Thursday 29 March 2012
Accidental feminism slip
So my essay is on the representation and significance of Houses in Prosper Merimee's Carmen, and David Storey's This Sporting Life. I'm kind of leaving it to the last minute, and hoping that I can just wing it. And as the words get more and more on the page, I slip more and more into feminism. If in doubt, be a feminist, I guess!
Miracles don't necessarily come from men in loin cloths and beards.
4 hours sleep. No revision. Very wired. Woke up half an hour before exam, after pressing snooze for 2 hours.
Get a mid - 2:1? Whaaa?
Got to bang out 1500 words before midnight, lets see if this luck is a fluke!
In other news, amidst my procrustination, I forgot how cute this lil guy is:
Get a mid - 2:1? Whaaa?
Got to bang out 1500 words before midnight, lets see if this luck is a fluke!
In other news, amidst my procrustination, I forgot how cute this lil guy is:
Wednesday 28 March 2012
Slightly ceremonial.
I think its fitting that my first post on here was to do with me starting to run. Well its daaaymn certain I'm going to have to get back into running over Easter as I'm eating absolute rubbish (see previous post...). So, soon I'll be writing posts about natural yogurt and sunshine and running and the sounds of birds tweeting, and what flowers I saw. But right now I want to say....
FUCKSHITARSEBUMWANKTITCOCKBUGGERMCFUGGERFUCKITYNOARSEHOLECUNTBUMPOOTOILETCRAPARSESHITY
FUCKSHITARSEBUMWANKTITCOCKBUGGERMCFUGGERFUCKITYNOARSEHOLECUNTBUMPOOTOILETCRAPARSESHITY
Ridiculous
Talk about DEVOLUTION: MATTESONS advertisement is 'Crave meat, hunt Mattesons'. Its not even pretending; almost as if they still expect us to be wearing loincloth and traipsing in from starting a fire through sticks and stones.
I really don't need to be thinking about this right now. O dear. Its that 3am feeling. And for the record - I had a cheese & onion sandwhich, and it tasted like cardboard on a bad day.
I really don't need to be thinking about this right now. O dear. Its that 3am feeling. And for the record - I had a cheese & onion sandwhich, and it tasted like cardboard on a bad day.
Calling all clever clogs
Basically, don't know how to link to a video on this blog, so the previous post was meant to feature an incredible sneezing panda, that, lets face it, will probably get me through my degree.
All coke, and no real food, makes Kate a very weird person.
All coke, and no real food, makes Kate a very weird person.
Entertain me.
There's only so much pleasure that can be got from writing in different coloured pens, and drawing a man's mouth and eyes on forefinger and thumb and making him sing 'Bohemiam Rhapsody' by Queen.
Toilet Trauma.
I wrote this for the UEADrop, but it got rejected, so here I am posting it where I, the editor, say yes!
Ok, so I’m a pretty firm female participant in the gender arena. I separate my socks from my knickers, I always wash behind my ears, between my toes (no cabbages growing there thank you very much) and if I’m mad with a man – friend, and they ask “what’s wrong?”, I claim that “I’m fine” (through gritted teeth), and then get annoyed they haven’t solved the problem. We all try to hide from the facts, but we know this to be true. A more scientific definition of my femininity is that I’ve (fingers crossed) got all the right level of chromosomes, and my apples and pears are in the right places. It’s a confirmed gender identity.
Or so I thought. These clear markers take on a murky colour when I am confronted with 4 doors. I am of course referring to the 4, practically identical doors of the Blue and Red bar toilets. Cue my face looking at a similar level of concentration as solving a Rubix cube, standing on one leg, attempting to recite the alphabet, listing all 300 varieties of goat, and making a poached egg – all at the same time and backwards. Tricky business I’m sure you’ll agree. Please also factor in that its high chance that I’m completely widdled and probably doing my ‘come get me’ eyes to the skirting board. Or, in fact, more shamefully, blindingly sober and nipped over to quickly spend a penny in between the rounds of a launderette sesh. Both scenarios are pretty high on the tragic scale.
You would think that the makers of UEA (God? The Government? Domino’s Pizza?) did their market research into how much students drink, at last count over half (52%) of male students and nearly half (43%) of female students drink more than the government’s daily unit guidelines (3-4 units a day for men and 2-3 for women) . So we’re talking stonking high amounts of alcohol, that make us stonkingly disorientated, and either gender confused or definitely perplexed. You forget what hangs where and how, when confronted with these doors.
Take today for instance. My laundry had 10 minutes left. I thought “O, here we go”, as the familiar alarm that nature needed to call, started to ring. I dashed over to the Blue bar, streaking past a man doing weights and a woman painting her nails. They seemed to have a pretty good idea of where they belonged, and I smugly agreed with them, until, without a moment to loose, I skid, wheeling past a man operating a bbq and a woman being a bad driver, in front of the 4 doors. All sense of certainty slides from my face, heart and soul. Who bloody knows? They all look the same! People are staring, I can hear the warbled karaoke judging me, as in my moment of abject panic I can’t choose, won’t choose, don’t know where to go. My bladder makes an alarming lurch, and I just have to, on pure instinct hope for the best, as I scramble blindly towards the door. I open it.
It’s the same trauma every time. And I’m not going to tell you what was behind that door.
Ok, so I’m a pretty firm female participant in the gender arena. I separate my socks from my knickers, I always wash behind my ears, between my toes (no cabbages growing there thank you very much) and if I’m mad with a man – friend, and they ask “what’s wrong?”, I claim that “I’m fine” (through gritted teeth), and then get annoyed they haven’t solved the problem. We all try to hide from the facts, but we know this to be true. A more scientific definition of my femininity is that I’ve (fingers crossed) got all the right level of chromosomes, and my apples and pears are in the right places. It’s a confirmed gender identity.
