have since changed my mind, and am now approaching Greta-Christina-levels of pissed-off-ness. One thing that I feel is very unfair in arguments about atheism vs religion, is that atheists are expected to know the bible inside out and upside down before making any kind of argument against it, whereas religious people are not expected to know jack about science, but they don't seem to see that as a problem. Atheists are the ones reaching out, researching and discussing why things within religion are nonsensical, whereas the faithful just sit back on their haunches and don't even try to argue up to the level of science.
Now I'll admit freely that I have never read the bible, nor do I plan to. So I am incapable of being able to pinpoint all the logical fallacies within religion, but you know what? That shouldn't matter! Because the point is that all of religion is a logical fallacy. I'm really not interested in their book, because it does not change the fact that they believe wholeheartedly in something THAT HAS NEVER BEEN PROVEN TO EXIST! The fact of the matter is that we have provable, verifiable facts in science, and they do not have the same for religion. All they have is books, written by people thousands of years ago, which as you can imagine was not a time of great enlightenment and thorough research. I mean, you look at medicine, and how that has changed so vastly in just the last 100 years, because our thinking and understanding of everything is evolving. But here are people still thinking in terms of 2000-plus years ago and refusing to let go of tradition.
I'm waiting for proof. Actual, empirical evidence of the existence of a god. Until then, you don't got nothin'.
Now I'll admit freely that I have never read the bible, nor do I plan to. So I am incapable of being able to pinpoint all the logical fallacies within religion, but you know what? That shouldn't matter! Because the point is that all of religion is a logical fallacy. I'm really not interested in their book, because it does not change the fact that they believe wholeheartedly in something THAT HAS NEVER BEEN PROVEN TO EXIST! The fact of the matter is that we have provable, verifiable facts in science, and they do not have the same for religion. All they have is books, written by people thousands of years ago, which as you can imagine was not a time of great enlightenment and thorough research. I mean, you look at medicine, and how that has changed so vastly in just the last 100 years, because our thinking and understanding of everything is evolving. But here are people still thinking in terms of 2000-plus years ago and refusing to let go of tradition.
I'm waiting for proof. Actual, empirical evidence of the existence of a god. Until then, you don't got nothin'.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Ode to Tea
Tea has always had a very special place in my life. It's like liquid comfort. It reminds me of the long afternoons of playing Monopoly with my Gran as a child; she called me her little teapot for good reason, I could drink gallons of the stuff. It brings back memories of coming home from hard days at work or school, and my Mom making tea while I vented my frustrations, or discussed things with her. Most recently, it reminds me of saying goodbye to my family when we left France, and my mother insisting that we all sit and have tea together, one last time before I go. This goodbye was hard. We'd had more fun as a family together than I remember ever having, with minimum bickering and lots of laughs and stories. This time, I truly miss them, especially spending time with my sister and getting to know her; I have some catching up to do.
The Nameless Wonder and I are practically permanently drinking tea, and I love our cosy evenings, just sitting watching Doctor Who or some other series, drinking tea with him. Lately, tea has gotten me through long days of depression about my inability to get a job; it makes me feel at home in all the strange places I've been, as well as the now more familiar ones. Tea is safety and security in a cup; tea is home.
The Nameless Wonder and I are practically permanently drinking tea, and I love our cosy evenings, just sitting watching Doctor Who or some other series, drinking tea with him. Lately, tea has gotten me through long days of depression about my inability to get a job; it makes me feel at home in all the strange places I've been, as well as the now more familiar ones. Tea is safety and security in a cup; tea is home.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
?
So... long time no posting, huh? Not that I'm that much of a regular poster, but the last couple of weeks have been weird.
Mostly, they've been weird because I've been slowly realising that things aren't going to just "work themselves out". The pressure is mounting, something's going to break, and then will be Big Decision Time. I've been see-saawing from one extreme to the other for months, thinking "you know what, FUCK ballet, I'm gonna get a real job, which pays real money, and doesn't hurt all the time", only to wake up the next morning all misty-eyed because I was dreaming about being on stage again, and I remember how much fun it can be. There's no telling where I'm going, I'll have to wait it out for now, and I'm just about tearing my hair out from the frustration of it all. What also is not helping is the fact that, to be honest, I'm lonely. Despite the Nameless Wonder being the awesomest thing ever and picking me up when I'm down, and dealing with my now-regular mini meltdowns, I haven't had much of a social life this year. I could count on one hand the number of parties I've been to, and the number of friends I see with ANY sort of regularity is two. So, my ENITRE world is made up of 3 people and a cat (who is madder than I, even at this stage). The stress is wearing me down, and I am not functioning well emotionally. I guess this is the test. If I get through this with lessons learned, or give up or give in (and at this point I'm not sure which choice is which anymore). Do I go back to certainty, but risk living with the regret of being a failure, or do I stay, and risk giving up the only thing I've ever done with any degree of success or confidence? It's either a catch 22, or it's a no-brainer, but I can't tell which one. I just don't know.
Mostly, they've been weird because I've been slowly realising that things aren't going to just "work themselves out". The pressure is mounting, something's going to break, and then will be Big Decision Time. I've been see-saawing from one extreme to the other for months, thinking "you know what, FUCK ballet, I'm gonna get a real job, which pays real money, and doesn't hurt all the time", only to wake up the next morning all misty-eyed because I was dreaming about being on stage again, and I remember how much fun it can be. There's no telling where I'm going, I'll have to wait it out for now, and I'm just about tearing my hair out from the frustration of it all. What also is not helping is the fact that, to be honest, I'm lonely. Despite the Nameless Wonder being the awesomest thing ever and picking me up when I'm down, and dealing with my now-regular mini meltdowns, I haven't had much of a social life this year. I could count on one hand the number of parties I've been to, and the number of friends I see with ANY sort of regularity is two. So, my ENITRE world is made up of 3 people and a cat (who is madder than I, even at this stage). The stress is wearing me down, and I am not functioning well emotionally. I guess this is the test. If I get through this with lessons learned, or give up or give in (and at this point I'm not sure which choice is which anymore). Do I go back to certainty, but risk living with the regret of being a failure, or do I stay, and risk giving up the only thing I've ever done with any degree of success or confidence? It's either a catch 22, or it's a no-brainer, but I can't tell which one. I just don't know.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Deadly Dentistry
So for anybody who would care to look into my mouth when I throw my head back and laugh maniacally, you would see that I have a bit of hardware behind my front teeth. I got these Incognito braces while I was in Cape Town, hoping that I could finish treatment before we left for Germany, but that didn't happen. Since getting here, they have held up remarkably well; that is, until the unfortunate Pear Incident...
We were in Sweden recently, at a magnificent feast at one of our cult events, when I was eating a pear. They have very hard pears in Sweden, and my braces took instant and painful offence to this particular morsel, shifting uncomfortably down my tooth and pulling on all the teeth in the right side of my jaw. Nevermind that I've been chucking back hard raw almonds every day since arriving; no, this pear was just too much. So the feast was pretty much ruined after that (it didn't help that I was sick as well, which made the whole experience all the more delightful), and I realised that the time had come to find an orthodontist in Germany. This, frankly, terrified me, after hearing of the exorbitant amounts of money that they supposedly charged for treatment in Frankfurt. But I girded my loins and phoned a Dr Lemmerich who was situated in a small town close to us, called Obertshausen.
