New Year, New Start. Or New Calendar, At Least.

It's the end of the week but I'm all about the new. New year, new post, new attempt at telling myself I'm 'totally going to keep up with blogging this year'. I said the same thing last year with scattered and infrequent results, and I'm in no way promising myself that I'll follow up on it this year. But still, if you can't kid yersel' on in January, when can you...?

I always make New Year's Resolutions and rarely actually make any progress with them. Or they're so broad ('totally get fit') that any attempt at completing them is a vague win for progress ('sign up for one class a week. In September'). In any case, I'm most definitely not alone, as less than 10% of us actually make good on our promises. So, what's the problem?

Mine was always that my resolutions were vague and impersonal. The same ones everyone makes. Lose weight. Get fit. Learn to drive. Luv lyf. 2013 was... lackluster at best. I sorted out my love life, but the rest has a way to go. Still, I made some headway. I done some exercise. I got trainers for Christmas to support this. I passed my theory test. I got Instagram like all the other cool kids who eat food and wear clothes. Totally onwards and upwards, right?

I decided to actually put in some research this time. 2014 was going to be a good yin, and the internet was going to help me, because as everyone knows, nothing is official 'til it's on the internet (scientists also support this theory, as does NASA, and most journalists). I had a look at the most popular resolutions, and had a wee think about how I could adapt them for myself. Make them more personalised. That way, I couldn't fail, no...?

1. Appreciate others and, in turn, appreciate yourself.

That's a song we can all dance to.

If there's one thing I've learned from the internet, it's that if I dislike or disagree with someone or something, it's because I'm rotten with jealousy at this snarling, empty hole in my life which this person or opinion is fulfilling in their own. To try and generate empathy I've started wearing those celebrity masks you get out the Newsbox and walking around with a giant hashtag of my own name following me wherever I go. So far some One Direction fans have built a shanty town outside my house and my mum's super pissed because she can't get her car out the driveway for work in the morning. I tried to explain that I'm just putting myself in other people's shoes.

2. Let go of your phobias and fears.

My biggest phobia isn't dying alone, or failure, or never spawning potential bone marrow donors. I don't like cows. When I was a child I playfully clambered onto a country fence and mooed at some cows residing in a field. The cow mooed back right in my face and I fell off said fence, seriously winding myself and embarking on a lifelong fear of the bovine. It was also my first day of school, so the whole experience made me hate school too. It's also a tiny reason why I became vegetarian.* I'm hardly going to start eating meat again, so I'll have to focus on eliminating my fear of looking foolish in public instead. I could overcome this by mooing at some cows and nail two birds with one stone, but I don't want to progress too much, too fast.

*This isn't even any word of a lie. It's a true story. Ask my parents.

3. Dance like no one is watching.

Whenever I hear someone say "I dance like no one is watching", I don't imagine them swooshing their hair in rhythm to that song from Hair, holding hands with a commune of other happy, dancing, free spirits. I imagine them furtively drawing all their curtains, pumping up the Q Lazarus and jerking around awkwardly wearing their next door neighbour's scalp. This is perhaps one to take under advisement, because the thought of touching other people's hair gives me the boak.

In saying that, people have worn less on nights out and gotten away with it. Hmm.

4. Ditch the car and fit in more exercise!

This one seems to be pretty popular in that it's often cited as the easiest way to squeeze exercise into your busy, busy, busy lifestyle. Everyone seems to have one these days, amiright? I for one just don't know how I'm supposed to find the time for exercise in between The Real Housewives of New York and their counterparts in Beverly Hills.

This one also angered me because it felt like it was actively trying to mock me. I walk pretty much everywhere that doesn't require transport. Also, I was so successful on my first attempt at a driving test that they want me to go and do it again. I then realised it was my anger that was holding me back. This is the year of letting go, I thought to myself. Instead, I would face the elements with a smile, rain lashing my face and ruining any attempts I'd made at taming my hair or hiding hormonal face breakouts, and grin like a sweet natured simpleton at all the fools with cars then can afford to run because they have jobs, as they roll their way to an early grave. And a double wide coffin. Joke's on you!

5. Go after your dream job and stop living to work.

I don't live to work. I would very much like to. I like to think of myself as a professional interview attendee. I've gotten quite good at it. I'd like to go after that big promotion, which in this case means actually getting past interview stage. There's apparently an economic upturn, from here on it's going to be like the old glory days, when recent graduates walked into CEO positions and blew their noses with £50 notes and tramps and aristocrats discussed their favourite caviar because everyone was equal and better off.

