Is it because I'm Postmodern?

Post modernity does not only exist in art and film. Post modernity is a way of life. My sister has claimed many a time that the way I think is very 'postmodern'. But what is it? Why is the term so hard to put your finger on? My degree actually focused on post modernity as a major part of one of my modules. I still find it difficult to define.

Mostly postmodernism is used to describe art, film, and architecture. In this way I have inherently postmodern taste. Among my favourite movies are;

1.) Memento, where the story starts at the conclusion and scene by scene takes it back to the beginning.

2) Mulholland Drive - One of David Lynch's many stylish yet confusing movies. I was spell-bound the entire way through (while my not-so- impressed friends decided to go into the other room). For the next couple of weeks, I asked almost everyone I knew if they had watched it. And if they had, I wanted a full-on discussion about what it all meant. What does the blue box signify?

One of my current favourite pieces of 'art' is an instillation in the Tate Modern. You walk into a dark room with an entire wall that is a screen. The screen is split into about 20 images. In each image there is a different musician from a movie - each screen is going on at the same time - sometimes people are playing trumpets, sometimes they're singing, at one point every single person is playing a different kind of drum. The musicians in each screen do not relate to one another, yet at the same time they compliment each other greatly. Sometimes they clash. It is immensely difficult to describe, but when you're watching it, it evokes immense emotions. (well, for me anyway.)

The Urban Dictionary calls it;

"The idea that there is no objective meaning, only subjective meaning, the meaning one brings to a thing, irrespective of the intent of the author, or of reality."

Many definitions of postmodernism include the word 'rejection' - the idea that it is a response to modernity, or to previous generation’s idea of art and culture. It is perhaps a reaction to structured life. The world has opened up to everybody through television, the internet, in ways people may not have imagined it would. We have more opportunities then before, and people are less happy to be defined, the structures of film and art are fuzzy and unstructured.

"It is the breaking of traditional frames of genre, structure and stylistic unity.. it values the play and juxtaposition of ideas from different contexts"

Due to the globalisation of cultures, there are different influences in our lives that may not have been there before. We are more concerned with a short film clip somebody has created in Japan, more excited by an event taking place in Peru - Everything we read, hear, see becomes a part of our cultural make-up. Therefore our culture gets more varied. This will of course effect the music that is made, the art that is created. Part of our postmodern selves crave new sights, new sounds, new insights. Art becomes the graffiti we see on the way to work, the internet site with letters from anonymous people to unknown recipients.

Why am I going on about this?

This postmodern way of living does not exist only in the cultural aspects of our lives. Perhaps the reason I can't find a job is due to my high expectations. Perhaps it is because I want a piece out of every pie and that just isn't possible? Because we know about what is out there, because we know what is possible, we can not be satisfied? Does our job actually define us like it used to? If so, how does one get the job to define us? And since we are so against being put in a box and 'defined’ how on earth do you figure that one out? Who are we and what are we meant to be doing???

Being of typical postmodern mind, these are just my thoughts at this moment in time. Perhaps tomorrow I will blame something else for my lack of .. fulfillment (for want of a better word). The lethal mixture of TCK-ness and postmodern ideology make it difficult to be decisive about my life, about what I want, about what I should be doing. I sometimes just want to give up trying and just be normal. But there is still the 8 year old inside of me that expects me to be the best I can be, to satisfy the cravings of abnormality and individualism; to make some kind of name for myself in this massive world that is just at the edge of my fingertips.

The PostSecret I wish I had written

www.postsecret.blogspot.com

Tune Me Up

There are a couple of songs I'm listening to at the moment that get me 'right there'. Right in the place that makes me want to copyright the song as my own. Or jump out of the seat and try to teach myself to play the guitar for the 12th time. Or go back in time and become the angst-ridden teen that had enough energy and passion to write poetry late into the night. Or catch a plane, arrive at their home and ask "how is it you know my thoughts?"