Now I should mention how atrocious my German still is, even after living here for nearly 6 months. It doesn't help that as soon as you try your pidgin German out on the natives, they take pity on you and switch to near perfect English, which is a little embarrassing. So you can imagine my surprise when I phoned Dr Lemmerich's offices, only to have my usual "sprechen sie Englisch" answered with "nein". Ah, shit. So more horrendous butchery of German ensued, until she told me in desperation to hang on, she'll go fetch the Doctor. Dr Lemmerich answered, and turned out to be a woman, which I was rather hoping for (ok her first name is Anette, but you can never tell with these foreigners). She spoke damn near perfect English, and kindly told me I could come and see her at 6h30 that evening.
I, of course, turned to Google maps for help, and as usual they gave me what seemed to be the most complicated route that they could find (it's a well-known fact that Google hates me). But I faithfully wrote it all down, and set off in good time to make it to Ostendstrasse.
Yes, you see the problem there, don't you? Despite having the same starting letter, Obertshausen is in fact not the same as Ostendstrasse, which is rather a lot further into town. I sat there gormlessly on the train for about 15 minutes more than I had to, got out and started trying to find the damn starting street that I was supposed to go down. Of course it wasn't there, but it still took me a good 20 minutes to figure out my immense stupidity, and by that time it was already 6pm and I still had to wait for my train to arrive. So I phoned the offices again in a bit of a panic, and sadly the only person I could talk to was the sweet but non-English-enabled secretary. First it took quite a time to get across to her who I was (how many other slightly inept English-speaking patients could they possibly have?). Then, it was crunch time, as I tried and failed to remember what the word for "late" is. Eventually: "Ich bin, uhm, tödlich?" Short pause, while it dawns on me suddenly that I have just told this poor woman that I am deadly. But, to her eternal credit, she doesn't laugh, but just says "Ahh! Du kommst später!" "Yes! That one!" And so arrangements are made for me to come at 7. I can't help but think that they may have been less inclined to wait for me, had I not warned them of my "deadliness"...
I eventually got to Dr Lemmerich, after still not finding that damn starting street, gave up on Google maps entirely and clomped around Obertshausen frantically for 20 minutes so that by the time I got to the good Doctor, I was sweaty and dishevelled as all hell and probably did look a bit dangerous. She fixed me up within 10 minutes, was nothing but sweet, and didn't even accept any payment for her troubles. I think it was the first time I've ever left an orthodontist feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
We were in Sweden recently, at a magnificent feast at one of our cult events, when I was eating a pear. They have very hard pears in Sweden, and my braces took instant and painful offence to this particular morsel, shifting uncomfortably down my tooth and pulling on all the teeth in the right side of my jaw. Nevermind that I've been chucking back hard raw almonds every day since arriving; no, this pear was just too much. So the feast was pretty much ruined after that (it didn't help that I was sick as well, which made the whole experience all the more delightful), and I realised that the time had come to find an orthodontist in Germany. This, frankly, terrified me, after hearing of the exorbitant amounts of money that they supposedly charged for treatment in Frankfurt. But I girded my loins and phoned a Dr Lemmerich who was situated in a small town close to us, called Obertshausen.
Now I should mention how atrocious my German still is, even after living here for nearly 6 months. It doesn't help that as soon as you try your pidgin German out on the natives, they take pity on you and switch to near perfect English, which is a little embarrassing. So you can imagine my surprise when I phoned Dr Lemmerich's offices, only to have my usual "sprechen sie Englisch" answered with "nein". Ah, shit. So more horrendous butchery of German ensued, until she told me in desperation to hang on, she'll go fetch the Doctor. Dr Lemmerich answered, and turned out to be a woman, which I was rather hoping for (ok her first name is Anette, but you can never tell with these foreigners). She spoke damn near perfect English, and kindly told me I could come and see her at 6h30 that evening.
I, of course, turned to Google maps for help, and as usual they gave me what seemed to be the most complicated route that they could find (it's a well-known fact that Google hates me). But I faithfully wrote it all down, and set off in good time to make it to Ostendstrasse.
Yes, you see the problem there, don't you? Despite having the same starting letter, Obertshausen is in fact not the same as Ostendstrasse, which is rather a lot further into town. I sat there gormlessly on the train for about 15 minutes more than I had to, got out and started trying to find the damn starting street that I was supposed to go down. Of course it wasn't there, but it still took me a good 20 minutes to figure out my immense stupidity, and by that time it was already 6pm and I still had to wait for my train to arrive. So I phoned the offices again in a bit of a panic, and sadly the only person I could talk to was the sweet but non-English-enabled secretary. First it took quite a time to get across to her who I was (how many other slightly inept English-speaking patients could they possibly have?). Then, it was crunch time, as I tried and failed to remember what the word for "late" is. Eventually: "Ich bin, uhm, tödlich?" Short pause, while it dawns on me suddenly that I have just told this poor woman that I am deadly. But, to her eternal credit, she doesn't laugh, but just says "Ahh! Du kommst später!" "Yes! That one!" And so arrangements are made for me to come at 7. I can't help but think that they may have been less inclined to wait for me, had I not warned them of my "deadliness"...
I eventually got to Dr Lemmerich, after still not finding that damn starting street, gave up on Google maps entirely and clomped around Obertshausen frantically for 20 minutes so that by the time I got to the good Doctor, I was sweaty and dishevelled as all hell and probably did look a bit dangerous. She fixed me up within 10 minutes, was nothing but sweet, and didn't even accept any payment for her troubles. I think it was the first time I've ever left an orthodontist feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wave Gotik Treffen part the third
The next day (Saturday), we got up lateish, had brekkies at Starbucks (nom nom nom) and went off to meet another friend at the train station. She, having studied fine arts at school/varsity/both, was keen to see an art museum, so we went to the Museum der bildenden Kunste nearby. Now personally I find the fine arts just a LEEETLE bit pretentious, particularly modern art, but it turned out to have more of the good stuff than I was anticipating, and we had a nice time pretending to be cultured and refined, all the while clomping through in our dusty Doc Martens.
After that we parted ways, and went back to our hotel to collect picnic stuff (read: vodka, lemonade and red bull), having organised to meet everyone later at the Agra hall and catwalk area. We got there, only to find that we didn't have the right kind of wristbands to get our drinks into the area, so we waited for our other friends to come to the rescue and sneak our booze in for us, which they kindly did. After milling about a little and eating some sort of meal, which was possibly lunch but was actually brunch for me at 6pm, we went back into the market. Whilst there, we met another person that we know from our cult, who proceeded to win me over by promising to make me (for a price of course), a custom made chain maille bikini. The general consensus was that they would allow me to have material lining in the underwear, but not the top because it'd just not be "metal". I should mention that the garment is made up of steel AND rubber links, so it won't give me armour bite. Much.
...which was so awesomely awful we had to take a picture of it. There were zebra striped ones too but I didn't want my camera to actually die on me, so we refrained from taking any more photos of these abominations.
After that, waaay pumped on music and red bull, we went to a club called the Moritzbastei, which is located in the only remaining part of the city's ancient fortifications, therefore it was dungeon-like and just a perfect venue for a goth club, naturally. They played a lot of EBM and industrial, which are genres that I'm slowly getting into at the moment so it was a nice way to discover new bands and also, the joy of dancing to them. I don't think I've ever danced as much at a club, mostly because I've never gone in with that amount of caffeine in my bloodstream, and it was so much fun. Once we'd bounced all energy out of our systems (and killed off our ear drums; damn the music was loud!), it was about 3am and a good time to go back to the hotel, take a much-needed shower, and pass out.
