Great news, my friends: I've finally evolved past the dinosaur state!
I now own a very decent smartphone, and even the Great Red-Haired Tintin was slightly impressed. And that saying something!
Oh, by the way: this is being typed, composed, invented and created on my brand new HTC. At school. After hours. I know, I must be crazy.
Well actually, I'm being a good samaritan once again helping out at a parent information evening. That'll learn me to be on the pupil board.
Gotta go. 'Coup de feu' is about to start.
Thursday 23 September 2010
Wednesday 15 September 2010
Report of the day -- so boring it'll keep readers away.
I have lost something. My mother would say 'yet again' and 'have you seen the state of your room', but no-one cares about that, least of all me. However she quite authoritatively ordered me to 'clear up the mess' in my room today, pretending one couldn't walk around without twisting his or her ankle tripping over a book. As I was in a fairly good mood at noon, I complied.
And everything started to go downhill from there.
First, I found out my father realised I've been dabbling with uTorrent again, and cut off the Wifi for the whole household (except his computer, I should imagine), thus causing us all to want to use the family computer, that has LAN, at the same time. Which has caused innumerable arguments since lunch.
Secondly, I have lost a stupid file filled with stupid, but necessary, documents. Not that it's a matter of life and dead, but it's bothering me and you can be sure it'll trouble my falling asleep. As if it wasn't hard enough as it is.
See, that is why I do not clean my room. I never lose things because I do not realise I've lost them until I need them. It causes me a great deal of frustration at those moments, but at least it doesn't trouble my sleep.
Thirdly, we had pancakes tonight, which I love, but I really need to lose a stone, and my mother's all for it, but how does she expect me to do it if she keeps coming up with delicious, sugary, oily, salty, greasy, buttery and creamy foods!? Hello, ever heard of the principle of 'diet'? It means you eat less foods that make you fat!
Occasionally, it also means you're expected to work out, but I doubt I'll ever get further than my 14 km of bike a day to go to and back from school.
On the 'I-don't-know-if-this-is-good-or-bad'-side, my cynicism is coming back. I realised I missed it a great deal.
On the shit side, homework sucks. Then again, nothing new there I suppose.
On the 'fucking-crazy-I-don't-get-it'-side, I had a suicidal thought today. After initial worry, I realised I was being cynic at myself. Way to go, kid.
And everything started to go downhill from there.
First, I found out my father realised I've been dabbling with uTorrent again, and cut off the Wifi for the whole household (except his computer, I should imagine), thus causing us all to want to use the family computer, that has LAN, at the same time. Which has caused innumerable arguments since lunch.
Secondly, I have lost a stupid file filled with stupid, but necessary, documents. Not that it's a matter of life and dead, but it's bothering me and you can be sure it'll trouble my falling asleep. As if it wasn't hard enough as it is.
See, that is why I do not clean my room. I never lose things because I do not realise I've lost them until I need them. It causes me a great deal of frustration at those moments, but at least it doesn't trouble my sleep.
Thirdly, we had pancakes tonight, which I love, but I really need to lose a stone, and my mother's all for it, but how does she expect me to do it if she keeps coming up with delicious, sugary, oily, salty, greasy, buttery and creamy foods!? Hello, ever heard of the principle of 'diet'? It means you eat less foods that make you fat!
Occasionally, it also means you're expected to work out, but I doubt I'll ever get further than my 14 km of bike a day to go to and back from school.
On the 'I-don't-know-if-this-is-good-or-bad'-side, my cynicism is coming back. I realised I missed it a great deal.
On the shit side, homework sucks. Then again, nothing new there I suppose.
On the 'fucking-crazy-I-don't-get-it'-side, I had a suicidal thought today. After initial worry, I realised I was being cynic at myself. Way to go, kid.
Sunday 12 September 2010
Time, 'til we have enough of it (which won't be in a near future)
Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.Time. Time. Time. Time.
Oh, sorry. You there? I was asked to write a text about time. In the philosophical way. Which is, pardon my saying, a bitch.
Edit: here be a very bad piece of writing, which has been disposed of.
But we, humanity, made time. Hours, minutes, seconds, days, weeks, months, years, all those are human inventions. Screwed up humanity, to give names to that what hurts you most, which is supposed to heal wounds, but really it's only forgetfulness that heals wounds.
Time is our craft, so our responsibility. We can't blame time, time is our creation. We can only blame ourselves.
So not to have to do that, use your time preciously. Turn pages where necessary, let things go once the end has come. But care for what is worth it as long as it's worth it. And even a bit after.
Remember the past, dream the future, live the now but not in the now.
