MissLeonie.com

We’re on the brink of National Blog Posting Month, or NaBloPoMo, as coined by Eden from fussy.org. And I’m not going to play the game.

It’s not that I don’t want to - I’d love to. There are two issues, though. First, National Blog Posting Month? It seems people from all over the world are joining up, and I am being a nitpicker, and shut up already, but it bugs me.

Second, I have a feeling this place is not quite a blog. Yet. It’s more of a personal website at the moment. That said, it’s enough like a blog that if I really wanted to participate, I could. I just feel that if I’m going to be posting every day for a month, I’d like to have some sort of comments option, a bit of feedback if you will. Sure, dooce.com doesn’t have comments (most of the time) and it’s still possibly the best blog on the web, but Heather is the Goddess of Blogging, and very likely the person least in need of feedback.

I’ve been looking at WordPress and MovableType, two possible blog platforms I could use to set up my blog in a way that will hopefully be a little less time-consuming and a bit more streamlined. It appears that WordPress is a bit better suited to fools like me, but MovableType has some pretty awesome features, so I can’t decide. Any recommendations can be sent to the usual address. It’s not that I hate adding new archive links to every page at the start of every month, but there’s more and more of these damn pages and it’s starting to become a tad repetitive. This place is currently hand-coded, in the sense that the lovely Liam coded the layout for me, and I have been copy-pasting ever since.

I know a little bit of HTML. Well, that’s a lie. I know enough HTML to be able to code a really awful page, probably. I might even know enough to code a page that isn’t too dreadful. I’m refreshing everything I know by working through a fantastic tutorial I found online. And as I was looking up the link for you, I noticed they also do CSS, which is excellent news, as that is part II in Leonie’s Quest to Comment Land. CSS is completely new to me, and you can all watch me struggle….maybe.

The more I’m writing about really wanting to turn this place into a proper blog, whatever that is, the more I’m getting over that slightly sour, embarrassed taste in my mouth that magically appears whenever I use the word. Which is a good thing. I know a lot of people who like being very condescending about blogs, and I would have to agree that there are a lot of God awful excuses for blogs out there. However, there are also well-written, fun, intelligent and inspiring blogs out there, ones that make the word “blog” sound cool like “Ferrari” and “polar bear.”

You’ve probably guessed it - I’m thinking of signing up anyway, if only to document my steps to working out this coding thing. Can you picture the fear in Liam’s eyes? Two more days to make a decision.

PS. I have gone back to updating my Flickr page more regularly. And guess what? It has comments!

This is today’s one:

The walls in this house are sacred. The landlady made it very clear that they are to remain as pristine as the colour of Snow White’s butt cheeks. Actually, she used “having to repaint entire rooms because of Blue Tack stains” as one of the reasons she turned our deposit into a non-refundable admin fee. Yeah, I know. I wanted to write about it, but then I feared it might backfire one day. Let’s not go there.

I took down what little Blue Tack I had stuck on the walls like a good tenant, until I realised that the house wasn’t exactly clean when I got here, and a few imaginary Blue Tack stains wouldn’t significantly tip the balance one way or the other.

I bought a stack of photo printing paper at the one pound shop and printed off some of my photos from Australia, to stick on the walls. I’m not much of an artsy craftsy person, but this time, even digital creativity gave me trouble. Why my printer decided to print all pictures slightly askew, I don’t know. However, the edges of the pictures are as white as the walls, so I’ve just stuck them on slightly crooked to make them look straight. The irony is not lost on me.

It misses out on being the most ironic item of wall-decoration in my bedroom, though, because when I came here, there was a poster on the wall across my bed. Picture a bay surrounded by tall mountains, lit by a sun only barely piercing the clouds. The text reads: “”PERFECTION - the difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra.” This poster was pinned to the wall at an angle that betrays it was suppposed to be straight, though it clearly isn’t. And that? That is better.

My classmate Sandi had invited housemate Sarah and me to the Halloween party her housemate was organising. For some reason, both of us thought it would be on Saturday, when in fact, the official invitation Sandy gaves us on Thursday said it would be today. Which was a bit of a problem.

We bought tickets to a drum and bass party this Friday weeks ago, but this ankle of mine? It wasn’t going to be drumming, and don’t even think about bassing, are you crazy or something. Sandi lives in my street, and I could walk. I gave my ticket to Sarah to pass on to whoever she wanted to take to the other party, and went to the Halloween party myself.

Costumes were mandatory, though you were free to interpret the word costume any way you wanted. Being Dutch, I was a complete Halloween virgin until now. I decided to go as an elf of sorts, with leaves in my hair and drawn on twines around my arms and on the very bare back the dress Sarah lent to me created as a canvas.

I’m no Cate Blanchett or anything, but I quite liked the looks of it all once Sarah was done drawing on me. She did an amazing job, especially when you take into account that I came to the living room with leaves in my hair, green smoky eyes and a bunch of eyeliner pencils in different colours and told her to go all out.