1.) Anais Mitchell's child-like voice and unexpected note changes make me a little excited. They also make me want to go read up on my Greek literature so I can keep up with the references in her songs. My favourite at the moment is 'Your Fonder Heart'. The lulling sweet and simple finger-picked guitar mixed with a heart-felt floaty voice;

www.myspace.com/anaismitchell

2) Whilst living in a small town on the border of Switzerland and Germany, there were not too many English-speaking people around and one would tend to hang out with those your own age. One of these such people my own age was a boy called Aaron. I haven't seen him since those early pre-teen years where we would sled, hang out at the playground and shirk our homeschooling hours, getting into as much mischief as possible.

Turns out he made himself into a pretty good songwriter. And decided to write a little ditty about his childhood:

www.myspace.com/aaronpaulbeckum .

I actually try and stop myself from listening to his songs because they really do bring a part of my life back that I feel is personal and private, and it scares me a little bit that someone I haven't seen since I was 12 is out there singing about it. There aren't too many people in the world who can sing about swimming down the rhine in high-time summer time. One particular song 'Breaking Even' has hit it home the past couple of days, at a time when I'm beginning to realise that everywhere I go, something is slightly off. At a time when I kind of just want to pack up the house and go travelling for a year in an overly hot country where I won't know where I am or what date it is.

3) The third one is going a little out of the folk genre and moving swiftly on to some kind of electronica. Artist is Scroobius Pip and song being 'Letter from God to Man'. I don't think this guy is a Christian, and I definitely don't agree with a couple of things he says in the song i.e.: "I was a simple being that happened to be the first to yield such powers". However, this song made me stop in my tracks, gave me chills from my little pinky toe to the bottom of my hairs. I found it extremely beautiful and sad all at the same time:

www.myspace.com/lesacvspip - Letter from God to Man.

Frozen Fingers

We had a bit of mild winter here in London-town, and it appears that Spring is more then making up for it. On Saturday we were walking around in the sunshine with T-shirts, yesterday and today we have had snow. What is going on? So here is a bit of snow, London style. Not so impressive, is it?

In fact, can you call this snow? It looked like snow from my window, but I'm not sure if it even qualifies. I turned around to get the camera and it stopped. Anyways, it is chill-some.

While I had the camera out, I thought I might do a bit of 'You've Been Framed' shots of my mini-apartment and see if they say anything about life here right now.

In complete contrast to the somewhat blizzardy weather, here is the blooming jasmine growing on our windowsill.

Next to my faux fireplace stands a proud Filipino hunter (who just happens to be stood next to a cute looking Tunisian camel)

Many a long evening spent reading..

My favourite new summer bag (some might say bought a little pre-maturely)




Two wise Tunisian men and an excitable fern watch over us throughout the days



The growing family portrait wall (Brooke this may be a hint that we need a new picture of the kiddoes! Hehe) The other two pictures are of Conrad's brother and fiance and of all Conrad's cousins in a row.



A mask or two from the plentiful stores we found somewhere in the labyrinth of cobble-stone streets of Venice



By far the largest and fattiest addition to my kitchen cupboard: Jif. But oh how the creamy goodness brings happiness to my soul. It's even more special because I have to get imported from the States.



And as a parting gift, I give you the greeting hung up next to the door.



Shalom.

Gerflunk.

Pumpernickle. Achinobob. Kadinkiwink. Bubblejenapoop. Karingadingblob.

My brain is smoosh grey jelly type substance. I have spent more time and energy the past couple of days thinking of reasons why I wasn't blogging that I could have spent most of it thinking of something interesting to blog about.

The most notable thing to write about is what I like to call "The Curse of the D-gene" (sorry Dad!) For some unknown reason, out of all the wonderful things to inherit from my father, I have inherited the rare Migraine gene. And it ain't a nice thing.

Yesterday started off quite nice. I was walking happily to work, content with the day and the beautiful sunshine, excited about the fact that I actually left my scarf at home and could breathe in the thick (albeit smoggy) sun-beam filled air. Whilst waiting for my bus I started having to squint my eyes to see the numbers on the on-coming buses. I tried reading the text on my phone to see if it was just the sun bouncing off of the metal and shining into my eyes. I couldn't see the text on my screen. I glanced over to the advertisement on the bus and tried to focus. It was blurry and my eyes just couldn't pic up any of the shapes.

