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Giving Back
Some years ago, the government very generously offered to loan me several thousand dollars a year so I could pay them for the priviledge of getting a university degree.
It took me a while (eight years, if we’re splitting hairs) to get said degree, but that was ok, because they just kept loaning me more and more money. All I had to do was sign a form every year and my world-class education was paid for, and I could resume skyving off and failing to live up to my potential in relative financial comfort.
Never once did the treasury tap me on the shoulder and ask me to explain exactly how I planned on paying them back, with an sceptical arched eyebrow, as I would have done if I’d loaned someone a small house deposit so they could become qualified to work in a notoriously poor-paying profession with a very high unemployment rate. Never once, when I finally got a job, did they come knocking on my door asking if it wasn’t about time I started thinking about that debt … they took one look at my milk-crate furniture and realised I could barely afford to eat, nevermind repay a loan. They sent me a polite note every year, letting me know that they were ‘indexing’ my so-called-interest-free debt, and that I could start paying it back whenever I wanted, and every year I smiled sadly and showed them my group certificate with a gentle shake of the head, and every year they shrugged and wandered away with their pockets empty.
Until now.
Yes, that’s right.
This year they were the ones that pointed to my group certificate with a sad smile as they reached over and snatched three percent of all my hard-earned dollars, before wandering away with ever-so-slightly bulgy pockets.
I thought it would hurt much, much more than it did. In fact, it barely hurt at all. It felt … kind of … good.
I’m finally giving back. Repaying my debt to society. No longer will I get to feel guilty about how much government money I wasted on getting my near-useless degree. No longer will I feel like my degree isn’t all mine, but theirs, on loan, ready to be snatched away whenever they feel like calling it in. I’m paying it all off, and soon – soon, that degree will be all mine, and I’ll be debt free.
And by ’soon’, I mean in 90-odd years (thanks be ‘indexation’). But it’s a start, right?
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I’m watching it so you don’t have to. And trust me when I say you don’t have to. Here we go …
Open: A club! A ringing phone! Snogging people! Green lights! And they said ‘blow’! If you hadn’t guessed, this show is Edgy, although some guy just said ‘bro’ which just reminds me of Original Recipe 90210, when they all talked like mild-mannered black guys so … maybe not as edgy as it wants to be.
Back at the famous Place, Sydney has done something really, really bad, she explains to Bro-Guy. Laura Leighton still looks the same but … didn’t Sydney die in the original? And why is Bro-guy’s name David? Is he alternate-reality David Silver? Pondering this, and googling whether Sydney died has caused me to miss the end of that scene. Eh. I hope it wasn’t important.
Next door, next morning is our Pop-Culture Couple. They’re here to cement the show in time and space by peppering their conversation with lots of ‘real’ things. See: Reservoir Dogs. Tarantino. Lucky Charms. Lord of the Rings. And that’s just their first 30 seconds of screentime. He’s made a video he wants to show her, of … her, in bright colours, looking happy and bouncing around and being active. Dude, you don’t cast your girlfriend in Tampon commercials without telling her! That’s just Tacky. And creepy. Oh, but it’s not a tampon commercial because it has a fricking CONNOR OBERST SOUNDTRACK. This may lose me all indie credibility, but that is one voice I cannot stand. He sounds like a tape you left on the seat of your car for so long it kinda slightly melted, only … more whiny. Pop-Culture Guy is Sensitive and Hip, and I loathe him already for subjecting my ears to that shit.
Wait. In that rant, we missed Pop-Culture Guy proposing to Pop-Cult Girl, and, in bigger, les predictable and annoying news, Sydney’s body being found in the pool. OMG! She’s dead! Ashlee Simpson-Wentz found her and I must say … that nose is plastic perfection. She looks nothing like she did when she was on Seventh Heaven. Did you know she was in Seventh Heaven? No?