That being said, maybe I shouldn't wait for the opportunity to come to me. Maybe I should just make it happen myself, become a self employed business type. I watch alot of films and frequently binge on TV shows, mostly once their popularity has waned (I'm only just feeling the horrific loss of the Firefly crew). I could become a professional lamenter, telling people how much better things were back in the day. Or I could take a tip from Breaking Bad and start punting drugs. I live near several schools and underpasses, so it'd be easy money. By this time next year I might even have my own caravan!*

I also own a hat like this and it makes me look both super professional AND #ootd cute.

*I may be missing the point of Breaking Bad, I've only ever seen half an episode, and it was the second one.

I felt like 5 was a decent number to round up on. Making ten resolutions seems a little far-reaching at this moment in time. Baby steps. Don't run before you can walk. Make small changes and the big changes will happen themselves. You get the jist. By next Hogmanay, I'll be such a new and improved specimen that resolutions will be a daily occurrence, I'll be a walking good deed and a powerhouse of physical and mental strength. I will be actualised ambition in human form. And I'll have done it all without once resolving to quit smoking. SUCCESS!

The Little Hings

My mum always said 'be grateful for the little things'. Since graduating last year, this has been more than a little difficult to bear in mind, and super easy to lose sight of. I've been lucky enough to bag some pretty good jobs in my mere year of freelance work, and while it hasn't been exactly dependable, it's taught me a lot. I've worked with people who are good at what they do and known for being so. However I've been having a bit of a think about 'the future', and what it actually holds. I always knew I wanted to work in a creative environment. In the past I've tried my hand at art, film, media and social sciences. I started an English degree, but I didn't love it. I got tired of people asking me if I wanted to be a teacher. (I don't. I couldn't. I know what I was like at 13 and being faced with 30 of that would surely land me some time on the inside). I never really knew exactly what it was I wanted to do, but I always figured I would 'when I was a grown up'.

I've been stressing a lot about not having a definite career plan. When I was at uni (for the second time) there was little wiggle room in my course. I bagged a trainee job before I'd graduated and picked up work from there, but was never sure if it was really what I wanted to be doing. Last year I applied for a number of creative internships, which I was perfect for apart from being 'too old' as they were apparently only for 16-25 year olds. I had only turned 26 months before. Since when did age matter? Since when did life experience not count for anything? In today's economy, there are plenty of creative types and graduates sitting unable to work in the area they studied for. People are taking jobs just because the job's there, and in unstable times it makes good financial sense. But does that mean that they're past it because they don't fall into a certain category?

After scoring four interviews, I was unable to go for any of them as soon as they found out my date of birth. I petitioned the Minister for Youth Employment, who tried to fob me off with some facts and figures about the state of youth unemployment. They claimed the 16-25 bracket were the worst hit by unemployment figures. I did my research and yes, unemployment figures in this age group was higher. But so was the volume of training and apprenticeship schemes. Meanwhile, the figures for 25+ were only slightly higher, with no initiatives or help offered for this category. I sent some more emails arguing this case and was told that they were 'looking into it'. This year, when the internships were announced again, the age range was 16-30. I'm not saying I had anything to do with that but I like to think that enough people did that they were forced to make a change. It just goes to show that if people take action, action will be taken. You've got to fight for what you want, and not expect things to just be handed to you.

I've been to a fair few media training courses, but none of which seemed targeted at my current role (working in the sound department, just to clarify). It started to grate after a while. Even part time work was hard to come by. I started to wonder what the point had been in studying and getting a degree, when I was really just getting nowhere.

Eventually I started to pick up some interviews. I attended one, and they told us that out of over 2000 applicants, they had only chosen to interview 200. From that, only 40 would actually get hired. I didn't get the job, but it put things into perspective. I was one of only 10% of applicants that they actually brought in to interview. I don't even have that much retail experience, but I must have made some sort of impression. I started thinking about what else I could do. I was limiting myself by sitting thumbing it and waiting for work to come along. There was no reason why I couldn't go after jobs I wanted just because I wasn't 'qualified'. Other things count too: you could be the best person for a job on paper, but have all the personality of a wet sock. You could be super ambitious to land a top producer's job but become so focussed on it that you overlook other opportunities along the way.