Sunday was sadly our last day there. We went to our friends' hotel to have our hair plaited and prettified; we're still not sure why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. The Nameless Wonder ended up looking vaguely Hasidic jew-ish:
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| A really not very good photo to illustrate my outfit. A hint of pixie influence there... |
Ah, the things we saw the second time round! I was mostly cognitively present this time, and so could do actual looking and buying of things, which I did quite restrainedly; it's amazing what being jobless and watching your bank account get slowly anorexic does for your self control. There was the shop that sold corsets made to look like skin, complete with nipples and occasional stab wounds (vaguely disturbing). There was the spike shop, with I-shit-you-not 6 inch and longer spikes on cuffs, vambraces and chokers. Straight spikes, nasty curved spikes that'd hook your face off with one misplaced arm-flail, regular rounded studs, full steel plates, you name it. Then there was this coat...
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| Who says men can't wear minis? |
After this, we went into the hall to see some bands: Grendel, Funker Vogt, Combichrist and my favourite for the entire weekend: Aesthetic Perfection. These guys were amazing on stage, and not at all what I was expecting. The main dude (I don't know the bands' names and I'm too lazy to check) had real energy and pizazz, and his performance was kind of Mask-ish, probably helped by the actual mask he wore and his vague similarity to Jim Carrey.
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| Gorram tall people! |
Sunday was sadly our last day there. We went to our friends' hotel to have our hair plaited and prettified; we're still not sure why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. The Nameless Wonder ended up looking vaguely Hasidic jew-ish:
By the time we'd finished with that (plus some random and occasionally disturbing youtube videos), we were hungry and it was nearly time to go to the train station anyway, so we went there for lunch and more chitter-chatter until it was time for us to leave :(
The train journey was somewhat eventful; the driver pulled away while a door was still open, causing me to have near heart-failure when I heard an ominous thump that COULD have been someone being run over or something equally horrible, but thankfully was not. Then there was the ear-splitting screech every time it pulled into a station (really great for concert-ears, thanks!), and the delay on the tracks due to some other train having problems. But we got home safely in the end. I wish we'd been able to stay longer, but there is always next time...
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Wave Gotik Treffen part the second
One thing that bothered me about the WGT, particularly on the catwalk (which I suppose is unsurprising), was the blatant once-overs-with-added-sneer that people gave us whilst we were innocently walking along, minding our own business. I mostly tend to be oblivious to such things, and even I noticed it, and it really saddened me. I thought that the people at such an event would *mostly* be decent and unjudgemental sort of folk, what with that being the whole fucking idea behind the subculture, but apparently not. I guess what I was disappointed with was that they were just normal people on the inside, no matter how much black they wore to disguise their ultimately shallow characters. I'm sure there were awesome people there too, but unfortunately it was the not-so-awesome ones that attracted my attention in this case. However, I didn't let my mild disillusionment spoil my weekend, and so by some rather nifty Zen navigation that involved stalking people on the tram who looked like they could listen to Lacuna Coil, we got to the massive Kohlrabizirkus.
Lacuna Coil is one of my favourite bands, so I enjoyed them despite 3 minor issues I had with their show. Number one was that their sound wasn't particularly good; the music drowned out their singing quite often which was a pity because Cristina Scabbia has a beautiful voice. Number two was my own fault, but I was kind of disappointed that they played so little from Karmacode and Shallow Life; mostly their new stuff which I haven't listened to yet. It was probably a good set if I'd just known more of the songs, but at least they played Our Truth, one of my favourites. The third minor inconvenience was standard concert issues, which was I had two fooking tall gentlemen in front of me obscuring my view (a lot). But seeing as they weren't doing anything particularly spectacular visually, I was happy to just listen to the music.
Lacuna Coil is one of my favourite bands, so I enjoyed them despite 3 minor issues I had with their show. Number one was that their sound wasn't particularly good; the music drowned out their singing quite often which was a pity because Cristina Scabbia has a beautiful voice. Number two was my own fault, but I was kind of disappointed that they played so little from Karmacode and Shallow Life; mostly their new stuff which I haven't listened to yet. It was probably a good set if I'd just known more of the songs, but at least they played Our Truth, one of my favourites. The third minor inconvenience was standard concert issues, which was I had two fooking tall gentlemen in front of me obscuring my view (a lot). But seeing as they weren't doing anything particularly spectacular visually, I was happy to just listen to the music.
After that, we decided to go back to our hotel, but when we got there we were still waaay too hyped up from general excitement and red bull to go to sleep, so I cleverly thought of going upstairs to the bar on the 27th floor to drink whisky, which is what we did. It was quite a spectacular view, and we had some very nice whisky which made me very sleepy, as it always does. The bar staff were particularly sweet and helpful; one of them even walked us to the elevator, called it for us and stood chatting while we waited for it! It's possible that she thought we needed some help at that point, but it was very nice of her and made me feel all important and grown-up.
So that was Friday. Next up, adventures in fine arts and chain maille bikinis.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Wave Gotik Treffen part the first
Zo... This weekend was the WGT in Leipzig, for all you people who've just come out of your caves. Sadly, I didn't take THAT many pictures, but I will now supply you with a few of the awesomer ones, in order of the happenings.
Firstly, we nearly couldn't buy tickets for our train because we (read: the Nameless Wonder) decided that we should go to the station at the other end of town, which is even smaller than our one, and so rural we couldn't quite figure out how to even get onto the platform. When we got there, we found that the ticket machine was not taking notes, and we didn't have enough coins to buy the tickets. Luckily some kind old man gave us change, because ticket inspectors checked us TWICE on the way to the hauptbahnhof (after several months of being in some kind of ticket-inspection hibernation).
Thankfully, we got to Leipzig without much further drama. Our hotel was conveniently quite close to Leipzig hauptbahnhof, but we were first whisked away by our lovely friends for some snackage shopping (which ended up being mostly red bull). It was awesome being in the train station and watching all the "freaks" out and about in their finest gothery, punkery and lolitary. The shopping was fun, because we mostly messed around and nobody really knew what was going on anyway; we were pretty sure the shopkeepers were trying to keep all the scary people out because they were very spitefully blaring the Spice Girls into our poor virgin ears.
We then met up with our friends and went off to go get registered and branded (just kidding, mostly), and people-watched from the sidelines as they strutted their stuff trying to get photographed.
We then went shopping at the market in the mahoosive Agra hall. Seriously overstimulated, I didn't manage to buy anything but just jumped about from stall to stall like an ADD squirrel while the grown-ups did actual looking at stuff. I wish I had taken some pictures of the merchandise, as there were some seriously awesomely amazing things, amongst others a hat stall that I'm sure Tim Burton would have been quite happy to prop shop at; they deserved to be in movies.
Firstly, we nearly couldn't buy tickets for our train because we (read: the Nameless Wonder) decided that we should go to the station at the other end of town, which is even smaller than our one, and so rural we couldn't quite figure out how to even get onto the platform. When we got there, we found that the ticket machine was not taking notes, and we didn't have enough coins to buy the tickets. Luckily some kind old man gave us change, because ticket inspectors checked us TWICE on the way to the hauptbahnhof (after several months of being in some kind of ticket-inspection hibernation).
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| Skeptical Goth |
After shopping we went to the hotel to check in and goth up (which for me meant mostly putting on more makeup, as I'd decided to travel in my outfit to save time).