Sadly, Sandy’s housemate who insisted on having the party in the whole place started the night by having some drinks at a bar with her guests. They proceeded to get so hammered they never bothered showing up for the party anymore, leaving me the only guest. As disappointing as that could have been, I ended up talking to Sandy, her husband Brian and their housemate Lukas for hours and hours, going home later than I probably would have had there been a big crowd. I had a great time at this non-party.

Just a pity the eyeliner isn’t coming off despite enthusiastic scrubbing during a 1:30am shower.

I got up at 8 am this morning, to finish some reading I had left over from last night. At a certain hour, you realise that if you go to sleep now and get up a bit earlier to finish up, you’ll end up getting more sleep than if you keep soldiering on half-stupid. That point, sadly, was 10 pm last night.

I got up, started reading, and then decided to reward myself with a cup of tea after the first article. I grabbed my mug, and a plate to make breakfast on, and left my room to go downstairs. Unfortunately, I temporarily lost my stair-descending skills and tumbled down half a flight of stairs. What really bothers me is that I vividly remember one thought in my head while falling: don’t drop the mug. This is the mug that’s part of a teapot/mug tower set from Morpeth, NSW, that Liam gave to me for my birthday. I didn’t drop it.

I did, however, sprain my ankle. I can’t say it hurts so much as it feels wrong somehow. It’s a cross between that feeling right before pins and needles and a day old muscle ache, framed by an instability that is unforgiving with regard to unplanned movements. It also comes with the complete inability to be comfortable. I can’t find a way of sitting at my desk or lying down in bed that’s pleasant, because there is this constant strain on my shins, like I’m one of those Chinese women trying to gain a few inches by stretching their legs (mind you, I’d imagine this is less painful).

It’s annoying, and it means I can’t go to the drum and bass party I had planned to go to tomorrow, unless all feels normal by then. Gah.

I did take a photo of some nice autumn scenery at the uni, though.

I was planning to write about reading James Joyce’s Ulysses, but that will have to wait. Instead, I’m going to talk about food.

Meat and Leonie aren’t the best of friends. It’s not like I have ideological issues with eating meat, not as long as the animals were treated well during their lifetime. However, I don’t eat veal or lamb, because I feel that that lifetime shouldn’t be mere months. What bothers me the most about eating meat is preparing it. The texture of it, the smell, the fatty and bloody bits - I hate it.

In fact, during my first few years of uni, I struck many a deal to avoid cutting up chicken filets (I can think of nothing worse), including doing all the cooking and the washing up, as long as I didn’t have to touch it. I had to get over my chook-o-fobia when I moved into my little appartment: I was cutting the chicken, or I wasn’t having any. I know you can buy pre-cut filets, but they’re never quite up to my high standards. I want no grubby bits. None at all.

All this meat-avoidance has probably lead to the mother of all iron deficiencies. Because I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather, I decided to cook some good food today. I’ve also started taking daily multivitamins to make up for any nutrients I may be missing. It doesn’t hurt that these multivitamins contain 100% of the recommended daily allowance (RDA) of iron. This puzzles me though - if, as the bottle states, supplements are not supposed to replace a healthy diet, why do they contain 100%? Will I overdose on iron if I eat well in addition to taking supplements? I think that the supplement must only contain the full RDA of nutrients you can’t readily take in too much of, but it is a bit mindboggling.

Anyway, I cooked a lovely sweet and sour beef stirfry, after meticulously cutting up the diced beef. Yes, I really am that obsessed with the total annihilation of fat and blood. I got the recipe off a Dutch supermarket’s website. Beef, sweet and sour sauce, capsicum, onion and some green beans, and rice of course. If I were to cook it again, I’d add some garlic and a lot more sweet and sour sauce than the recipe demands. I felt healthy eating it though. Mission accomplished, for today. And the day after tomorrow, probably. I made plenty.

I’m trying really hard not to let this website turn into Reports from the Land of Whinge. Aussies might say it’s unavoidable, given my current location. Others might point out that autumn sometimes has this effect on people. Girls might say that hormones are a bitch. Whatever it is, I’m not happy. I can’t put my finger on what’s bothering me. Obviously, I’m far away from the people I love, but I’ve never been one to be homesick.

I’m trying to counter it by being very conscious of the good things in a day. Autumn colours are a dream, and I haven’t lived around this many trees for four years. I hop on a bus for the trip into the city centre, to remind myself that I can’t possibly be lonely around so many people. I go to Lush and buy little presents for myself, to cheer myself up with long, hot baths. And I’m counting the days till I can go home again.

I’m not sure how this escaped me, but the lovely Andrea Corr brought out a solo album this summer! I love the Corrs; in fact, my entire family loves the Corrs, and their albums have been the soundtrack to many a family holiday. I thought it hilarious that Liam’s mother, too, likes the Corrs. Liam met Andrea Corr and recognised her when he was working in Ireland (which is pretty special considering he’s a metalhead). Anyway, the Corrs? They tend to pop up in my life.