Anything that comes along is an opportunity as long as you have the enthusiasm and willingness to do it. It doesn't matter if you don't have a clear cut career plan. It's good if you do, but in not doing so, there's a nice sense of freedom. It's easy to fall into a trap and think you're a failure because you're not on a accelerated path to The Dream Job. It's even easier to consider yourself a failure if you compare yourself to other people. For me, it was only when I took a step back and looked at the small stuff that I got some perspective. I have a family who were willing to let me move back in when I couldn't afford to keep my own flat on. It's not ideal, and it's difficult sometimes, but I have a roof over my head. I've got good experience, and more experienced professionals have told me so. I've only been out of uni for a year. Technically I'm still a recent graduate.

Yeah, I'm not doing my Dream Job right now. But right now, the Dream Job could be anything. I'm applying for jobs I'd never have considered before, even if they really interested me. I've got good friends and an awesome boyfriend. My hair's sitting quite well today. Whatever I end up doing, I'll have worked for. It's autumn, my favourite season, ad I', not going to waste the time I have now by sitting moaning. And perhaps the biggest realisation of all is that sometimes... sometimes... parents are right. As much as it pains me to say so.

Catching Up, And Some Life Lessons

Sooo I pretty much all but abandoned this blog, along with my notion to WRITE MOAR, in the last couple of months. However ever since I posted an old blog on Twitter, I've noticed a wee jump in page views, and as anyone who's ever sat in a orthodontist's waiting room knows, it's nice to have something new to read. (My orthodontist's collection of gossip magazines is still speculating the sex of Kim Kardashian's human/camel hybrid. I expect more).

Kunts.

 

In any case I've been busy, so I've had excuses. I've been dipping a toe in the water of post-production sound (read: DREAM JOB), while making dollah doing location sound trainee work. For anyone unaccustomed to industry ranking, it's like flipping burgers in McDonald's when what you really want is to be a Michelin starred sociopath, screaming at potato peelers and spitting on guests for even daring to want to eat what you're cooking.

Still, all experience is good experience for a floundering freelance masochist like myself. It also meant I got my own digs for a month while working away from home. By digs, I mean 'student halls'. A step up from the halls I lived in aged 17, but halls nonetheless. At least these ones were en suite with a double bed. My old one featured an Oompa Loompa sized mattress and I had to share a prison style bathroom with five other girls. When it came to time of the month, it was kill or be killed.

The days were long, so my time in digs was minimal at best. I also had time to reflect on my trainee life, given that there were only two people living on each floor and I didn't hear as much as another door slam for my first fortnight. I hadn't done such a long term job in a while, and was clearly a teeny bit out of practise. After a month, I was a trainee machine. I could lift several heavy things at once while only breaking a very mild sweat. In the hope of retaining some of what I learned for 'next time', I compiled a list of all some of the lessons I learned along the way. Mostly for my own benefit and reference, but hey, I'm all about sharing information.*

*If I never get another job again and do actually end up asking you if you want to upgrade to a large for an extra £1, please feel free to disregard any of what you're about to read. I won't take offence.

1. There is no such thing as too many jobs at once.
Seriously. It might seem like you're being asked to do a million things at once and you'll never be able to do them all. That's because you are, and you won't. Not at first. When you first start out, the trick is to always look like you're getting on with things. Always stand next to a flight case or floor bag if you feel like a wee doss, but make sure it's not closed over fully. That way, you can slam it shut as someone comes in the room, as if you've JUST finished taking care of some business before you take on the rest.

2. Sleep is for the weak.
It's amazing how little you need once you get into a routine. It almost becomes a game, albeit the least fun game ever. As long as you know the words 'yes', 'no' and 'I'll get right on it' you can usually fumble through your day on autopilot. I usually find this ably supported by an over-dependence on caffeine. Which brings me to my next point...

Pictured above: a lazy intern who hasn't mastered the art of linking several straws so not even sleep can interrupt coffee time.

 

3. If you don't like coffee, you better start.
There's not much else. On-set tea generally tastes like someone's brewed an armpit, and no amount of milk and sugar will disguise it. On-set coffee tastes like brown flavoured water, but it's a vast improvement. It might also help to drink it straight out of the kettle or coffee pot; that way you might hopefully scald your tongue and therefore suppress the taste. For the most part this rule can also be applied to catering and copious sachets of salt.

4. Prepare for all climates by dressing unattractively.
Unless your job involves hair, make up or clothes. For the most part, you don't have much time to preen. As long as you, y'know, wash. Things like hair can slide. In fact it stays in place easier if you can slick it back into a ponytail using a sweet layer of natural oil, thus removing the need for hairspray. As for the face, carting batteries, mics and multiple rolls of carpet will give you a healthy sheen. Delicious!