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| View from our hotel room |
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| Party in a trolley! |
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| The catwalk, or model central |
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| Fucking about. My outfit combined my new comfy-yet-awesome shorts, the Hat and my Boots. It made me almost as happy as the people did. |
It was then time to part ways as I wanted to see Lacuna Coil. Stay tuned for part two of picspam and lollygagging.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Fitness freak in training (also: phase 7249)
So I may have mentioned (or not, but anyway) how I go through life in phases. Each phase is distinctive and often involves a whole bunch of different areas of my life. For example: the last one started when we got back from London, and its key characteristics were that I basically just wanted to stay in bed and hide from the world. I was shirking all responsibility and I lacked motivation in everything. Music of this era was Apocalyptica (probably because it's intensely familiar and hails from a long-past time of less responsibility, if less happiness). Food was sweet things, mostly vanilla rooibos and dried pineapple. Internet obsession was a ridiculously sickly-sweet fairy kei lolita blog that was totally over the top with pastels freaking EVERYWHERE. No disrespect to the blogger, but this mild obsession with her porcelain-doll clothes was weird and out of character for me. Luckily, I eventually got out of this funk, though I'm not quite sure how, and landed myself a new obsession: health and fitness!
I guess it started with me rediscovering pop pilates youtube workouts due to my inability to get regular classes. This lead to me reading her blog, Blogilates, and it all went downhill (or uphill, haha) from there. I suspect the other motivating factor is that I have somehow contrived to own only crop tops in the way of summer wear, and as I mentioned before, I'd like to look good on the photos from WGT because I intend on blasting the people of the internet with them :)
And so I began on my fitness kick, which morphed into a healthy eating kick too This, after reading Cassey's blog and others on how much nutrition determines your physique. I had never realised how much of an impact WHAT you ate had on you, despite any exercise you may do. I always sort of assumed that as long as you worked it off, it's all water under the bridge. Not so, apparently. Although I think I usually eat fairly healthily, I have been enjoying eating better, especially since I have actually been (wait for it) COOKING ACTUAL FOOD. You know, the type that people can eat; nay, even enjoy! Which has been very satisfying to me as I now feel less of a total failure as a girl. AND it gives me more stuff to plan, like shopping lists and menus. I may be slightly obsessed with planning things...
So myself and the Nameless Wonderboy are doing pilates together every day (he secretly enjoys it, no matter how much he complains), and I really love the fact that I can see a difference already. So far there is no particular music associated with this phase, but the food is boiled eggs and lemon infused water (which sounds very poncy but is really just presqueezed lemon juice in tap water). Hopefully this phase will last a long time, so that I look decent for the next onslaught of auditions :p
I guess it started with me rediscovering pop pilates youtube workouts due to my inability to get regular classes. This lead to me reading her blog, Blogilates, and it all went downhill (or uphill, haha) from there. I suspect the other motivating factor is that I have somehow contrived to own only crop tops in the way of summer wear, and as I mentioned before, I'd like to look good on the photos from WGT because I intend on blasting the people of the internet with them :)
And so I began on my fitness kick, which morphed into a healthy eating kick too This, after reading Cassey's blog and others on how much nutrition determines your physique. I had never realised how much of an impact WHAT you ate had on you, despite any exercise you may do. I always sort of assumed that as long as you worked it off, it's all water under the bridge. Not so, apparently. Although I think I usually eat fairly healthily, I have been enjoying eating better, especially since I have actually been (wait for it) COOKING ACTUAL FOOD. You know, the type that people can eat; nay, even enjoy! Which has been very satisfying to me as I now feel less of a total failure as a girl. AND it gives me more stuff to plan, like shopping lists and menus. I may be slightly obsessed with planning things...
So myself and the Nameless Wonderboy are doing pilates together every day (he secretly enjoys it, no matter how much he complains), and I really love the fact that I can see a difference already. So far there is no particular music associated with this phase, but the food is boiled eggs and lemon infused water (which sounds very poncy but is really just presqueezed lemon juice in tap water). Hopefully this phase will last a long time, so that I look decent for the next onslaught of auditions :p
Got it figured
Due to my somewhat perilous tightrope-walking on the wire just above the fiery planes of destitution of late, I've been thinking a lot about the stages of life and their respective pros and cons. Like, despite everybody going all misty-eyed and sentimental about childhood, the further away from it I get the happier I am. Childhood is tough, and long, and is also (unless you go senile eventually) the stage of least independence of your life, hence it being not my cup of tea. Then comes early adulthood, from whence I'm blogging, which is waaay better than childhood because, well, you can start doing what you damn well please, at last! What they skim over in the promotion pamphlets, though, is that this is the age of damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't predicaments; where you have to make serious, life-changing decisions with just less than not a clue, because for the first time there doesn't seem to be ANY hint as to which path you'd do better to take. Like, nada. Zero. Zilch. It's all up to you, kiddo. And that is, well, a teensy bit terrifying. On the plus side, though, you still have a metabolism, and a pretty face (well, you know, it's not actively horrific yet), and the world is terribly exciting in the strangest ways. For instance, you suddenly discover that shopping for a washing basket can be awesome, because those boring shops that your parents dragged you to when you were a kid take on a whole new meaning when you're decorating your own hovel/room under the stairs/flat. And so you find yourself coming home with new matching towels and a soap dish AND a really cool toaster that fits 4 SLICES OF BREAD!!!
Then shit goes downhill for a while, as people start hitting their mid-life crises and buying stupidly expensive cars and having affairs and all that nonsense, and THEN we get to the really good bit: middle age. I know it's a little weird, but I honestly envy those who are 45+. They seem like they have it all figured out; they'll tell you otherwise, of course, and maybe those with kids (grown or otherwise) are exempt from this generalisation, but the others, the older couples who managed not to bankrupt themselves or screw up their relationship, really seem to have their shit figured out. They're old enough that they most probably have a stable job with a high-ish salary and a pension; they're respected in the workplace because they are "elders" without being "old fogeys"; they have their own house, and car, both of which are paid off; they have well-established rituals that they've formulated over many years that make their lives easier and nicer; they're over their looks and have embraced their "mature" skin and figures... All in all, it seems like a pretty damn comfy state of affairs.
Sadly, I must admit to myself that this is almost definitely mostly wishful thinking on my part; it's how I want my middle age to be, and so I'm projecting it onto others. I want to be one of those older ladies who still know how to have fun and be wild, on occasion, and yet are serene and wise and comfortable in their own skin. Like a youngish adult with more money and fewer hangups. So my goal is going to be to become that self in 20+ years time. I really hope I manage.
Then shit goes downhill for a while, as people start hitting their mid-life crises and buying stupidly expensive cars and having affairs and all that nonsense, and THEN we get to the really good bit: middle age. I know it's a little weird, but I honestly envy those who are 45+. They seem like they have it all figured out; they'll tell you otherwise, of course, and maybe those with kids (grown or otherwise) are exempt from this generalisation, but the others, the older couples who managed not to bankrupt themselves or screw up their relationship, really seem to have their shit figured out. They're old enough that they most probably have a stable job with a high-ish salary and a pension; they're respected in the workplace because they are "elders" without being "old fogeys"; they have their own house, and car, both of which are paid off; they have well-established rituals that they've formulated over many years that make their lives easier and nicer; they're over their looks and have embraced their "mature" skin and figures... All in all, it seems like a pretty damn comfy state of affairs.