I panicked when I realised I was starting to see what I like to call 'white-flashy-things'. Every time I tried to read anything or look at anyone, they became invisible. I had to sit down because I couldn't really see what I was doing. It was as if somebody had taken a close-up picture of my eyes with a super-bright flash on. Closing my eyes was not an option because if I closed them, I probably wouldn't be able to open them again.

I started rifling through my bag just *hoping* I had remembered to put my mini-pack of extra-strong pain killers in that morning. I had remembered, but I only had one left in there. I got annoyed at myself, but remembered that sometimes it didn't get as bad as normal, so hoped today would be one of those days. I got on the bus, thankful that there was a seat near the front.

Eventually when I got to work I was feeling totally fine. The white flashy things had gone; I had taken my extra-strength pain killer and was happily replying to emails on my desk. It was about 20 minutes into my shift that a dull ache started presenting itself at the lower back of my head which connected to my neck, and I started feeling a little queasy. I went to get a small glass of cold water thinking it was just because the pain killer hadn't kicked in yet. My eyes started to hurt. I tried to squeeze down on my eye sockets with my fingers to get rid of the pain. When people spoke to me it felt like there was thick sheet of perspex between my ears and their mouth. Every small task took the maximum amount of effort. I drank some more water and promised myself it would go away after a while.

It didn't.

I went to the ladies to sit down in a dark room for a while. I breathed deeply trying not to feel the nausea creeping down from the top of my head through to behind my eyes, around the temples and finally down to my stomach. I did not want to be sick at work. I think I was in there for about 20 minutes but time was only calculated by concentrating on how deep my breathing was and how I was going to make it back to my desk.

Luckily enough, when I did go back to my desk I looked as sick as I felt and was able to go home. The bright sun outside was not a happy sight. I kept looking for a place to walk where the sun wouldn't be in my eyes. I walked as fast as I could, trying not to pound too hard on the concrete, sending instant pain tremors through my head. As soon as I got home I went to bed, covering up my head with the darkest blanket I could find, hoping the children's happy playing noises outside would fade away quickly with sleep. I woke up 7 hours later feeling groggy and surprised that I had slept so deeply.

I have been to several doctors for these migraines and none of them could hazard a guess to why I get them. They are completely random - I once didn't have one for several months, and I once had two in a week. I've tried different pain killers for them, and none of them really work. They just dull the pain slightly. The only cure is to go to bed - and hope that you get to bed before you start with the puking.

The worst thing about getting migraines is my complete understanding that people do not believe me. There is always a look of disbelief when I tell someone - it's like a get-out-of-jail-free card for work. One moment I'm chatting away happily with colleagues, the next I can't lift my head off of the desk and can't move from my chair. How do you explain this to someone who doesn't know the complete and utter horror of a migraine?

Jeroomeepoop.

How To Make Rachel Laugh

Firstly, take a picture of the three of you while making a slightly weird face:

After re-positioning, take yet another picture making a (only slightly!) weird face:

After deciding that she should hold the camera, pose like you're a strange stalker trying to get in on the Ben and Rachel action.

..Making her miss off her entire face the next time round because she's laughing so hard.

Take it to the next level by making silly faces when she thinks you're finally taking it seriousy:

..Making her laugh so hard she looks like she's in in serious pain:

Mission Accomplished.

Thoughts as they come into my head

It has been over a week since I last posted.

I have either been too tired, emotionally drained, annoyed, cranky, gripy, moany, sleepy, generally not-nice-to-talk-to-let-alone-read-about-my-bad-mood to write. My stomach has been having issues this week and I'm not entirely sure if it's to do with being stressed at work, or what. But it ain't been pleasant, that's for sure!

This past Saturday Conrad and I went to go and get my engagement ring re-sized. When I passed over my ring my entire spirit just went completely down. Symbolism is such a powerful thing. As soon as we left the store I felt kind of empty. I stare at this thing so much and it's such a constant presence on my finger, that when it was gone, I felt something quite important was missing. I wanted people to know that I was engaged! I wanted to play with it when I was on the bus! I wanted to gaze at it for hours on end when I was supposed to be doing work! Last night I got it back again and I felt immense relief when it slipped back on my finger. Not only does it fit perfectly, but I have a new-found respect for how much the ring symbolises. This ring will be on my finger until I die, and shows everybody that I am in love and am completely taken. I just didn't realise how attached I would become to it in only 2 weeks.