5. Fill your pockets.
Not in a theft kinda way. Just make sure you always have pens (ball point and mini Sharpie if possible. Mini Sharpies just scream "I don't have room in my busy pockets for full sized pens!"). AA batteries too, just because they're kind of technical and someone will at some point always need one. This way you can creep up like a shadow, batteries in hand, ready to swoop in and save the day. Until you inevitably get in someone's way moments later. If you have room, stuff a copy of your script in there too. Thus should be marked up with a shorthand of your own making: it looks like you've made loads of super important notes super quick, and no one will be able to detect that you've actually just reminded yourself to get Febreze so you can continue to smoke in your room with your head out of the window. If you can remember what it is you've actually written.

6. And at the end of it all, SPEND.
SPEND LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW. You've worked for it. You've put your life on hold. And you've been really good not spending anything and squirrelling money away buying 10 fags and two pints of milk while on the job. Who cares if the next job isn't lined up right away? You've always got to look your best in case such an occurrence comes along.

Prior Preparation Prevents Poor Performance

It appears that I've broken through the first hurdle of legitimate job hunting. The first stage, applying to whatever I carefully select regardless of suitability, usually results in outright 'naw's. They tell me it's nothing to do with me but they went elsewhere anyway. Which is not entirely reassuring, but they've mind-banged me into thinking that it kind of is.

The second stage is where you liberally throw all of the shit at all of the walls, and actually start to get some feedback. This stage is features the occasional interview, which for me is a welcome relief. Unfortunately the danger here is that you forget what you've applied to, therefore are completely unaware of what shit has stuck.

Last week, I found myself being invited along for a cheeky last minute interview for what I assumed was a bar job. I was brimming with confidence. This is, after all, a job I can do in my sleep. (Sometimes I have. I dreamed I was doing a day shift and slept in for my actual day shift). I went along safe in the knowledge that I'd be at least qualified for the punting of swally.

As it turned out- and I instantly learned- you should ALWAYS KNOW WHAT YOU APPLIED TO when you go for an interview. Here is a rundown of mistakes that can possibly be made (that is to say, I actually made them), how humourless grey suited managers will interpret them (judging by the look in their eyes) and how to save face. In hindsight. Always in hindsight.

1. "Tell us about your friends and family, social activities etc".
What I said: "Umm my best friend lives in Aberdeen and I'm on Jobseeker's so I don't do much in the way of social actitivies, thank God for prepaid Cineworld Unlimited cards eh?"
What I SHOULD have said: "I enjoy a wide range of activities, such as running children's arts and crafts groups, baking, knitting, developing business strategies for funsies based on what I watch on the Stock Market channel and taking elderly people out for walks and stone skimming as they talk about yesteryear as if anything post 1960s had never happened. I have friends of all colours, races and creeds and my life is a sparkling rainbow of diversity".
What I might as well have said, judging by the reaction: "I like to skin cats. Sometimes I don't even kill them first. I make the owners watch. After a while they just... stop screaming".

                                                                                      (Source: videoflavour)

Relax, kitty. I'm more afraid of you than you are of me. For serious.

2. "Tell us about your most prolific role and what your duties were"
What I said: "Ehh barmaid, but it was in a rock bar so I got to pick all the tunes which was cool, nothing worse than being stuck somewhere with rubbish music ahahahahaha! Umm apart from that I kind of done, y'know, like, everything. Table serving and stuff".
What I SHOULD have said: "As a supervisor my duties could include anything from daily set up, training staff, serving customers, counting all the pennies, totally not pretending to mishear orders so I could have a cheeky wee double Jack sitting in the wee dookit where we wash the glasses".
What I might as well have said, judging by the reaction: "I totally pretended to mishear orders so I could have a cheeky wee double Jack sitting in the wee dookit where we wash the glasses".

3. "Can you give us an example of when another colleague has ever looked to you for support?"
What I said: "yeah man when I lived in town I picked up all the extra shifts when folk phoned in sick 'cause I lived round the corner. Easy money and I could get there in like, 6 minutes if I smoked really fast and didn't stop for oncoming traffic".
What I SHOULD have said: "I acted as a liaison between staff and management, a smiling face of the proletariat but one with the unbridled trust of the greater hierarchy. I was a woman of the people, addressing complaints and not minding when someone couldn't lift more than one box at a time from the stock room".
What I might as well have said, judging by the reaction: "People always came to me when they wanted good skag. I made more money from that in a day than I did in a week of underpouring shots".

