| 100 in 1000 |
- Spend a week up a mountain learning to ski
- Visit Karoline's place in Moravia
Hold a conversation in Czech (only)- Drink 500ml of each of the following beers:
PilsnerStaroprammen- Budvar
- Velke Popovice
- U Fleku
GambrinusKrusovice
Respond to at least one GOARN request (WHO and MSF are
also acceptable)Travel across the AtlanticReturn to South America- Read a book to, or with, an impressionably aged child
- Participate in one NanoWriMo Challenge and come within at least 10,000 words of the goal length
Have my nose pierced- Have my next tattoo drawn
Purchase the perfect jeans (x 2 pairs)- Attend a spin class 3 times a week for 8 consecutive weeks
- Bake Viv's cheesecake
Make David's casserole Make David's Chicken Cashew-nut StirfryInvite 4 people who don't know one another too well to dinner- Ride from Vienna to Venice on a motorbike (pillion acceptable, those less desirable)
- Attend a book group for at least two books
- Go on a choir weekend (learn and perform difficult piece in two/three days)
- Visit Madame Tussaud's (in London)
- Take an architecture appreciation course
Join an all-girl group and sing a soloPublish in a scientific journal (top two authors)Cook a duck or other 'waterfowl'. Locate the Al-Timimi's from Doha Veterinary PractiseHave a pedicureMaintain a Brazilian (ouch) for three months.Find a trustworthy Czech hairdresser- Treat my inner-6-year-old twice a week (at least)
- Do the liver-cleansing diet properly (12 weeks)
- Don't eat out for one month
Find a flat and flatmate- Purchase one Joseph sweater
- Purchase one of the following pairs of
designer shoes (they MUST also be COMFORTABLE, and be able to be worn with 4
different outfits and 2 types of occasion): Jimmy Choos, Manolo Blahniks,
Christian Louboutin (Ebay or 2nd hand are acceptable)
- Send 5 books to the booksphere and track them.
- Go hanggliding
- Read 10 'classic' books (from 1001 Books to Read before you Die)
Moll FlandersEverything is illuminatedMadam BovaryZen & the Art of Motorcycle MaintainanceCatch-22OdysseusOn the Road
- Run (non-stop!) for 5kms outside (preferably in a street race thingy)
- Send Christmas Cards on time
Make a collage/mural out of street lights on my wallBuy a bed, build it, and sleep soundly in itGo to AfricaHost an 'event' (classified as and when)Organise a 30th Birthday PartyWear a costume- Sing on stage
- Buy a painting that evokes memories of Prague (cannot involve queues!)
Learn a god-damned card game that stays in my memory (other than fish/snap)See sunrise. Be sober. Have woken for it. Excludes months Nov-Mar- Take a walk and flip coins at each intersection
Win something- Draft a will
- Take a roadtrip
Go to Italy already- Sea Kayak around Abel Tasman Park (NZ)
Get plantsTake a train to another Eastern European Destination (accession countries are acceptable) alone preferably.- Get UK to give me a provisional motorcyclists license and simultaneously get a 'card' license.
- Go SCUBA diving again - at least two dives lasting 30mins each.
Go to a dentist. *sigh*- Do a Czech Wine Trail. And live to tell the tale
- Make an 'outbreak emergency kit'.
- Go to bed prior to 11pm every night (inc weekends) for four consecutive weeks.
- Marvel over lack of tiredness
- Dine at a Gordon Ramsey restaurant (or Nobu)- preferably for free.
Bet on the nags- Do something for charity (applying and getting a 'red card' will count)
- Walk along the Champs Elysee
- Do 100 sit ups in a row
- Do 50 pressups (arms in tight)
- Make branston pickle (or nearest substitute)
- Cook something 'new' and 'adventurous' at least once a month
Find a mentorBe a mentorLearn what mentoring is all aboutMeet an online person in real lifeResist the flirt. Once. Just one night. It's okay if people don't immediately succumb to my natural charm. Really it is.Spend time at a spa (spa towns in the CR don't count)- Send a care package to someone
Get a Tata Bojs CD- Take a French/German/Dutch course and SPEAK THE DAMNED LANGUAGE WHEN I HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY EVEN THOUGH IT MAKES ME SOUND
LIKE AN IDIOT!
- Order new contact lenses.
Make a list of things I take with me when I pack for different occasions- Eat lobster. Prepared by someone else.
Back up the blogPut everything onto an external hard drive- Find a DDR mat and console and 'dance, I say dance!'�
- Go to the beach and lie on the warm sand. For an hour. (with sunscreen on, natch)
- Take and complete a course in either: Tango, Salsa or Flamenco
- Join the Municipal Library of Prague
- Move to another country
Go to a live concert of a band I actually like- Pay off debts (student loan excl.)