And learn. Never stop learning, because then you'll die. Of boredom.
Oh, sorry. You there? I was asked to write a text about time. In the philosophical way. Which is, pardon my saying, a bitch.
Edit: here be a very bad piece of writing, which has been disposed of.
But we, humanity, made time. Hours, minutes, seconds, days, weeks, months, years, all those are human inventions. Screwed up humanity, to give names to that what hurts you most, which is supposed to heal wounds, but really it's only forgetfulness that heals wounds.
Time is our craft, so our responsibility. We can't blame time, time is our creation. We can only blame ourselves.
So not to have to do that, use your time preciously. Turn pages where necessary, let things go once the end has come. But care for what is worth it as long as it's worth it. And even a bit after.
Remember the past, dream the future, live the now but not in the now.
And learn. Never stop learning, because then you'll die. Of boredom.
Saturday 11 September 2010
I am going to a very delicious Hell.
Gluttony's one of the 7 Deadly Sins, right?
Yeah, I knew that. I'm so going to Hell for what I did tonight then.
I got a call at about 7.30 pm from my mum, telling me to scavenge the cupboards and fridge and whip up something for dinner for three, me and my brothers. I knew before the conversation finished it'd end up being pasta with tomato & onion sauce, because when the cupboards are pathetically empty like today, there's always pasta and canned tomatoes left. Onions we'll never run out of, because we have a lifetime supply stuck à peu près everywhere in the house.
When we are on limited diet like we were this evening, I like to get creative. Get all those cans, pots and spices we never use out and try to make something very dull totally new.
2 rules:
I stir the sauce and let it simmer.
By that time the kitchen was filled with such a divine odor I didn't have the patience to get water to boil and cook the pasta. So I raided the fridge for some old rice and fried it.
Just then, it's about 8, my tall little bro (TLB to keep it easy) walks in, and I shout: "Simon, bro, just in time to set the table!" All that in English, while we speak French at home. I'm in an extremely good mood, which gets me to talk Franglais with him. We engage in a frankly hilarious conversation, hiccuping through our laughter while we go on in about every accent we know.
The fried rice demanded my attention, so he set the table and we ate, he said it was good and my little little bro (LLB, just like you suspected) didn't ask for Ketchup, which is like the ultimate François culinary compliment.
There was almost nothing left when we were finished, and my TLB cleaned up, as it was his turn. Everybody retired to do whatever they did on a Saturday evening.
But this was far from being my worst crime. Did you really think I'd shout I'm going to hell because I committed a Killer tomato sauce? Nah, you haven't heard the end of it yet...
Approximatively one hour and a movie later, I crept down the stairs again. Supposedly to tend to the dog.
Yeah, right.
In fact, to get the saucepan I used to make the sauce out of the dishwasher and literally lick it clean. While not staining my pyjama's not to create evidence. And not feeling guilty while I know that I'm supposed to lose weight.
To complete my whole fourth meal, I had a big teaspoon of Maquée (I tried being reasonable, but I figured I still needed desert).
I might go to Hell for Gluttony, but let me tell you, if I were to die now, I'd die a happy and very much sated woman.
All the while not giving a damn.
Well, Amen to that, Jesus, God and every other sod.
Yeah, I knew that. I'm so going to Hell for what I did tonight then.
I got a call at about 7.30 pm from my mum, telling me to scavenge the cupboards and fridge and whip up something for dinner for three, me and my brothers. I knew before the conversation finished it'd end up being pasta with tomato & onion sauce, because when the cupboards are pathetically empty like today, there's always pasta and canned tomatoes left. Onions we'll never run out of, because we have a lifetime supply stuck à peu près everywhere in the house.
When we are on limited diet like we were this evening, I like to get creative. Get all those cans, pots and spices we never use out and try to make something very dull totally new.
2 rules:
- Don't get crazy, some things just don't go together.
- Tell no-one you have 'gone off the beaten track', because little brothers tend to be extremely suspicious of anything that has a strange name. Tell them when they've cleaned off their plates, the look on their faces will be all the better.
I stir the sauce and let it simmer.
By that time the kitchen was filled with such a divine odor I didn't have the patience to get water to boil and cook the pasta. So I raided the fridge for some old rice and fried it.
Just then, it's about 8, my tall little bro (TLB to keep it easy) walks in, and I shout: "Simon, bro, just in time to set the table!" All that in English, while we speak French at home. I'm in an extremely good mood, which gets me to talk Franglais with him. We engage in a frankly hilarious conversation, hiccuping through our laughter while we go on in about every accent we know.