And seconds later, we’re downtown. David Not-Silver is being interrogated. He didn’t kill her, and some blonde has just turned up and told them he was with her so he didn’t do it, and then she mentions tweeting, so we know that we’re in the latter half of 2009, when Twitter rules the world.
Parallel to all this is some random hospital stuff going on with a random older patient and her random but familiar-looking son (brother? lover? I don’t know?) and their random doctor who’s dad has just been laid off so she has to pay her own tuition and I don’t quite know why I’m meant to care but there’s tinkly piano music so I think I’m supposed to. I’m also supposed to care that Pop-Culture Girl (Riley) isn’t giving Pop-Cult Boy an answer to his proposal. I’m guessing this lack of answer is because Connor Oberst also makes her ears bleed, and she’s still pissed about someone making a tampon commercial of her life.
Now, back to the A-plot. David Not-Silver says he didn’t kill Sydney, and his blonde alibi (Ella) has an imagin-back about how SHE would have killed Sydney, IF she had done it, which, of course, she didn’t. But we don’t care any more, because it’s Michael Mancini. The baddest of all 90’s television bad guys. He was so bad that the actor had to carry around cards telling people he wasn’t anything like Michael Mancini in real life, because he copped so much abuse from deranged fans who don’t understand the concept of Acting and Television and How It Relates To Reality. Here, in 2009, he’s David’s father, so David is indeed Not-Silver, when you remember that on New90210, Silver’s being related to original cast members is the tenuous link binding the new show to the old. Not that anyone would know that, because no-one can watch New90210 for more than 5 minutes without falling asleep.
In other news, Pop-Culture Guy is actually a filmmaker. Of course. I should have guessed from the second-rate Seth Cohen thing he has going, but the tampon-commercial-proposal threw me off.
Back at the so-far-unrelated hospital, Familiar-Looking Relative interrupts Random Doctor printing out a bill with a big red ‘Final notice’ on it – because we all print all our bills out in colour while we’re working, I guess. Either that or it’s a fax. In colour – and asks her out … Aw. Sweet. But sad. Still not sure why I care. Oh, now Random Doctor is in Riley’s apartment … so I guess she … lives there too? That’s why I should care? And she’s Ella’s roommate? And her name might be Lauren? Or Lori? And she made out with Audrey? I’m confused. Who is Audrey, and given this is the bottom-feeding CW, why are we not seeing the Lauren-Audrey hookupage? There’s so much random exposition here that it’s makin my head spin. But the upshot is that Lauren/i and Riley are the same shoe size so Lauren/i can go on her date with Familiar-Looking Relative.
Anyway, Pop-Culture Guy (Jonah! So … hip!) is shooting a random pool-party and chatting to a blonde who might be Ella or might be another blonde I might be supposed to care about. As an aisde, yesterday Mr E and I had a converation in which he mentioned that he finds that girls with long white-blonde hair tend to all look alike, because the hair is SUCH a dominant feature that when you’re not really looking, you don’t tend to notice much else. This is especially true on television, and is why I’m not sure if Jonah’s blonde is Ella or another blonde. I don’t know if it makes much difference to the plot, but this blonde seems less Amanda Woodward than Ella, so if it is the same blonde – split personality?
David tells some chef-guy that we met earlier trying to chat up Ashlee Simpson-Wentz that he is sure he didn’t kill Sydney, but he blacked out so maybe he did. Dum dum duuuuuum! Dumb. Apparently we (or chef-guy, anyway) know how he gets. Yes, now we do. Blackouty.
Meanwhile, at the pool party, Jonah accidentally films something he shouldn’t have. He’s in trouble now …
And then it’s Michael Mancini’s turn to have a flash/imaginback. Who knows? I for one think it would be much easier if they were tinted with different coloured filters, so I could tell them apart. In his ?flashback? Sydney came to visit him at the hospital and told him it was over with David and she still loved him and didn’t want to see him in a bad marriage. I don’t remember who he was married to at the end of Original Recipe Melrose, and I can’t say I can’t say I care. If you do, maybe google it?