Sadly, I must admit to myself that this is almost definitely mostly wishful thinking on my part; it's how I want my middle age to be, and so I'm projecting it onto others. I want to be one of those older ladies who still know how to have fun and be wild, on occasion, and yet are serene and wise and comfortable in their own skin. Like a youngish adult with more money and fewer hangups. So my goal is going to be to become that self in 20+ years time. I really hope I manage.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Taking a stand
So my modus operandi for dealing with disagreements in the last several years, has been to simply not have an opinion. I've tried extremely hard to see things from every point of view you care to mention, and to understand people rather than judge them for their bad decisions or poor social etiquette. I've tried my damndest to not take sides in arguments, ranging from family fights, to work politics, to social circle spats. And lately I've been wondering about this, and whether it's a good idea to try to be Switzerland all the time, because Switzerland usually gets left out of things. What got me thinking along these lines is the fact that whilst I don't have many enemies, I don't have that many people who'd call me a friend, either. Now this isn't a pity party, I have some really good close friends, but I seem to struggle to make casual friends. For instance, at my last job, I tried to keep any opinions I had about people to myself, and to be a neutral/friendly combination in my attitude towards everybody. What this meant was that, like the Ents, I wasn't on anybody's side and thus nobody was on my side. This was made very clear to me when I quit being "the new girl" and some even newer people arrived, only to seemingly make instant and passionate attachments to people they hadn't known a month ago. This puzzled me for a long time, until I realised that I possibly seemed like a bit of a wild card, as I never expressed any definite allegiance to anybody. And people don't trust someone if they can't gauge your stance on an issue.
I'm starting to realise that simply not having opinions on things does not mean that I am any less judgemental than the next person, I just choose not to air those secret opinions, even in the relative safety of my own mind. What I am in fact striving for, is to be able to be a big enough person to listen to others' opinions when they fly in the face of my own. To be wise enough to not take it to heart when someone thinks my ideas are stupid/wrong/pretentious as opposed to theirs. I need to learn to have ideas and opinions of my own, and to stop being cowardly about accepting that I may hold some unpopular stances on certain issues. Meekness is not a virtue in today's world, and it's time I grew out of it, already.
So... that's my bit of pseudophilosophy for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more rants and philosophising on mostly inconsequential subjects ;)
I'm starting to realise that simply not having opinions on things does not mean that I am any less judgemental than the next person, I just choose not to air those secret opinions, even in the relative safety of my own mind. What I am in fact striving for, is to be able to be a big enough person to listen to others' opinions when they fly in the face of my own. To be wise enough to not take it to heart when someone thinks my ideas are stupid/wrong/pretentious as opposed to theirs. I need to learn to have ideas and opinions of my own, and to stop being cowardly about accepting that I may hold some unpopular stances on certain issues. Meekness is not a virtue in today's world, and it's time I grew out of it, already.
So... that's my bit of pseudophilosophy for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more rants and philosophising on mostly inconsequential subjects ;)
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Quark
So I discovered this new thing called quark. It's a kind of cheese, like creme fraiche, and it tastes like really rich and thick yoghurt, even the non-fat kind! Apparently it's a mostly German thing, but if you can find it it's worth getting, because it makes amazing desserts! This super easy one was adapted from one I recently had, so I kind of guessed the ingredients, and it came out really really yum. So all you need is:
1) quark (20% fat will do, I used 40% which was very rich and so will be using fat-free as an experiment next time)
2) teeny bit of whipping cream
3) sugar to taste
4) vanilla essence, I used about a teaspoonful
5) fruit of your choice (raspberries are possibly the nicest, although I'd love to try this with mango)
So all you do is whip the quark up with the little bit of cream to break the slight sourness, adding the sugar and vanilla as you go along, then once that's done add whatever fruit you want, and leave in the fridge to chill a bit. Yes I know I basically just explained the recipe for strawberries and cream, but the quark totally changes the taste and gives it a nicer, fuller texture. We had it on a picnic this weekend, and it was perfect picnic food for a perfect picnic day :)
1) quark (20% fat will do, I used 40% which was very rich and so will be using fat-free as an experiment next time)
2) teeny bit of whipping cream
3) sugar to taste
4) vanilla essence, I used about a teaspoonful
5) fruit of your choice (raspberries are possibly the nicest, although I'd love to try this with mango)
So all you do is whip the quark up with the little bit of cream to break the slight sourness, adding the sugar and vanilla as you go along, then once that's done add whatever fruit you want, and leave in the fridge to chill a bit. Yes I know I basically just explained the recipe for strawberries and cream, but the quark totally changes the taste and gives it a nicer, fuller texture. We had it on a picnic this weekend, and it was perfect picnic food for a perfect picnic day :)
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WGT t-24
So, in a couple of weeks it's the event of awesome! This means it's crunch time (literally) as I try to get into some semblance of shape so that I can wear my pretty short tops without cringing. This involves torture every day (did I say torture? I meant pilates) with the awesome, batshit crazy Cassey of Blogilates. If you're a masochist and you don't have a helpful sadist on hand, go to her youtube channel. You will regret it for exactly 3 days, and then you will regret it some more but with visible abs, so it's worth it in the end :) I even got the Nameless one to do some with me. He hated every minute of it, it was so cute :D
In outfit news... I still don't really know what to wear, though I am gradually getting ideas, dismissing them, getting new ones, dismissing those... But that's at least some progress, right? It's always helpful to know what NOT to wear. My beauties are softening gradually, I'm hoping they'll be ready by then, because walking around for an entire weekend in stiff Docs would not be fun. Although, what with the weather being so warm nowadays, I may have to buy shoes-that-are-not-boots (gasp!).
Otherwise, hair and makeup are still a mystery, although I am planning on wearing my Hat a good deal. This is the Hat:
In outfit news... I still don't really know what to wear, though I am gradually getting ideas, dismissing them, getting new ones, dismissing those... But that's at least some progress, right? It's always helpful to know what NOT to wear. My beauties are softening gradually, I'm hoping they'll be ready by then, because walking around for an entire weekend in stiff Docs would not be fun. Although, what with the weather being so warm nowadays, I may have to buy shoes-that-are-not-boots (gasp!).
Otherwise, hair and makeup are still a mystery, although I am planning on wearing my Hat a good deal. This is the Hat:
For when I don't, I may try an up-do that a friend of mine did for me this weekend; sort of a traditional medieval style which looked good for my face shape:
It's basically just two plaits crossing over the top and pinned down. Even I should be able to manage that! It seems like a good travelling hairstyle, keeps the old locks out of your face which is handy when you're trying to contend with suitcases and trains and grumpy boyfriends :p
I may do a makeup post at some point when I mess around a bit.
Friday, April 27, 2012
The A-Z of awesome
I'm going to be doing a series of posts just for the heck of it, and it's really quite simple. I shall take each letter of the alphabet, and find something awesome starting with it. Hopefully they won't all be boring and obvious ones... So here goes the first instalment!
Adipose: as in, the adorable little adipose monsters in Dr Who, not the real stuff, yuck!
Bats (I couldn't resist): their young are called pups, and they groom them by licking and scratching them gently, all this whilst hanging upside down, of course.
Clair de lune: the piano piece is the third movement of the Suite Bergamasque by Debussy, and is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written, in my opinion. It's also one of those pieces with the peculiar tendency to reduce me to tears whenever I hear it (some types of music do that to me, for no good reason. A bit lame, but there you go).
Adipose: as in, the adorable little adipose monsters in Dr Who, not the real stuff, yuck!
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| Courtesy of Google Images |
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| Squeeeee! Baby bats are too cute (thanks to webecoist.momtastic.com) |
Dorian Gray: it would seem that Oscar Wilde's masterpiece had been revised to hell and gone to rid it of all the "unclean", "poisonous" and "discreditable" parts (so, the good bits); luckily for those warped souls out there, an uncensored version has just been published containing (the horror!) more homoerotic references and dialogue between Basil and Dorian. I think I know what I want for Christmas this year...
