Tag: Inane Whitterings

SIGNS OF LIFE

No, it’s not the crater mass experiment, it’s me re-discovering my long-lost blog from that time I terrorised Munich for a few months and called it my year abroad.

Last year I was caught up in undergraduate stuff attempting to finish my Bachelors and then working out what form my new work-avoidance tactic would take.

I’m pleased to say that the Mile End Insitution for the Clinically Weird refused bail and I’m currently in the process of writing my Master’s Dissertation.  Not about bread, this time.  This time I’ve decided to succumb to the British tendency to obsess on World Wars and research radio propaganda during World War II.  I shall explain all when I’ve finally submitted it and have a result back.  Otherwise it could be a tad awkward if I blither on about how fascinating it all is and my markers turn around and look suitably disgusted.  However I can say that I managed to write an essay on the translation of nonsense and got away with calling it “Bandersnatches, Boojums and Bald Twit Lions:  The Translatability of Nonsense”.  It got a good mark, too.

Oh, and I somehow miraculously passed my Bachelor’s degree with flying colours and even got a gold star for my magic speaky-speaky skills.

The main reason, however, for me taking this back up again is to a) force me to read more interesting things so I have something vaguely intelligent to write about, and b) as of September this year I will be working on the language assistantship programme run by the British Council and will be based in Gotha.  I intend to write about my experiences in my usual bizarre style of travel writing.

Not that I intend to repeat the leggings incident, mind.  This time I’m responsible for helping teach English language and culture.  No doubt Herr and Frau Streipze will accompany me on my travels.

In the meantime, have a look at some of the best socks ever.  Admittedly they’re battery socks and not of the pedigree kind, but I assure you that they are fully integrated into my free-range flock.

 

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Inane Whittering #21

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So… I HAS A HAT.

More to the point, I knitted it myself. It’s my first ever hat, so please forgive the slight over-excitement. But it’s big, it’s slouchy and it’s oh so warm. Which in this weather, is exactly what I need. Oh, and the pattern’s reversable, so it doesn’t matter if I accidentally end up wearing it inside-out. SCORE.

Anywho, here’s a bit of early afternoon madness:

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In other news, I’m still working on the script for Herr and Frau Streipze’s debut, but it has to be finished this week, so you should see it soon. Oh, and here’s a glimpse of one of the many Christmas presents I’ve been working on:

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I have to say I’m very slightly jealous of the recipient, purely because I love these colours waaay too much.

Inane Whittering #20 Introducing…

…Mr. and Mrs. Stripes. Or Herr und Frau Streipze, as they’re known in German. This is a still taken on set whilst filming for their upcoming debut.

Filming’s nearly done – got 2 more scenes to go tomorrow before editing can begin and then it’s basically finished. The first version has to be in German, but I’ll make sure to do an English version too!

I’ll bung it up on youtube and link it back here when it’s ready, I just thought I’d give you guys a taster…

Inane Whittering #19 KITTENS

So I thought you could do with some cuteness. And hilarity.

I give you: THE KITTENCAM.

This is a foster home for rescue cats in the States, and they currently have Rosmary and her four kittens: Pepper, Sage, Basil and Mace.

There’s also sound, if you turn it up loud enough, you can hear them mewing at each other mid-fight.

Best study aid ever.

Inane Whittering #18 Questions

Right, my apologies for the 1) the massive rant which has dominated this blog for the past few months, and 2) that I now so rarely get around to posting anything.

I was getting bored of looking at the Roosevelt quote on the rare occasion that I actually loaded my blog, and I’m in need of your help and inspiration.

I am currently in my final year of my degree now and this year is worth 50% of the entire qualification, so naturally there is a serious amount of running around in the headless chicken routine and the workload is distinctly unamusing.

The sad thing is that I can’t really ever see this changing much, even once I graduate.

Anywho, like I said, I need your help. For one of my courses, I am required to do a 10 minute podcast in German. On anything I like, as far as I understand.

Except being the glutton for punishment that I am (and a massive 3 year-old), I’ve asked to do a “vodcast” (check me out) because I feel that using hand puppets and cuddly toys would make it far more entertaining a) for me and b)for the poor sod who has to sit there and grade it.

The idea was to ask you, dear readers, if you had any particular burning questions or if there was a topic that you would like the astute and enigmatic Herr Streipze (previously known as Mr. Stripes) and co. to explain/answer.

I have to hand this thing in before Christmas, so ideas are very welcome and if it proves popular (I’ll upload it onto Youtube afterwards, I promise) I can always do more…

Inane Whittering #17: An Ode to Fridge Magnet Poetry

Today I suddenly found myself looking at our fridge magnet poetry. I’ve been back at my parents since the end of March, and I’m surprised that this is the first time since then that I’ve actually taken the time to read it all.

