Well, there’s something to be said about summer and creativity, flexing your intellect as you see fit without the confines of word counts. I don’t know what to think about these entries of yesteryear, they’re at times cringeworthy and ultimately not that substantial, but hey it’s something. Let’s go see what I’ve learned in a year.

No not outright. That’s just not my style. I’ll probably dance around personal subjects, probably still for the better. I’ll also continue to rock the comma splice, as I’m sure is going on now, and not risk three-percent-deductions (as instituted by a particularly harsh yet particularly fabulous modern lit prof). As a passionate hardliner for spelling, my occasional disregard for grammar is a little disappointing.

Yes, this more than a bit meandering. It’s a bit of a test run. Stream of consciousness at the moment. Later, I might subject these entries to greater scrutiny and editing but for now let’s just see where these words end up. I imagine you’re waiting on bated breath (another one of those phrases wherein the adjective seems meaningless without the noun) for the point. Do we stop now? I’m reminded of Willy Wonka leading the boat of delinquent children into the deep tunnel, singing tunelessly about its potential oblivion.

FIN.

No, not actual publishing woes. Truth be told, writing in this blog has come fairly easily of late but you wouldn’t know it. I’ve just been super critical of everything or too jumpy to actually complete a post. So I now have a plethora of beginnings of posts on language, social responsibility etc. saved and unpublished.

They tell me not to write about difficulties with writing – I guess I’ll just have to rebel

As a reminder to my itsy bitsy readership (a word far too prestigious-sounding, even when paired with diminutive adjectives), but more resoundingly to the blogger-in-me, I am still alive.

I may rant about political discussion. I may exclaim and explain my love for fake news. I may even bore you with the details of my scintillating urban escapade. There could be pictures. What a novel idea.

Sit tight. Tight!

Summer is notoriously a time to essentially veg out, a time where your mind is left to deteriorate as you’re left unconcerned. I hate taking people’s word for that – trashy ’summer’ books, for instance, really just irk me – and yet I find the enthusiasm for the online thought-pieces I once lauded (right in this here blog!) eluding me and I’m just more content hitting the random button at Dinosaur Comics and giggling away my nights.

However, that’s just internet and I’m more than happy to immerse myself in The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay which is so, so good and unlikely to be thrown in the ‘beach reads’ pile. Which is perhaps some consolation, but still I can’t place myself back in the academic context again. Ew, academia – I have no excitement for you. Perhaps the ’summerbrain’ as I’ve termed it is getting to me. Well hey, I guess I’ve got a month to sort that all out.

So I was indeed back Wednesday at my roughly scheduled time and our foray into a mosquito-ridden, vinyl-draped environment went pretty smoothly. However, given the insufferable, mind-draining heat and the nagging work hours I wasn’t really feeling The Writer, as such.

And now to dial down the excuses, I’ll just dive right into something with ever so slightly more substance than my defence of blathering about giddy exhortations of shiny movie love (speaking of which, why in hell have I not seen The Dark Knight yet?).  Gender issues are a touchy fucking subject – the kerfuffle begins first with declaring whether or not these are indeed issues which require mental or verbal wrangling. In recalling a headache of a pub visit with some naturally quarrelsome friends earlier this year, I know just how much of a thing that shit stirs in people. Whether it’s the seemingly unavoidable associations with insane radical bullshit or the fact that the slant of “gender issues” seems to fall inevitably toward women – it’s not something we’re going to agree on anytime soon.

I’ve always taken issue with the double standard that seems to so often emerge when looking at, for instance, gender-heavy court cases or day-to-day criticisms – often in a way where I want to investigate the embedded assumptions of men in a similar light. However at the same time, I appreciate and love the kickass woman image , especially having recently been engaged in a lot of bloggery, articles and interviews which purport that very image and are determined not to stand for anything less. And of course I hate the inane radicals. I think the point is… who doesn’t? As the Guardian article stressed – there are still serious issues to be dealt with. I know this doesn’t make me hypocritical one freaking bit, perhaps it just makes me an open-minded girl. I’m a hesitant labeller and ‘feminist’ is one I keep changing my mind about. Ultimately, I’m fairly sure it doesn’t matter but there are those positive that it does. Is attaching a quick, overloaded term to an issue really the only way to be heard these days?

Boys and girls, please be civil.

My mother is softly screaming at me to get into the car.

Back Wednesday.

There you go, Josh. Condiments. Big Brother is gone, and there is nothing less surveilling than condiments.

c/o the strangely attractive Condiment Package Gallery.

As a phrase I seem to have coined, or at least have employed in the past couple days to denote my ever-present tendency to obsess, to exalt, what have you… ‘celebrity magnetism’ seems to be, as I say, somewhat of a theme. Whether it’s overpublicizing or rather, overestimating the magnitude of slight encounters with a certain beloved musician (you likely know the story) or simply watching far too many interviews with Tony Stark/Principal Gardner/Paul Avery/Robert Downey Jr (yes, I know, all recent roles – I hope to perhaps more fully explore his oeuuvre over the summer) on Youtube – people generally know me as an easily hyped-up fangirl of sorts. Although I’d like to think of myself as reasonably grounded and in touch with the world around us, and at the same time I try to validate all this by noting these are smart celebrities, good movies and so on, I can’t help but worry that it’s childish and potentially dangerous and simply a waste of time.

My mother and I (especially) jump at the chance during fambly road trips to play what I have coined Movie-Actor-Movie which is basically a back-and-forth string of films, stars, more films and costars (you say, par exemple, the aforementioned Robert – I say Iron Man – you say Jeff Bridges – I say, of course, The Big Lebowski – Philip Seymour Hoffman – 25th Hour – Ed Norton…) It often involves me gleefully rhyming off the names by myself when others become lost, blank or simply fed up. Goddamnit, that string right there made me real giddy, y’see?

I’m not sure whether I’m really ashamed of it, I certainly revel in it to a certain degree – but it is perhaps a bit difficult to reconcile given my developing interests in international politics, human rights and their ilk. Although, maybe saying that is naive. Who knows?

I suppose I just really enjoy having that carefree, giggly side of me – maybe I’m just well-rounded.

No, that can’t be it.

So apparently this writing thing is working – after my first real post which could possibly be said to have content, I blurted out a substantial list of topics and the like before collapsing into the comfortable disarray I call my bed.

I’m kinda excited, I must admit.

My sister told me straight up today that she thinks I spend too much time online. It wasn’t really in a scolding tone (Sister darling, if you’re reading this – you’re merely a launchpad) but rather a perplexed one, citing for instance my tendency to babble about the numerous blogs I read/lurk. Due to some recent developments in Firefox functionality (this lovely plugin has made all my desired daily reads somewhat more of a reality), the genius of StumbleUpon and a newfound adoration for podcasts, this pastime has become more constant – if not, more fleshed out.

While she certainly has a point, the fact that I’ve been reading the same book since goddamn May was my first clue (and it’s not the book! Noo! In fact, Catch-22 is most definitely headed for my top 10 once I finish the damn thing), I can’t help but think I’m actually getting something out of this whole thing these days.  Relating to personal blogs is exhilarating and reading thought-pieces from Slate or the Guardian (among others) just feels so good.

All I can think to do is to read my next day off away in bed with my laptop stowed securely downstairs. I hope that’ll work.