The fried rice demanded my attention, so he set the table and we ate, he said it was good and my little little bro (LLB, just like you suspected) didn't ask for Ketchup, which is like the ultimate François culinary compliment.
There was almost nothing left when we were finished, and my TLB cleaned up, as it was his turn. Everybody retired to do whatever they did on a Saturday evening.
But this was far from being my worst crime. Did you really think I'd shout I'm going to hell because I committed a Killer tomato sauce? Nah, you haven't heard the end of it yet...
Approximatively one hour and a movie later, I crept down the stairs again. Supposedly to tend to the dog.
Yeah, right.
In fact, to get the saucepan I used to make the sauce out of the dishwasher and literally lick it clean. While not staining my pyjama's not to create evidence. And not feeling guilty while I know that I'm supposed to lose weight.
To complete my whole fourth meal, I had a big teaspoon of Maquée (I tried being reasonable, but I figured I still needed desert).
I might go to Hell for Gluttony, but let me tell you, if I were to die now, I'd die a happy and very much sated woman.
All the while not giving a damn.
Well, Amen to that, Jesus, God and every other sod.
Friday 10 September 2010
I despise my brother's taste.
And especially I despise his taste in music. Do you know he's been listening to the same songs on the same Green Day album for 6 months? And do you know I share a wall with this guy? I can't even listen to Tom Waits properly anymore. When he's not playing Boulevard of Broken Dreams for the God-I-don't-know like millionth time, it's the other, even more tasteless little brother who takes over. He is eleven, while the older of my little brothers is 15.
And what does the Extremely Tasteless One play? About everything that's horribly commercial and/or comes from Eurosong. Ick. Eew.
He plays Hadize or what's-her-name's Dum Tek Tek at least once a day. Help.
The longer I live here (and that's been 17 years minus 27 days now) the more I realise my mother and both my brothers have a problem with the 'repeat' feature on their respective CD-players. And when I say that, it's figurative; they never use that particular button and Lord knows that could spare them a lot of 'backwards'-pressing...
Only me and my father seem safe of this horrendous habit, probably because we both have a too large music collection to afford listening to only one song.
And even in that logic there's a glitch; my mother owns countless CDs, yet she feels she needs to listen to them in stages.
Pattern is as follows:
Well, I won't whine too much. I'll say something nice to end this post.
Because of all these repeats, I am the biggest hit on karaoke night. Thanks, guys?
And what does the Extremely Tasteless One play? About everything that's horribly commercial and/or comes from Eurosong. Ick. Eew.
He plays Hadize or what's-her-name's Dum Tek Tek at least once a day. Help.
The longer I live here (and that's been 17 years minus 27 days now) the more I realise my mother and both my brothers have a problem with the 'repeat' feature on their respective CD-players. And when I say that, it's figurative; they never use that particular button and Lord knows that could spare them a lot of 'backwards'-pressing...
Only me and my father seem safe of this horrendous habit, probably because we both have a too large music collection to afford listening to only one song.
And even in that logic there's a glitch; my mother owns countless CDs, yet she feels she needs to listen to them in stages.
Pattern is as follows:
- Mum picks a CD. May be new, may be old. May be terribly scratched on some songs. Doesn't matter.
- On that CD, mum picks a song. And listens to it for minimum a week. Or a week and a half (if it's Céline Dion). Or a whole two weeks (if it's Phil Collins' Face Value).
- Once she's listened to that song enough (read: once her children's whining about it being always the same gets on her nerves too much) she goes on to the next song.
- Repeating above described action until she's been through 75-85% of the album (=the songs she likes. Watch out, with Best Ofs, you're rapidly at 95%)
- Then, she picks another album. She might have listened to it thoroughly two months ago, no matter, she'll just do it all over again.
Well, I won't whine too much. I'll say something nice to end this post.
Because of all these repeats, I am the biggest hit on karaoke night. Thanks, guys?
Tuesday 7 September 2010
Trying to write again
Figured it was about time I wrote something again. Well here it is. It sucks. School really drains my inspiration. School is very counter-productive: we get up at a time we don't like, to go spend hours sitting down taking courses we don't want, about things we're not interested in. (Yes, I did base that one on 'People buy things they don't want with money they don't have to impress people they don't like')
I am most productive in the late late night (or the very early morning, depending on points of view). So when I go to school, I'm sleeping at my best hours. Ergo I'm very dissatisfied about what I write out.
I read somewhere one should never modify anything one got up to write in the middle of the night. Well great, sleeping more should logically ensue having more of those 'revelation' moments and great findings.
Not for me.
Because when I sleep, I sleep. It's what permits me to go to sleep at impossible hours. Once I fall asleep, I'll sleep until the morning unless I'm interrupted by an alarm clock.
