Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Life in younger times seems to have been a lot more fun. Granted I am a child of the 'I-want-more' generation (where people these days seem to want only what they don't have) but earlier times seem to have been so much more free, easy and ridiculously relaxed. Don't get me wrong, I'm currently in my university holidays, spending time at the beach when not earning money at a job that doesn't feel like work, with people I love. My life's pretty sweet, but still I'm intrigued at how different the earlier generations were.. the 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s. All of it... I'm so interested in how things were just so different then. People didn't have technology to be addicted to, nobody had the money to make them selfish and social norms were traditional, reliable and just quite cool. Of course it was conservative, very conservative and we've come a long way in terms of rights, equality and those sort of major political breakthroughs since those days. But sometimes I think all the change that's occurred has kind of just created issues in the wake of new discoveries. Almost as though there is so much available to us nowadays that we are bombarded and almost never content with what we get? Because there's just so much out there... like when I go out for dinner. I can never, and I mean NEVER decide what to order first up, I will almost definitely be the last to order because I am incredibly indecisive. To the frustration of my friends and family, I put it down to an abundance of choice. There's always so much to choose from that I get nervous to make the wrong decision and get a severe case of food jelousy. In the 60s for example, my local diner probably had about four options to choose from. Easy peasy. They didn't have quite the nutritional knowledge we have today either, making my decision all the more carefree and easy. What should I wear to dinner tonight? Same issue! Too much choice, too little time. But really, in the 60s we wouldn't have known that spending time in the sun would lead to cancer, or that smoking cigarettes would slowly and surely eat away at our lungs.. we'd be unaware of so much danger. Is being oblivious more fun? I am inclined to think yes.
2013 - thirteen can you believe that!? There's so much on offer. So much more than previous times. It's exciting, sure. Career opportunities, travel time and so much ahead of us but at what stage can you stop the clock and prepare yourself for what's to come? To take a quick breather to relax and pretend there are only four options on the menu instead of twelve; only three dresses in my wardrobe as opposed to twenty-seven and only eight university electives as opposed to sixty-two. When we didn't know as much, or need as much, life seems to have been a whole lot easier. Sometimes I wish I could go back and experience it, just for a day. Actually maybe a week. I know after a week I'd probably miss my iPhone so much I'd be begging to return to my generation, but I really would love to see what it was like. People also seemed kind of nicer then... trustworthy and just normal. Black and white, good or bad (the bad ones I wouldn't want to be friends with of course). I'd choose friends whose mum's baked the most delicious cookies and whose dad's drove the coolest car... just kidding. Am I really that shallow? The product of Generation SPOILT.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Today is Tuesday. Tuesday, January the 8th in the year of 2013. Just quietly... last year went all too quickly. But back to today, it is a giant sauna. Sydney is experiencing hell on earth in the way of forty-two degree temperatures. It's mighty ridiculous. I've become a hermit inside my house, which is situated at the bottom of a ditch which means it is somewhat cooler than the temperatures outside. I'm hibernating to the point that I haven't really even stepped outside of my lounge room. It's 2.14 in the afternoon. I tried, but as soon as I swung the door open I was slapped in the face by a tidal wave of sweltering wind. Disgusting. Heinous. Just plain inconvenient. I wanted to go for a run this morning but well... I accidentally slept through my alarm and woke up at 9.30 and you know what? It was already about thirty-five degrees. Not cool weatherman, not cool. So now I've watched two movies, tralled the internet and drunk about three glasses of iced lemon cordial. And here I am complaining.. Who am I kidding, life's pretty good. Please excuse me while I make myself some more cordial.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
