Of Resolutions and Loose Women

Its that time of year again when my mind starts whacking out suggestions for new year resolutions. Inevitably a few of ye olde favourites are up and running - the 'procrastinate less' 'exercise more' 'revise harder' 'actually stick to your bloody resolutions'. Those ones. So i start to scribble the list down (im a traditionalist, sue me) and as i reach no 7, on auto-pilot, my brain goes - no.7: Grow Up. 

Now now, I know you're thinking "Jeez this reeks of retrospective over-dramatisation" but i assure you, true believers, thats what happened. 

Walking the path of the inner-shrink (self-shrink? Terminology aid required.) i turned on the music and thought about it. And i think whats bugging me is a combination of a couple of things.

1. The fact that everyone around me seems to be having intellectual growth spurts, and im still the same 4 foot 3, or whatever we were in highschool.

2. This line in a graduate recruitment handbook: 'Resist the urge to become an expert on day-time telly. Jeremy Kyle, the Loose Women - and much as it pains us to say it - Dick Van Dyke in the role of Dr. Mark Sloan have nothing to offer you.'

Aside from the fact that I have no idea who Dr. Mark Sloan is, and my only opinion of the Loose Women* is that it MUST be a poor incarnation of the Desperate Housewives**, the statement sat unpleasantly with me. Because im pretty sure that if the people who produced student guides tailored to people like me, it would have read:

"Resist the urge to be a, more oft than not, insane fan of things. Stupid amounts of information on spandex-wearing basket cases, Manchester United, fabricated concepts of heaven/hell/time-travel/mass-relays, anything that requires a console and - as much as it pains us to say it - things with Martin Freemans face in it, have nothing to offer you."

Which got me worried.

Because i know a shitload about some things, and a little bit about a lot of things. Which is how i like it, but turn potentially deep intellectual conversations about things like politics into fucking quicksand. And friends who i thought were (to return to my analogy) also 4 foot 3 in highschool, have gone away and come back NBA all-stars.

Its not like i dont WANT to be more world conscious. Believe me, you dont know what id give to punch that carrot-topped, condescending (i dont care if its unintentional) judgybee in university every time i shrug and say i dont really care about something and he looks at me as if to say 'why did they accept you?!'. Or to keep up with Jish past the point of conversational diminishing returns when the chit chat turns to politics or other 'grown up' shit. I dont know what a mortgage*** is outside of the Monolpoly definition.

I just cant be bothered. Is that a bad thing?

I read a lot, my brother will testify to the fact that i have amassed a tiny library, but I read to ESCAPE the world. Why read Freakonomics when you could be saving universes and slaying dragons? I read the occasional newspaper, but the news is depressing, our politicians are idiots and the new economic plan cant keep my interest for more than a couple of paragraphs. Im not completely cut off though, dont get me wrong. The environment, basic human rights, religion, law (for the most part)... fair enough. All that other crap?

Ngeh.

I guess all this applying for jobs and 'commercial awareness' shtick has gotten to me slightly. And i guess i will have to make a bit of an effort to placate the people who will inevitably be determining the affordability of shiny new things as we fast forward into the future.

But im removing 'grow up' from the list. It can wait a couple of years.


Over and out,
nk




*I was wrong. Its a day time talk show with interviews and shit. Whether its any more intelligent than Desperate Housewives remains to be seen.
** The only things i hate more than DH is Gossip Girl. And Twilight. And maybe tween-pop. Ok, maybe a shit load of other things.
*** I know what a mortgage is now. Dont panic.

Post-apocolyptic Update

Let me just start by saying im slightly disappointed that the world didn't go kaplauwee in a fit of sexy angels zombie induced panic.

As opposed to some other from of world-ending, obviously. 

Although... that slightly optimistic bit of me that went 'oh well at least i wont have to write this land essay if the world ends' is crying in a corner. That's pretty much what im going to tell mum next week when she enters the room at 3 in the morning to find me desperately mashing away at the keyboard.

"I fucked with the schedule I'd made a week ago and waited till the weekend just in case the world blew up - didn't want to waste any precious time i could've spent with you guys!"

Yeah, pigs will give up on naturally attained flight and invent jet-packs before she buys that.

