The Postmodern Chronicles Of Hayley

The bulk of the HSC draws to a close with the last of my major works due by the end of this week. My visual arts major work is due this Friday by 5.00pm. I seriously do not know what I’ll do with myself once they’re all submitted. For over the last three years, I’ve grown accustomed to the numerous muscle knots in my back and shoulders that remind me that I have work to do. Now with almost nothing to do, I am lost! Perhaps now for the first time in my life I’ll be able to sleep a full night, eat four square meals a day and organise my bedroom in such a way that allows me to walk in without stepping on something on the floor.

I may as well inform the Census that I am a resident of the Price household, because that has been my home for the last 4 days. I haven’t been home to see my parents in ages. I’m starting to forget what they look like! Maybe not anything that drastic, but I do miss them a lot.
I promised Tom that I’d help him with his majors, due to the fact that he spent the majority of this year baked off his brain. Like so many with this laid-back lifestyle, eventually he got that slap of reality and the realisation that he had practically a few days to complete a year’s worth of work.
So being the helpful cuss I am, I have been slaving away sketching up bogus designs for his Design & Technology major work, and making them look like he drew them.
Then I organised and neatly typed up his 49 page Design & Technology porfolio. It’s been a great learning experience, on account of I’ve learned that the subject is repetitive and ensures that it sucks the fun out of everything. It overuses the same words. So with that, I’ve recognised four words that I never want to have to use again:

• Innovatively
• Functionality
• Aesthetics
• Durability

I also had to clean up a lot of Tom’s language. I may be wrong, but porfolio markers generally don’t appreciate expressions such as “DIE HSC!”, “Go to hell!” and “Tom is tired”, like I found throughout Tom’s notes.

To make it up to me for all the effort I put in for Tom’s project, he agreed to film and edit a short interview piece with my puppet that I’ll use with my visual arts major work. But in true HSC tradition, everything must go wrong. We finally managed to get some of the archive footage I wanted to use working, after days of frustration. Then of course we were about to film my interview, but the camera’s batteries exhausted. After it had some time to charge, the interview got filmed. When we wanted to upload the interview footage to the computer, we couldn’t find the cable that connected the camera to the editing to the computer.

So we got his sister’s laptop, that we could transfer the footage from. If this wasn’t difficult and time consuming enough, the computer (which has a whole fucking pony club of trojan horses with Hendra viruses) turned into still-life pixel art. Trying to remain calm, we rebooted the computer… to be greeted with a friendly message that the entire computer operating system had shut down. By this point, we had forgotten how not to panic. That computer had all of his sister Emily’s University work on it and Tom’s Design & Technology work on it. We were convinced that the shit would hit the fan if she found out, and we would most certainly get blamed for it. Notifying Tom’s mother of our dilemma, we left the dirty work up to her to tell Emily that we killed her computer. After deciding against leaving the country (we didn’t have enough petrol to drive to the airport), we ran outside and hid from Emily, in fear of our lives. As we dreaded, we saw Emily moving towards us like a steam roller approaching a pair of cripples stuck in dry cement. We were fucked.
What’s incredibly weird, is the smile on her face. I was not fooled. Monkeys smile before they attack too. She was strangely calm about the whole thing. And she reassured us and ended the conversation with a hug for both of us. We were NOT expecting that reaction - that’s for sure!

I had at least one thing that I knew couldn’t possibly go wrong. My visual arts prints that I submitted at graphic design place last week were supposed to be ready to be collected today. So I got up nice and early to go and pick them up this morning. The space cadet with pencilled-in eyebrows behind the counter told me in her ‘I’d rather be somewhere else’ tone that they “weren’t ready yet”. How much fucking time do they want? I put them in a week ago! It’s not like they’re busy or anything. In fact, any more relaxed and they’d be asleep! I’m now expected to wait until 4.00pm to pick them up. I don’t have that kind of time! Today’s supposed to be my day off, too. I could be at home colouring in Muppet Colouring Books!

Golly, gee, fellas!

Aside from that, the only reason I am at school today is because Tom’s HSC drama group performance had to be performed today. His experience with this drama group mirrors my own frustrations with drama students. Their performance piece was such a mess that their narrator actually ran away from the school half-way through their trial performance last week! Saving the day, Tom has been boasting of a director that came in to help their group get their play to a point that didn’t resemble the steamy brown matter that my dogs leave on the lawn. I got to meet the director the other day. I could not believe who it was - MS. PARIS from Ku-Ring-Gai! Ms. Paris was my teacher for drama and history in year 7 & 8, and no doubt one of my favourites. It’s strange, because I always wondered what became of her, as she seemed to just disappear off the face of the planet! Now it turns out that she’s a Bradfield teacher. I hope I get her for drama next year.

