Last night, around 6.30, as I was walking home from the train station, down my dark, half a mile long street, a car, a huge pale yellow Mercedes, pulled over next to me. The passenger side window was down and, as I looked into the car, I saw a guy, my age, maybe a couple of years older than me, saying something to me. I shook my head indicating I hadn't heard him, so he repeated: Are you going to the centre? Can I give you a ride? I gave him a disbelieving look and managed a no, so he moved along, leaving me on my toes, waiting for him to change his mind and stop once again. He didn't, though, and soon the car was out of my sight.
And now I ask you, who does that??! Who offers a ride to an unknown girl on a dark street with no one around? People you do not want to get in a car with, that's who. And what does my sister say? She said: Why didn't you accept?!
Call me cynical (after all, maybe the guy was just trying to be nice) but sometimes, living in this world makes me wanna crawl to some place safe, and never come out. Much like this:
It's 5pm and I just printed out my paper! Woot! I am very proud of myself for NOT reading fic when I came home and turned the PC on. Instead, I actually wrote the paper first. Yes, yes I did. I am awesome and responsible.
If you disregard the fact that due is tomorrow and I had the entire semester to write it. *ahem*
But in my defense, it was fairly easy to write the paper after a whole semester of learning about that particular type of poem, so it was actually wise to leave it for the very end. Yes. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Now I'm gonna watch some Big Bang Theory.
ETA: Oh BBT, how I love you! LOOK! My Freak Sisters are not alone! That's right! COMPLETELY DIFFERENT BOOBS! o.O
Overwhelmed. That would be the word of the day. Hell, of the week. Not surprisingly, really, seeing how it's the end of the semester and finals are knocking on the door. They're one foot in, really. And me being me, leaving everything for the very last moment, is now swamped with work. Yet here I am, blogging. I'm letting off steam, okay?
Ashley asked me to record a podfic for her. Why, I'll never know. I slur when I read English, I can't pronounce certain words, I read way too fast (hence the first two problems, I suppose) and stumble over words (much like actors in Šokica, UGH), and I just can't hit that English sentence intonation. I actually went and recorded first three chapters (there are eight - ambitious of me, I know), but then deleted chapters 2 and 3 because there's weird buzzing that I just don't know how to get rid of. I'm not that unhappy with the first part, but since it went downhill from there, I doubt I'd be finishing it.
I haven't been having the best days lately, as you may or may have not noticed. Could be that I'm PMSing, but it's more likely the stress is kicking in, my usual not all that fun I-can't-do-this attitude overflowing me, when by this I mean living. Christel would ask me to stop being emo, Erica would suggest professional help, but I don't think I'm capable of following either of the advice. What I really want is a magic wand to wave my life away. Which, I guess, can also be done with a carefully dosed amount of sleeping pills. But then, where's the fun in that, right? Row, row, row your boat... When I'd really, really prefer drowning.
Today is not good. Today I feel a lil' sad. Today I feel ugly. Today I feel useless. Today I feel weak. Today I want to bite somebody's head off. Today you can't make me laugh. Today you can't make it better.
Yesterday was just as bad and tomorrow ain't lookin' up.
It's Sunday morning and my Mom comes (WTF? I just paused for a second to think about whether I spelled "comes" correctly.Seriously, brain, what gives?) to our room to tell us about a phone call received. A friend of theirs called to inform them that his son came home with a girlfriend, possible future wife. Um, should we call people to let them know that our children are seriously dating people? So I was like, OMG Call him back and say sister's BF was here last night! AND he will most likely come by again tonight. I mean, the world should know, right? People today... *shakes head*
I managed to collect the music from Kauboji. Actually, I'm missing one song that just doesn't exist. Seriously, I googled the parts of lyrics I remember but all I'm getting is some religious hymn and that's just not it! And it's an awesome song. Why doesn't it exist on teh intrawebz, why?! What a cruel world this is...
