Paolo the Waiter

Last night I went out for a lovely dinner with a friend of mine from primary school and we had Turkish food and prayed we wouldn’t be picked on by the belly dancer and promised to go karaoke sometime at the place on George Street that also sells green tea soft-serve ice cream, you know the one?

Anyway, there was this waiter. Big cheesy grin and an accent and always said, “It’s my pleee-zurrrrre” when giving me cutlery. I called him Paolo the Waiter because he looked almost exactly like the love interest in the Lizzie McGuire Movie. See:

 

Ahh anyway lots of nostalgia for Lizzie McGuire. But I was pretty interested to see where Paolo – the real Paolo – is today. So it’s time for a special “WHERE ARE THEY NOW” blogpost.

Paolo, aka Yani Gellman, is actually still a proper actor and stuff! Eight years on from acting the villain in Lizzie McGuire and he’s still going strong, currently on such gems of television as 90210 and Pretty Little Liars. AND OH MY GOD, HE WAS IN ANIMORPHS! Remember that TV show? I didn’t like it much, but I used to think the main girl with the blonde hair was really pretty.

And just for some extra cute information, he lived in Australia once, and he can speak Spanish. Mucho gusto, Yani Gellman, mucho gusto.

(I’m learning Spanish now. I realised when dancing with two guys from Barcelona at the Hyde Park fountain that I can’t actually speak or understand it with any confidence at all. But you know sixteen days til Ecuador.

x

A Ghost Story

It is an ancient tradition of my ancestors that when we go camping over the October long weekend (Oktoberfest), we tell ghost stories. We hole up in small tents, which has become progressively harder to do over the years since we keep growing and the tents invariably remain the same size, we arm ourselves with spooky torches and comforting chocolate, and get down to telling scary stories. Often the same ones every year, because we keep forgetting to learn new ones.

So I thought I would share one with you this fine evening. Obviously it won’t be as scary because it lacks the context of a secluded camping site, the pitch-darkness of midnight in the mountains, and about ten kids huddled together trying to freak each other out. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it.

*

One day there was a boy called Tommy. He was pretty cute, sporting a button nose and a generous splattering of freckles. He was pretty much every 10-year-old girl’s clichéd dream boy. (Ed’s note: I will now move on.)

So this one day (it shall be a Tuesday) he was walking home from school and storm clouds began to gather, and these clouds that were so dark and bruised that by the time he turned off the main road it seemed it was night. With the sun gone, a slight chill tinged the air like a Byron Bay t-shirt being slowly and carefully tie-dyed ice blue. The wind began to pick up; it swallowed all the leaves remaining on a stark skeletal tree and spat them out all over Tommy. He hastened his pace. A dark and stormy night was well and truly surrounding him.

Suddenly Tommy saw a strange man in front of him. The man was tall and crooked, and so skinny he appeared as if an insect grown too big for its natural habitat. His skin hung loosely over his bones, glowing ghostly in the half-darkness. His face was pinched and his eyes dark and sunk deep in their sockets. He was pretty much the epitome of a ghostly antagonist. But when he gestured to Tommy with a long, spidery finger, Tommy couldn’t help but approach him.

“What are you doing out this late on a Tuesday night, Tommy?” The man crooned, his finger rather awkwardly coming to a rest on Tommy’s adorable button nose. Tommy wrinkled it, his eyes also rather awkwardly crossed in order to see the tip of the knobbly finger. The Insect Man released a high-pitched laugh.

“It’s only four o’clock, sir,” Tommy replied.

“You’re a good boy, T0mmy.” The Insect Man’s rasping voice made Tommy’s skin crawl.

(Ed’s note: I’m well aware of how this sounds ... it’s not what you think, though!)

Then the Insect Man stepped to the side and revealed what his looming body had been hiding: a car boot ... full of books. He was a book seller. Tommy relaxed completely and began to go through the boot full of books. Straight away, there was one that caught his eye.

Ye Olde Booke of Witchcrafte and Magick

He picked it out and the Insect Man’s eyes widened.

“This ... this is the book you wish to purchase?” The Insect Man asked incredulously.

