I heartily apologise for not updating last week - I went home for the weekend and subsequently consumed more alcohol in one day than I have in the entire time I've been here at Weir. Mum? I love you.
I never thought that I'd become someone as harsh and abrasive and uncaring as Sherlock, but apparently it comes with the territory - it's becoming more and more difficult to keep the little comments in my head and I'm afraid my Sociology tutor will hate me for the rest of the semester after the two little slips I had on Thursday.
I'm sorry. But she was just classic. Heavy black eye-makeup coupled with the black turtle-neck and black floor-length skirt; some people make it shamefully easy for others to insult them, the Science of Deduction aside. You could tell everything about her from the moment she walked into the room with the exclamation of "Fuck, I just had the worst tutorial ever - no-one talked!" And I sat down and went, oh, yeah. You're one of those people who still thinks smoking is cool. You're tutoring in Socilogy; I bet you're a Marxist and use people-watching as an excuse for being a loner. Heavily involved in the university's political groups, and now you think you're making a profound difference to the lives of us young and budding Sociologists. Guess what? Ten of us around the table are laughing at you on the inside.
It was when she told us she was doing her thesis on how narcissism makes perfect businesspeople that I let out the little Sherlockian "Oh, God" and when she said that people-watching makes for good Sociological practise and good writing that I went, "Oh, you're a writer, too? Why didn't I guess." She practically screams morbid poetry and short stories about how society drives people to suicide.
So that's my adventure in Deduction for the week.
As for life, I haven't had much of one. Between Psychology readings and frantic bookings of last-minute theatre ventures (thanks, Shaun - Peninsula was amazing) I've watched the entire first season of Doctor Who (the rejuvinated, 2005 version) after an incredible talk for the International Arts Festival by Who writer Robert Shearman (who wrote the episode Dalek) inspired me to rewatch everything. A lovely conversation with CaskettFanGirl on fanfiction.net featuring the words "you never forget your first doctor" I think epitomise my blatant Eccleston favouritism and also led me to discover that the first episode of Doctor Who I ever wrote was written by Mark Gatiss. Coincidence? Life is funny like that.
My habit of talking to myself is coming back to bite me - shut up, Nick - as is my two-second shutdown after I find something I want to file in my brain. Combine the two and you have me stopping in the middle of the street muttering "tack that above the fireplace downstairs" so that I'll remember where the nearest post-box is. In my defence, I remember it.
So that's been my week - not studying, reading fanfiction and largely forgetting to write my own, chatting to strangers with the same obsessions and insulting people I will later rely on for my grades. Next step: become a social recluse and only talk to people to tell them exactly how inferior they are.
Wish me luck!
-for you
Friday, 23 March 2012
Saturday, 10 March 2012
Another busy week has almost literally flown by. Seriously, is it Saturday already? Good Lord.
Lectures started this week, and for now at least I'm inclined to be geekily organised, although I'm on the verge of throwing my flip-clock bodily from my third-story window to cure it of its refusal to show the right time - every time I think I'm being clever by changing the time, it just stops. I don't think it liked being thrown in a bag for three hours on the journey down here.
While Psychology is even more interesting than I'd anticipated, not least because the lecturer looks like Ricky Gervais and sports the derogatory sense of humour to match, Sociology is disappointingly boring, despite the fact that the slightly rotund old lecturer wears an eyepatch when he's talking. Theatre is, well, theatre - if you're interested in the hows and whys, it's always going to be infinitely fascinating.
I've run into a lot of people I knew from primary school, which is embarrassing because I'm extremely good with names, so I remember them and yet I know almost without a doubt that they will not - and probably will not want to - remember me. I've also met an old acquaintance I used to catch the train with before he shot to local stardom by appearing in a series of Countdown ads on telly and started snobbing us normal people - Riley now flats with a friend of mine from high-school and my God, it's a dump. When you walk in and the other flatmate is busy getting stoned in the kitchen you make your excuses, don't touch anything, and leave as quickly as you can. Sorry, Ben.
Socially, I've spent enough time in the 'pool room' to know exactly how bad a year's lack of practise makes you at snooker, and this morning I'm actually more hung over than I expected after last night's burlesque vintage party at the local gay-bar. During the course of the night, I was hugged by an alarming number of people I don't know (sorry, Simon. I'll remember you next time), realised exactly how many of the words to the Rocky Horror Picture Show I actually know by heart, and punched a stranger in McDonald's. In my defense, he had forty-two knives in his collection.
Creatively, I've written so much angst I could explode from not being able to upload any of it - sorry, anyone who's following me on ff.net, but you'll be email-bombed by alerts when I finally get access - and been inspired to great theatrical intent by fellow enthusiasts in the art of guerrilla theatre. Citizens of Wellington, watch out. I've also met my match in a Sherlock fan, which I'm so delighted about that Fiona, I can't express the depth of my love for you.