So once again i find myself inexplicably drowning in a shitload of things that need to be done urgently. I say 'inexplicable' but you, me and the next door cat know that's a lie.

It's all her fault. 

So as it stands, I've got two weeks to hash out a grand total of 4000 words worth of respectable legal crap, apply to at least 10 firms for internships with a cv that is currently in the works and cover letters that are yet to see light of day, tutorial work for the week that I get back, Tort submission, organise flight plans for the uni bunch for summer 2013, kick ass in COD, finish Assassins Creed III, and clear Dishonoured Corvo Attano's name.

GAME ON.





nb: okay, maybe not the last three. It's that devil child, i swear. She's a bad influence.

nk

Fish-kites

I always liked airports. Because an airport equals airplanes and airplanes (unless you're just seeing someone off) equals travel.

Flying itself may not be the most fun of processes, but I like the high you get when you know that in a day, you'll be in a completely different place. Doesn't really matter where I'm going really. Whether is just next door or in a different time zone, going away or coming home - I'll never get sick of traveling.

See you soon, I guess :)
nk

Can We Talk?

Allow me to begin with the following disclaimer: 
If identical images are used to illustrate different points, it is for the sake of efficiency and uniformity. Not because I have truly underestimated how difficult it is to finger paint attractive stick people.

There. Now down to business. In the wind down of what has been a more-down-than-up summer, I have come to realise a couple of things. Firstly: I may be a spoilt brat.

I know, it's a shocker.

Let me explain. This is me now:

Stick limbed, vaguely triangular in body, bald, and most importantly - unhappy with my small pile of kryptonite-looking cool stuff. (hint: Only one of the above is true IRL.)

And this is where I want to be in about 15 years:

If you thought: skinny limbed, still bald, queen of a small island nation and owner of Superman's cape and a shitload of REALLY COOL STUFF, then you serrah, are correct. 

Because context is necessary to understand, I shall elaborate. I have recently updated my before-30-bucket-list (you come up with a better name) and while discussing some of the less personal goals/wishes with my mom, she commented amusedly, that she'd never thought of these kind of things when she was younger. Now I'm paraphrasing, but she basically explained that she just went where the wind took her, and she was happy. I got a little agitated at this, because I couldn't understand how someone just 'settles' for whatever gets flung their way. And then I thought it over, and I realised that I may be a little spoilt.

I mean, its not like my parents have left me wanting - I visited Disneyworld, a solid chunk of Europe and Australia well before I turned 15, and Irvin and I were given anything we wanted within my parents means for the fair price of doing well in school. I'm in a good university (though maybe not the one of my dreams) doing a very respectable course. And yet, I bitch and moan that if that list hasn't been completed by the time I turn 30 (35 at the most) I will not die happy.

To give you an idea of the utter whimsy of this list - Item 23: visit Madagascar and see those really cool alien-trees.

I guess what I'm trying to figure out here is whether I'm entitled to want all this stuff, or have I fallen into the astrological stereotype of the Pisces dreamer and I need to find someone to slap me really hard and get me back to planet Earth. Should I stop saying 'I'd be happier IF...' and just take stock and be grateful? Or would that be settling? Is it 'spoilt' for me to dream of bigger things when I have friends saving up for flights in piggy banks? Is it okay that I think I wont die happy if I never write a book, go backpacking with my brother, work for Bioware, finally master the violin, sing in a professional choir or eat funny-sauced french fries in Brussels? What if I never learn to scuba dive? I guess if my worst fear comes true and I'm eaten by a shark that wont really matter... And what if I finish everything on that list and i'm STILL unhappy/unfulfilled/clinically insane?

Can I, Should I, What if... Ugh. Someone point me to where I can find Answers.

Excuse the lack of segue, but now to problem no. 2.

This is me on a normal day:

Now you see why I needed that disclaimer.

And this is when the world decides to take a crap on me.

Lately (and by lately I really mean over the past two years) it seems that I've been asked either directly or indirectly to help with shit that people really should be managing themselves. Its not like I don't care for them or anything, on the contrary, I love these people -that I shall not name either by name or by title- to bits. But your emotionally taxing problems + my overactive brain + occasionally PMS afflicted emotional control = No sleep for me, or a lot of crying and yelling. 