I’m going to need all the luck I can get if I want to get my documentary and mounted prints ready by 5.00pm on Friday… *sighs*

One may notice a reoccurring theme in these blog posts. Here I am, again, sitting at the computer in the Bradfield Library. I have no reason to be here, other than the fact that I slept at Tom’s house last night and he, Yolanda and Rob have an exam today. So I guess you could say I came along for the ride. I finished all my HSC trial exams yesterday, and I am certain that I fucked them up.

Truth be told, I haven’t been very well at all lately. I’ve been working myself almost literally to death to get my PIP (Personal Interest Project) done, and I still didn’t get it finished. I keep getting reassured that it was a good project nonetheless, but I know that the Board Of Studies are a bunch of dumbarses and they can’t handle an assignment without a finished conclusion, introduction, contents page, log and appendix. But you know what? They can go fuck themselves and deal with it, because I spent an entire 10 months slaving away to get it finished. I’m just so incredibly disappointed in myself that I never got a chance to prove how hard I worked. All I have to show for my hard work are a pair of dark circles under my eyes and losing 5kgs off my body.
If I think about it, I’m gonna get depressed, so I’ll refrain.

Last night, Tom was showing me a drug educational video that he was featured in making his acting debut (putting up his hand in a classroom scene). I thought it was ironic that TAFE NSW chose Bradfield of all colleges to film a drug education video. It’s like filming a video on morbid obesity in an anorexia rehabillitation clinic. Another irony is the fact that Tom was as high as a bloody kite when he auditioned for the role and he STILL got it! I guess he had the ‘baked’ look they were after.

An ex-student of Bradfield turned up at the park the other day making his presence known to anyone who’d pay him attention. He’s apparently at university at the moment. I’ll tell ya, this drugged up, rail thin, rotten teeth, no hoper was living proof that they accept anyone into university. You don’t have to be a brain surgeon to get into uni… Nor do you even need a brain.

What have I realised in the last weeks? It won’t make me any less of a person if I don’t achieve as high as possible. I doubt that later in life I’ll have a problem with occupational ageism, because no matter how old I am, I’ll be sure that I’m a hot MILF/menopausal/senior citizen. Besides, what employer wouldn’t want to hire someone who knows the entire dialogue to the first 10 minutes of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? That’s right - NO ONE! So I’m set up for life. :)

This morning after washing in Tom’s pathetic shower (the water pressure is like, minus power) I was taken aback to school. His mother (who’s a school teacher) greeted me at the bathroom door with a stern expression shaking her finger at me, “Hayley, get a wriggle on, you were in the shower for way too long! You’ve got to leave.” I haven’t had a finger shook at me for years! I’d forgotten how degrading it was to be recieving this kind of discipline when I’m two months off adulthood. When my brother is too long in the shower my mum or I just go and kick the bathroom door, which is followed immediately by the ambient linear sound of the taps being turned off.

I know for certain that when everyone’s finished their exam, I’ll be going home, jumping in the shower and putting on a change of clean clothes. If I have any clean clothes… I’ve been wearing the same second hand khaki military shirt (preowned by a bloke called HOGAN) for the last two weeks. It’s comfortable, but I doubt people’s noses are at ease with my bodily aroma.

For now - PEACE OUT BRUSSELL SPROUT!

I can’t say that really have anything to complain about. But then again, who wants to read a blog where all the author does is complain? Sure, at times cynicism can be funny, but after a while it starts to take a negative effect on the readers. Besides, I love you all too much to do that to you. And those of you who are complete and utter bastards/pricks/knobs/buttheads/trouser-snakes etc. - you all know who you are.

Today sees the end of what has been a very productive two week holiday. I spent the entire second week at my Ma & Pa’s house so I could study in peace. I love my home, but there’s only so much of my brother’s heavy metal drumming that one can take during the HSC period. Ma & Pa live in a retirement village, which is rather picturesque! Quite often, I’d take walks around the village at around 11pm after studying all day. I found myself creeping and tip-toeing around the premises, as not to wake up any friendly senior citizens… That was before I came to the realisation that this was completely ridiculous and unnecessary - 99% of the residents are as deaf as doorknobs. It was also for this reason that I didn’t hesitate to turn up my subwoofer full blast, as the woman who lives downstairs from Ma & Pa is approaching 90 and struggles even to hear her doorbell ring!

