Isn't love wonderful?! It's just the most breathtakingly beautiful experience that ripples through your tummy making everything in the world seem more... shiny. The sun is brighter than you have ever seen it, and the sky... the most delightfully intoxicating shade of blue. Nearly as intoxicating as looking deep into the eyes of your true love. I know all this and I know where you are coming from. When you are in love you want to shout it from the rooftops! And you know what Elle? Shout it! Climb the tallest building you can find, take a deep breath and cry "I love Staz!" Scream it until you have nothing more in your love soaked lungs and you faint from the overwhelming power that is the love you have for your darling Staz. Now why am I suggesting that you climb to a rooftop to declare your teenage infatuation you may ask? Because writing it in the dew on the driver's side window of my car is NOT APPROPRIATE! Write it on a bus shelter, the back of a public toilet door, carve it into a train window for all I care but stay the hell away from my car. I don't know you! Hell! I don't even know 'Staz' what the *#$@ kind of name is Staz anyway? Is he a stunning guy from Europe who swept you off your feet while on exchange? Is that his street name and he fills in your days by teaching you how to tag while you skip school? Is he a she? Because that's totally cool, I don't give a rats which way you swing I just don't want to have to wash it off my car.
Elle, I'm calling you out for a. being an idiot and b. making a non-permanent interruption to the aesthetic perfection of my car - but I know that it came from a place of love. I too am in love. However, if I see you near my car again I might just get the inspiration to join you in spontaneous love-themed graffiti... only my medium of choice is stanley-knife-on-idiot-flesh, and goodness me! What luck! There's an idiot right in front of me!
I'm calling you out.
Saturday 21 May 2011
Sunday 1 May 2011
Dear Assessments,
I do not like you. In fact I hate you. yes, hate. That strong word that people tell me not to use. I hate you seven hundred different kinds of ways and I hope that you die. I am wasting my life spending time on you. Was it sunny today? Did it rain? I DON'T KNOW! I was inside, getting a mac-tan. What makes it worse, the icing upon the top of the crap-cake: Tomorrow is Monday and I have to go back to uni having not had a Sunday. I hope you're happy!
fork you,
Kitty
fork you,
Kitty
Friday 15 April 2011
Dear Jacqueline Howett,
I am still shaking my head at your ridiculous tantrum.
http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2011/03/greek-seaman-jacqueline-howett.html
I'm calling you out for being an absolute moron.
http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2011/03/greek-seaman-jacqueline-howett.html
I'm calling you out for being an absolute moron.
Tuesday 22 March 2011
To the institution that will not be named:
It seems as though I have been under the misapprehension that studying dance at your institution meant that we would be taught various forms of dance and shown the skills required to bring the best out of our future students. That's what it said in the brochure... perhaps you would like to review that, perhaps you already have. What I am finding is that rather than teach - god forbid - everyone enrolled, we are merely using our existing strengths and abilities. Rather than showing us how to work with a class of students at a variety of levels, you divide ballet classes and praise those, not because they have worked the hardest or mastered your choreography, but because of what they could already do. This puzzles me.
More puzzling is the theoretical teacher-training we receive that guides us towards inclusivity in the classroom and openness to students of all levels. We are being taught that if the students are not at the level we require it is our job to work with them while not excluding them and not abandoning the rest of the class to ensure they reach the required level of skill. Why do you not practice what you preach? Yes, I know there are a variety of tutors but surely you have an academic policy and outcomes for you students to reach. They appear in our course outlines but do you really use them? Some tutors do. Others feel that it is more beneficial to degrade the class for their lack of skill while at the same time refuse to give feedback to students. This sounds ridiculous in itself but when the head of the department regards this as 'a valid teaching strategy' it makes me wonder what kind of institution you are running here. Can I display the characteristics of that teacher when I am on prac next month? May I tell the year 9 girl 'You might be able to do this routine if we were spending more time on it... or you might never be able to do this routine. I'm not sure. Either way you should use these three classmates of yours as models of how the routine should look.'