Lauren/i is having dinner with Familiar-Looking Relative. That night. Because this is TV and no-one ever makes dates for any time more than 24-hours in the future. And while he seems nice and caring, he’s not really, because he’s just offered to contribute $5,000 to her tuition if she’ll sleep with him. She’s OUTRAGED and STORMS OFF … but not for long, I’m guessing.
Good news! Jonah is NOT in trouble. He’s been offered $100,000 to write a feature for the random film producer who he caught on tape. Now, to my understanding this is how most movies in Hollywood get made, but everything I know about Jonah thus far tells me that, ugh, he has morals and wants to succeed on talent, not blackmail.
Ashlee Simpson-Wentz bumps into Lauren/i coming home from her date, and she comments that this is the first time she’s seen her in anything but her ‘doctor clothes’ which is a stupid and painful phrase, and talks about her mom giving her pepper spray, and makes out that she’s all wide-eyed and midwestern and shit, then innocently encourages Lauren/i to sleep with Familiar-Looking Relative for the money. Like, why not, right? I mean he’s cute, and he makes you want to lala and you’d sleep with him anyway, so what’s wrong with him giving you some money for it?
Meanwhile, in Casa Pop-Culture, Jonah tells Riley he was going to accept the $100,000 to prove to Riley that he was Serious About Filmmaking, but that at the end he couldn’t, and that makes Riley accept his proposal. How sweet. Kids: say no to bribes.
And then it’s time for the gang to come together to make a toast to dead (again, although apparetly the first time she was faking it) Sydney. Jonah is wearing a Stupid Poser Hat and takes the opportunity so perfectly presented by the toasting of a recently-deceased neighbour to announce his engagement, but nobody minds the wild inappropriateness of it because I guess they didn’t like Sydney anyway. And then David tries and fails to make a move on Ella, who is mopey about Jonah, which I guess means she WAS the other blonde and she was nicer then because she has the hots for him, and Ashlee Simpson-Wentz tries and fails to make a move on chef guy, which makes it montage time: someone is looking at a picture of a painting in an auction calatogue, while someone rides a motorcycle and someone breaks into somewhere, and Lauren goes to Familiar-Looking Relative’s hotel, and David is stealing a painting – the one from the catalogue, I think, but it’s dark during this whole bit so it’s all a bit confusing, and Ashlee Simpson-Wentz is stealing a photo of Sydney, and Ella is making out with some random girl (there we go, that’s the CW I love) in a car because she’s hurt by the whole Johan-engagement announcement (or just the really tacky timing of it) and chef-guy is burning some bloody clothes and we’re fading to black because it’s over. Thank GOD.
And in case you were wondering, no, this isn’t turning into a TV blog. I have non-TV posts in the pipeline, they’re just not getting finished because I keep getting distracted by the box and all the shit thereupon.
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Tags: Ashlee Simpson-Wentz, Bad TV, tampon commercials
Gross Double Standards
It all started off fine for Jason Lee and me – he was funny in Mallrats (the most underrated of all Kevin Smith movies), and the goodwill he earned by just being in that movie got me to watching My Name Is Earl, which then itself proved to me an enjoyable romp. I wouldn’t name him in any of my top-ten lists, but on the spectrum of fandom bookended by ‘absolutely adore’ (the cast of Chuck) and ‘loathe with a fiery passion’ (Tom Cruise), he sat somewhere around ‘quite like if there’s no-one better around’. It worked. All was well.
Then I found out that he was a scientologist, which knocked him down to ‘eh … a bit too … yeah … *changes channel*’. But I could deal – and then I discovered that he’d named his son Pilot Inspektor, and it was all over. No longer could I enjoy – nay, even tolerate or be in the same room as – My Name Is Earl, and my Mallrats DVD, as fondly as I think of the movie, sits gathering dust somewhere in my lounge room. I don’t even have the energy to file it properly. I even hear that nutters whiny, grating, annoying voice, and I’m cringing and wanting to poke skewers in my hearing holes.