To deduction I have dedicated only a passing fancy in the glances and assumptions of strangers; I found deducing people's sexuality last night laughably easy, and not just because there were a number of men graphically having at each other on the dance floor; the number of recently-outed and delightfully shy lesbians, especially, was adorable and I wish them all the best. I like to think I'm growing more observant of the little things like clothes and mannerisms, although I still can't decide whether that basketball hoop was always outside Te Whanau house and I never noticed it, or whether someone put it up especially yesterday because it was sunny.
Whew. Sorry, meant to post this a few hours ago but got distracted by the frankly abysmal Phoenix game. That was three hours ago, but you know things in town on a Saturday night - my arse is aching from where some random laid a mofo of a smack on it. I'll leave you to your deductions.
-for you!
Lectures started this week, and for now at least I'm inclined to be geekily organised, although I'm on the verge of throwing my flip-clock bodily from my third-story window to cure it of its refusal to show the right time - every time I think I'm being clever by changing the time, it just stops. I don't think it liked being thrown in a bag for three hours on the journey down here.
While Psychology is even more interesting than I'd anticipated, not least because the lecturer looks like Ricky Gervais and sports the derogatory sense of humour to match, Sociology is disappointingly boring, despite the fact that the slightly rotund old lecturer wears an eyepatch when he's talking. Theatre is, well, theatre - if you're interested in the hows and whys, it's always going to be infinitely fascinating.
I've run into a lot of people I knew from primary school, which is embarrassing because I'm extremely good with names, so I remember them and yet I know almost without a doubt that they will not - and probably will not want to - remember me. I've also met an old acquaintance I used to catch the train with before he shot to local stardom by appearing in a series of Countdown ads on telly and started snobbing us normal people - Riley now flats with a friend of mine from high-school and my God, it's a dump. When you walk in and the other flatmate is busy getting stoned in the kitchen you make your excuses, don't touch anything, and leave as quickly as you can. Sorry, Ben.
Socially, I've spent enough time in the 'pool room' to know exactly how bad a year's lack of practise makes you at snooker, and this morning I'm actually more hung over than I expected after last night's burlesque vintage party at the local gay-bar. During the course of the night, I was hugged by an alarming number of people I don't know (sorry, Simon. I'll remember you next time), realised exactly how many of the words to the Rocky Horror Picture Show I actually know by heart, and punched a stranger in McDonald's. In my defense, he had forty-two knives in his collection.
Creatively, I've written so much angst I could explode from not being able to upload any of it - sorry, anyone who's following me on ff.net, but you'll be email-bombed by alerts when I finally get access - and been inspired to great theatrical intent by fellow enthusiasts in the art of guerrilla theatre. Citizens of Wellington, watch out. I've also met my match in a Sherlock fan, which I'm so delighted about that Fiona, I can't express the depth of my love for you.
To deduction I have dedicated only a passing fancy in the glances and assumptions of strangers; I found deducing people's sexuality last night laughably easy, and not just because there were a number of men graphically having at each other on the dance floor; the number of recently-outed and delightfully shy lesbians, especially, was adorable and I wish them all the best. I like to think I'm growing more observant of the little things like clothes and mannerisms, although I still can't decide whether that basketball hoop was always outside Te Whanau house and I never noticed it, or whether someone put it up especially yesterday because it was sunny.
Whew. Sorry, meant to post this a few hours ago but got distracted by the frankly abysmal Phoenix game. That was three hours ago, but you know things in town on a Saturday night - my arse is aching from where some random laid a mofo of a smack on it. I'll leave you to your deductions.
-for you!
Friday, 2 March 2012
Freud and Raw Eggs
Phew!
It's been a busy week. Weir House has been lovely so far, except for last night's little faceoff with the beef Stroganoff (it won. Not a pleasant night) and the team-building monstrosity that left me sprinting all over Wellington with a raw egg and eight serious athletes. Don't get me wrong, "Operation Relocation" was good fun. It was the morning after that killed me - or more specifically, killed my ankles, calves and quad muscles.
The week has been casually interspersed with fantastic oddities like finding the escalator up to Sierra broken and being able to sprint up the 'down' escalator and then back down the 'up' escalator, stalking a hedgehog up Kelburn Parade at midnight and participating in a life-sized game of fooseball; however, the highlight has got to be all the new people I've met. Heyes, my trusty Holmes fan and strong-armed Knight in shining armour - this means you, too.
It seems to be the height of fashion to wear your leaver's jerseys from high school at the moment (which is lucky, considering it's the warmest jersey I have and the weather has not been kind) so deducing basic things like where people are from has become pitifully easy. It's also incredible what one can deduce from the nickname they choose to have printed on the back. For example, of the girl whose jersey read 'Loose', I need explain no further. Well, she could have just been naive, but the length of her shorts and the cut of her tank-top said otherwise.