Send thank you cards for every gift I receive (other than the gift of happiness, blah blah blah).- Get an agent (literary or theatre)
- Go to a sports bar without cringing, by personal choice
- Ride a rollercoaster
- Hold a snake
Spend a day wandering around a museum (not art gallery!) |
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| Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll in Shoreditch |
| Friday, 19 June 2009 |
So, I'm moving...AGAIN!
This time, from Tufnell Park into Shoreditch. Apparently, Shoreditch is not just the name of a bell in a childhood nursery rhyme (that has been going around and around and around in my head since I saw the flat) but is the place where all the cool, hip and groovy people live (certainly my new flatmate fits that bill).
I don't think I have the energy to pretend. I'm slightly perturbed I'm not going to live up to my new, cool East London address (which maintains an N1 prefix).
However other than my putatively wounded sense of 'cool', I thought I'd share with you some things I saw while I was looking for new places in which to lay my head. My favourite of these was:
"includes: running water"
I wish I was kidding. London or camp? Sometimes I confuse the two as well.Labels: Observations on Life |
posted by Nomes @ Friday, June 19, 2009   |
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| Defence to the Raspberry |
| Monday, 2 June 2008 |
 Introduction
Circumstances often arise where a pithy response is required to parry a verbal thrust. On occasion, the neural cortex is insufficiently prepared for the ‘search, scan and send’ behaviour required to make a return joust. Behaviour drives us to make both an audio and visual ‘come back’ such that a ‘raspberry’ is blown. This is known as a “lame response”. In certain situations, the person on the receiving end of the raspberry wishes not to be covered in aerosolised saliva. We investigated possible defence mechanisms to the raspberry, and present the most useful – and also present a counter attack.
Methods
Two volunteers used the popular ‘facing’ position on a kitchen chair. Other positions were attempted, but this reasonably close embrace keeps the peoples heads and, ipso facto, mouths, in the same three-dimensional space. The volunteers improvised with a variety of techniques until a suitable defence was identified. Further improvisation led to the development of an appropriate counter attack.
Results
The most effective method of ‘raspberry blocking’ is to immediately jam the tip of the tongue above that of the raspberry blowers, just tucking it under, preferentially, the upper lip, though tucking it above the lower lip also works. The greatest efficacy was measured when carried out as a ‘surprise’ as the raspberry blower tended to respond with googly eyes and an open mouth – thus blocking the path to the counter attack.
Said counter attack is for the raspberry blower to progress with the raspberry, regardless of the additional tongue between their lips. This has the effect of generally covering the muzzle of the raspberry blockers face with a mixture of their saliva – a suitable deterrent from blocking.
Discussion
We believe that this piece of independent and unfunded research adds greatly to the arsenal already available for “the battle of the sexes”, especially in circumstances where two people are very well matched in terms of intelligence, sense of humour and sense of the ridiculous.
We noted that the technique, the “raspberry block” could be dangerous if carried out at high speeds, from considerably different 3D space, such that the raspberry blocker could knock out the raspberry blower, unintentionally giving them a “Glasgow kiss”.
Conclusion
Should this technique be widely used across the world, between couples sparring about ridiculous things, we believe it will lend to greater harmony and peace throughout. If not, then a lot of snorting and guffawing – which can’t be a bad thing.
Acknowledgements
The authors take no responsibility for any injury (physical or otherwise) obtained in replicating this experiment under different circumstances. They would like to thank their two eager volunteers for their tireless enthusiasm in making fools of themselves and each other.Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Monday, June 02, 2008 |
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| 'ere be... |
| Saturday, 12 April 2008 |
| not only does he do DRAGONS (thereby allowing me to, too) but he takes my sense of humour and hurdles with it. What more could I ask for? Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Saturday, April 12, 2008 |
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| 'Ere there be... |
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Not only odes he do DRAGONS, when necessary (and therefore, understands when someone else has to) but he takes my sense of humour and totally hurdles with it.
Nice!Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Saturday, April 12, 2008 |
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| 'Ere there be... |
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Not only odes he do DRAGONS, when necessary (and therefore, understands when someone else has to) but he takes my sense of humour and totally hurdles with it.
Nice!Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Saturday, April 12, 2008 |
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| Sitcom moment #397 |
| Wednesday, 23 January 2008 |
 (INTERIOR. LARGE OPEN PLAN OFFICE ACOUSTIC. CLOSE TO MIC TINNY VOICE SUGGESTS THAT THE SHE IS ON THE PHONE TO HIM. WHICH SHE IS. PAPERS ON DESK ARE SHUFFLED AND THE COMPUTER EMITS A LOW BUZZ)
1. HIM: It’s 5:30!
2. HER: Yeah, I know.
3. HIM: But, you should be in my arms by now.
(CUT TO CLOSE-UP. PAPERS HASTILY GATHERED AND SHOVED IN BAG. CUT TO SPEEDING TUBE. CUT TO DARK STREET WITH CLIP-CLOPPING HEELS REVERBERATING OFF EMPTY BUILDINGS)
I mean, what else is a girl to do?Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, January 23, 2008 |
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| Rearrange this! |
| Monday, 24 December 2007 |
 NGSCTSIOOOAASLCTTMUNAINW
Because it could win me a trip to Antigua...which is where I need to go for my little bro's wedding in May ANYWAY...