I always wonder what is considered inappropriate for me to do on a train. I don't want to be that annoying person with their music too loud, virtually shouting into their phone or loudly chewing an extremely crunchy breakfast food. There are so many things that have people's noses up these days... eyebrows raise, eyes going to and from the scene of the crime, judgement levels increasing by the second. Tough crowd. Anyway, so the other day I was in a bit of a rush (nothing out of the ordinary I must admit) and I had decided the night before that I wanted to paint my nails - they were pretty grotty, chipped, uneven in length and just not looking too fabulous. Back to the point. So I slept through my alarm (classic) and then slept through my second alarm.. and on the third I finally arose from my bed to find I was in quite a serious rush - train coming in 11 minutes, 7 minute walk to the station... eeeek. I threw my things in my bag, scrapped on some makeup, ran to the fridge to grab an Up & Go (flavour? chocolate, duh) and I was out the door. Did I mention I also grabbed my nail polish bottle from the kitchen bench? Well I did. By the time I was on the train, fully intending to paint my nails - I stopped and realised, am I THAT person? It was a crowded train, North Shore peak hour into the city, my carriage filled with stitched up looking business people... people I stereotype to be the people that easily judge. It's quiet, nobody's chewing, nobody's talking, just the periodic turning of a newspaper. Peace and quiet on a peak hour train. Unheard of, right? Usually there's at least one naive sod going against the grain and participating in some sort of disruptive activity. I was about to become that person. I scanned the carriage again and saw two women sitting next to each other staring at me straight in the eyeball. Sprung. The nail polish went back into my bag, and the suit next to me finally stopped his staring. I'm a chicken. I wasn't game. My nails look horrid. And really - we need a rule book.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
You know what sucks? Being tall. I've been pretty tall all of my life, I mean.. disregarding when I was a toddler and two feet small. It's been awkward growing up. In the junior school, my girlfriends and I were friends with a big group of boys from a school up the road. We're all still friends now but you know how it is, people grow apart.. boys find girls with bigger assets, and girls find boys with brains. But anyway, this one friend of mine used to have really big parties, in her really big backyard next to her really big house. Looking over photos, I'm horrified. Particularly as all of the boys go up to my shoulders. I was the Empire State Building - braces and all, towering over everybody as though I was fully grown but really, I had a good few more years of growth after that photo was taken (and as an added bonus, my braces were taken off). All in all, I was pretty much a shoe-in for one of the most unattractive young teens; a prime example of 'Don't worry darling, boys grow up a bit later.. but soon they'll all be taller than you!' aka, 'Please God may it be sooner rather than later, my daughter's a giant'. No, I shouldn't say that, it wasn't that bad.. fortunately I wasn't that aware of it at the time, and with two older brother's I didn't emotionally bruise like a peach. As time went on the boys eventually sprouted and we all met somewhere in between, but that's not to say there weren't some really awkward moments. For example, that sickening memory of being that ring-in date for the-boy-who-doesn't-know-girls at my first formal, showing up to his house all excited in my new pretty dress with my first pair of heels, only to find I stood a good foot taller than him. Comforting, huh? Quite the opposite. I was still taller than a lot of the boys actually, somehow I hadn't factored into my brain that wearing high shoes would make me taller than I already was... Anyway, I'll have you know these days I never wear high shoes for that very purpose. That in itself is a real shame, because so many high heeled shoes are so incredibly cool, and I miss out on wearing them each and every time. I walk past window displays and stare longingly at those six-inch platform ankle boots, knowing we'll never belong together. And then trawl online, coming across pair after pair of insanely weird but a little bit intriguing pair of platform sneakers. (I'd personally never go for them anyway, but it'd be nice knowing I had the option). Of course I could just go out and buy them, but then they would permanently live under my bed as I'd be in constant fear of miraculously transforming into that that ten year old giant I once was, as soon as I wore them outside. Kind of like Spiderman transforming whenever he puts on his little outfit. But for now, I'll just have to cop the fact that high heels and I will never be one. I will never be a ballet dancer, just as I will never own a wardrobe of shoes as impressive as Carrie Bradshaw. But there is one positive - I'll never have to get a pair of jeans taken up.