Or so I thought. These clear markers take on a murky colour when I am confronted with 4 doors. I am of course referring to the 4, practically identical doors of the Blue and Red bar toilets. Cue my face looking at a similar level of concentration as solving a Rubix cube, standing on one leg, attempting to recite the alphabet, listing all 300 varieties of goat, and making a poached egg – all at the same time and backwards. Tricky business I’m sure you’ll agree. Please also factor in that its high chance that I’m completely widdled and probably doing my ‘come get me’ eyes to the skirting board. Or, in fact, more shamefully, blindingly sober and nipped over to quickly spend a penny in between the rounds of a launderette sesh. Both scenarios are pretty high on the tragic scale.
You would think that the makers of UEA (God? The Government? Domino’s Pizza?) did their market research into how much students drink, at last count over half (52%) of male students and nearly half (43%) of female students drink more than the government’s daily unit guidelines (3-4 units a day for men and 2-3 for women) . So we’re talking stonking high amounts of alcohol, that make us stonkingly disorientated, and either gender confused or definitely perplexed. You forget what hangs where and how, when confronted with these doors.
Take today for instance. My laundry had 10 minutes left. I thought “O, here we go”, as the familiar alarm that nature needed to call, started to ring. I dashed over to the Blue bar, streaking past a man doing weights and a woman painting her nails. They seemed to have a pretty good idea of where they belonged, and I smugly agreed with them, until, without a moment to loose, I skid, wheeling past a man operating a bbq and a woman being a bad driver, in front of the 4 doors. All sense of certainty slides from my face, heart and soul. Who bloody knows? They all look the same! People are staring, I can hear the warbled karaoke judging me, as in my moment of abject panic I can’t choose, won’t choose, don’t know where to go. My bladder makes an alarming lurch, and I just have to, on pure instinct hope for the best, as I scramble blindly towards the door. I open it.
It’s the same trauma every time. And I’m not going to tell you what was behind that door.
What am I? Who am I?
Walk into the toilet. 'Ooo this smells a bit funny'. Do my business, come to open the door, and see someone without boobies looking alarmed and staring at me. Yup, done it again. Definitely gender confused.
In other news, however, on day 2 of Librarygate I have just succeeded in nabbing the good chair once again. Giggedy.
In other news, however, on day 2 of Librarygate I have just succeeded in nabbing the good chair once again. Giggedy.
One down, one to go!
Quite chuffed with my closing sentiments,
'As long as people need to speak, Theatre Workshop’s methods can talk as many languages as there are voices, and can always find a megaphone to magnify their agenda, whatever the colour.'
O, Theatre Workshop, its been a pleasure. But I really think we should start seeing other people. Like ones that don't make me stay inside when I really ought to be outside.
'As long as people need to speak, Theatre Workshop’s methods can talk as many languages as there are voices, and can always find a megaphone to magnify their agenda, whatever the colour.'
O, Theatre Workshop, its been a pleasure. But I really think we should start seeing other people. Like ones that don't make me stay inside when I really ought to be outside.
Tuesday 27 March 2012
Ideas too big for my boots.
Changed back to the shorter chair, I was at a level too high for my station.
Change of name
My name is no longer Kate Marks, it is Fidget McWidget. I'll make it official in the morning if I live through all of the death looks that are being catapaulted at me from all angles.
Wish me luck.
Wish me luck.
I'm going up in the world
Just got another upgrade of chair, and gave the next door library person a smug look!
I feel like this is the fastest paced evolution the world has ever seen!
I feel like this is the fastest paced evolution the world has ever seen!
The witching hour? Mai time to shiiine.
So 1am Kate responds to a slightly saucy-toned message with
'O you want me to show you how to make a house of cards out of paper doilies?', with not a hint of irony.
That, my friends, is why I'm single.
In other news, however, I've seen the same security guard walk up those steps twice in one hour. Something must be occurin'. O MY GOD the view from my laptop is so boring - the only way out of this library is by clawing through my essay, which is a less physical, more traumatic version of the Great Escape, which I had wanted to re - watch, but now feel like I've experienced it myself, whilst being entrapped in a sausage encased pair of tights.
'O you want me to show you how to make a house of cards out of paper doilies?', with not a hint of irony.
That, my friends, is why I'm single.
In other news, however, I've seen the same security guard walk up those steps twice in one hour. Something must be occurin'. O MY GOD the view from my laptop is so boring - the only way out of this library is by clawing through my essay, which is a less physical, more traumatic version of the Great Escape, which I had wanted to re - watch, but now feel like I've experienced it myself, whilst being entrapped in a sausage encased pair of tights.
Aces!
Just swapped my uncomfortable plastic library chair for a double padded swivel beauty. + 1 for essay writing. -1 for STILL being in the library. Having a little hilarious holiday in my head imagining my friend Emma in her amazing role of Meg in Harold Pinter's The Birthday Party doing really mundane things like buying courgettes and getting on the bus. Must mention it to her.
Hm.
What if world - wide arguments weren't solved through people dying? Its odd how we have accepted that wars happen. I remember growing up in the '90s and seeing a jet plane shooting across the horizon, and asking my mum what it was doing, and she replied that "it was going to war". I remember even then being astonished that wars were being fought when I felt so comfortable, driving in a car through some woods to go and have lunch with my Nana. In England, if we get to the lowest low, we still can bank on the fact that we're alive; that we have a life and we exist. So many people around the world aren't so fortunate.
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