*

It's my Brother's Birthday today. Please go look at his art and appreciate the Greatness Of Nick. He will always be 18 (the age when he moved away to America) in my mind. Or the brother who swung me round and round in the garage and accidentally pulled my arm out of the socket. The brother who wanted to pull out my loose tooth by attaching a piece of string to the doorknob and slamming it. The brother who triple dared Allie and I to jump off of Diesselhof Bridge (which I didn't!) with him over the Rhine. The brother that plays super-loud Pet Shop Boys or thrash metal at 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning. Happy Birthday Nick!!!!

*

Ben (a.k.a. My Bridesman - is there a correct term for that?) is coming to visit tonight for the weekend. Granted, whatever we do, we'll have fun. I'll try and take as many stupid and ridiculous pictures as humanly possible and subject them to you next week.

*

I have been browsing magazines for wedding dresses the past couple of weeks. Apparently, strapless dresses are in. And it's impossible to find anything else. I don't heart strapless. As of yet, I haven't found anything that makes me want to pass out with glee. I have realised that I do heart trains:

We haven't been able to set a date yet, because we're having Church issues. This is the Church that I really really really really really really really really want to have it in:

It's intimate and picturesque. I can seriously see myself standing right there, getting ready to walk in and get married.

But apparently if you book a wedding in this chapel, you book everything: flowers, minister, hymns (organ player and all!!), photographer.. What is the point in that? We are the kind of people that want a very personalised service. I know exactly what kind of flowers I want, what kind of music I want, and the most important thing is that I want my dad to perform the ceremony.

When we went to go visit the Vicar, he was kind of stumped. He had obviously never had any kind of request such as this before. All we wanted to do was rent the chapel (not him!) and he wasn't sure how to take it. We are still in 'negotiations' at the moment, meaning that I have emailed him and he hasn't gotten back to me. This has kind of stopped my planning in it's tracks, because I have absolutely no idea what we'll do if we can't get this chapel! Boo!

*

That's all I can think of right now - Must go back to work in the drone colony.

Something That Irks Me

Wherever I am in the world, people make negative comments about people in other countries. Not necessarily racist comments, but little sentences that make me cringe.

Regardless of what country I am in, what culture I am defending, there is always some kind of negative comment and assumptions and wildly inappropriate generalisations. (fyi, they're hardly ever aimed at me - they are totally innocent. But it just irks me nonetheless.)

'Only in America would a woman sell her baby to buy a car'... Excuse me? How do you know? Have you ever lived there? Do you know how large a country it is? How many people live there? That saying 'America' is like generalising the entire population of Europe?

Oh wait.. I've heard that too. Whilst in America I was asked if 'they' had TVs in Europe. And if my house in Manchester, England was anywhere near the Eiffel Tower.

Oh and whilst living in England I was asked if everyone lived in grass huts in the Philippines. And if we had librarys there. Upon telling someone I lived in the Philippines she said;

'Oh yeah, that Jewish country'.

'Sorry?'

'The one that's in the Bible'.

'I don't follow..'

'The Philippines.. It's that Jewish place in the Bible.'

It was upon further confused contemplation that I realised she was talking about the book of Philippians in the Bible. Reading the word in print, it it doesn't seem so hard to confuse them - But, really?

I wish I had these all written down, because these are the only ones I can remember. I have been asked some weird stuff.

Just last night over dinner, the ladies at the next table were exclaiming how 'the Australians.. they're all sloppy. They just do things that way'. I think generalisations are just so weird. Terms like 'They always..' 'The Germans do this..' Etc. It kind of makes me feel a bit sick.

I just want people to realise that everywhere is the same. Everyone is the same. We are all one people. Nobody is better then anyone else, regardless of what kind of house they live in, whether they talk loud on the phone, if they have to walk a while to get water out of a well, if they only have one car rather then 3 - if their family doesn't own a TV .. Where we live is purely a matter of where to point at on a map. Our world's colourful cultural patterns are so beautiful. I just want everyone to understand them so they can appreciate the design to it's fullest.