Poetry can be incredibly diverse: one the one hand you have sonnets, there are ancient sagas, the slightly off-the-wall classics such as Blake, and then you get the Byrons, the Sassoons and the angsty teenage “You’re the love of my life” stuff written by wannabe drama queens of today that you see on various sharing websites. One thing’s for certain: I remember doing poetry at school and it was hideously boring.

They tried to do a multi-cultural poem that most of the class didn’t really understand and neither were they interested in it. They were more interested in painting nails and other girly stuff that I thought was as equally boring. Sad, but true.

Well, I say hideously boring, but the only poetry I ever took an interest in is nonsense poetry, as those of you who have read my previous post on The Jabberwocky and its translations will know.

If only there had been a form of poetry more engaging and interesting to the teenage version of myself, then I probably would have started with my wordplay and manipulation of imagery a lot earlier.

On second thoughts, maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t.

One of the main reasons I find nonsense poetry so interesting is because it makes me think. At least, it makes me think in a far more abstract manner than “normal” poetry, for want of a better word, does. It certainly encourages me to play with imagery and produce things such as describing something as “bright black”.

My solution to the whole poetry problem in schools? Fridge magnet poetry. Wanting to get a bit of Shakespeare into the curriculum? Never fear, there’s a Shakespeare kit (which features on our fridge at home and further on here). Foreign language exam coming up? No worries, we have a German kit, too.

As the German kit in our house has not quite yet developed to the same level as the Shakespeare, I shall leave that for another time.

In any case, I think that fridge magnet poetry is seriously undervalued. The number of evenings spent gathered, sniggering around the fridge like school children has certainly provided more entertainment that most board games that you end up being forced to play at family gatherings.

Cluedo? Oh no. We don’t play SquabbleScrabble any more, either. (And anyway, I received the equivalent to a lifetime ban as apparently you have to stick to the one language when playing? Spoilsports. They claimed it was unfair if you start speaking gibberish and called it Roospeak.)

In any case, I think I can safely say that my family are downright weird.

The one thing that is very apparent is that there are varying types of fridge magnet poetry. Some have the tone of a biblical commandment:

Thou will let him be vile at sea

Whilst some are a tad risqué:

We would be on earth, but alas circumstance has slain our passion king

I sleep with my tempting romeo as I love to rub his frothy wagtail

Prince sword fickle in o nunnery

Need an excuse for no homework? No problem:

Trouble is, I hast wilteth

Other phrases have a distinct style and the author is nearly always obvious:

The queen doth bestow dire wind on me then treachery doth soon bolt out

which is followed by:

Brest canst only quicken arrow spot of discontent as I bid thee war and say swod oft

These, however, are by no means a match for the classic:

slain by far toil

Say it out loud and think school boy humour. I can say that this was without the influence of alcohol. Anybody familiar with the phenomenon that is “Dad humour”?

Yeah. All I can say is apple. Fall. Tree.

But best of all, you get the epic Shakespearian sagas which are clearly dramatic works that have taken several alcohol influenced hours of sniggering, gesticulating and musing on the complexities and the finer points of life and human existance:

Well farewell noble trifle,
What straw seizeth golden fortune o’er ere?
Alas, after much woe and thought
From said,” o scorn melodious humility
& break every damn goblet!
How can one wage above?”

Overcome ladys, yield paid your arm,
Beware no jest;
Thus horse is up your breach but no mercy,
So thence there’s sorrow morrow.

Speak! You vile precedent!
We vow at all twire wherefore get loath by sullen vow,
Nay more love this direction.

Ambition dost strive when perchance ado,
Mind your wit to use about ghost hunting,
For impatience was madness and dire kingdom lose a drunk.

Record full wonder of mercy who say they suffer defunctive window blinds,
Could a midsommer beseech thy enemies to kiss despair and die?
Galeth doth speak of stanly; curse tongue of death day,
Our poor wench not eaten, like, if art a bloody tempest die like thine dair will.

Nor toil here, o chronicle lord, shall winter plead or weep?
‘tis frailty hadst haste’d,
Were oak to see well – thou damdt myself.

Foul reason I am sweating,
Is unfold her villain, where the wicked laughing which goes nay mouth.
How art my convent; methinks, tale hast pluck, Denmark.

Do dream she know well, vaunt & slinging you oftly vow, herein est un idle borrower on my thandess, toil by far questioning goblet
Woe, ‘doris.
Why chance almost found sun!

Fool! Marry cold steel maiden:
God hither.

And remember, when in doubt:

Always ask for the night witch.