4. "What's your availability regarding notice period and hours?"
What I said: "I live in Cumbernauld and my buses finish pretty early so I might not be able to hang around after like, 12. maybe 11 just to be safe".
What I SHOULD have said: "I'm available immediately and I can do any hours. I'll take out the last bin and mop up the last puddle of sick. I'll get taxis or rent a room in the Eurohostel if need be even if it means I'm not actually making any money".
What I might as well have said, judging by the reaction: "NEVER! (MANIACAL LAUGH)!!!"

5. "Do you have any questions about the job? How much do you know about it?"
What I said: "To be honest I've been applying for so many jobs lately that I'd actually forgotten what the job was... umm, I mean, until I got the phone call the other day".
What I SHOULD have said: "I am [insert job advert here] who is also [select from keen, enthusiastic, self motivated, team player, customer focused, driven by the best representation of the brand] with a can do attitude".
What I might as well have said, judging by the reaction: "I put the buffet out whenever there was a birthday party on. I didn't care how it went as long as there were spring rolls left".

                                                   (Source: menuism)

I REGRET NOTHING. NOTHIIIIIIINNNNGGG!!!!

They said they'd get back to me at the end of next week. Fingers crossed!

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Sit Ups

Like 975,000 others of my kind, my days are spent glued to a laptop effectively infertilising myself with the amount of time I spend with this machine on my lap. Technically I'm a freelance sound assistant, but in the eyes of the government and my mum, this lack of sustainable income translates as the less creative sounding 'unemployed'. Still, if the time I spend on the internet pretending to no one that I'm applying to all the jobs has taught me anything, it's that for every dark cloud of rejection there is a silver lining in the form of inspirational memes. I've mentioned them before but they seem to have exploded in number. Much like bunnehs. On a side note, who doesn't like bunnehs?

                                                  (source: omgsocute )

They say if you look at this photo adoringly for long enough you cry tears made of rainbow diamonds and all conversations are conducted in song, like in the Disneyverse or that episode of Buffy.

 

Awwhh. Well I feel better. In any case I still have some of my favourite ever inspirational memes stashed away in a photo folder, just in case I become hardened to the sight of tiny fluffy smooshy BUNNEHS.

 

I truly hope that day never comes.

 

                                                       (source: tumblr )

Sometimes I do actually in a non sarcastic sense think on how I'm actually pretty lucky in having a place to stay. Because if I were to be maintaining the foolish impression that I could keep up with rent that 'someone' would be a rancid tramp who'd be trying to share his last splashback riddled bottle of White Lightning with me and I accept because I ran out of mouthwash. Sometimes it's the umm, little things.

                                                       (source: tumblr )

If that person is in fact wearing scaffy looking white boxers standing next to an unkempt and possibly stained looking not-quite-double bed, they're probably called Travis and you're in a motel. Travis is paying you $100 for the night and he's even splashing for the room. He's calling you an angel but he's also calling himself Daddy Bear. He probably has Dorito dust under his fingernails.

                                    (source: tumblr )

I decided I didn't want to feel like a human anymore. I wanted to feel like a mermaid. I filled my pockets with boulders and walked into the ocean fully clothed, assuming that it'd be like the reverse of The Little Mermaid and would totally work as long as I sang about how I wanted to be where the fishies are. In hindsight it's lucky that I'm a strong swimmer because this was a horribly misjudged idea based on terrible advice.

                                                        (source: tumblr )

It's like that time I was late for the train because I'd left my lighter in the house and I was damned if I was paying for another one AGAIN. I got to the station as the train pulled up but I was still smoking so I let it get jogged on. I got the next train instead which didn't stop anywhere before town. I felt like I had been given the Gift Of Time, which I then squandered deciding which shade of red hair dye to spend my Boots Advantage points on before opting for the same one I always do.

 

                                                       (source: tumblr )

With all my time off I've been working on Plan X. I was inspired by the £3 copy of X Men: First Class I bought when I went to Tesco's to buy cigarettes and milkshake. I plan on putting a fork in the microwave so it explodes and sends nuclear waves into the kitchen and myself, giving me super cool radiation powers and qualifying me for a place in Magneto's gang. I've been practising stabbing Nazis in the hand and everything.