“Yes, please,” replied Tommy, not forgetting his manners.

“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely,” the Insect Man slowly passed it over. “That will be $10.”

Tommy paid up enthusiastically and turned to leave. But before he took a step the Insect Man’s cold, spindly fingers wrapped around his arm.

“But you must promise to never, ever read the last page,” he hissed in Tommy’s ear. Before Tommy could even open his mouth to ask his next question, the Insect Man had answered it for him; “If you do, terrible things will happen!”

At that horrifyingly vague warning, Tommy pulled away from the Insect Man and began sprinting home. But as he turned to look over his shoulder he saw that the car and the man had completely disappeared, almost as if he had driven away.

Anyhoo, that night Tommy lay in bed reading his book of Witchcrafte etc. It was actually pretty hard to read with all the superfluous ‘E’s. But as he continued reading he couldn’t help the longing to peer at the last page. And whilst the rain poured outside and the lightning thundered and the author of this story kept using “but” and “and” to start her sentences, Tommy snuck a look at the back page ... and gasped in horror.

It read:

RRP: $5.95

Thuh End.

Can't take credit for that story, but I forget who told me it. I elaborated a lot though, because that's the sort of annoying person I am. Forgive me.

Love you okay I just do.

Latvia

Hey! Remember me? I barely do, but apparently this is a thing I used to do once whilst being slowly drowned in the cesspool of the HSC.

Best year of my life, by the way.

Anyway I needed to find a hyperlink that I had on some old post and I opened up the blog menu thingo and there were 22 random page views from someone in Latvia.

Latvia? I said. Latvia? That’s really something.

So, dear person from Latvia ... dear Latvian.

SVEIKI! Here are some things that I think are cool about your country:

1.       56% of your land area is covered by forests. Did you know that? This means you are the 4^th most foresty country in Europe (Sweden beats you), which is pretty damn cool.

2.       Your currency is Lats. Wow. That’d be like us buying a Chiko roll and fizzy drink with a five Ozzie note. (I’ve never had a Chiko roll. I might even have misspelled it. It just sounded like something one might buy with an Ozzie.)

3.      There are 159 species of non-marine molluscs in your wonderful country alone. I don’t really know what that means, but there’s an entire Wiki page on the topic.

4.      YOU’RE RIGHT NEXT DOOR TO SWEDEN. Lucky duck.

Anyway, I hope you learnt some stuff about Latvia, my darling Latvian. I did.

Just casually, just being cajjjj and all that, Australia is beating Serbia in the men’s waterpolo. So far. Which reminds me.

Some beautiful things I’ve seen watching the Olympics:

1.       The Australian men’s waterpolo team, just in general.

2.       The awesome way the artistic gymnastics competitors always give each other high fives after they finish a section of the course. It’s really cute.

3.      Trampolining. Just ... wow.

So, I’m off to Ecuador in significantly less than a month. Well, four days less than a month, but who’s counting? Think I might do some more blogging until then, I kinda miss it. Also, I’m going to be one of the Blogger Officiales de Ecuador GBK Sept'2012. I’ll offer you some link or other if you wish to read some adventures of mine on the other side of the world. The other side of the world, guys! It’s too exciting.

                Love you all, especially my darling Latvian, who is accidentally responsible for my starting this thing again. Awkies if you miss-clicked or something. But paldies anyway.

Confession.

I have a confession to make. It’s going to be really hard to admit, but I know it’s time. And perhaps, having admitted it, a whole bunch of you will come to realise that you suffer from the same affliction as I do and come forward and together we can conquer it! But anyway, here goes:

I am a Try-Hard Texter.

What, you query, is a Try-Hard Texter? Ah well funny you ask, it’s pretty much exactly what you think it is. I try wayyy too had when I send text messages. In fact, it’s gotten to the point where I’m not even trying anymore; it just comes out naturally sounding stupid. The most obnoxious habit in the world.

For example, I sent my friend a text a few days ago including the phrase “casually consuming”. Why? No reason, I just find alliteration makes everything excellent etc. The thing is, I didn’t even realise I had done it until I sent the message, then I read back through it to make sure my phone hadn’t done any of its usual ‘me’ instead of ‘of’ or ‘if’ instead of ‘he’. It hadn’t of course. I’d just made myself sound like a properly pompous person.