Not that I'm judging - oh, hell. Yeah, I'm judging.
To the Science of Induction I have devoted little time, and will likely continue to devote little time over the next week as lectures begin; one memorable hour was spent with a friend on the Waterfront making educated guesses (well, mine were educated. Ivan, dear, some of yours were frankly ludicrous) about passers-by. I have yet to properly meet the closeted gay and recently relocated student taking new refuge in the group of girls by the boat-shed, but I'm looking out for him.
I sat down to merely skim over the preface of my textbooks for Psychology, but got sidetracked by the explanation of the Oedipal complex. I'd always assumed it was simply the frankly ludicrous notion that all men are secretly attracted to their own mother and look for her in their sexual partners. Turns out there's so much more to it than that that it actually makes a lot of sense. Not complete sense, of course, but a fair amount. The Electra complex, the female equivalent, I find slightly more dubious, but it gave me pause nonetheless.
I've spent too many late nights wandering the town, playing snooker or trying not to vomit (my worst phobia, I kid you not, is vomiting) and so I should really be saying goodnight to this first week of independence (or relative independence, once the shepherding and the sense that this was rather like a school camp wore off) and preparing myself mentally for the next.
Arrivederci,
-for you!
It's been a busy week. Weir House has been lovely so far, except for last night's little faceoff with the beef Stroganoff (it won. Not a pleasant night) and the team-building monstrosity that left me sprinting all over Wellington with a raw egg and eight serious athletes. Don't get me wrong, "Operation Relocation" was good fun. It was the morning after that killed me - or more specifically, killed my ankles, calves and quad muscles.
The week has been casually interspersed with fantastic oddities like finding the escalator up to Sierra broken and being able to sprint up the 'down' escalator and then back down the 'up' escalator, stalking a hedgehog up Kelburn Parade at midnight and participating in a life-sized game of fooseball; however, the highlight has got to be all the new people I've met. Heyes, my trusty Holmes fan and strong-armed Knight in shining armour - this means you, too.
It seems to be the height of fashion to wear your leaver's jerseys from high school at the moment (which is lucky, considering it's the warmest jersey I have and the weather has not been kind) so deducing basic things like where people are from has become pitifully easy. It's also incredible what one can deduce from the nickname they choose to have printed on the back. For example, of the girl whose jersey read 'Loose', I need explain no further. Well, she could have just been naive, but the length of her shorts and the cut of her tank-top said otherwise.
Not that I'm judging - oh, hell. Yeah, I'm judging.
To the Science of Induction I have devoted little time, and will likely continue to devote little time over the next week as lectures begin; one memorable hour was spent with a friend on the Waterfront making educated guesses (well, mine were educated. Ivan, dear, some of yours were frankly ludicrous) about passers-by. I have yet to properly meet the closeted gay and recently relocated student taking new refuge in the group of girls by the boat-shed, but I'm looking out for him.
I sat down to merely skim over the preface of my textbooks for Psychology, but got sidetracked by the explanation of the Oedipal complex. I'd always assumed it was simply the frankly ludicrous notion that all men are secretly attracted to their own mother and look for her in their sexual partners. Turns out there's so much more to it than that that it actually makes a lot of sense. Not complete sense, of course, but a fair amount. The Electra complex, the female equivalent, I find slightly more dubious, but it gave me pause nonetheless.
I've spent too many late nights wandering the town, playing snooker or trying not to vomit (my worst phobia, I kid you not, is vomiting) and so I should really be saying goodnight to this first week of independence (or relative independence, once the shepherding and the sense that this was rather like a school camp wore off) and preparing myself mentally for the next.
Arrivederci,
-for you!
Friday, 24 February 2012
Beginning
Hi.
Not sure how people start these things. At the beginning seems a good place to start.
Well, you see, I was going to call this blog 'an idiot's guide to deduction', but I have it on good authority that this isn't something idiots can learn. I'm not sure if that's good for me or not, but I suppose we'll find out sooner or later. I'm writing this blog for two reasons: one, because I'm falling prey to the stereotypical teenage need to blurt out their feelings online, and two, because I thought some people out there might be interested in my journey.
Tomorrow, I move into uni hall and start my first semester at Victoria University. I intend to complete a Bachelor of Arts majoring in Criminology, but that's not important right now. The point is that while I'm here, I want to learn the science of deduction. Or induction, as it should rightly be called.
Sherlock Holmes geek-freak? Yeah. Shh, don't judge.
I'm told no-one's ever been as clever as Sherlock Holmes, but really none of it seems impossible, exactly, does it? It's all just knowing what to look for and then looking for it all the time. Well, I want to be able to do that. So I'm going to train myself. If you, too, want to learn this elusive art, I'd love to hear from you. I aim to update this blog weekly with comments and progress reports, but knowing me it won't happen every week. Just most weeks.