I Like My Coffee Black (With A Wee Straw)

If I were to calculate the amount of money I've spent in Starbucks over the years, I'd weep. I'd weep for the corporate stooge I'd become, hating myself for the meth-like grip the evil empire had over me. I used to go in every day when I was at college. In fact, we'd quite often be late just to ensure we got our daily fix. I'm not entirely sure anyone cared. You can't be a dark, brooding art student without coffee. And a copy of The Catcher in the Rye that you don't actually read.

I wasn't aware that the South Park goth kids were supposed to be some sort of ironic piss take. In fact I applauded them for creating characters I could actually relate to. Was my face red!

 

Anyway. Starbucks and I have enjoyed a healthy fruitful relationship. We both have a laissez faire approach to paying the Government. They've now decided that a multinational corporation needs to be seen as 'friendly', and 'approachable', and have some kind of human connection. After all, shops are closing every day. People need somewhere familiar. Somewhere they can forget about their financial woes while paying as much for a single coffee as they would for a jar. In order to do so, they've come up with the idea of taking names. Now, my name is apparently quite easy to get wrong. All of it. I never order taxis under my own name, there's just no point. So when I'm shouting it over a counter, surrounded by noisy buzzin' bean junkies, the results are always going to be... umm... mixed at best...

 

This was the first attempt. Before now, I just thought they were selective with who they asked. The last time I'd went into Starbucks, the girl in front of me had been asked her name. She was very classically pretty, like she'd waltzed out of American Apparel. She looked like she would smell nice, and her hair was swooshy. By comparison, I didn't get asked for my name. I wasn't wearing eyeliner and I'd had a long day at uni. The girl behind me didn't get asked for her name either. She looked like Hatchet Face from Cry Baby.

 This is the most common misspelling/mispronunciation of my name. For years all I got was, "is your name Adrian 'cause yer maw's pure intae Rocky?". In protest I didn't watch Rocky until I was about 18; old enough to be over the embarrassment and to also know that no, I was not named after Rocky's girlfriend. I mean I'm sure my folks liked the film, but naming your child after a supporting character is a pretty bold statement. An opinion my future son, Wayne Gale Magneto Peter Venkman Calgie, will undoubtedly share.

 

 I'm embarrassed to admit that the only time my name has ever been spelled correctly was on a non-black coffee related product. I'd smelled some Jack Daniel's in someone else's glass the night before, and it had left me feeling a bit worse for wear. I couldn't face my usual black tar, and I wanted something sweet that was also non-food based. Have you ever ordered a Frappucino? It's impossible to do so without mentally giving yourself the 'wanker' gesture. And also shouting 'wanker!' at yourself, in your own head. Damned if it was tasty though, but next time I might give a fake name. Just so, y'know, if said cup is found it can't be traced back to me. I've got a reputation to maintain.

 

And we're back. I've never had a correct spelling of my name since that first time. Usually I just stop being a wanker and say 'Ada'. It's easier. It's three letters. Sometimes I get 'Ava', but you know what, I wouldn't mind if that was my name, so that's OK too. Most times I remember I actually have none of the money I did at college and bypass it. However, yesterday I needed some perking up after facing town on payday Friday. That's a tough shift, I'd earned it. The one thing I do like about my name is that no one else has it. OR SO I THOUGHT. The guy in front of me had been sent on the office coffee run. He was getting BAGS full of coffee based goodness. He was rhyming off the names for everyone's drink. I was pretty agitated as he was taking FOREVER, and my caffeine supplies were running low. My ears perked up when I suddenly heard him ask for a "mocha, that's for Ada, A-D-A". I was too embarrassed to be seen having the same name as someone who'd drink a mocha. I didn't want to be associated with this impostor and her lack of commitment to one thing. Is it hot chocolate? Is it coffee? At least a Frappucino is self-consciously flamboyant, like a peacock. It doesn't try and masquerade itself as a legitimate coffee option. Boo you, mocha, and boo you Fake Ada for tarnishing the reputation I only just got away with after the Frappucino incident.

Rant Like You Mean It

I have become something of a hermit lately. Not quite a full on, beardy, keeping jars full of urine under my own bed kind of hermit, but definitely not as active or keen to venture outside as I usually am. The worst thing about not having a job is the lack of need to go anywhere, and it starts to filter horribly into every other aspect of life.