I incorporate puns, rhymes, poetry, “Did You Know”s, ridiculously long words and endless adjectives into my text messages, and that’s not even when I’m trying to be flirty. (You never want to be in that situation with me; I’ll make casual references to Australian politics and boast about my cooking abilities.) But you see it’s almost a disease, it affects my day-to-day life and all my relationships with people.

So there’s the confession. If you have a similar problem, please, don’t hesitate to text me. I can’t promise the reply will be all that intelligible, though.

Love you like lovely ‘lliteration. I am fully aware that that was terrible.

x

Poetic Thoughts #6

It’s been a while. Please forgive me. I’ve been doing an awful lot of things like applying for and not getting jobs, tutoring a bajillion kids, organising flights and travel insurance and visas and vaccinations and itineraries for my trip to South America at the end of the year and doing many, many chores as punishment for … being spontaneous.

There’s nothing quite like being spontaneous though. I’m able to because I’m still a kid. I think my parents are jealous.

So. Sorry. Poetry time. Love you like the ocean.

*

I weave lies like a spider’s web and they stretch across the space between us

Blur your vision, colour it, so you can’t see me

And it’s beautiful, so delicate, full of good intentions

Canvassing the connections, and eaten by the sea.

I took a green and purple scarf to tie us apart

Trying to be perfect but there’s nothing but the deep

And it’s so dark and you’re so fragile and it all fades together

We won’t be able to yell out as we’re eaten by the sea.

Have you ever stayed cold for an entire night?

My hair was in a ponytail so it couldn’t dry

And the sea salt painted on me made my skin feel so tight

But oh it was so lovely being eaten by the sea.

*

(regrets are for losers.)

x

My Watch is Slow

Slow, not fast, mind you. My guitar is also pretty perfect in terms of being tuned. But this is not the point of the story.

2011. I forgot to do a beautiful, reminscing post about 2011. Sorry.

It was, without a doubt, the best year of my life. Yeah, it involved a lot of long hours in the study or the library that I certainly complained about, and a lot of awkward moments during which I wanted to sprint as fast as possible in the opposite direction, find a particularly hard surface and bash my head against it repeatedly. But I (cliche cliche cliche cliche) wouldn't change any of my experiences for a million dollars and a glass of lemon juice. Except maybe to get a few more marks in my external French paper.

2011 meant for me:

- Long hours in the common room discussing everything from Schoolies plans that never eventuated to Francisco I-Can't-Spell-His-Surname the beautiful effeminate model to politics and history and philosophy. Plus removing the stuffing from a giant soft-toy style dummy from the drama storeroom and refilling it with Latian, and throwing the naked baby doll Johnny at juniors in the corridor.

- Becoming super close to my High girls, who I love more than Tasmanian Double Brie and wish every happiness on each and every one of their beautiful, intelligent and stupendously attractive selves.

- Making many new and equally wonderful friends, a few of whom I feel as though I've known a lot longer than a few months.

- Success in my final year of high school academically, as in, achieving the goal I set for myself by quite a large margin.

- Being able to use my not-very-extensive life experience to help others.

- Forgiving someone after six years of having a sort of consuming hatred; it is such a liberating feeling, if you're holding a grudge against someone as of this moment I strongly recommend you forgive them. Do itttt. :)

- Blogging, time capsule and diary writing, generally making sure my last hoorah at secondary education was well-documented.

- A large amount of incredible contentment due to spending hours procrastinating or having spontaneous adventures with the people I truly truly love, even if sometimes we just can't figure out what to do with ourselves.

Oh, I have to say it just one more time. I am the luckiest person alive to have the people I have around me. You're all quite wonderful people.

So 2012? It's going to be scary, I know that. This is because I'm not doing what everyone else is doing and going straight to uni. I'm jumping into thin air, managing my whole life, becoming independent and travelling. I hope to work hard, keep in touch with all my lovely friends doing spontaneous things still (which I will never tire of), learn a lot, teach a lot and get to this point next year proud of myself and ready to start university.