These problems usually file themselves into two categories:

1. You're adults, you shouldn't be burdening me with this crap so SOLVE YOUR OWN SHIT.

or

2. I managed it by myself, why do I need to hold his/your hand?

I know that problem solving comes with the oldest-child territory since apparently all oldest children are inherently gifted in mitigating and all have Phd's in 'getting things done'. And I'll do it too! I'll figure out  all this shit to the best of my ability because I know that I can help, and because I know to a certain extent I should, and because I care. Even if I've been told that the feelings-fixer part of my psyche is going to doom me to a lifetime of attempting to cure, and being attracted to broken people. But I don't want to get suckered into the emotional equivalent of curing cancer or brokering world peace, yknow? Especially if Helping and my sanity are inversely proportional.

I'd just like to say that I'm perfectly happy dealing with my own pile of problems thank you very much. If you haven't noticed, its SMALLER than Mt. Other People's Crap. But if I point this out, I run the risk of being a Horrible Human Being.

Happiness is a pain in the butt.



nk.
Todays conclusion is brought to you by too much chocolate cake, a handful of potato chips and evil!goatees. 

Springeth Cleaneth

So I finally got off my arse and decided to test out my new sketchy-doohickies on the iPad, and viola! New blog header!

Also got around to clearing out some of the less than satisfactory posts, so if you're one of my more die-hard (HAHA) readers and you notice something's missing, that shit GONE.

Yes, this would be me taking baby steps to get my life in order before uni starts again. It seems insignificant (maybe it is, I'm weird when it comes to mine own literary works of any kind) but like I said: Baby steps.

Crawl before you can run, child. We'll figure out flying and all that other shit later.

Here's to 2012/2013 being awesome-r than last year!




Hopefully I remember to study this time.

nk

RVP

Turning my little patch of internet real-estate into Football-Punditsland could not be further from my intentions, but I have to get this one little thing off my chest. I'm all for the 'let the haters hate' mantra, but twitter on game day has gotten on my nerves.

The issue: I don't see the logic in the whining and complaints (not even from Arsenal fans, mind you) that Robin Van Persie has gone all insta-hero on the red side of Manchester.

RVP signed for close to 25 MILLION pounds. And we can't go a little crazy because the guy's proving that he's worth the money? I'm not suggesting we tear down the 2OLEGEND* banner on the Stretford End and plaster v. Persie's face across the stand just yet, but 4 goals in 3 matches INCLUDING a hattrick to pull us out of the fire against Southampton? I'd call that a bloody good start.

But I must be missing something important because a handful of people seem to think that we ought to ease Van Persie's transition into the club by pelting him with eggs or something.

Did Chelsea boo Torres when he joined them from Liverpool? Did the Citizens rain rotting produce on Tevez as he ran around in sky blue after only just recently ditching red? I think not!

(Correct me if I'm wrong though, flying eggs and vegetables would be quite entertaining.)

I understand that football comes hand in hand with friendly banter and, more often than not, not so friendly banter. And that's cool y'know. You are entitled to your opinion. You sing your songs, we'll sing ours. We'll bitch about the hordes of players that joined you for cash, and you can counter with the shitloads that we're paying our players. Touche.

But as a fan, I speak from experience when I say that football is much like Saurons Ring.

It's pretty and it's magical, but it can also make you a horrible person.

Y'see what I mean?

And what I'm trying to get at in this unfortunately long winded manner, is do us all a favour and go be a horrible person in private.

As for Van Persie... I say take a bow, good ser. And welcome to Manchester. We promise we wont pelt you with eggs.


nk




*Ole Solskjaer, you will always be my hero. 

The Sausage McMuffin of LIFE

So much to talk about, so little time before my coworkers start showing up to work. Not that they're late, no no no. I just get here at 8 because I enjoy watching what's left of the sunrise through tinted glass windows 17 floors above ground while sipping my lukewarm teh tarik without the tarik and munching on granola bars an hour before work actually starts.

That was sarcasm, if you didn't pick it up.

