stuffs.

Why have I titled this post "stuffs", you ask? I have a dear friend who uses the word "stuffs" on msn AND in real life so often that I have gotten used to it and stopped telling him that "it's STUFF not STUFFS man, come the fuck on!" (ahhaa thats what she said hahah).

But that doesn't answer the question. I have titled this post "stuffs" because while it sums up everything in my life somewhat vaguely, it is not important enough to get a capital S. Everyday stuffs, you know. It's kind of fun using the word "stuffs". It makes one feel so average (which is not always good, I hate getting 5's) but very content with shit at the same time.

It's a way of saying 'everything' but generalising all the shit and all the good things so much that you end up with just

Stuffs.

AND it's cuter than stuff.

So, how is my life? Life is full of stuffs - good stuffs, bad stuffs, typical stuffs, annoying stuffs, boring stuffs, heartbreaking stuffs, and stuffs to be nervous about. Like that volleyball game I have tomorrow against ISB. Which I am very screwed for. And that math test tomorrow. Nervous stuffs, bad stuffs. But on the brighter side, I like volleyball. And the math test means that I won't have to be bored to death learning about logs and exponents.
: )

Woop Woop!

I have physics, math, economics, and history tomorrow. Oh dear. Bad stuffs day.
The plan is:
Physics - Listen to Mr. Whitehair and take massive notes because if I don't I'm SO fucking failing this class. .
Math - Test, woop woop, no learning! Hehe.
Economics - Attempt to stay awake. And OH SHIT I HAD HOMEWORK. FUCK.
History - Attempt to be knowledgeable

This post is so pointless.

The only reason I'm back here writing to God knows who is because Julia recently got a new blog - http://callmelove.tumblr.com - and before you ask, no, I am not the person with crinkled eyes and the wrinkled nose she mentions in her first post.

Oh, and did you hear about the guy who named his son Luke just so he could say "Luke, I am your father." ?? Smart ass!

Why don't you ever see female one-liners?

like:

"George. I am your mother. I fucked a monkey."

Highlighters

I don't think we are like crayons...I think we are like highlighters.

Yeah. Highlighters.

Don't you adore them? We're exactly like them. We come in different colours. We all live interesting, fluorescent lives. Some of us are transparent and easy to see. Some of us are darker and more obscure. We come in different shapes. We come in different prices. But most importantly, we all have flaws and we are influenced by things around us.

Say, have you ever accidentally drawn your highlighter over a wet ink thing, or maybe an old pen mark, or something of that sort? It gets ugly. The black stains the tip of the marker, and the old fluorescent life is dimmed and dull. And it just kinda sucks to use a dull black-stained highlighter.

Sometimes, though, you get lucky. You keep on scraping the highlighter and using it on that spot until the colour goes back to the original one and it's all fluro and lively again. But the black spot will still be there, almost like a scar.

The same goes to people. Once we've done something, or met someone that has a really big influence on us, it rubs off on us in a way, and it takes ages to get rid of. Then you'll have to use the other side of the marker, which is always harder. But it's best to steer clear of that pen mark, or the black print, or the photocopied text.

Keep your life fluro.

Math and Reproduction

They should use reproduction to teach math.
Then everybody could relate and everybody would get top marks, especially in investigations.

You are a guy. You wear nice deoderant and have nice hair and girls like you in general.
So you get a girlfriend.

That's addition.

When you get that girlfriend, you ultimately dump the other one you had before.

That's subtraction.

In the case of players, the numbers you add by increase.

You and your girlfriend have sex.

That's multiplication.

You get babies. They are the product.

Application in math comes from a textbook also known as the kama sutra. There are many levels of this.
Higher Level - Unabridged.
Standard Level - Abridged.
Math Studies - Abridged with no pictures

Division is quite tricky. I would say you have to divide your food supply by the number of children but that doesn't quite work with reproduction...

In the process of multiplication, the sperm cells divide at the fork and stuff. That's division. It can happen with multiplication because they are inverses - like if you try to divide fractions you flip the second fraction and multiply them instead.

Square roots - when your kids have THEIR own babies and neices and whatnot.