I haven't been out of work since I was 16. My mum had me applying for jobs before I even had a National Insurance card. All through college and uni, I had part time bar jobs and always had my own money. I gave up bar work in my final year at uni, and managed to score a sweet voluntary film festival gig. I got my first paid film job a week after I graduated and since then it's... it's been quiet. I've had the odd job here and there. I've done some unpaid 'hings. But the nagging feeling creeping up on me is that perhaps the last three years have been a total waste.

I haven't worked in a shop since my first job, so apparently am not qualified to fold clothes or stack books. I haven't worked in a bar for over a year, which for employers reads "I have forgotten everything about pouring a pint or being around other humans therefore am not a valid candidate for a job I could do in my sleep". Actual film jobs are.... well, they're pretty much non existent. I keep stumbling across internships which I'm 'too old' for, and in any case they pay less than minimum wage. Which isn't great.

So what are people supposed to do? I can't get super top jobs because I don't have experience, but I can't get experience because I can't get a job. I get angry, and frustrated, and throw 'hings (mostly tantrums, because of course I still 'temporarily' live with the parents and they wouldn't be too happy with 'hing shaped dents in the wall). I get annoyed thinking of all the decisions I should've made instead of the ones that I did, and wonder at what point I actually went wrong.

Part of me thinks I'm being stupid. I'm healthy enough, I have a home and friends and a boyface with apparently all the patience ever. I was lucky enough to get into uni not once, but twice (despite attending both for possibly all of the wrong reasons, and not getting a huge amount out of it). I know that somewhere down the line this whole experience will be a tiny blip on the overall horizon, or so everyone seems quick to tell me anyway.

It's not what you want to hear in the middle of a drought of good creative jobs, but it's... something, I suppose. In any case it beats motivational Tumblr memes. Reason number 28363 why I need to get some kind of life-shape in order: I'm actually starting to take them seriously rather than mock them endlessly like I used to. Also I'm actually starting to 'get' the trick behind Rubix cubes that doesn't involve picking the stickers off and re-applying them to make all the sides the same colour.

IF ONLY I'D SEEN THIS SOONER I WOULDN'T HAVE BROKEN MY RUBIX CUBE.

I've Had Worse Sundays, But Needs More Gosling

It must be a sweet life being Ryan Gosling. Really. He makes super cool films, in which he even portrays head-stomping loners or shiftless alcoholics as being sympathetic and strangely likeable. He is also awesome in these films. Ryan Gosling literally does not make shit films. (I say this as I've never seen The Notebook. Apparently by admitting to this, I am waiving my right to a vagina).
From what I can tell this film is about Ryan Gosling's relationship with a giant face eater who has no regard for umbrellas.
After a distinctly indistinct reaction to Lords Of Salem, I was keen for something a bit more chewy. Maybe a bit of gritty realism, some character turmoils, Ryan Gosling in some kind of vehicle, emotional growth, Ryan Gosling seething, a densely plotted story, Ryan Gosling sans shirt...

At first glance The Place Beyond The Pines promised all of these. It was from Derek Cianfrance, helmer of ambivalence-fest Blue Valentine. I wanted to love Blue Valentine, and after a second viewing I did... not... hate it... but I couldn't quite feel the love that everyone else seemed to have for it. Still, I felt somewhat for our protagonists. They'd gotten a bit of a shitty deal. There was even an abortion scene for good measure. Because it's not a serious relationship drama without an abortion scene.

I didn't actually know anything about The Place apart from the blurb I'd read in the GFF programme. It really didn't give anything away and I decided not to read anything further about it. I'm glad I did; the film took several directions I wasn't prepared for, including an end-of-first-act finale that fully shocked me. R-Gos plays Handsome Luke, a stunt bike drivin' carnie covered in rubbish chicken-scratch tattoos. Obviously this makes him entirely more appealing for me (I worry sometimes). He catches up with last year's carnival flame Rowina (Eva Mendes, given a scraggy hair job and puffy eyes so you know she's doing serious acting). She now has *drum roll* yup, a baby.

Me and Ryan Gosling are meant to be because we have the same terrified expression when faced with a tiny human. Also nothing says "Mr Right" like a tiny knife face tattoo.
Handsome Luke decides the best way to provide for his child is to bluster in as though he's never been away, despite Rowina having a new man. One who has a home, car, money and is in every way a better choice of father figure. Still, it's to R-Gos's credit that you can't help but feel for Luke; his ham-fisted attempts at makeshift parenting are deeply flawed but there are some very sweet moments. All he wants to do is provide for the baby he feels he's neglected (despite not knowing he was a father in the first place).