Work was... I'll settle for 'enlightening'. But I'm not going to discuss work now, because I am currently working for an IT company, and if anyone was going to accidentally build Skynet, it would be them, so I'm not taking any chances. (And then I remember that the laptop they've given me is shit, so maybe I shouldn't be so concerned with robot-filled post-apocolyptic futures. But still, blogging about work at work just seems like bad manners.) I'll talk about work after I end my internship tomorrow.

Instead, I'll tell you a little story about my breakfast.

Today, I had a McMuffin. Specifically, a McDonalds Sausage McMuffin. Which is an earth shattering revelation (I exaggerate, sue me) because I have successfully sworn off anything McFoody for a very very long time. And with good reason too. I'm sorry to turn you off your Quarter Pounders, but you wouldn't be eating that if you know what went in it. OR ON IT. I have a mom who used to work in the fast food industry. You know the ice-cream machine thing? THAT'S WHERE COCKROACHES GO TO DIE.

But I digress. There's an earth shattering revelation I have to discuss.

Today, I didn't feel like eating my granola bar. I decided the stupid thing had too many fruits and nuts and shit that was good for you  (BROWN RICE SUGER, what in potatoes -thank you Mira- is that even supposed to be?) 'Rolled oats'? PISSSSH. No. I was going to McD's and getting a greasy, cheesy, breakfast burger. At 8 am. Because, as long as I don't see the cockroach, there is no cockroach and I'm home dry. Ignorance is bliss and all that jazz.

Here is where I pause my story to derive the moral of this little tale. In Law, they call this 'reasoning by analogy'. I think just I read to much into things. but lets get on with it eh? The granola bar (and my attempt at eating healthy as a whole) is my law degree. Dry, hard, usually flavourless and occasionally soul-crushing. but it's good for me. The McMuffin on the other hand, is the degree of greener pastures: Art, Literature, Writing, Design - deemed by people that society anointed as 'wiser than thou' to be enjoyable for that brief moment while the cheese is still soft, and the burger still warm, but not so fun when youre sitting on the toilet for ages on end because a roach decided to do the macarena on your McBuns. But you want the burger, because it looks so good, and you're sick of other people enjoying something you want, while you're munching on what might as well be raisins on cardboard.

Today's inspiring analogy (and breakfast urges) is brought to you by two of my friends deciding to, and I quote BOTH of them, "Drop out of law AND DO SOMETHING I ENJOY." Am I doing this wrong? Like guys, I see the burger, but I also know there's a cockroach twitching in the insecty throes of death on the floor next to me. That, I notice AFTER my meal btw. You see, the cockroach is the metaphor for the Downside (caps intended) that comes with doing the things you love that wont make you lots of moolah. How are you all ignoring the cockroach? The friend in England, is excused, because the McDonalds you live in is managed by different people. But the friend back here? We've both got fathers who will not be (and in her case, from what she's told me, IS not) happy with daughters dropping out of law. I don't think mine can even fathom the idea without popping a vein, so I don't mention it, except to make veiled comments in the car, while I know he's distracted as fuck anyway.

I want my McMuffin too, Maker damn it.

But I'm not here to mope. I understand the realities of the world. There will ALWAYS be cockroaches - whether you see them next to you, or they're dying in your ice-cream maker behind the scenes. I will eat my damn granola bars, and even though I may not enjoy it as much as I wish I would, I will chew the hell out of that granola bar because I know what it's worth, and I owe myself that much. And I guess I owe my family that much. But I WILL have my burger. eventually. But I'll have it once I know that there are no more dancing cockroaches on my breakfast.

This analogy made a bit more sense in my head.

What I'm trying to get at is that I will finish this degree with the highest qualification possible, at 22. And after that, I WILL qualify for Ivy, pack my stuff and go study whatever I want in the good US of A. Masters, another degree... whatever, y'know? Maybe graduate by 25/26.  Doctors take 7 years off their life to study. Why shouldn't I?

I owe it to myself to do what I should, but I also owe myself the chance to do what I want before its too late, and sorry to all who may say nay, but you and your gross-ass insects can go to hell. I've got bugspray. And medication.


People really shouldn't let me eat meals by myself.
nk.