It seems as though you have unrealistic expectations of your students. If we were to attend every class as you expect, study the designated hours required for each subject, take the extra-curricular classes you advise us to take (because you are unable to increase our skill level during class times despite the $70-something thousand we are spending on the degree, the massive gaps in timetabling and the fact that we are at college four days a week) research and be on top of all happenings in the dance world and seeing current dance works, when do I sleep? When do I eat? - oh that's right it's a dance degree I don't eat solids- and when do I work? You may say that college is my priority and rightly so, but centrelink isn't going to cough up $150-250 for parking per semester, $30 a term for Level O coaching courses or $100 for a dicky uniform to wear on prac plus books, pens, lunch - wait i keep forgetting - no lunch. You are a money pit and I haven't even started paying off the FEE-HELP loan!
The money isn't really the issue though, education in this country costs money and that's that. The issue is the confusion you display as an institution to produce dance educators. Make up your mind and be clear about it. If we were not good enough to be accepted into the course, hold a more difficult audition. You either want a large cohort, which means more money and a lower standard or exclusivity and prestige. You can't expect the latter by accepting the former.
The bottom line: Get your shit together because right now, I'm calling you out for wasting my time.
More puzzling is the theoretical teacher-training we receive that guides us towards inclusivity in the classroom and openness to students of all levels. We are being taught that if the students are not at the level we require it is our job to work with them while not excluding them and not abandoning the rest of the class to ensure they reach the required level of skill. Why do you not practice what you preach? Yes, I know there are a variety of tutors but surely you have an academic policy and outcomes for you students to reach. They appear in our course outlines but do you really use them? Some tutors do. Others feel that it is more beneficial to degrade the class for their lack of skill while at the same time refuse to give feedback to students. This sounds ridiculous in itself but when the head of the department regards this as 'a valid teaching strategy' it makes me wonder what kind of institution you are running here. Can I display the characteristics of that teacher when I am on prac next month? May I tell the year 9 girl 'You might be able to do this routine if we were spending more time on it... or you might never be able to do this routine. I'm not sure. Either way you should use these three classmates of yours as models of how the routine should look.'
It seems as though you have unrealistic expectations of your students. If we were to attend every class as you expect, study the designated hours required for each subject, take the extra-curricular classes you advise us to take (because you are unable to increase our skill level during class times despite the $70-something thousand we are spending on the degree, the massive gaps in timetabling and the fact that we are at college four days a week) research and be on top of all happenings in the dance world and seeing current dance works, when do I sleep? When do I eat? - oh that's right it's a dance degree I don't eat solids- and when do I work? You may say that college is my priority and rightly so, but centrelink isn't going to cough up $150-250 for parking per semester, $30 a term for Level O coaching courses or $100 for a dicky uniform to wear on prac plus books, pens, lunch - wait i keep forgetting - no lunch. You are a money pit and I haven't even started paying off the FEE-HELP loan!
The money isn't really the issue though, education in this country costs money and that's that. The issue is the confusion you display as an institution to produce dance educators. Make up your mind and be clear about it. If we were not good enough to be accepted into the course, hold a more difficult audition. You either want a large cohort, which means more money and a lower standard or exclusivity and prestige. You can't expect the latter by accepting the former.
The bottom line: Get your shit together because right now, I'm calling you out for wasting my time.
Saturday 5 March 2011
Dear North Sydney Twat,
When you came and sat down with us and started talking, you seemed quite nice. You were the outgoing social guy who was doing his bit and taking photos so that the Birthday Girl had some nice pictures of her friends.
Now I don't know if you saw my friend's body language, but she was not interested in you. For future reference, when a girls body is completely turned away from you, that is an indication that she's not that interested. Top that off with not making conversation with you and I would say that's a situation best resolved by you walking away. Ten points for persistence though! My god! You stayed until we were all laughing about you and pulling faces! You were either really interested or really stupid and I have my theories...
Now comes the part where I explain why you're a twat - if that hasn't been clearly pointed out as yet. My role in your little appearance was simply this:
1. My friend didn't want to talk to you, and
2. You were not leaving.
I wasn't going to leave her stuck with you, giving you every sign known to man (besides throwing a drink in your face) so I joined the conversation.