I’d be lying if I denied the fact that I was spoiled rotten on my stay at their house. How many people crawl into bed at 3am after studying to find that their grandmother has ever so kindly wrapped their pyjamas in a hot water bottle?! Or get away with ‘accidently’ eat all the hazelnut chocolate during a midnight snack at the pantry? Pa ran down to the supermarket at 8:30pm just because I needed highlighter pens! Each night after snorting a Ritalin to begin my nightly PIP writing, I would be accompanied by a little bowl of home-roasted almonds, a chocolate eclair and a cup of raspbetty and peach herbal tea. I was certainly spoiled in many little ways that most people would overlook.

During my stay, I also came face-to-face with the generation gap that I had long denied between my Pa & I. Sure, he made me a cubby house for Christmas when I was three from scratch and taught my mother to take apart and then reassemble a car by the time she was 13, but when it comes to computers… there are some things that we are so lucky to have been introduced to at such a young age. In this case, computers. I didn’t see a PC until I was about 8, but that’s given me plenty of time to adapt. Pa on the other hand, has a relationship with his computer that best resembles a father and his adolescent daughter. He wants more than anything to understand how they work, but no matter how hard he tries, he ends up getting more confused. For instance, I was on their (pensioner’s dial-up) internet talking on MSN. Getting distracted, as I do, I got up and left the computer. About 10 minutes later, Pa is looking at the computer’s toolbar and scratching his head. “I have no idea what this program does… ‘Keby - Conversation’ I’ve never seen it before. It’s not on Microsoft Office, is it?” I proceeded to close the program (which of course, was Keby talking to me on MSN), which resulted in getting more frustrated because he wanted to know how I made it disappear. I must say, it’s pretty difficult explaining why things disappear when you Rightclick>Close. It’s like explaining to someone who has been blind their whole life, what colours are.

At present, I am (again) in the Bradfield Library waiting for Tom to finish his Multimedia class.

I think I just farted… God, I no one comes within smell-shot of me!

Just some mindless jabber between a friend and I. I thought it was worth documenting. It’s interesting to look at how an everyday conversation is structured between two people (the italic quotes are my friend’s).

Say something.

I’m sleepy… and comfortable.

Awww!

… And you smell nice!

You said I smelt bad, like, before.

Nah, I said you tasted like –

Nah-nah-nah-nah. You said ‘You have a smell. It’s not a nice one.’

Oh no, that’s not what I said. I said, ‘You have a smell. But it’s a nice one.’

Oh, right. I thought you said it’s not nice.

No. So rest assured I have nothing against your smell.

Excellent.

Are you still recording this shit?

Yeah.

Man… I hate being held up against evidence. Because then I can say whatever the fuck I want and I still can’t be judged by it. But with you recording everything, you’ll hear every mistake I make.

I’ll be able to learn your accent, too.

Ah, I hate people learning my accent!

Why? It’s cool!

Because I don’t like my accent.

Then change it.

I can’t.

That’s what I did.

Yeah but you’re like, native. I am stuck with this accent. But yeah, I’m happy enough with it.

It’s cute! I love your accent.

I wish I was able to change it to another one.

If you could change your accent, what would you change it to?

A Scottish accent!

Nah, it wouldn’t suit you.

You can’t be so sure. I’ve got a beard and everything. Because all Scottish people have beards, do you know?

Yeah, even women.

Yeah! Of course. They’re like dwarves… but big. Seriously, can you imagine a dwarf not speaking like a Scottish person?

Yes, I can.

Well then you’re weird.

Haven’t you ever seen Snow White?

No, they are knomes. Oh wait. No, they’re dwarves.

It’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Not Snow White and the Seven Knomes. Then they’d be inanimate garden objects.

Nah, you can have lively knomes! Certainly… In fact, how can you be so sure that garden knomes aren’t alive?

Because –

(cuts in) Uh huh! Got you!

You didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself.

That’s what my argument is based on – not giving the other person a chance to fight back. That’s how I win!

ED: I think my friend was actually referring to Irish leprechauns when he was talking about Scottish dwarves/knomes.

… to Keby for getting rid of the copious amounts of spam on my blog!
And he’s also activated this AWESOME plugin that greets me with a ‘Hello Dolly’ quote everytime I log on.

YOU’RE LOOKIN’ SWELL, DOLLY!