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Music memories
I love how music has the power to transport you to a particular time or place. How hearing a band or a song suddenly triggers dormant memories of people, emotions and situations. It's good to sometimes go back through your musical archives, to remind yourself where you came from, and how you've changed for better or worse. It makes a good measuring stick.
I have this a lot, because I tend to do life in stages; I listen the hell out of a band or an album for a couple of months, and then move on to the next one. It's not that I stop liking them/it, I just naturally progress to the next one, and the next, and the next. This means that when I hear them/it again at a later stage, it's like stepping through a wormhole in time. Some songs that have got me through bad times, and that have meant a lot to me, give me quite a serious emotional kick, which I find fascinating. I would just love to study the psychology of music, as I think that the world would honestly just collapse without it.
Another part of that hypothetical study would be the reasons for one's affinity to specific genres of music. How much is nature and how much is nurture when it comes to individual tastes in music? Why am I drawn so strongly towards minor keys, when some others prefer major keys? Why do I find a piece sad when others find it happy? WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE R&B FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS UNHOLY? I think that if you could understand the psychological patterns behind music tastes, one could potentially discover a whole new way of looking at people.
I have this a lot, because I tend to do life in stages; I listen the hell out of a band or an album for a couple of months, and then move on to the next one. It's not that I stop liking them/it, I just naturally progress to the next one, and the next, and the next. This means that when I hear them/it again at a later stage, it's like stepping through a wormhole in time. Some songs that have got me through bad times, and that have meant a lot to me, give me quite a serious emotional kick, which I find fascinating. I would just love to study the psychology of music, as I think that the world would honestly just collapse without it.
Another part of that hypothetical study would be the reasons for one's affinity to specific genres of music. How much is nature and how much is nurture when it comes to individual tastes in music? Why am I drawn so strongly towards minor keys, when some others prefer major keys? Why do I find a piece sad when others find it happy? WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE R&B FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS UNHOLY? I think that if you could understand the psychological patterns behind music tastes, one could potentially discover a whole new way of looking at people.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Minor epiphany of the week
So as I was walking back from *yet* another failed audition, it suddenly occurred to me that all the disappointments one goes through really makes you appreciate things that you wouldn't normally. Like, at the moment, I really miss having a full time job that I have to go to every day, whinge about and ultimately get paid to do. So in the future, I'm going to actually appreciate the drudgery, as opposed to resenting it or taking it for granted. But I'm grateful even for this "in limbo" state of being, as it means that I have a rather obscene amount of spare time on my hands, and thus gives me the freedom to write a lot more, discover new interests, and even consider other career paths. In the end, it's actually kinda cool ;) For one thing, I now have some semblance of control over my weekends; I can plan things in advance, and actually know that I will be there! No more wistful "maybe, depends on work" every time I want to go away for a weekend. Ok I'm getting a little too excited here, I do want a full time job, promise! But it is nice to be living free, for a change; similar to student living, which is something I'm bitterly sorry I'll never get to do for real. Wake up lateish, go to a class or two, come home, read the internet, watch a movie, read a book, write a blog, read more internet, do a bit of work, got to bed. Repeat. Correspondence studying is not quite the same as being at varsity, but I at least get out to do classes with ballet companies, so there is some socialisation there. Maybe not quite as much drinking, but that's probably for the best. So my mission is to make the most of this brief and possibly last time in my life that I can, in (mostly) good conscience, be a lout. I intend to look back on it fondly in future, when I'm back to the grindstone, and appreciate my time of youthful freedom.
World Golf Tour 2012 and picspam
So I'm in full research mode for WGT 2012, which myself and the Nameless Wonder are attending this May. And no, we aren't actually going to a golfing event, but the Wave Gotik Treffen in the wonderful city of freaks, Leipzig :D (I posted something about WGT on facebork and someone asked if that stood for the World Golf Tour, and now the name has stuck). I can't wait to go back to Leipzig, I fell in love with it as soon as we arrived and saw at least 5 groups of goths outside the main train station, and even the beggar wore chains and sported some tattoos and facial piercings. It's my kinda town, in other words, so I'm really excited to go back when all the freaks are out in their full glory. BUT, the obvious question is: what to wear? This is a tough one. I mean, I don't even have most of my clothes in Germany, not to mention no summer wear and least of all any of my corsets (I miss you my babies). So what's a girl to do? Well, shop, of course! As I will soon be in London again, I am planning on making another assault on Camden, to see what I can dig up. However, to avoid bankrupture, I need to have my outfits planned before I get there, so that I can swoop in knowing exactly what I'm looking for. So far, I've collected a few basics, such as: fishnet stockings, stripy socks (black-and-white as well as candy-red-and-white), a white underwear corset (like, what people actually wear under their clothes, so it's not lace-up but it's ever so pretty), a black skirt, and last but certainly not least, my Docs. This collection seems to be lending itself to two different aesthetics: black goth and white goth. Let's explore some of the possibilities:
Courtesy of flickr
I could go with something like this. Well, maybe not the sheet thing, but flimsy white summery dress, paired with fishnets and Docs. It would make a nice visual juxtaposition, methinks. The other white option could be more Emilie Autumnal, in other words cutesy, maybe a little frilly skirt, candy-striped socks and... Docs. I'd like to somehow incorporate my white corset, perhaps by wearing it over a white tank top? We'll have to see. The other aesthetic is even more tricky to choose; there are just so many, many styles and sub-genres within black goth! I'm thinking maybe shorts-fishnets-cute-t-shirt combo, I have an adorable Lenore tee that is presently still residing in sunny SA, which I miss very much:
So I'd have to get a replacement. Another aesthetic is this:
courtesy of rantchick.com
Though sadly I do not have money to go full-on Victorian goth. One day, though... I do, however, have a rather gorgeous hat:
I will definitely be wearing it, whatever my outfit, to keep the evil daystar at bay. So to round it up, I basically have accessories for my legs and head, but not much in between. Who knows what may transpire in the next month, with Camden and all the rest of lovely London at my feet, but I will have at least another post dedicated to WGT, as I know how concerned everybody is about what I'm going to wear :P
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Doc Martens: The Odyssey
Call me crazy, but I think I have a telepathic connection with my new Doc Martens.
To explain: I got my beauties in London a couple of weeks ago. They're classic, black leather 14-hole Docs, and have been on my "to get" list for, oh, at least ten years. Quite possibly more. Myself and He Who Shall Not Be Named aka boyfriendface, have been on a mission to find Docs ever since we alighted in the first world, and from what better place than the land that gave the world Rammstein? But alas, Germany's Doc stores were sadly lacking in inspiration for us, so we waited impatiently to get to the next place that we knew would have a wide array of choices, and in useful sizes.
