*Click*…What a lovely sound

One day, when I realise I’ve crossed nearly everything off my “to-do” list and am Queen Supreme Ruler of World (because face it, that’s probably the only thing that will be left to do!) I will hereby pass ‘Proposition Click ONCE’

I enjoy my time at intersections. Watching confused motorists whose knowledge of road rules lives in the 1940s, appreciating my baby-free status as toddlers throw sugar tantys at mothers with too-tight trackie dacks and the soothing resonance of melodies emitting from my ipod. Don’t you even dare to interrupt my appreciation of the complexities of jazz drum solos with a little amateur version of your own.

CLICK-CLICK-CLIKITY-CLICK-CLICK-CLICKITY-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes you moron, of course now the traffic lights realise you’re in an extreme hurry to make it to Boost Juice before 12:23pm for your shot of blended algae grass and as you’ve just pressed the button a scientifically precise 2,300 clicks to a minute, you’ve unlocked the secret halt code and the lights immobolise the universe so you mutter your way across the street.

Ahem….so in closing….click once please people….and make the world a better place for all (okay…well, actually just me, but that should be motiviation enough)

Oh and a simple finger push is fine…no need to whack the button with the sheer force of your palm as if you know the $1 million showcase answer.

Now it’s your turn to ponder….

Trumping the Dyson

Today marks Week 2 of screen acting classes, a severe departure from the cosy cocoon that was my impro world. I truly feel like a dyslexic child in a Complete History of 15th Century German Colloquialisms class. I get the concepts, I read the theories and understand the underlying themes and character aims, I soak up information to quench my thirst to know more more more and yet – I just can’t make the pieces fit. Granted, it is only Week 2 of 8 but I have place such high expections on myself that it is frustrating at my complete lack of progress.

Impro comes naturally and flows easily for me, I appreciate the skills and dexterity I already unknowingly had built up over this year’s studies. To be fair, today my scene partner came late, didn’t know their lines and skipped over a bunch even with script in hand, but the blame cannot be laid solely at their feet. A sucky Saddle Club script can only do so much for you but still my inner teacher’s pet sulked all the train ride home about the woes of critical feedback. I feel like a complete giant whale out of water and yet still strangely determined to prove I can do this.

And to continue the theme of dramatic self revelations I’ve come to understand my own self imposed theory of my “success” is quite flawed. I’ve always felt that I could succeed at anything I try, because well, I always have. But now I’m starting to wonder if it’s not so much succeeding at the things I do, but rather an innate self deception honed to purposely avoid the hard path so as not to ever “struggle” or put in the hard yards for something. I’m a coaster, cruising down the coastal road (cause face it, city roads are not made for cruising, pollution whacks you in the face harder than a loaded freight train). I’m not a failure cause I haven’t tried to fail at all.

So strangely, in a warped kind of way I’m kind of glad that I have absolutely train-wrecked these past 2 classes and sucked more than a Dyson vacuum cleaner.

Weird.

Pondering this thought

Amnesty

Competitive ponderings

Queen’s Birthday Ping Pong Round Robin Extravaganza was the event to be at yesterday – to see and be seen. Entry price was a contribution of bbq meat, and of course VIP guests (they love to show off) bought a salad too. Doors to the Cooper household closed at 6:45pm and with abated breath all guests waited for the announcement of team pairings for the compulsory playing of ping pong. No play, no pasta salad for you matey. As master of ceremonies Coops carried out the draw with surprising dexterity, achieving some hysterical pairings (Mark and Jacqueline) and a lot of boy/girl teams, which included Hayden and I.

After 4 rounds of ruthless playing the ultimate grand final was upon us – Hayden & Amy vs Jarrod & Josh. Both teams hustled out to the patio for some pre-game sledging and final tactic talks. Bats examined one last time, words of reassurance exchanged and as Eye of the Tiger filled the atmosphere teams entered the lounge room arena to rapturous applause. I don’t know if our hastily prepared team uniform of aluminium foil helmets worked in our favour but we fought a hard battle and lost gloriously. The sweet taste of victory slid past our mouths like a 2 year old eating spaghetti.

I LOVE a good competition. It’s the reassurance of knowing you’re good. Even more though, it’s the constant challenge, the uneasy feeling that it could all fall apart at any second, and that little kick of adrenaline when you rocket over a hurdle that’s standing in the way of your goal. Which brings me to my second line of thought.

For as long as I can remember, music has been part of me. When you love something so passionately, you reflect it back to other people. It’s one of the key things that people define me by, so why aren’t I as competitive about my music as the other bazillion things I tackle in my life? Music is my so called ‘desert island item’, so it probably deserves to be higher up the list than the current spot I’ve delegated it to. I need to attack it with the same ferocity that I channel into overhauling procedures at work (which I actually quite enjoy, it brings out the control freak in me…)

Who would have thought ping pong could unveil so much clarity? So music, this next serve’s for you, and I’m aiming for game, set, match.

Lotsa Laughs

Amnesty