Firstly, I would like to thank you for cutting in on top of everything I said, making sweeping observations about the suburb where I work and just generally being an asshole. I know I wasn't the girl you were hitting on, I'm not your type, and that's fine! You are so far from my type you may as well be another species. Besides, I have my own wonderful guy who was patiently waiting at home, while I had a night out with the girls. What I was doing, was simply trying to make you look like less of a twat. And I tried, I really did, but you were working against me with every stupid thing that came out of your mouth and every minute you stayed trying a new version of 'It's OK, she really doesn't seem to like me...' Your tactic there... were you going for a hookup of pity? Really? Sweetheart, that's just sad. If you had brought a wingman he would have set himself on fire to get you out of the pitiful cycle of begging that you had launched yourself into! It was kinda pathetic and we were all quite relieved when you finally left.
So as I left the function, I thanked the people necessary for the invitation, bid my friends a good evening and said goodbye to all the new people I had met that night - because regardless of which side of the bridge I was born on, my mother raised me with manners. You were the last person that I saw before I left and I smiled and said 'Goodbye, nice to meet you.' and your charming exterior was gone! But where did it go? Oh! That's right, I'm not your type. I'm driving my little Daihatsu Charade back to Newtown and I'm taking my black hair, my asymmetrical fringe and my green glitter nailpolish back to the other side of the bridge where the poor folk live.
But just remember this, my friend, I tried to help you out of a pitiful pickup-gone-wrong. I was both your wingman and hers and for that I deserve some eye contact, perhaps even a smile, but no - not from you and do you know why? Because underneath your designer clothes... you're a twat and I'm calling you out.
Now I don't know if you saw my friend's body language, but she was not interested in you. For future reference, when a girls body is completely turned away from you, that is an indication that she's not that interested. Top that off with not making conversation with you and I would say that's a situation best resolved by you walking away. Ten points for persistence though! My god! You stayed until we were all laughing about you and pulling faces! You were either really interested or really stupid and I have my theories...
Now comes the part where I explain why you're a twat - if that hasn't been clearly pointed out as yet. My role in your little appearance was simply this:
1. My friend didn't want to talk to you, and
2. You were not leaving.
I wasn't going to leave her stuck with you, giving you every sign known to man (besides throwing a drink in your face) so I joined the conversation.
Firstly, I would like to thank you for cutting in on top of everything I said, making sweeping observations about the suburb where I work and just generally being an asshole. I know I wasn't the girl you were hitting on, I'm not your type, and that's fine! You are so far from my type you may as well be another species. Besides, I have my own wonderful guy who was patiently waiting at home, while I had a night out with the girls. What I was doing, was simply trying to make you look like less of a twat. And I tried, I really did, but you were working against me with every stupid thing that came out of your mouth and every minute you stayed trying a new version of 'It's OK, she really doesn't seem to like me...' Your tactic there... were you going for a hookup of pity? Really? Sweetheart, that's just sad. If you had brought a wingman he would have set himself on fire to get you out of the pitiful cycle of begging that you had launched yourself into! It was kinda pathetic and we were all quite relieved when you finally left.
So as I left the function, I thanked the people necessary for the invitation, bid my friends a good evening and said goodbye to all the new people I had met that night - because regardless of which side of the bridge I was born on, my mother raised me with manners. You were the last person that I saw before I left and I smiled and said 'Goodbye, nice to meet you.' and your charming exterior was gone! But where did it go? Oh! That's right, I'm not your type. I'm driving my little Daihatsu Charade back to Newtown and I'm taking my black hair, my asymmetrical fringe and my green glitter nailpolish back to the other side of the bridge where the poor folk live.
But just remember this, my friend, I tried to help you out of a pitiful pickup-gone-wrong. I was both your wingman and hers and for that I deserve some eye contact, perhaps even a smile, but no - not from you and do you know why? Because underneath your designer clothes... you're a twat and I'm calling you out.
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