Fucking Up

So let me get a few people straight with you or else you will be terribly confused.
Mr. Ben: jazz band coordinator
Tivy: vocalist and friend
Mr. Mark: extremely big and multi-talented music teacher
Mr. Tama: extremely skilled music teacher
NIST Jazz Band: not really a jazz band at all.
Mr. Julian, Mr. Watts, Mr. Paul, Mr. Leslie, Ms. Hodgson: very important people.
Mr. Leslie's son: slightly less important, but still quite important nevertheless.

Let the story begin.

Mr. Ben went and told the admin that Tivy and I are "very consummate performers", so they wanted us to perform for the 1st NIST Golf Tournament at some seemingly random, remote golf club. We didn't want to do it, because the other guys (Pon, Keith, Ken) couldn't go due to mock exams, but Mr. Mark stepped in with his huge presence and said "We'd REALLY REALLY appreciate it if you guys did it".
So we said okay, what the hell...it's just a golf thing. And nobody will be paying attention anyway.
And we couldn't practice that often because we were busy etc.
Anyway, the bus ride took around 1 hour and we arrived at the biggest, poshest, and motherfucking hi-so-est golf club i'd ever seen. Amata something. It was built in a Spanish style and the bathrooms were beyond confusing. There was this room that had "El Nino" on it. And I tried to look for 'La Nina' but NOOOOOO. It was called "Ladies' Locker". All of the corridors were a warm fuzzy orange colour and there were fountains and the steps had mosaics on them and there arches everywhere. Like a wannabe replica of La Alhambra I suppose. Anyway, it was posh and that is pretty much all you need to know.

Now Tivy and I were freaking out because Ms. Jaemi was a different Ms. Jaemi from the Ms. Jaemi last Friday. The Ms. Jaemi last Friday was chill. And the Ms. Jaemi at La Alhambra Pequena was a tall woman with a strict face who seemed to hate us more than was necessary.
We ate in around 10 minutes, changed in the toilet, lamented the fact that we didn't have a camera to camwhore with in the gorgeous place...and went back.
And we also freaked a bit more because Tivy had lost her iPod earlier that day, and not only did she have 7,000 songs on it, THE LYRICS WERE ON THERE. So NO LYRICS. And we had not practiced for around a week due to my SEASAC tryouts/training and 4 tests in 2 days and my Mark Redlich English homework pile.

So we got there and they told us "oh the monitor is broken, so you won't be getting any feedback. Now for a pianist who plays by ear (me) that means "you're fucked" so basically the only thing running through my head was "you're fucked pitchaya you're so fucked and you're SO fucked in front of all the admin and mr hodgkinson who hates you enough already oh god you are fucked."

....And it started, and we proceeded to make the worst mistakes ever. i don't even want to mention them but i will say that i played many wrong chords and cut one song in half and tivy forgot the lyrics to desperado when this guy was singing along. painful. and she couldn't hear me and i couldn't hear her. at least mr tama got something wrong as well. i wanted to crawl into a hole and die. the amp was in the back of the room and i couldn't hear jack shit, and tivy couldn't hear jack shit, and the audience probably heard jack shit.

i could tell mr. watts and ms. jaemi hated it with a deep burning passion. but mr julian had the good grace to put on a happy smile on his face and tell us we were fine. thank goodness it wasn't one of those things were everybody was listening, and thank goodness the food was good and tehre was an amusing little golf slide show going on. And finally, thank goodness the audience did not have Mr. Tama's godlike musical ears or they would have all walked out right there and then.

I wanted to die. But no, that wasn't enough. Dying wasn't enough. I had to burn in hell too.

After the show, a guy I had previously took to be a random Indian man who was exceptionally good at golf came up and proceeded to rapidly tell us were excellent and very well done he loved it and appreciated it very much.

It gets worse.

"I am the founding member of NIST and -" and then my brain went fuzzy and we both descended into paranoia where the Amata Golf Club was dystopia and the founding member of NIST heard us play our worst ever performance.

the ride home was pretty much dismal.

surasak (music technician) laughed his fucking ass off.

needless to say, that was the first and will be the last time we ever perform in front of the school board.