Christmas is upon us. I have two more bits to buy and wrap, I have groceries to stock up on (you know, in case civilisation collapses), and I've a tiny piece of code to find in a database to make sure I'm on top of these outbreak-y things.
But wherever you are reading this from: Merry Christmas from me and mine. Breakfast (since you're asking) will be (probably) Eggs Montreal (with bagels not muffins). Dinner (at some point) will be a new dish (provided the ingredients are available still) inspired by Mamma involving 'sealing', 'cooling', 'wrapping' and 'resting'. Not to mention a moment of flambe genius (or daring) over the gas hob. Can't wait.
Then I'll be stretched out on the floor in the lounge, like some sort of reverse snail. Mmmmmmmm.....
...Bring it.
Love to all (thanks for staying this far)
Nomes
XXX Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Monday, December 24, 2007 |
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| Mind the Gap |
| Saturday, 17 November 2007 |
 I’m afraid I’m creatively involved elsewhere at the moment. I’m actually having to put some brain power into work – which is fun and demanding – consequently, I’ve had little inclination to update y’all on my progress.
So saying, here’s a brief, in the order of which people here seem to speak of topics
- Housing: soon to be moving from my ‘spare-bed-residing/housesitter-extraordinaire’ position to renting a 2bdrm unfurnished in the London Borough of Camden (it’s still giving me a small thrill to read that little add-on on street signs).
- Transport/The Commute: I hate the northern line. It currently (except this week, as I’m housesitting an 8min walk from work) takes me 1hr 16mins to go from door to desk. And in that time, I can read the ENTIRE Metro. Except I rarely have the opportunity as there’s no rack on my actual route to work. Damn and blast. And HOW expensive is a 7-day pass? Yeeesh!
- Health: apart from a Stockholm acquired respiratory bug and the alarming ‘black snot of Lundin-tahn’ syndrome; my health is tickety-boo.
- Weather: beautifully autumnal, my favourite season, though the clocks went back recently and it felt like midnight by 9pm. Still, I got a VERY early night because of it.
- Friends/Acquaintances: I’ve met one Londoner since I’ve been here (more than many meet in years).
- Status: very happy thanks.
- Work: I’m saving lives, darling. I work for the NHS.
That’s usually where the conversations comes to a dramatic close. I’m not quite sure which answer it is that puts them off…Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Saturday, November 17, 2007 |
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| Quick: get the book! |
| Tuesday, 28 August 2007 |
 Time was when we maintained a 'quote book'. I've no idea who has it now, but there were some pretty damning things written in it - which, when written out of context, were hilarious. That was the point.
I have one to add from this last week. It was all to do with coefficients of correlation, or something equally as innocuous. Everyone has an opinion on these sorts of things.
"I prefer the 'r''s."Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, August 28, 2007 |
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| Tracebook |
| Tuesday, 14 August 2007 |
 So, my love affair with the social-networking-site-for-the-intellectuals continues unabated, despite the odd message-that-I-didn't-write turning up on people's profiles and walls (note to self: do not leave 'puter unattended).
Today, I've been trawling through old school photos (oh god, the horror of the haircuts!) and having an extremely well-contained giggle (my ribs hurt). It turns out that one girl from a class below me lives in Warsaw. And since I'll be there soon, we're gonna catch up for a pivo(cz)/piwo(pl). I haven't seen her since 1992. Craziness. And there are rumours of a reunion at some point in London: since I haven't been to any of the reunions yet (NY and London - still too expensive from NZ), this could be a right laugh. Is Nomes still the "Voice of the Lower 6th" as her student council campaign stated?!? I'm now the 'cohort 11 representative', so plus ca change...
The facial structure changes are alarming. People who had the cutest faces back then now have jaws that don't match their foreheads - and somehow - larger noses!? The puppy fat has melted from many a cheekbone, revealing a totally different shaped face. Hairstyles are now about flattering than trendiness, and as such, look MUCH better. But don't get me started on the "yeah, I've had 3 kids, won a nobel prize, written a book and was on the last mission to the moon." statements. One of my friends was a model. Another an international motorcyclist! No longer do I feel modest (ha ha ha) with the claim "I'm saving the world!" damnit. Someone's gotta blow this trumpet.
It's pretty good for the ego, though. I've now got something in the region of 137 friends (so guess who's feeling popular today - check the wheel) and one of the it's-such-a-shame-you-didn't-stay-as-cute-as-you-were answered my British "you look well" with "me? you look FINE!".
Alriiiiiiight.Labels: Memories, Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, August 14, 2007 |
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| You too.... |
| Friday, 29 June 2007 |
 ...could become a Springfield citizen if you so desired. I'm SOOOO thinking of dyeing my hair pink. But that wouldn't exactly fit someone applying for the position of Regional Epidemiologist for Europe, now, would it?