So no genius plots ever come to me at night. Well they might, but then I have forgotten them by dawn.
They do come when I daydream, but when you're brutally shaken out of your reverie, which happens All. The. Time. for me (people just don't respect dreamers), you tend to completely lose your trail of thought, on top of almost having a heart attack.
Hence, you lose all your good ideas. Only one character I have invented came from a daydream, his name was La Phalange (because his right index finger has one phalanx too much) and he was supposed to be a villain until the moment I decided I liked him too much to make him the bad guy. Also, he was the best idea I ever had. On the creative side. Other best ideas I ever had include: on the culinary side, mustard-honey vinaigrette with a twist and steak like you never thought it was possible; on the practical side... well, nothing really; on the social side, enter the scouts, on the sports side, 'better safely on the sideline than a broken-legged winner'...
La Phalange was saved on the hard disk in my head just in time. The reverie wasn't exactly finished (I was designing him a genius sidekick) but I crashed into a parked car. With my bike. While cycling in broad daylight. And the car was actually a red van, so I couldn't have missed it, had I had all my wits.
But frankly, I don't regret not having had all my wits. I damaged my bike's front wheel and hurt myself quite a bit, (by my standards. To my cousin Michael (whose knee has been sutured 13 times) it's probably peanuts, because to him everything you can deal with without going to see a doctor is peanuts) but I don't regret it, because I know one day I'll write a novel, or a short story, or scenario about La Phalange and it'll be good. It'll be worth all the bumps, cuts and bruises of that ridiculous day. I have no confidence in most of the things I do, but I believe in that character. Now I have a lead for my story, I can make him a sidekick and build their world, then jumble it up with a surprise happening. And ta-daaaaa, you have a plot.
First things first, though: still have to make that sidekick. Suggestions, anybody?
I am most productive in the late late night (or the very early morning, depending on points of view). So when I go to school, I'm sleeping at my best hours. Ergo I'm very dissatisfied about what I write out.
I read somewhere one should never modify anything one got up to write in the middle of the night. Well great, sleeping more should logically ensue having more of those 'revelation' moments and great findings.
Not for me.
Because when I sleep, I sleep. It's what permits me to go to sleep at impossible hours. Once I fall asleep, I'll sleep until the morning unless I'm interrupted by an alarm clock.
So no genius plots ever come to me at night. Well they might, but then I have forgotten them by dawn.
They do come when I daydream, but when you're brutally shaken out of your reverie, which happens All. The. Time. for me (people just don't respect dreamers), you tend to completely lose your trail of thought, on top of almost having a heart attack.
Hence, you lose all your good ideas. Only one character I have invented came from a daydream, his name was La Phalange (because his right index finger has one phalanx too much) and he was supposed to be a villain until the moment I decided I liked him too much to make him the bad guy. Also, he was the best idea I ever had. On the creative side. Other best ideas I ever had include: on the culinary side, mustard-honey vinaigrette with a twist and steak like you never thought it was possible; on the practical side... well, nothing really; on the social side, enter the scouts, on the sports side, 'better safely on the sideline than a broken-legged winner'...
La Phalange was saved on the hard disk in my head just in time. The reverie wasn't exactly finished (I was designing him a genius sidekick) but I crashed into a parked car. With my bike. While cycling in broad daylight. And the car was actually a red van, so I couldn't have missed it, had I had all my wits.
But frankly, I don't regret not having had all my wits. I damaged my bike's front wheel and hurt myself quite a bit, (by my standards. To my cousin Michael (whose knee has been sutured 13 times) it's probably peanuts, because to him everything you can deal with without going to see a doctor is peanuts) but I don't regret it, because I know one day I'll write a novel, or a short story, or scenario about La Phalange and it'll be good. It'll be worth all the bumps, cuts and bruises of that ridiculous day. I have no confidence in most of the things I do, but I believe in that character. Now I have a lead for my story, I can make him a sidekick and build their world, then jumble it up with a surprise happening. And ta-daaaaa, you have a plot.
First things first, though: still have to make that sidekick. Suggestions, anybody?
Friday 3 September 2010
Aaargh!
Aaaargh!
I feel like screaming. I feel like screaming. I. Feel. Like. SCREAMING!
Why? Oooh, don't get me started, or you're getting sweet all night long.
Truth is:
I do appreciate it, though.
I feel like screaming. I feel like screaming. I. Feel. Like. SCREAMING!
Why? Oooh, don't get me started, or you're getting sweet all night long.
Truth is:
- I don't what the fuck to write about now I fell in my school routine again, which makes me want to pull my hair out.
