Saturday, 3 March 2012

Clubbing.

Those of you who know me will know that I'm rather partial to a glass of wine or a pint of cider or two or ten. Those same people will probably know that I am far more partial to drinking said alcohol in pubs or in houses while enjoying the company of friends than I am to being deafened and forced to dance in claustrophobic clubs full of dubious smells and scantily clad females.
However, as a fresher in Exeter, it became apparent to me that going to clubs is invariably part of the student experience. We embrace our freedom and ability to legally drink by getting monstrously car-parked and dancing like fools on the sticky floors of Exeter's finest drinking establishments, while wearing whatever ridiculous clothing that the fancy-dress theme requires (never will I forget staggering off to Timepiece in Spongebob Squarepants pyjamas). And I enjoyed it. It was all for fun and laughs, and noone took it seriously in the slightest.
But clubbing in Ottawa is different. I was discussing this with a girl in one of my classes who was on exchange in Exeter last year, and she agrees. Going to clubs in Exeter is for fun. You go to enjoy being young and be ridiculous. But here, it all seems to be for show. There is no room for people who want to sing along to the songs and dance badly. You either have to be able to dance, and be admired by all around, or grind terrifyingly on anyone and everyone around you. And while I've learned to accept and embrace this style of dancing to a certain extent, I cannot condone blatant dry-humping in public. If I see one more girl leaning forward and rubbing her arse against some sleazy guy's crotch as he eyes her up like she's his whore, I might just throw up. Everything in clubs here is just so sexualised. The guys are there to ogle girls and try and score. The girls are there to show that they can dress in little clothing and dance like whores and can be valuable to men. I have no problem with a woman's right to dance and wear whatever clothes she chooses, but these girls are clearly crying out for sexual validation, and it's sickening. I want to dance because it can be fun and not too serious. I don't want to be squashed in the middle of some giant orgy.
This has turned into a bit of an incomprehensible ramble, but I'm in something of an exasperated mood, and I've been out for the past two nights, and it's looking likely that I'll be dragged out again tonight, and, quite frankly, I cannot be bothered. I miss Arena, where everyone's there to have a good time, and where the success of a night isn't measured by how many people judged you to be worthy enough of pressing their sticky against, but by how many road signs you managed to steal on the walk home.
So frankly, Canadians, you need to lighten up. Stop caring about how you're presenting yourself to the opposite sex, and start having fun. The chances are that if you meet a member of the opposite sex on the dancefloor of a bar or club, they're going to be nothing more than a one night stand. The likelihood of meeting someone with whom you actually have something in common aside from a fear of actual conversation is slim, so just lighten up. If you're looking for your soulmate in a club, then you seriously need to reassess your life. Save your stripper dancing for music videos, put on a ridiculous costume and learn the beauty of "big fish, little fish, cardboard box". Please.

Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Reading week is officially over.

And I'm already knackered. Although that may have had something to do with late-night Othello-watching and essay-writing. Maybe.
Bah. One and a half hours is not a long enough break between classes to walk home, have a nap and walk to the next class, so, as you can see, I am instead slumped at my desk staring mindlessly at the internet. I say this like it's any different to any other day. On the plus side, I have pretty nails. My nail-painting has become slightly obsessive, for I know that if I don't paint them, then I will bite them, but my inability to sit still means that any nail varnish that lasts more than a day before it is picked off should consider itself very lucky. The one thing that this picture does not accurately display (aside from the fact that it's a mirror image, so technically isn't displaying anything accurately) is that the purpley-looking nail polish is sparkly, and the blue nail polish glows in the dark. Yeah. I know. I'm so cool it hurts. Oh, wait. No. Sorry. I'm so tired it hurts. That makes much more sense.
In other news, I'm currently obsessed with this song...

... and this tv programme...
 Dylan Moran has been fuelling my procrastination over the past few days, and for that, I thank him.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to drag myself all the way back to Southam (ok, so it's a 10/15min walk, but still...) and listen to my Brit Lit professor ramble about Keats, why students shouldn't have jobs and how none of us has any prospects in life. And his wife. Oh joy.

Friday, 24 February 2012

And while we're on the subject of Bens that I'm in love with...

Not you, Teague, although I do love you very much. <3
No, the Ben in question is the wonderful Ben Kling, whose name the more observant stalkers among you might recognise as the one behind those lol-worthy dictator valentines from my St. Valentine's Day post. Just look at him. Look. At. Him. He's just so pretty. And his blog makes me giggle. And he sings. His cover of Toxic is just wonderful, as is his song "Monkey in a Suit" (both of which can be listened to here).
And yes, I'm aware that I'm shamelessly plugging some random guy on the internet, but he's cute, and I find him entertaining, and I thought you might do too.
And I kinda love him. There is also that.
I'm not a crazy fangirl. Honest.
*shifty eyes* 

If it's not too much trouble,

I'd very much like to have this man and this cat in my life:

As is so often the case, I find myself in the aftermath of watching a terribly sappy and heartbreaking film of love and loss, and so I am currently in a bizarre flux between sobbing like a fool and swooning over the beauty of Ben Whishaw. I suppose one might say that I'm "swobbing", but that's a terribly ugly-sounding word.
But anyways, my point is that I just watch Bright Star, and it was quite lovely, and had a wonderful soundtrack, and had that gorgeous man you see above in it, and a cat, and reduced me to a hopelessly weeping mess. Did I mention that I'm a little bit in love with Ben Whishaw? And the cat? Yeah.

Reading Week is almost over.

How on earth did that happen? How is it already Friday?
I've managed to waste my week away, sleeping and going to the Caf and eating all the food. Wait, I retract my comment about that being a waste of a week. That's the best kind of week to have.
Nevertheless, there is still much work to do, and while I can commend myself for reading half a novel and sewing my holey clothes (check me out, all domesticated and what not), I cannot ignore my essays. Boo.
On an unrelated note, it's started snowing again. Like, really snowing. The White Witch has clearly returned. Where's Aslan when you need him?
In honour of the snow, here are some pictures of snowy Ottawa and cats and squirrels that I took a few weeks ago :)






Now if you'll excuse me, the Caf is serving "English-style fish and chips" today. I'm not missing that for the world.

Thursday, 23 February 2012

Toronto take 2.

I went to Toronto. Again. This time for more than a day. I'd tell you about it, but I took pictures, so you can look at them instead.
Not a bad view from the roof, really.
Slushees at 2am, because we're just that cool.

Exeter Impy flashbacks in the middle of Toronto <3
A mini Team Team reunion :)

The sun emerging over Toronto. There are worse things to see at 7am.
Niagara Falls: "It's like Barry Island on speed."
Glow-in-the-dark mini-golf. Your argument is invalid.
Convincing from a distance, but look a little closer.
Family Day = 25% discount at CN Tower = WIN.
Lake Ontario looking beautiful from the top of the CN Tower.
Is it sad that I'm more excited about the fact that in this photo I'm wearing purple jeans and a "Soft Kitty" tshirt than I am about the fact that I'm at the top of the CN Tower?
Casual Myspace mirror pic at the top of the CN Tower.
Yeah, I'm not really sure either...
Om nom nom nom.
Streetcar. Sadly not named Desire.