So we ended up in London. We managed to keep up our pretence of being there with no ulterior motives, just visiting friends, rather well. To cut a long story medium, the Big Moment arrived: we had manipulated our friends to take us to a Doc Martens store, and I found the shoes I liked, nay loved, and tried them on with Cinderella-like anticipation. They fitted lengthways and breadthways just fine, but sadly, they dug horribly into the top of my foot. This is due to my high arches which cause a bone to be rather prominent, and I've had to kiss many a pair of shoes goodbye due my weird foot shape. But I resolved to show no pain nor weakness, and just wear the buggers in until the leather softened. So I wore them back home on the plane (big mistake, many ow's), and to walk around the village in (again, excruciating), until the other day I gave up on them for a while, to give my feet a rest and my brain some time to regroup, and consider other options for stretching them. Then, for two nights in a row, I had dreams of them fitting just right and feeling wonderful, and I'd wake up with a tear in my eye and look at them wistfully until deciding to leave the inevitable pain for some other day, when I felt better emotionally capable of handling the bitter disappointment. And then, today, I had a random bit of business to do in the village, not far from the house, so I gritted my teeth and decided to wear them, fully expecting a considerable amount of pain, but at least I'd have tried. I put them on, and... they hurt. But then, all of a sudden, they stopped hurting. I walked faster in them than I've been able to up until now, and barely felt a twinge. This lasted all the way into town, then for the next few minutes of standing around, and by the time I started back, I was composing this post in my head, because I realised that something magical had happened. They had communicated to me in my dreams, trying to tell me that they had finally submitted and accepted that I was boss.
And so, that is my epic tale of love, pain and hope. It goes to show you that things will mould to your will, if 'tis steely enough. I'm looking forward to many happy years with my Docs, who, I'm sure, will remain faithful until the end.
To explain: I got my beauties in London a couple of weeks ago. They're classic, black leather 14-hole Docs, and have been on my "to get" list for, oh, at least ten years. Quite possibly more. Myself and He Who Shall Not Be Named aka boyfriendface, have been on a mission to find Docs ever since we alighted in the first world, and from what better place than the land that gave the world Rammstein? But alas, Germany's Doc stores were sadly lacking in inspiration for us, so we waited impatiently to get to the next place that we knew would have a wide array of choices, and in useful sizes.
So we ended up in London. We managed to keep up our pretence of being there with no ulterior motives, just visiting friends, rather well. To cut a long story medium, the Big Moment arrived: we had manipulated our friends to take us to a Doc Martens store, and I found the shoes I liked, nay loved, and tried them on with Cinderella-like anticipation. They fitted lengthways and breadthways just fine, but sadly, they dug horribly into the top of my foot. This is due to my high arches which cause a bone to be rather prominent, and I've had to kiss many a pair of shoes goodbye due my weird foot shape. But I resolved to show no pain nor weakness, and just wear the buggers in until the leather softened. So I wore them back home on the plane (big mistake, many ow's), and to walk around the village in (again, excruciating), until the other day I gave up on them for a while, to give my feet a rest and my brain some time to regroup, and consider other options for stretching them. Then, for two nights in a row, I had dreams of them fitting just right and feeling wonderful, and I'd wake up with a tear in my eye and look at them wistfully until deciding to leave the inevitable pain for some other day, when I felt better emotionally capable of handling the bitter disappointment. And then, today, I had a random bit of business to do in the village, not far from the house, so I gritted my teeth and decided to wear them, fully expecting a considerable amount of pain, but at least I'd have tried. I put them on, and... they hurt. But then, all of a sudden, they stopped hurting. I walked faster in them than I've been able to up until now, and barely felt a twinge. This lasted all the way into town, then for the next few minutes of standing around, and by the time I started back, I was composing this post in my head, because I realised that something magical had happened. They had communicated to me in my dreams, trying to tell me that they had finally submitted and accepted that I was boss.
And so, that is my epic tale of love, pain and hope. It goes to show you that things will mould to your will, if 'tis steely enough. I'm looking forward to many happy years with my Docs, who, I'm sure, will remain faithful until the end.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Pictures of pretties
So here are some cool stuff things that I found in my trawling of the internets for body mod ideas:
(A lot of people seem to think this is me in the picture... if only!)
The most beautiful corset piercing pic ever!
More to come soon.
Tattoo annoyance
I've been getting a little annoyed lately at peoples' (and the media's) attitude towards tattoos. Every article in magazines these days seems to be written by your least favourite maiden aunt, and they all have a smug, I-told-you-so tone as they explain gleefully that you can stop getting tattooed now, because it's gone "mainstream" and thus isn't as "edgy" as it used to be. So all you wannabe rebels can go home now and find another way to piss off your parents. Now while I'm perfectly sure that there are people who get inked PURELY to annoy their parents/ prove what a badass they are, most people that I've met did it for the controversial reason of "I liked the design and it makes me feel pretty".
Another new Thing that has annoyed me lately is the placement-prejudice. You get sarcastic annotated diagrams on the net ripping off all the possible placements for a tattoo; deriding people for having "tramp stamps", wrist tattoos, ankle tattoos, face tattoos... Any place on your anatomy, and they've got a snide remark about it, regardless of what the tattoo actually is. So where, pray tell, would NOT be a stupid place to get a tattoo, in your expert opinion? Not all tattoos are classy pieces of art, granted, and some people wearing them are perhaps not among the great thinkers of this century, but if people want to get a butterfly tattoo on their lower back, then who are you to call them a slut? If it's common, it doesn't have to mean it's stupid or classless. I don't see people making a fuss of the fact that, like, every second girl has lobe piercings in the EXACT SAME PLACEMENT! Anyway, prejudice is sooo last century...
So, in essence, I believe that people are entitled to get tattoos even though it's becoming more common, and they're damn well entitled to get them wherever they please without being harassed about it. Plus, the more people paint themselves, the more colourful the world becomes :)
Photo courtesy of Google images
Another new Thing that has annoyed me lately is the placement-prejudice. You get sarcastic annotated diagrams on the net ripping off all the possible placements for a tattoo; deriding people for having "tramp stamps", wrist tattoos, ankle tattoos, face tattoos... Any place on your anatomy, and they've got a snide remark about it, regardless of what the tattoo actually is. So where, pray tell, would NOT be a stupid place to get a tattoo, in your expert opinion? Not all tattoos are classy pieces of art, granted, and some people wearing them are perhaps not among the great thinkers of this century, but if people want to get a butterfly tattoo on their lower back, then who are you to call them a slut? If it's common, it doesn't have to mean it's stupid or classless. I don't see people making a fuss of the fact that, like, every second girl has lobe piercings in the EXACT SAME PLACEMENT! Anyway, prejudice is sooo last century...
So, in essence, I believe that people are entitled to get tattoos even though it's becoming more common, and they're damn well entitled to get them wherever they please without being harassed about it. Plus, the more people paint themselves, the more colourful the world becomes :)
Books that left their mark
I feel that I don't read enough books these days, which is very sad; although just at this moment, I'm saving up for a Kindle so that should hopefully sort that problem out. I read more of the internets than perhaps is wise, and I miss the attention span that I had a few years ago when I could nest in my room and read for an entire day. So this is just a tribute post to authors that inspired me to be a bookworm, and did quite a bit of personality moulding too :)
1) Enid Blyton
I grew up watching Noddy, and I'm pretty sure that had I grown up watching Barney, I would be a different person. I suspect that my prolonged exposure to Enid Blyton instilled in me a rather British mentality; the Brits have a profound love for whimsy, which I now share. The Famous Five, Secret Seven and the Adventure kids were such a huge part of my middle childhood that I remember them better than a lot of real friends from that time. Her books made me long for the innocent times that her characters lived in, times where words like "ragamuffin" were used and parents didn't worry about their kids all the time. I regularly used to fantasise about going off and having Adventures with a few friends, going from farmhouse to farmhouse for delicious high teas served by kindly farmer's wives, and camping in the woods or fields. Sadly crime was always too present a danger for me to live out those fantasies, but I've had a craving for adventure ever since.