No. Methought not either. Better not apply then, right?Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Friday, June 29, 2007 |
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| OooootRAYgeous things seen of late |
| Thursday, 21 June 2007 |
 The police here are a little odd. Quite often, of an evening, I stop in at the all-night-potraviny down the road (and up the hill) from where I live. This can be for a variety of reasons. Sometimes we have run out of tea. Other times I have a message urging me to pick up ice cream and milk on the way home (last night). Yet other times, I'm sufficiently organised to think about lunch and pick that up the night before (the most rare situation).
So it's always kind of off-putting when you see policemen, presumably on duty else why the hell would they wear that uniform?) doing their shopping too. I mean..."Officer? You eat!?!". One step away from Dunkin' Donuts.
Even worse still is when one of those officers has dressed in the dark that morning, and is wearing SWAT style gear (truncheons, bandoliers, epaulettes, black jumpsuit - it's a mess darling - TUCKED INTO boots) and purchases a Magnum. Not a .357 or a .44. A double chocolate Magnum. And he, all 6'4" suede-headed no necked bundle of muscles of steel, then procedes to eat said ice cream on the way out of the shop and down the street where he meets his buddies.
It just doesn't seem right. Who would YOU call if there was a riot at your house? I'm thinkin' Ghostbusters.
If you're a civilian (and 9, you're out of this category, I'm afraid), you're actually allowed to declare someone dead in the Netherlands (handy for insurance fraud). The one stipulation to your making the declaration, however, is that the head must be 1.5m from the body.
1.5m.
Because a mere separation of, say 0.5m means the person is still completely viable.
a) who carries a measuring tape with them?
b) who, knowing they're taller than 1.5m, would lie down betwixt head and body to see if the rule is met?
c) who would continue with CPR on a body of a headless person if the head was (only) separated by 0.5m - given to not do so may be considered gross negligence leading to death.
Answers in the comments box...
Note: photo is of policeman with a mohawk. WHAT!? AND! Other things I've seen: policeman with hole cut out of the top of his hat, so it's not so hot in summer! WTP???Labels: Observations on Life, Travelling |
| posted by Nomes @ Thursday, June 21, 2007 |
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| Trams, interviews and ME! |
| Tuesday, 5 June 2007 |
 This could so easily happen here. Of course, he would have slits cut into his trouser pockets, mobile phone, wallet and keys removed FIRST, but yeah.
Welcome to Prague
I know some of you want an update on the interview. Well, I ballsed up a rather large proportion of it. The bit about, you know, the disease I was applying to work on. Yeah - good one Nomes. BUT, to my defense, instead of bluffing my way through a crappy answer, I said something along the lines of,
"you know what? I'm not comfortable even attempting to answer that one, so could we move to the next question please?"
And answered the next one without a problem.
Either my honesty about my ignorance is rewarded with a job offer, or they think that they'd rather have one of the remaining 69 people who applied for the job - who might've done an internet search BEFORE the interview, rather than during.
Well, I did mention I needed interview practice...
Update: "I regret to inform you your appalication was not successful on this occasion." Just as well I've started looking so early: this could take some time!
P.S. I know, the picture has NO link to the words. Sod it, I figured it's about time you had a nice recent picture of me.
Labels: Observations on Life, what to do...? |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, June 05, 2007 |
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| ETA: Panic stations. |
| Wednesday, 23 May 2007 |
 Here's my thing.
Once you disappear out of the public domain of the airport, you're comfortably cosseted. It's just you, overpriced bottles of water, ground staff, air staff, cleaning ladies, toilets that are big enough to swing a medium sized cat in, and (if it's Vienna) free wi-fi. You can spend an hour browsing the magazine rack and NO ONE TELLS YOU OFF - or asks you to move out of the way. You can possibly even find a paper that isn't sold within the city limits.
You can spray perfumes until your olfactory senses are so overwhelmed that you have a sneezing fit, only plugged by hearing the 'zip' of your card through another EFTPOS terminal. You can go in barefaced - and come out wearing Chanel lipgloss, Dior mascara, Lancome eyeshadow, Clarins blusher - all over a La Prairie Serum base. FOR FREE.
Then you can see your belongings in a way that no one usually does. If you're extremely lucky, you are patted down (or felt up). You are requested to, and perform, a partial strip tease (though some requests should be gently refused). You stretch your feet a bit, have a moment of respite from the shoes that are half-a-size-too-small-yet-too-beautiful-to-resist.
Once dressed again, you sit on a seat ESPECIALLY RESERVED FOR YOU. (Admittedly, it's missing the 'welcome, Dr Nomes' that I'm sure will eventually be written on the "seat back in front of you" but that's why the airlines have 'suggestion cards'.) You lean forward and tense your stomach muscles (free situps!) as the plane finally pushes forward to take off in a (still) awe-inspiring physics lesson. You make fun of the security demonstration, but still count the number of seats between you and the emergency exit. And, if you're me, you dribble (charmingly) on a complete strangers shoulder. You are allowed, nay, expected to acquire that 'travellers sheen' of greasy 'in-flight' sweat, it is the only thing keeping your skin from complete dessication at 27,000 feet (within EU, 36,000 feet for the long haul pedants).