Perhaps maybe also know what I want to do with my life.

I also hope the world doesn't end before then. I have big plans, world. I hope you do too.

Love you, and I mean it, like hope in general. Urgh how sentimental :P

A Sparkly Bathtub

So bros, sup?

Well, I'm in Vietnam, terribly sorry for lack of recent activity, but au meme-temps frustrated due to the difficulty of typing coherently on an iPad (I blame this for that iffy introduction) and ridiculously content due to recent adventures/book-reading. I shall be quick cause sleep must be had to fully enjoy the Hanoi Experience, but I'll start with the book bit.

To be honest, I've found it incredibly difficult to finish any type of book since the HSC (to be extra honest, I found it incredibly difficult during the HSC too). This might be because I keep setting my sights on intriguing works such as Proust's Remembrance of Things Past, which incidentally my Extension Two teacher recommended for a spot of light background reading for my major work without mentioning that it came in several volumes, each several hundreds of pages long. But this afternoon I finished (and started) perhaps the greatest book ever, Starter for Ten by David Nicholls. Feel free to read it now. Go on. Much better than this load of relative crap.

So the book is devastatingly hilarious, I think I have developed a bruise on my arm due to the amount of times Bruv punched me for laughing aloud as I was reading it. Then the characters are very relatable as per the protagonist reminding me of my good friend Superman (not the real version, but nicknamed as such due to his slightly worrying and constant delusional remarks about his superpowers), as well as the situation, which is all about starting off at university (ultra relevant for those not taking a gap year). Finally, the amount of literary references and general knowledge packed into it really makes you feel good about yourself, that is, if you get them. At the start of each chapter there's a trivia question with an answer relating to the goings-on that follow, which is quite amusing although admittedly I only knew slightly more than half the answers, and throughout I found myself thinking things like, "LOL, I know who Brecht and Stanislavski are, let me write that essay for you dear Alice."

Anyway. Read it.

I promised (perhaps) to keep you up to date with my various Vietnam adventures and have failed miserably; granted, I only started writing my travel diary today, two weeks into our three-week trip, and in it I wrote, "In our hotel room we have a sparkly bathtub. It's like fairy dust. Maybe if I think happy thoughts I'll start flying? ... Oh gosh, how do I get down?" Witty, right? Thought someone else should appreciate it.

But anyway since we last talked I have:

1. Cycled 70kms along the Mekong River, which was amazing. My only regret was not having ridden a bike for ten years, except for sport around Centennial Park when Lox and Tersa and I used to do one lap, then sit around in the bathrooms talking about the mansion we were going to co-own in Provincial France when I was a famous actor, Lox a Disney star and Tersa a vet. This is what I reflected upon whilst trying not to fall off 50-centimetre wide bridges two metres in the air over the river, crowded with motorcycles, roosters, dogs and little Viet kids cooing "hello" in distinctly Aussie accents to us as we cycled past.

2. Ridden a Vespa around the streets of Ho Chi Minh City and lived to tell the tale.

3. Crawled along 100m of the Cu Chi tunnels in pitch darkness. Escaped with very dirty knees.

4. Told half a million people Chuc Mung Nam Moi! (Happy New Year, and the only phrase I feel comfortable saying with my despicable accent. Very useful on NYE of course. Now, not so much.)

5. Been hugged farewell by the receptionists at our hotel in Hoi An, the sweetest ladies ever I swear, who also told me to come back soon, with my boyfriend. I said, "Deal." If you ever go to Hoi An, which you should, stay in the Hai Au hotel and say hello to Sally and Tammy for me.

Urgh and there's so much more but I really must sleep and I think you've probably had enough of my rambling and incredible wit. I'll talk to you later, and tell you more things, including useful literary techniques such as description and the not-so-secret challenges I have been rather bad at completing.

Love you like lemon juice. It's seriously the most delicious thing I have ever had the pleasure of consuming. Which reminds me of the time I sat a PD exam and couldn't think of the word so wrote "consumpting alcohol" instead.

x