2) Emily Bronte
Wuthering Heights is, to me, the most romantic book ever written. I love the dark and brooding style, how messed up yet sympathetic the characters are. The movie, incidentally, has exquisite music, which is now the soundtrack to the book whenever I read/ think about it.
3) Mervyn Peake
The Gormenghast Trilogy is essentially what got me through my final year at school. It provided just the right type of escapism from the torture of Matric exams, with all the stupid, banal problems that went with them. Its style is surreal and beautiful and ugly and weird, as are the characters, and they felt more real than reality at that point in my life.
4) Douglas Adams
Hitchhiker's Guide is the best sci-fi ever written, in my opinion. The characters are consistently, fascinatingly quirky, and even the bad guys are slightly loveable. What I love, though, is that underneath the amusing, satirical prose that Douglas Adams is so very brilliant at, he explores serious philosophical questions without you gagging from pretentiousness.
5) Neil Gaiman
King of the spooky and surreal (d'you see the pattern here?), it's like Neil Gaiman has a direct link to my dreams. I'm sure many people feel this way, because his stories are crazy and impossible on the surface, yet somehow they make sense in some deep (very deep) corner of one's mind. This is why the man is a genius. Neverwhere is my favourite book of his, because it's based in a real London with real London names and believable characters, and then it tips everything upside down until you're left with a vague uneasiness and possibly vertigo. It's almost like an acid trip, in that just when you think everything is fine and normal again, the wall starts bending and you know that you aren't home and dry after all.
6) Terry Pratchett
I can't possibly choose just one book of his, because I've loved all of them. His strength is in his characters; he writes them as if he loves each and every one, and he has overflowing empathy for flawed personalities (which we all are, in the end). His books, even though they're fantasy, are so grounded in real people and situations that the fact that some characters are not human doesn't really make any difference because he makes you realise that we're all just people on the inside, no matter what our outsides look like.
7) Oscar Wilde
The Picture of Dorian Gray is seductive and sultry and dark and witty; it shows off the best of the worst personalities. I enjoy complex, twisted characters and this book has plenty.
So there you have it... I'm sure I've left out some books, because I'm terrible at remembering these things when it comes down to listing them, but if I remember more I can always just add them. These books all had their part in forming my young, malleable mind into what it is today, and hopefully I will read many more that will leave lasting impressions on me just as these did.
1) Enid Blyton
I grew up watching Noddy, and I'm pretty sure that had I grown up watching Barney, I would be a different person. I suspect that my prolonged exposure to Enid Blyton instilled in me a rather British mentality; the Brits have a profound love for whimsy, which I now share. The Famous Five, Secret Seven and the Adventure kids were such a huge part of my middle childhood that I remember them better than a lot of real friends from that time. Her books made me long for the innocent times that her characters lived in, times where words like "ragamuffin" were used and parents didn't worry about their kids all the time. I regularly used to fantasise about going off and having Adventures with a few friends, going from farmhouse to farmhouse for delicious high teas served by kindly farmer's wives, and camping in the woods or fields. Sadly crime was always too present a danger for me to live out those fantasies, but I've had a craving for adventure ever since.
2) Emily Bronte
Wuthering Heights is, to me, the most romantic book ever written. I love the dark and brooding style, how messed up yet sympathetic the characters are. The movie, incidentally, has exquisite music, which is now the soundtrack to the book whenever I read/ think about it.
3) Mervyn Peake
The Gormenghast Trilogy is essentially what got me through my final year at school. It provided just the right type of escapism from the torture of Matric exams, with all the stupid, banal problems that went with them. Its style is surreal and beautiful and ugly and weird, as are the characters, and they felt more real than reality at that point in my life.
4) Douglas Adams
Hitchhiker's Guide is the best sci-fi ever written, in my opinion. The characters are consistently, fascinatingly quirky, and even the bad guys are slightly loveable. What I love, though, is that underneath the amusing, satirical prose that Douglas Adams is so very brilliant at, he explores serious philosophical questions without you gagging from pretentiousness.
5) Neil Gaiman
King of the spooky and surreal (d'you see the pattern here?), it's like Neil Gaiman has a direct link to my dreams. I'm sure many people feel this way, because his stories are crazy and impossible on the surface, yet somehow they make sense in some deep (very deep) corner of one's mind. This is why the man is a genius. Neverwhere is my favourite book of his, because it's based in a real London with real London names and believable characters, and then it tips everything upside down until you're left with a vague uneasiness and possibly vertigo. It's almost like an acid trip, in that just when you think everything is fine and normal again, the wall starts bending and you know that you aren't home and dry after all.
6) Terry Pratchett
I can't possibly choose just one book of his, because I've loved all of them. His strength is in his characters; he writes them as if he loves each and every one, and he has overflowing empathy for flawed personalities (which we all are, in the end). His books, even though they're fantasy, are so grounded in real people and situations that the fact that some characters are not human doesn't really make any difference because he makes you realise that we're all just people on the inside, no matter what our outsides look like.
7) Oscar Wilde
The Picture of Dorian Gray is seductive and sultry and dark and witty; it shows off the best of the worst personalities. I enjoy complex, twisted characters and this book has plenty.
So there you have it... I'm sure I've left out some books, because I'm terrible at remembering these things when it comes down to listing them, but if I remember more I can always just add them. These books all had their part in forming my young, malleable mind into what it is today, and hopefully I will read many more that will leave lasting impressions on me just as these did.
Friday, March 9, 2012
This first post is in the form of a disclaimer, because I don't know where else to put it and it seems as good a start to my blogging career as any.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here (with any sort of sensitivity or aversion to atheism, or what I fondly refer to as Logic).
There will be a few, or possibly many, posts involving ballet, because I am a dancer. But don't worry, I'm more embittered-theatre-bum than I'm-a-fairy-princess, so don't dismiss those posts as the usual boring claptrap you'd imagine them to be.
I love body modification, like, a lot. So there may be posts about weird piercings or ritualistic blood play and other similarly gory (and awesome) things.
I reserve the right to make sweeping generalisations about geeks and ballet dancers because I consider myself both. So if I do, take it as self-deprecation rather than a jab at your precious hobby /lifestyle/ boyfriend/ cat/ doorknob.
Last but not least: I'm new at this whole computer thing. I much prefer paper but I like the rainforests too so I'm using dastardly technology to save their asses (or trunks, har har). For that reason you'll have to excuse my bad formatting and lack (so far) of any aesthetic value to my blog while I stumble around trying to figure it all out.
And would you look at that, it's teatime already!
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here (with any sort of sensitivity or aversion to atheism, or what I fondly refer to as Logic).
There will be a few, or possibly many, posts involving ballet, because I am a dancer. But don't worry, I'm more embittered-theatre-bum than I'm-a-fairy-princess, so don't dismiss those posts as the usual boring claptrap you'd imagine them to be.
I love body modification, like, a lot. So there may be posts about weird piercings or ritualistic blood play and other similarly gory (and awesome) things.
I reserve the right to make sweeping generalisations about geeks and ballet dancers because I consider myself both. So if I do, take it as self-deprecation rather than a jab at your precious hobby /lifestyle/ boyfriend/ cat/ doorknob.
Last but not least: I'm new at this whole computer thing. I much prefer paper but I like the rainforests too so I'm using dastardly technology to save their asses (or trunks, har har). For that reason you'll have to excuse my bad formatting and lack (so far) of any aesthetic value to my blog while I stumble around trying to figure it all out.
And would you look at that, it's teatime already!
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