Once you've arrived at your destination, you pretend you're a lemming, following the hordes and yellow signs directing you to where your belongings will (hopefully) meet you. On the way, you flip your passport out like you're in the FBI and are waved through by a young gentleman wearing epaulets. You thank John Paul Gaultier. You play 'long lost bag' with the baggage carousel, after inspecting everyone else's (less bright and playful*) choice of luggage. You run over elderly people with wayward luggage trolleys - and everyone smiles.
Finally, you carry out a quick inventory of your belongings - did you include fish, cheese or meat from outside of the EU in your socks? Are there feathers and shells amidst your toiletries (still)? Is your sarong protecting a jar of unpasterurized honey from dubious sources? No? Then you walk the blue aisle with the stars, or the green aisle.
Occasionally, you might be allowed a floor show, of all of your previous bargain hunting acquisitions. The judges are always delighted to see your various friends in states of questionable repose. They usually want a better look at the photos though, that's why they remove them from the frames. Occasionally, your underwear will be held up for inspection, and you can congratulate yourself on having packed the Aubade near the top.
But that's where it ends. That's where the joyous pampering stops. For hell awaits the other side of those slidey doors.
And "sshhhhhh".
They slide open.
A poorly packed sports bag has fallen off the trolley used by the family of 12 in front of you, and you can't quite make it past their stroller on the left to get out of the way, so you become entangled in the sports bag strap. One of their several snot-nosed toddlers wipes his hand on your leg, assuming that you're one of the many care-givers from the resort he just terrorised. You desperately try to keep a brave face, smile knowingly and understandingly at the parents, and yet look winsome enough to not be assumed to be part of the package nightmare coming through the doors.
Eventually, you disentangle, and can actually walk freely through those doors - that have been sliding open and shut for a few moments, displaying your anguish in comic book frames. By now, there are 100 pairs of eyes glaring in your direction, each pair searching for someone else, and YOU ARE IN THE WAY. But you have to find YOUR pair of eyes, you have to find the person there specifically to meet you. The 100 people are spread out in a 180 degree semi-circle, each focussed intently on the next "sshhhhhhh" of those bloody doors.
Quickly, you have a choice to make.
- Walk tall, walk through the throng, and get the hell to the other side, hoping that your person has seen you and will follow you to (relative) peace.
- Or you can stop, put one hand on your 'thrown out' hip, smile a half smile, toy with your Tiffany's necklace with the other hand as you examine the crowd (ignoring the 'drool stain' that draws a line from mouth to ear), meeting the eyes of everyone in one slow sweeping glance from left - all the way through - to the last person on the right.
I NEVER KNOW WHICH ONE TO DO!
Faced with such indecision, I kind of hustle my way through the happily reunited with a slightly pained, apologetic expression until I find the public transport rank, breathe a sigh of relief, then turn around and see whether I can recognise the back of the person who's waiting for me's head. Lord forgive me for what I might do to the person who watches my confusion from a distance and doesn't make themselves IMMEDIATELY OBVIOUS so that I can stop feeling like a loser.
Next up: train stations...
*I've only been beaten once: by a small girl who's BRIGHT PINK BARBIE case came complete with flashing LED'S. I drooled some more. Though I think I would've had to scratch off Barbie's face and replaced her with She-Ra. I mean, us girls have SOME limits. Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, May 23, 2007 |
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| Gilded and poised |
| Tuesday, 22 May 2007 |
 When I was 15, a new boy joined our class. His name was Simon, and he was excruciatingly tall - maybe 6'2" already. As the youngest in my class, he was also likely to be older than me. As an expat brat, people starting midyear was not unusual, but what didn't always happen was the immediate and intense hatred he and I felt for one another. Reciprocated equally by both, we manifested our dislike in violence.
At Sarah Grey's party, one Thursday night (the middle easts' version of Saturday) in October, I found myself taunting Simon with words. He wasn't as quick witted, silver tongued or - frankly - bitchy as me, so retaliated by punching me three times on my upper left arm, each punch containing sufficient power to leave me with a dead arm. I couldn't feel my fingers after such an onslaught, for which I remained steadfastly stationary, as you do when 'face' is so ultimately important.
A few days later, I was walk/running down the corridor. The bell had just rung for us to go to Chemistry, so our class was lined up, "firing squad" style, against the wall outside the classroom/laboratory. I, however, needed to speak to someone who was just going into Biology - so I was racing down to the other end of the hall.
When who should stick out his extraordinarily long leg in my path? I went flying - literally sprawling out on the corridor, in front of, maybe, 75 people - my peers. Livid, I picked myself up and stormed back (flying, I tell ya) to where he stood smirking.