But for the music that I do own, I have a new mp3 player to play it on. Well, you know, music and audiopr0nz. AND BOOKS! Normal books, like this Dean Koontz's novel I'm listening to right now, Forever Odd, the second in the Odd series. But the mp3, let me show you it. Isn't it the cutest thing ever?
AJ, you are so awesome! I can't believe how well you chose, I wouldn't have picked a more me set myself. I can't wait to wear it! Thank you so much! I love it! And you. xoxox
Holy freakin' shit, Kauboji was as awesome as the first time I saw them, only better because I was closer and Živko was right there in front of me. *sigh*
But a month ago I saw what has to be the worst play ever. Seeing how it was a class requirement, we're supposed to write a review. And so I did. In Croatian. I don't have the time to translate it now, but maybe I'll do it at some point tomorrow or later this week. Anyway, I'm sure some of my readers would appreciate some quality bashing so here you are:
Šokirana Šokicom
Najnovije uprizorenje igrokaza Šokica Ilije Okrugića ponajprije je veliko razočarenje. U pitanju je možda najgora predstava koju sam imala prilike vidjeti. Nekoliko je razloga za ovakav moj doživljaj predstave.
U kazalište sam došla s predznanjem o značajkama hrvatskog romantizma uopće te drame istog razdoblja. Upozoreni smo da obratimo pažnju na pojavu poznatih nam elemenata u predstavi. Zadatak nije bio nimalo lak budući da se romantizam u predstavi pronalazi tek u tragovima.
Tema je, naravno, zabranjena ljubav prožeta domoljubljem, tako tipična tema onodobne drame. Ovaj put je u pitanju bila zabranjena ljubav dvoje mladih različitih vjeroispovijesti, katolkinje i pravoslavca, uklopljena u prizore ratnog stradanja koji imaju zadaću doprinijeti tragici priče. Kao da izvanbračna trudnoća i prisilno razdvajanje nesretnog para nisu dovoljno patetični sami po sebi.
Sljedeći element romantizma koji upada u oči jest namjera predstave da prosvijetli publiku, da ju nečemu poduči. Opet, posve tipično za romantizam. Nažalost, to je izvedeno nadasve nespretno, gotovo grubo. Glumci se obraćaju direktno publici i govore joj o razdoblju u kojem se priča odvija te što će se dogoditi, kako na početku, tako i tijekom pa i na samom kraju predstave. Čini se da se time htjela postići komika, no smatram da je krajnji rezultat nešto posve drugo: narušen je kontinuitet priče i, kao najgore od svega, posve je izgubljena bilo kakva ozbiljnost izvedbe. Teško mi je zamisliti da bi autor to odobrio.
Osim općeg izmirenja zavađenih strana nad mrtvim tijelima dvoje nesretnih ljubavnika, to bi bilo sve od viđenih elemenata romantizma.
Velika zamjerka predstavi svakako je i izbor glumaca. Sandra Lončarić (Janja) i Mario Rade (Božo) jednostavno su prestari, posebice u odnosu na Vjekoslava Jankovića (Pero). Možda bi se to dalo i zanemariti da im izvedbe nisu bile toliko nenadahnute, toliko lišene života da je bilo upravo naporno gledati ih kako se spotiču preko svojih rečenica.
Ne mogu se nazvati kazališnim stručnjakom, ali smatram da je režija bila izrazito loša. Koja god da je namjera redatelja Dražena Ferenčine bila, čini mi se da nije ostvarena. Imam dojam da se nije mogao odlučiti želi li prikazati priču u tradicionalnom obliku ili ju modernizirati. Ako je htio unijeti svježinu i novost u priču, zašto su onda kostimi toliko nalik izvornim nošnjama, nimalo stilizirani i modernizirani? A ako je htio zadržati izvorni duh drame, čemu onda već spomenuto direktno obraćanje publici i moderna glazba (da spomenem samo Brothers in Arms Dire Straitsa kao glazbenu kulisu rata)? Povrh svega, u cijeli taj miš-maš stilova i razdoblja, ubačeno je i kazalište sjena.
