Neither here nor there

So the last four or maybe five days I've been helping to run a Spring Camp for overpriveleged kids. I, along with one of my friends, was responsible for 17 of them. They were all 12-13 years old and when they were alone, some of them were kinda interesting to talk to and be around. However, when they roamed in their pack it was like a swarm of 'Rapters leaping on the back of a T-Rex and ripping at its neck with Tiffany jewellery and I-pods.

It was overall a postive experience, but I did manage to lose my voice. It now only works at the 'Barry White' frequency. If I try and go louder, quieter, higher or lower than a very specific scratchy bass rumbling, it cuts out. This is most frustrating, but we must make the best of these situations.

Currently there is last minute packing going on. I am preparing to leave on yet another trip. This time I shall be driving to Cambridge (to collect a passenger), followed by Nottingham (to attend a party) and finally on to Loughborough (to attend the National Student TV Awards conference thing). This shall be a landmark trip because it will be the furthest and the longest trip I will make driving a car. It will also be a landmark trip because it will be the last trip I make driving a car. Driving is hard. Motorways are hard. Unfamiliar roads are hard. In these circumstances, staying alive? Also hard.

I have a new mobile phone. It is a strange and confusing beast. I don't like it. The key that makes a space after a word is different. Stupid change.

In other news, Stephen King should hurry up and release the last two Dark Tower books in paperback so I can read them. CLOSURE, dammit!

Goodbye.

Strepsils Soothe

So the play is finished now. It went well, I think. I did have a horror experience when it came to removing mascara because it seems like nine metric tons of the stuff ended up on my face. Makeup is a strange and confusing beast, but I am nevertheless a very pretty man.

Last night my uncle took me to his filmmaker's club. Upon my arrival the average age in the room shot down to about 45. I got to meet lots of fun people with names like Fred, Kenneth and Lester who wear hearing aids and do the handshaking thing where they squeeze your upper arm and shake your hand forward-back, not up-down. I want to be an old amateur filmmaker as soon as possible.

I have recently driven on a motorway for the first time in my life. Lord. People are maniacs. I cannot wait for the time when I have another lane installed in all roads for my sole use. It is possible that this time may never come, but I remain hopeful.

Disease stalks my existence. After so long in relative health, the balance of pestilence has intervened once more to strike me down. I am currently running an obscene fever and should probably be doing anything but sit at the computer.

The two books I have read most recently are Songs of the Doomed by Hunter S Thompson and Wicked by Gregory Maguire. I am going to recommend them both to you because anything Hunter writes is worth reading, and this Maguire book is very entertaining. He tells the story of the Wicked Witch of the West (from the Wizard of Oz) from her point of view.

I went shopping yesterday and bought two videos for £1 each. Igby Goes Down and Kung Pow: Enter the Fist. Both are films I've wanted to see for a while, so I hope they won't disappoint. The Culkin family look very similar.

My syntax freewheels out of control. I bid you good day.

[Blog Entry]

[Anecdote]
[Aside Comment]
[Throwaway Remark]
[Second Anecdote]
[Third Anecdote]
[Dubious Punchline Vaguely Related to Throwaway Remark]


Too busy to blog, insert your own.

Born to be mild

So I'm 19.

But I won't be 19 forever and when that happens I'll be 20. And when I'm 20 I won't be a teenager anymore. No big deal, right? Wrong! It means I won't be able to ever have teenage angst. Ever!

I figure I should at least have had some sort of pointless depression at least once while I can reasonably get away with it. Live the whole teenage experience, as it were. And where better than on a publicly accessible web log?

To begin with, here is a letter talking about very little.


Dear Real Life,

Stop it. Just stop it. We both know what you're doing and it's not funny anymore. Sure it used be amusing, even cute, but you've taken it too far. Enough is enough. If you don't cease and desist immediately, there will be consequences. Dire and mighty.

You know what I'm talking about.

Best wishes,

Trev


Wow, that was fun. I'm not really sure what I was talking about, but I'm kinda hoping Real Life will read it and go "Oh no! He's on to me! Better shape up!" and maybe I'll find some money on the floor or something. I haven't thought this one through very much.

I also wrote an angsty poem after listening to some Avril Lavigne and smearing ketchup on my wrists.


New Friend, No Friend

Growing isolation,
Surrounded and alone.
Individual nation,
Sat down on my own.

Never introduced me,
Conversation fading fast.
Hello. Hello. And how are we?
Pleasantries don't last.

An extension of your outfit,
Mere accessory,
Matching hat, matching bag,
And matching friend. That's me.

I turn to look at you,
A stranger's staring back.
My friend I thought I knew,
Has turned into a ninja.


That was even more fun, so I wrote another one.


Pointless Echoes of Pointy Shadows

L is for the love that I feel for you.
E is for Engels who I think you knew.
N is for nightmare of bourgeoisie rule.
I is the instinct that makes you so cool.
N is for no-one standing in your way.
Your revolution will happen today!

Happy V-Day, Vlad!

Love,

Trotsky x


That one got a little sidetracked, I think.

Gosh this angst thing is kinda hard.

Current mood: Salty