"That does it!" I exclaimed, for I went to school at St Trinians. "Football field. After school!"
Yes folks, I called him out. By the time I realised what I'd done, I was near the biology rooms (see, I had continued my mission!), but could not for the life of me remember why I was there. I turned to Darren,
"Shit, will you fight Simon for me after school?"
"Hell no!" he replied. I sought a champion amongst the rest, but to no avail. Shit. Awkwardly, I returned to Chsmistry, my stomach a pit of hungry vipers who can smell a dangling mouse.
Chemistry was my "double last" for the day, so I would have to either run like hell when the bell rang, or allow myself to be swept up by the (now) tide of people who had bloodlust rising. Shit. I've no IDEA what we covered that lesson, but electron orbitals have always been my weak point from then on in.
The bell rang. I'm not built to run, neither physically, nor personalitywise, so I fronted up; slung my bag over my shoulder and tried desperately to cease quivering. What the hell was I playing at, calling out the tallest boy in the school.
Football pitch: quite a crowd had gathered. I was a popular girl by then, and I'd like to (continue to) hope that many were on my side. There was no way this wasn't going to happen, though, with the "Fight! Fight! Fight!" chant attracting even more people to the melee.
So, I did what I could to win. I hit him first. While he was dallying over whether to hit a girl (who wore glasses!!), I punched him as hard as I could in the solar plexus. When he doubled over, I kneed him - lord knows where. When he hit the ground, I clambered astride him, and poised myself for the killing blow to his face.
At this point, Mr Mackay intervened, hauling me off Simon to the murmured disappointment of the crowd (who, despite wanting to see the fight, had already begun to disperse to waiting buses, parents, drivers, limos etc.).
Simon and I both visited the headmaster the next day. The head saw me first,
"I'm not quite sure what to do with you, Naomi." he stated, "I've never had to reprimand a girl for fighting a boy before."
Thank heaven's for ancient heads.
"You may go, as this is the first time you have been involved in such ridiculous behaviour, but don't let me catch you attempting to use violence to end an argument again!".
"No sir, I won't sir, thank you sir!" I beamed back, as I backed out of the room, my perfect school record unbesmirched.
Simon, on the other hand, was a known delinquent - known for glue sniffing, wagging classes and generally being a pain. This added more fuel to his black mark fire. He was in detention (both breaks) for months. I felt the heat of embarrassment every time I saw him sitting between the vice principles offices, for I know that I had a hand in putting him in that seat.
Embarrassment, yes. Guilt? No.
For despite being of the Catholic (lapsed) faith (supposedly), I consider guilt to be a very negative emotion. Like it's more glamorous misspelling gilt, it has a habit of tarnishing.
And when something was beautiful (to me, at least), then guilt can just stay right out of the picture - despite what other people may say, think or do.
So: to the person I've landed in the detention chair, I feel sad. Sad that you're hurting, and sad that there are other people who are probably hurting too.
But to anyone who's taking the high road, I can't possibly feel guilt or regret for my actions. I shall not have that fight tarnished with guilt (I did good, damnit) any more so than I shall the exquisite moments of grace I shared with someone a few weeks ago.
Note to self: blogs man. Landing people in it, since 1997. Labels: Memories, Observations on Life, What to do |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, May 22, 2007 |
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| Inspiration |
| Thursday, 17 May 2007 |
 There’s something incredibly reassuring about meeting a person who inspires you. It means that you can continue hoping that ‘they’ exist. That ‘they’re’ out there and ‘they’re’ waiting for you. It inspires you to believe that:
- It’s possible to fall asleep to the sound of someone else snoring – despite all evidence (throwing things at my brother in our youth to make sure he stayed awake till I’d fallen asleep in silence) to the contrary.
- The thing I do, when I see skulls through people’s skin, is ordinary – not weird and worthy of the Twilight Zone theme tune.
- Silly jokes do make me giggle – once the penny has loudly clanged.
- There’s someone of the perfect height and proportion to either kiss me standing up, or spoon me so I feel ‘safe’ and ‘home’.
- Homesickness can apply to people, not just places.
- The clicky finger thing doesn’t have to be taught to everyone.
- It’s possible to be kissed on the forehead and not feel patronized.
- I have a pretty head and I effervesce (does this mean my head is bubbly? I have bad hair?!!!!).
- Friends recognize a good catch when they see me with one, AND will tell me.
- My pliability is appreciated by someone.
- I can be wrapped in someone’s arms and almost faint from delight and security.
- Someone who ‘makes stuff’ can like someone who ‘measures stuff’.
- My teddy bear has a gruff voice.
- I’m not the only one who can start a dance floor. Or finish it.
- My ‘thing’ for the ethnically variegated is well reasoned and genetically enhancing for all (I heart mutts).
- Someone approaching me telling me that they need more attention from me makes me feel all warm and tingly inside.