- I wanted to go to a little town cinema tonight to see 'Les Barons', a Belgian movie, and they were sold out so now I'm going to see a cult documentary, 'I Feel Good', at 22.30.
- I still don't want to scrub the dark mouse matter that sticks to the floor next to my radiator and is disgusting.
- I've got a bursting headache.
- I gained all the weight I lost in Congo back.
- I have no more room to store all the books I have, so they're spread all over my room's floor, reminding me to read them.
- Project babeluda Ltd. by W.Inc. (aka putting wisdom in the toilets) is suffering from serious delay because I can't choose which quotations I want.
- There are no more blank CD-Rs in the house.
- My dad won't let me play with his Mac.
- My HTC Wildfire still hasn't arrived.
- I can't download torrents anymore because I reached the data-limit last month and now the family keeps a close watch on me.
- My little brother insists on watching the Belgian-German football match we're going to lose anyway.
- I realised I have no style or nice clothes and I want to have something cool to wear, dammit!
- I don't know what to do with my hair.
- I need twenty minutes to get my bloody contact lenses in in the morning.
- I'm whining way too much again.
- I'm fat.
- I own 6 pairs of shoes, 3 of which I never wear.
- There's only shit on the radio.
- Dad's gone on nostalgia tour again with the living room's stereo.
- My Latin teacher is horrible, my Dutch and English teacher deadly boring, my Maths teacher very dull and my homework a chore.
I do appreciate it, though.
Thursday 2 September 2010
The Assasination of the Mouse by the Coward Babeluda...
I HAVE KILLED THE MOUSE THAT LIVED IN MY ROOM!
Seems like Parmesan did suit the little bugger after all. It got caught in the trap I set out two days ago. I am quite confident it died on the spot. Judging by the fact that its head bled on my parquet floor and the whole mouse sticks to the ground by some glue-y stuff I suspect is... mouse-brain?
Ick!
And I wouldn't dare to touch it, let alone scrub the floor to remove all the... bodily fluids (double ick!) the corpse has excreted.
No choice though. Man's gotta do what's man gotta do. I wanted the thing gone, it's done, now I've gotta bear the consequences. And you know what? I feel remorse. Yes, I feel remorse for killing that stupid, stinking, scratching, dirty animal that looks all cute now it's all dead on the floor.
I would have posted a picture, if it wasn't impossible to get my built-in webcam between my radiator and wardrobe. Trust me, I tried. I retained back and neck pain from that... acrobatic experience.
On a side note, this day was so utter shit I have the feeling I spent a week in class. Ah, last year, good times...
Seems like Parmesan did suit the little bugger after all. It got caught in the trap I set out two days ago. I am quite confident it died on the spot. Judging by the fact that its head bled on my parquet floor and the whole mouse sticks to the ground by some glue-y stuff I suspect is... mouse-brain?
Ick!
And I wouldn't dare to touch it, let alone scrub the floor to remove all the... bodily fluids (double ick!) the corpse has excreted.
No choice though. Man's gotta do what's man gotta do. I wanted the thing gone, it's done, now I've gotta bear the consequences. And you know what? I feel remorse. Yes, I feel remorse for killing that stupid, stinking, scratching, dirty animal that looks all cute now it's all dead on the floor.
I would have posted a picture, if it wasn't impossible to get my built-in webcam between my radiator and wardrobe. Trust me, I tried. I retained back and neck pain from that... acrobatic experience.
On a side note, this day was so utter shit I have the feeling I spent a week in class. Ah, last year, good times...
Wednesday 1 September 2010
Start of term checklist.
- First day of school, done, finished and over with? Check.
- Shitty feeling for tomorrow? Check.
- Pessimism slowly but surely creeping back in? Check.
- Losing an entire afternoon getting tangled up in wrapping paper, sticky tape and schoolbooks? Double check.
- Having the distinct feeling you haven't slept enough? Triple check.
- Little brother being a whiny little ass? Check. (Remind me to let him write here, his whining would be even worse than mine, granting him the prime editor spot. Once he'll speak English, that is.)
- Half of all taken good resolutions down the drain already? Check.
- Getting shouted at by mother for deplorable state of your desk? Check.
- Having kept a compulsion from the time when you wore glasses, constantly pushing an imaginary pair up you nose? Check.
- Having to deal with a mouse who has taken domicile in your bedroom? Check. (The little fucker doesn't even like cheese. I put some on the trap and the vermin preferred to shoot out from under the wardrobe to eat an old roasted peanut. Ánd dodged the sandal I threw at it.)
Oh, how I love the start of term... (imagine a voice dripping with sarcasm)
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