It ticks all the boxes of indie relationship drama so far, huh? The film then takes a turn into Bradley Cooper's story. After Silver Linings Playbook I was fully prepared to get as involved in this as I did with Handsome Luke. After all, Luke was a 'bad egg' yet still adorably likeable. Cooper's Avery Cross is a husband, father, cop and comes from a good family. He's clearly the one we're supposed to be rooting for, right? Wrong. His story drags, his character comes across as utterly underhanded and unlikeable. Poor Rose Byrne is shoehorned into a tiny role which gives her no room to breathe. She's referred to as being a ball-buster by Avery's cop pals, because she shows concern over his premature return to work. That's it.

There's also the dreaded tacked on end section, thrusting the film 15 years into the future. It does this without any sort of character development; except that Avery's son AJ is a massive jock douchebag, and Luke's son Jason is a loner stoner at odds with his disjointed background. There were several points before this where I felt the film should've ended, but didn't. It was a nice touch, but slightly unnecessary. The leap forward would, I feel, have worked better if the film was in fact not a film, but a serial drama. There's alot of good ideas here, but it almost feels like too many.

As a character study, it has plenty of potential but there's so much going on that there's no wiggle room or space for anyone to develop fully. Characters such as Avery Cross seemed so single minded with their own agenda, it was hard to care for them. Even Handsome Luke's characterisation wasn't as rounded as it could've been, and the supporting cast are underdeveloped too. Female characters don't come across well; the contrast between Eva Mendes and Rose Byrne could've been far more interesting had they been given more than just sideshow roles.

This is by no means a bad film. It's a very well made film. It looks good, the buzzing neon of the carnival, the dusty streets of backwater upstate New York, the glorious stretch of green horizon of the title. There's no shortage of ideas on show, I just wish they'd been a little more selective. Blue Valentine's study of a relationship breakdown felt a bit claustrophobic at times but the closeness at least allowed us an insight into the characters' motivations (or lack thereof). At 140 mins it's already pretty lengthy and still there's alot that could've benefitted from some extra padding. Maybe I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and rewatch. Maybe I'll imagine how much more expansive and engaging it could've been as say, a three part drama. Maybe I'll remember that I'm not just a female in anatomical terms and actually get round to watching The Notebook. Stranger things have happened...

Blogging Isn't Easy Like I Thought

I never know what to write about with these things.  Most of the ones i've attempted to start have sort of run aground. I blogged for uni but it got all heavy and technical. I attempted Tumblr but I couldn't get past all the Supernatural/Doctor Who/True Blood GIFs, or inspirational quotes pasted over a background of a suitably heavily demonstrative inspirational picture.

An overexposed feather trying to break free from a jam jar does not make it any less shameful that my biggest achievement was scraping yogurt from the front of my jumper before it set and went all crusty.

In order to actually write something worthwhile, that I would stick with, I had to then decide what I would ACTUALLY write about. Short of choosing a cool username this is the hardest part. I tried to think about what's popular, because as everyone knows, hitching onto what's popular makes you popular by association. Everyone likes style blogs right? Yes... but there are far better people who know more about that kind of thing than me. I repeat the point I made up there about yogurt jumper. I don't judge clothes by what looks good. I tend to judge them by them smelling good, i.e. when they are picked up from the clothes pile where my floor used to be. I know about films. Watching them and such, talking about them, telling people why they're wrong about them when they dislike ones I like. I know about what I get up to in my own life and while I don't know exactly what all of my thoughts mean, they make more sense (to me at least) if I have somewhere to brain dump. So I might not always be the most coherent and will probably use alot of half sentences starting with 'and'. Or 'so'.

My other biggest obstacle was my fear of no one ever wanting to read anything ever. The default setting in my head is that of awkward teenager giving a presentation in class. After thinking that one over for a while, half writing posts and deleting them or saving nonsensical drafts full of spelling mistakes, I decided I kind of didn't care (although I do. It looks cooler if I say that I don't). At the very least, it's something to keep me occupied in between applying for all the jobs ever. Apparently a good old CV and covering letter of "hello, I'm a graduate, you know you want me" just isn't enough anymore, but it's a bit of a brain drain and a total chore to boot.

So there we have it, a wee... I don't know, ice breaker? It's a start anyway. Blogging about blogging is a hard one to explain. Maybe I should've just jumped on the Instawagon instead... if only I was up in time to take pictures of my lunch at actual lunchtime.