- If they’ve also been finding themselves ogling me, involuntarily, and feel slightly dirty for it, I feel even MORE delicious.
- Someone exists who makes me laugh out loud. Lots. “fuck yeah…”
- Some people expect me to either own or receive a tiara. And wear it. I do.
- I’m comfortable being scrutinized provided there’s no judgment in the person’s eyes.
- Partying is as important as climbing European mountains (not that I needed reminding).
- Someone can be sufficiently adventurous as to take a piece of paper with my scribbles on it, venture into the Prague wilderness, fulfill a mission and return before I’ve stretched out three pizzas. No, really.
- I like men who look like birds of prey. It’s in the eyes.
- Straight teeth are important to me. As are smiles.
- If they’re not smiling, someone will appreciate me reprimanding them to ‘stop scowling’.
- It’s okay that I’ve put up my own shelves. Even if I did worry that my cat might eat my dead body as it decayed having been electrocuted by drilling through the electricity cables.
- It’s good that I hung out with Dad long enough to learn about (some) tools.
- It’s possible to snog someone for (not long enough) almost 4 days and not get pash-rash (but HOW?!).
So, despite wanting to unzip myself and push this person deep inside (that’s not supposed to sound remotely sexual – more, well, more Hannibal-esque actually), I can’t. And if I did, he’d probably suffocate.
Which’d be kinda gross. Imagine carrying an extra body – oh look, nevermind.
But that's not my life, right? I live in Prague, he lives in England. There are flights but, come on: a little realism, please.
So, thanks Universe, for sending me my most amazingly perfect 30th B'day present. If you could just see to it that he's there for my 31st, 32nd, 33rd...I'll not ask for any thing else. Even if it's just 'there at a distance' as with many of my friends - I'll settle for that - just as long as he's 'there'. And if you could just get him here in August...and maybe sometime after that...and after that...Labels: Memories, Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Thursday, May 17, 2007 |
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| Salty Seadogs ahoj |
| Wednesday, 2 May 2007 |
 So, I'm not much of a sailor - I'd rather sunbathe on the fordeck and that means getting out of the way of the boom of the forsail - pain!! Not to mention, I don't even know if these words are appropriate or correctly in use.
But since 2000, when I was in Auckland doing research for my PhD, I have been a bit of a fan of the America's Cup. It has to do with the large boats, the impossible camera angles ("so, um, who's in the lead then?") and the imaginary dotted lines drawn across the waves.
But here, in landlocked Czech Republic, they couldn't give a toss. Even with my 898 channels (count 'em) of television (that's 893 of crap, and 5 news channels) I can't find the races on television. Strippers from Russia doing strange things with gym equipment - now I can find that.
So I've got 'livesticker', which is supposedly my gateway to the races. Currently, it tells me that Emirates Team NZ (NZL92) is racing against +39 Areva Challenge, and that Areva are in the lead by 196m. FINISH LINE I just watched Areva's gif finish before the NZ gif. This is awful!
Do you know how much it kills me to not hear the dulcet tones of Martin Tasker blathering on about the cup, asking us to keep our lucky red socks on, and crossing quickly to some of the computer graphics that make the watching so much more enjoyable (nay, possible)?!?!
ARGH!!!
(note: picture of my boat stolen from the official website: set to desktop)
P.S. It turns out the gifs were wrong. WE WON! WE WON!! I want a recap...!!! DAMNIT all to hell!
Labels: Observations on Life, Rant |
| posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, May 02, 2007 |
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| Drag's great moment |
| Wednesday, 25 April 2007 |
 Once a year, around about now, the continent of Europe (plus, it seems) undergoes a sort of mass-psychosis. It’s not dissimilar to that leading up to the Idol finals, but this time, the stakes are much, much lower. And Ryan Seacrest is nowhere to be found. Yes folks, it’s Eurovision time. This year, the broadcast final coincides with my birthday. So, I’ve had a look at the contestants online. Which means that you don’t need to. Merely follow my brief summary of the contestants below, then feel free to ignore the entire phenomenon until next year. Remember, I do this for YOU! (but if you insist on going it alone, then feel free to witness the horror spectacle here) Armenia – they have silk being blown by a fan, close to a fire. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Safety first, please, ESC! Oh, but in a ‘Ghost’ moment, he makes a pot, which is almost worthy of forgiving the white t-shirt tucked (only over the belt) into white trousers – almost. A ballerina appears. Bosnia and Herzegovina – managed to make a river barge look interesting. And even wore Eastern European ‘fashion’ well. Suffers from a small infestation of blackbirds though – released ‘dove style’ from behind the singer at a momentous key change. Also: French horn players should probably not play the French horn over a BBQ. I’m just guessing on this one though – Nine? Please confirm. Finland – representing the skatey set, with an charming little tale of a love triangle. Chicks fight. France – where it’s habit to have two people running beside/behind a vespa with two blokes on it wearing pink helmets. They also take franglais to lofty new, oxygen deprived heights – by rhyming words from either language, i.e. ‘semaine’ rhymes with ‘main’. I feel schizophrenic. Germany – Very weird to hear a 50’s type rat pack song sung in German. But other than appearing to have an eye infection (or: he needs to sack his makeup artist), it’s actually really good. Musically. Greece – So THAT’S what happened to the old set of the Greece film – nice touch. Someone needs to remind them that short white dungarees are not cool. But he’s hot. Very hot. Ouch. Ireland – time-delay, children painting while teachers sing and play traditional instruments. Bring back the Corrs. Lithuania – recently discovered video splicing and powerpoint Romania – apparently loves [me] from his airless vantage point in space. Really – he has planets orbiting him. Would that I were making this shit up. Russia – still fuelling the fire of “schoolgirl fantasies” (note, not school girl fantasies – as that would involve more ponies and sleepovers) Spain – manufactured to shrug and samba in a Spanish manner. All short. Sweden – still entering Abba songs, albeit in the guise of a(nother) drag queen. UK – trolly dollies (male and female, obviously gay and possibly straight – to appeal to the widest audience) attempting to prove UK’s newfound europhilism by mentioning the capital cities of EVERY country in Europe. Ukraine - scared of aliens reading their brain waves, so have subsequently protected themselves with an alluring combination of disco mirror balls and tin foil. Not in the final, but worthy of a sneering mention: - Albania - scary SCARY mo'. Terrifying
- Belarus - took hints from Labyrinth, and added a circus. Terrifying.
- Bulgaria – Eurovision is not a wet-tshirt competition (actually, I reserve the right to change my opinion on that). A ‘vampire’ has 'bat' wings not feathery black ones. Two drum kits (inc a Japanese drum and some bongos) do not a song make.
- Cyprus - so so (ha ha)
- Czech Republic - bad rock. In a language only 10mil people worldwide can comprehend. Way to attract votes, guys.
- Georgia - used a videographer who previously worked for national geographic.
- Iceland and Croatia - er, is there a maximum age limit?
- Israel - couldn’t decide between German oompah-loompah, Gilbert & Sullivan, tetris, busking, and hip hop, so sang them all, about the inevitable destruction of the world. It's compelling.
- Latvia – using opera singers is cheating. The top hats, tux jackets and jeans (and MEDALS!!?) are not a good look. Just in case you were wondering. Even if one of your singers looks like Gael Garcia Bernal.
- Macedonia – backing dancers wearing shorts, and doing some sort of weird synchronized swimming thing around the singer. Was she really a fountain in disguise?
- Norway – There’s a costume change here which is so impressive, it’s worth watching. It is DAMNED good - and puts our quick change into whores to shame (in Les Mis), really it does.
- Poland - a dance club, a bar, a changing room, the stage of a musical – someone accidentally stumbled over the wardrobe department of an amateur theatre, added some brass instruments, a bit of rap and called it a song. WTPoland?
- Portugal – have a helicopter operated camera – inside a studio. Nauseating.
- Slovenia - see Latvia, re opera singers. And please, use a male with hair on his legs, that was just weird.
- Switzerland - vampires, ‘we are alive, we will live forever’ etc. Stick to watches, chocolate, banking and knives people.
The drag theme is quite prevalent this year, even amongst the female contestants. Apparently this is to persuade the millions thousands of watchers to vote. The voters demographic are apparently: paid up, card-carrying, boa trailing, false-eyelash fluttering, glitzy gown wearing lipsynchers of show tunes. My voting form arrived in the mail today. P.S. It’s ANZAC day. We will remember them. Labels: Observations on Life, What to do |
| posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, April 25, 2007 |
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| Doing the lambeth walk |
| Sunday, 22 April 2007 |
 My room is now officially THE most stocked in the house. It's also the smallest. And since it's in the roof space, you can imagine beams sticking up all over the place at awkward angles - just like swords in some macabre illusion.
Picture, if you will, a room with a king-sized bed (broken - but that's a WHOLE 'nother entry), a wardrobe, a 6-stack chest of drawers, two bedside tables, a futon, a desk, another bedside table - bedecked by a 21" television and DVD player, a shopkeepers dummy, a rug and a big 70's style hang down lamp...and you've got my room. And yes, if it weren't for my personal things lieing around, I WOULD think that I was in an Ikea store.
To get to my desk, behind the futon (currently facing television - due to a massive sit-in to watch all 22 episodes of Prison Break (note to L: WENTWORTH!!!! HOT!!!! TOTALLY REPLACES IOAN!!! Is also the only other person I [don't] know to have had parental papier mache critters strapped to his back for a school play!! We have SOOO much in common...), I have to duck underneath the hanging lamp - almost as though the lamp were an approaching helicopter.
Because, NOTHING says 'grown up' more than doing the leopard crawl in your own bedroom.Labels: Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Sunday, April 22, 2007 |
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