Teško je reći koja je svrha ovog uprizorenja Šokice. Znam samo da se publika u kazalištu komešala u stolicama, a vjerujem i da se Ilija Okrugić okretao u grobu. Potpuni promašaj predstave prepoznali su čak i osmoškolci koji su loš doživljaj upotpunili svojim upadicama koje su dobacivali glumcima, za što ih nimalo ne krivim.
In other news, I was completely shocked today when Tajana and I got a B on our oral report on "Female Writing". Three other today's reports were all graded with Ds. Not that I'm complaining or anything, I just think the professor was rather unfair. It was just... uncomfortable to be there.
You guys, it's so fucking cold here! I want to cry when I think about going out in the cold. I want summer back! Heat'n'sweat, that's my thing. This snowy, icy, frosty crap, I'm so not cut out for.
I finished listening to the fourth and final (so far) part of the Twilight series and I think... God help me, I think I miss it already. The lulz that it brought was fantastic! Can you recommend equally crappy audiobooks for my listening pleasure chagrin? I also saw the movie and OMG, how horrible is its score? I don't think I've ever heard worse music in a film. It almost drowned the awfulness that the acting of the ~stars~ was. Almost.
I found a Croatian fan of Supernatural on LJ by pure accident. And she (*squee*) is from OSIJEK! And she's two years older than me, not some fangirling 14 year old! AND we are supposed to go see My Bloody Valentine together! She, just like me, needs a hand-holder while watching a horror film. And if that goes well, maybe we'll go see Friday 13th together as well. You guys, I am so excited about meeting another Supernatural fan in real life! There's no one in my life to share that with, no one. But now, now there might be. *flails* Also, my boys are returning to TV this Thursday! *flails more* Oh, life. You suck mostly, but on occasion you reedem yourself.
As I was walking to the train station from Uni tonight, freezing my ass and various other parts of my body off, I kept thinking "I can't wait to come home, I need to blog!" See, I felt this need to write, to just let the words out, to create sentences. I didn't necessarily had a theme in mind and God knows nothing particularly interesting happened. I just wanted to make the words flow.
And then I came home and... nothing. I'm making myself type this even though the need is long gone. It's not that I couldn't come up with something to write about. It's just that I don't think I have the energy needed for shaping the thoughts into an entertaining form. So would it be okay to just ramble incoherently?
I spent most of my class fantasising about giving a blow job to that guy. TMI? Okay, yes, maybe, but that's actually not my point. (Yes, I actually have a point this time.) See that first sentence there? The thing is, I could never ever write it in Croatian. It would sound too crude, too dirty, too vulgar. It's liberating, writing in English. I love it so much, but I am detached from it nonetheless. Words I say in English are just that, words. They're not... How do I explain it? It's not that they're not my thoughts, because clearly, they are, but they're not inherently a part of me. Am I making any sense? I believe I could describe having sex in minute detail as long as I'm doing it in English. (Doing it as in writing about it, not doing it as in, you know, doing it.) Another reason for this is probably all the slash I've been reading. I've become desensitised when it comes to body parts and sex acts in writing. They're just words. They don't mean anything. In English. In Croatian, even thinking about writing the words down squicks me.
Recently I read The Time Traveler's Wife. The main characters have a lot of sex. And it bothered me! Just because I read it in Croatian. The author writes about sex without hesitation - not clinical descriptions, but no prettifying it either. She calls things with their names instead of using metaphors Harlequin way. And if it was in English, I'd be totally fine with it. This way, I felt uncomfortable. I have no problem with reading lines like these:
He tongues Jared fiercely for endless minutes, stabbing in deep, using spit and Jared's own precome to get him good and wet inside. It's a tight fit, when he slides a finger in to test; Jared clenches hard around him, groaning down low in his chest, every vein and muscle standing out in sharp relief on his arms as he grips the altar. Jensen works in a second finger, sliding his tongue in between, and smiles when Jared jerks at the first touch to his prostate.
But when I just think about translating it, I turn into a blushing fourteen year old. So stupid, isn't it?