After finding out about the album, I did some YouTube-ing. I’ve been a bit slow finding out about YouTube too. I mean, I knew it was there and what it was for, but I generally found most of the stuff on there absolute rubbish. My dad worked out and showed me YouTube since I’d never actually used it, and I’m the one who taught him the Internet (more or less..)! Anyway, I downloaded the album Ten Feet High for a first listen, but not to worry, I’ll purchase it as soon as I have a bit of spare cash lying around. I like these people, I’ll pay for their work like a good girl.

On the topic of good girls, that’s half of what fascinates me about the Corrs and, in this case, Andrea Corr. They’re good girls. They are gorgeous, they have a heart, and a sense of decency, and what do you know, talent. It’s rare. All too often, being a good girl is uncool, or boring. However true that may be, at least that means I’m hanging out with the Corrs. I disagree, of course, and think there’s nothing wrong with having morals at times that aren’t Sunday mornings. Then again, I was born responsible and am still trying to shake it.

This is getting long. What I wanted to say is, have a listen to this clip. I think you might just understand why I like the Corrs. If you can write and sing like this, who cares if you don’t show your vagina every other Tuesday? You’re cool enough as is!

<video removed>

I really thought I was over this cold, having passed it on to a housemate with great success. However, when I got off the bus yesterday, it was like walking into a complete vacuum of energy. I hate when that happens.

I have a natural inclination towards sleeping far too much. If you’ll let me, I’ll easily chalk up 13 hours of sleep a night. Not only is it a waste of time, I get up just as tired as I went to sleep. I sleep through alarms, through text messages, through phonecalls - I go into a coma.

And I might as well, now that they have axed my favourite Aussie radio show The Cage. No more podcasts, no more listening online, no more pride that I get the cultural references, no more Pete’s In My Opinion, Parko’s Nuz from Frankers, JB’s Spin On Sport, Brig Over Troubled Water and Fitzie’s lack of humour. As Old Mate would say, “Awww shit.”

I have internet! At home! The luxury is overwhelming.

This morning, the Virgin Installation Team came round. Basically, this guy looked at the modem, realised it was connected and ready to go, put a plug of sorts in because the signal was too strong (?!), handed me a disc to register the modem, and left. My housemate was in the shower when he arrived, and by the time she came out (and we are talking of a quick showerer), he was gone. She was just in time to check him out as he was driving away. That quick!

However, the disc part of the deal wasn’t in fact as easy as it sounds. Apparently, providing people with the right username and password to connect to the internet service they have bought is also not as easy as it sounds. I was halfway through the registration process when I got an error stating the PIN and username were invalid. Great.

I called the phone number on the manual, and was referred to another number where no one answered the phone. One of my housemates finally got through and a superstar on Virgin’s end of the phoneline talked us through registering on the internet. I’ve still got to work out how to download the free virus protection that comes with the deal, since I couldn’t use the disc.

I’ve also got the wireless set up, but that, too, took a while to fix. It worked no problem at all, but somehow, the installation disc skipped the security chapter from the manual. As happy as I am with my newfound internet, I don’t feel so sorry for my entire neighbourhood that I want to run an unsecured network for everyone. I finally gave up trying to be IT girl of the century and ran Liam, who helped me work it out.

I have internet. And let me tell you, I earned it.

How could I not have realised until now?! Radiohead have a new album out. It’s been out TWO WHOLE DAYS and I didn’t have it yet! (In that same predicament? Go here, quick!)

I do now, though. Radiohead have taken to setting up a rather cruel anthropological experiment where, upon proceeding to the checkout of the digital download shop, you are asked to enter whatever you think is a fair amount of money. “It’s up to you,” as they put it. Conundrum!

I love Radiohead. I really, truly do. I know I could just not enter a value and download it for free, but I don’t want to. It just doesn’t feel right when I know I’ll be listening to the album a gazillion times. Perhaps it’s different for someone who will listen to it a few times while driving to work and then forget about it. Perhaps I just have too much of a conscience when it comes to these things.

That said, I’m poor. I haven’t got very much money to play with at the moment. I mean, I do, but it wouldn’t be fair to go around living the big life when my parents have tried very hard to set me up for university the way they have.

I paid £5.13 in total, made up of £4.68 and £0.45 credit/debit card charges. That’s roughly how much my conscience feels is fair. It’s a bit of money, it’s about as much as I can afford, and Radiohead will probably use it wisely.

And the album? I love it to bits so far. I really enjoy that first listen, where you listen to a new album front to back without interruption, and that’s exactly what I’m doing now. The fact that I was inspired to start writing this up straightaway should tell you something about how magnificent I believe In Rainbows is. It is haunting, delicate, upbeat, and worth your money.

Of course, I do feel a little stupid when I read about people who just downloaded it and went on their merry way without parting with their money. Damn conscience.

PS. Yes, I did recycle one of my own pictures that has multiple rainbows in it. Have I become my own IStockPhoto? Is the world coming to an end?