My plan of attack, so to speak, is to practise. Basically, that's it. Spend an awful lot of time people-watching and making a fool of myself trying to deduce as much as I can about passers-by until I start to get them right. I figured it'd be easier to start with something like profession - work at it until I can guess what a person does every time. Then start to look for other things.
I'm also going to learn how to pick locks (the internet is a very valuable resource) because I'm told it might come in handy if I ever need to do a spot of burglary...
Obviously I'm open to suggestions as to how I might go about this, and if you have tried/are trying something similar, please get in touch. Meeting like-minded people over the internet is one of the greatest pleasures of the 21st Century.
Because of my geek-freakness (as you can tell, I'm completely comfortable with it. Everyone's got to have an obsession, and this is mine. There are worse. It could be Twilight.) I am also on fanfiction.net, where I write practically constantly (it's my hobby) under the penname of thisisforyou. You can find me at:
www.fanfiction.net/~thisisforyou
I mostly write for the BBC's modern adaption of Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock, co-created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss) because... well, it's just brilliant, isn't it? If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. Thoroughly. Gatiss is something of a hero to me, because he's a novelist and a screenwriter and an actor and a producer all at once, and he'd bloody fantastic at all of them. It shouldn't be fair. But I don't judge. Not when what he creates is so amazing.
Hello to the people I pointed over here from Tawa College who've just moved elsewhere. Hope you're having fun wherever you are. To anyone I showed the way from fanfiction.net, I'm amazed you're interested but definitely not complaining. The shift in lifestyles will mean I probably won't update for the next week or so, sorry, but I have started the next chapter of Can't Let You Steal My Heart. To anyone else, hello and welcome. I'm thisisforyou. Charmed to meet you.
Hope to hear from you along the way!
-for you
Not sure how people start these things. At the beginning seems a good place to start.
Well, you see, I was going to call this blog 'an idiot's guide to deduction', but I have it on good authority that this isn't something idiots can learn. I'm not sure if that's good for me or not, but I suppose we'll find out sooner or later. I'm writing this blog for two reasons: one, because I'm falling prey to the stereotypical teenage need to blurt out their feelings online, and two, because I thought some people out there might be interested in my journey.
Tomorrow, I move into uni hall and start my first semester at Victoria University. I intend to complete a Bachelor of Arts majoring in Criminology, but that's not important right now. The point is that while I'm here, I want to learn the science of deduction. Or induction, as it should rightly be called.
Sherlock Holmes geek-freak? Yeah. Shh, don't judge.
I'm told no-one's ever been as clever as Sherlock Holmes, but really none of it seems impossible, exactly, does it? It's all just knowing what to look for and then looking for it all the time. Well, I want to be able to do that. So I'm going to train myself. If you, too, want to learn this elusive art, I'd love to hear from you. I aim to update this blog weekly with comments and progress reports, but knowing me it won't happen every week. Just most weeks.
My plan of attack, so to speak, is to practise. Basically, that's it. Spend an awful lot of time people-watching and making a fool of myself trying to deduce as much as I can about passers-by until I start to get them right. I figured it'd be easier to start with something like profession - work at it until I can guess what a person does every time. Then start to look for other things.
I'm also going to learn how to pick locks (the internet is a very valuable resource) because I'm told it might come in handy if I ever need to do a spot of burglary...
Obviously I'm open to suggestions as to how I might go about this, and if you have tried/are trying something similar, please get in touch. Meeting like-minded people over the internet is one of the greatest pleasures of the 21st Century.
Because of my geek-freakness (as you can tell, I'm completely comfortable with it. Everyone's got to have an obsession, and this is mine. There are worse. It could be Twilight.) I am also on fanfiction.net, where I write practically constantly (it's my hobby) under the penname of thisisforyou. You can find me at:
www.fanfiction.net/~thisisforyou
I mostly write for the BBC's modern adaption of Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock, co-created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss) because... well, it's just brilliant, isn't it? If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. Thoroughly. Gatiss is something of a hero to me, because he's a novelist and a screenwriter and an actor and a producer all at once, and he'd bloody fantastic at all of them. It shouldn't be fair. But I don't judge. Not when what he creates is so amazing.
Hello to the people I pointed over here from Tawa College who've just moved elsewhere. Hope you're having fun wherever you are. To anyone I showed the way from fanfiction.net, I'm amazed you're interested but definitely not complaining. The shift in lifestyles will mean I probably won't update for the next week or so, sorry, but I have started the next chapter of Can't Let You Steal My Heart. To anyone else, hello and welcome. I'm thisisforyou. Charmed to meet you.
Hope to hear from you along the way!
-for you
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