Let’s face it; Yes, Frank Zappa names his children Moon Unit and Dweezel, but at least he spelled them correctly (Moon Unit, anyway … I don’t know what a Dweezel is). If you pick a strange and silly name, you don’t need to make it MORE strange and silly by misspelling it.*
So how is it that his wife – who is also a scientlogist and presumably had SOME input into naming their child – is the girlcurshy icing on the fluffy chocolate cake that is Leverage?
In her defence, it’s quite possible that in the aftermath of the birth, she was a bit wiped out and her husband just filled out the birth certificate without telling her. She would have gone with ‘Michael’. In fact, she secretly thinks of little PI as Michael and is bitter and twisted about the stupid name her stupid husband gave him, and is thinking of leaving him and the wacky sci-fi church because of it (and of course, all the wacky sci-fi stuff … which she never really bought in the first place), but she’s keeping up a happy face in public because he’s currently out of a job and the last thing he needs is a messy divorce.
Or maybe it’s just that somehow, she makes all that crazy seem … kind of adorable.
* In fact, I’d go as far as to say no name needs to be made more strange or silly through mispelling. To misspelled names, Australia and the whole world and everyone with a brain says NO.
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Weeds Wishlist
Things I want to see in the Weeds Season Five Finale, which I’m downloading as I type (and yes, if you’re not up to Episode 12 of Season Five, this post might be a wee bit on the spoilery side):
- The end of Esteban: For a Big Bad that’s so far spanned TWO seasons, he’s rather … insipid, dontcha think? Ideally, his demise will come at the hands of Shane and Silas, in a witty fashion that means I can still enjoy them next season.
- Minimal Doug and Dean, or alternatively, for Doug and Dean to do something that makes them relevant, instead of even more revolting.
- More Celia as Nancy. Right down to giving up on the whole lesbos thing and shagging Conrad.
- On that note: Conrad! And Helyia! And Agrestic sans dodgy Olsen Twin! I would only be a teeny bit pissed off it it turned out that the last two seasons were in fact a dream and the episode started with Little Boxes the way it used to when it was good. Yes, yes, it had gotten stale and Season three was a little sucky, but at least it was the brand of sucky that I signed up for, and not this highly random sucky that I don’t really know what I’m doing still buying into.
- Stevie Ray. BECAUSE WE HAD TO ENDURE THE WHOLE PREGNANCY STORYLINE (MINUS SIX MONTHS) AND IT’S NOT RIGHT THAT WE DID IT NEVER TO SEE OR HEAR ABOUT THE PRODUCT AGAIN. Also – and I know that this show has bugger-all respect for reality, but there’s a line – because he is a baby. And babies don’t just go about their daily lives never being in the same room as their mothers and not bothering anybody.
- Absolutely no, under any circumstances and for no reason and that includes dream sequences (I’m looking at you show-I-no-longer-watch-because-you-fucked-with-me, HOUSE), Andy-Nancy hookup.
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Tags: shark jumpery, Weeds
I suppose I should explain.
I didn’t actually intend to abandon this blog. What happened is this:
I joined that gym. And started going. A lot. And it sort of became my thing and it took up lots of my spare time and where I went to clear my head, and so I had nothing to blog about and no time to do it. And then before I knew it it was March. Then it was June. And now … yeah. I’m 30. And engaged! So I guess it’s been a while.
And then I got this email from this girl I know. She’s super-cool and kind of a writery-type person (in that she gets paid to do it) and she’s decided – based on a few, mostly very short, emails – that I a) am funny and b) should be writing. I’m struggling with a) to be honest – I’ve spent years keeping my head down with these particular people and I thought I was doing a fairly good job staying on the periphery and avoiding anything that could be considered a label. And now that she’s telling everyone I’m funny, I’m desperately paranoid that I’m going to say something that isn’t, thus disappointing everyone and making it clear that I am not, in fact, funny, but actually just … strange and a bit bitchy. I take b), on the other hand, as a huge compliment.
So, I figure this person knows a little bit about what she’s talking about, so maybe she has a point. And that is basically what’s led me back to this old girl – she’s still in good nick, in need of a new name and a bit of a clean-out, but she’ll do.
I don’t know what I want to write about – I don’t really want to write about myself, unless I have an actual story to tell, because I think that I’m a little done with the whole personal blog thing – but I think it might be nice to flex this particular muscle again. That said, I’m not promising anything … I wore myself out with the blogging thing before, and maybe this particular ship has sailed and I’m just standing at the wharf trying to figure out how I’m going to get across the harbour and wishing I’d arrived a few minutes earlier like a big old saddo. Only time will tell.
But anyway, that’s me. How y’all been?
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New Year, Same Old Shit
…. and we’re back. With dots.
* I got two weeks off work and it was awesome but it now feels like it never happened. I’ve got my old boss back, which is wonderfully yay, because the tempa-boss was driving me mental, but it’s a bit of a more-things-change type deal. Same old, same old.
* I did my first Christmas dinner and I have to say it was a wonderful success. The whole turkey thing was scary as buggery but the bird came out perfectly cooked and wonderfully moist. I do wish someone has thought to tell me about how they tuck the neck up inside the bird though – nothing quite as squicky as finding a cold, hard, penis-type thing in what you assumed would be a nice empty stuffing hole. And then having to BREAK IT OFF and PULL IT OUT.
* I made no resolutions for 2009 but I’m thinking of joining a gym. It probably won’t happen – hasn’t so far – but I have been good all week and been taking packed, healthy lunches to work and only given in to the chocolate craving-monster twice. Which sounds like a lot but I was premenstrual this week, so it’s actually somewhat of an achievement.
* Certain people who I am very used to gabbing with over the internet while at work have been on holidays all week. And I’ve really quite missed them. I suspect my boss thinks I’m batty as I keep nattering to her about anything and everything. Come back, MissB, or I will surely be fired for the crazy.
* Last night I made a curry from scratch. It was tasty and made of win. This makes me awesome.
* Things I hate (as of the last 5 minutes): Tom Cruise, Numbers, The Biggest Loser. Why am I watching Channel Ten on a Friday night, you ask, given I never watch real TV anymore? Law & Order. New Law & Order with Elton from Clueless has become strangely crack-like for me this past week. I watched five episodes on Sunday and then I had some pretty freaky nightmares. As you do. I’ve not loved the show this much since Lenny.
* I got a JB HiFi gift card for Christmas and it made me feel like the biggest, filthiest criminal, because I realised I am now slightly confused and repulsed by the thought of paying money for music, movies or TV shows. I’m sorry, bands I love. I really, really am.
* Speaking of, given I got gift cards from pretty much everyone for Christmas, I’m thinking of sending thank you notes so that people know what they bought me. ‘Dear MIL, thank you for my new stick mixer. It’s made pumpkin soup a delight and taken my already-awesome mashed potatoes to a whole new level of fluffy!’ But then I went and used a gift-card I got from a work supplier I’ve never met on a new bra, and that seemed a little … oversharey.
And even I’m not *that* oversharey.
So, how you all doing?
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MissE’s Mailbox #756
Dear Coles Supermarket,
I am a fan, in principle – there will always be exceptions, and I expect that you recognise them, and for the most part, you do – of your policy of not giving out plastic bags for purchases of two items or less.
However, when I buy three items, and one of them is a single piece of fruit about the size of my fist, and I have my shopping packed into not one, but two seperate plastic bags – both full-size – I’m forced to wonder: do you actually GET the whole waste-reduction thing, or is it just a gimmick?
Sincerely,
MissE
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Tags: shopping
