Being creepy.

It may have taken me 14 hours of burger selling and a nail-biting seven day wait, but finally my new love interest arrived – my grey suede creepers. While these dandy kicks adhere to my affair with grunge, they serve another crucial purpose – they make 160cm me taller. I’m almost brave enough to wear them to uni. Although they don’t break the most important rule (“Don’t wear heels to uni, you’ll look stupid” [established by my sister and several friends]), they’re just that little bit out there. I’m sure where ‘there’ is, but it’s intimidating.

You red it here first.

 

This is simply an epitome of the grunge phase. Just as I had wondered if I'd look fetching with bright red hair (don't worry, I won't go there... mum won't let me), I wondered if there'd be some really hardcore grunge kids on campus. I was let down to discovery that people were - SHOCK HORROR - normal?! For a moment, I was disheartened to realise that my target audience for my future career didn't exist, at least not in the confines St. Lucia. But my journalism and reporting lecturers lifted my spirits, as I found out that journalism is being very target-oriented. just as the semantic web is rising, so are my hopes that somewhere out there, people will rush to the news stands to read my interpretations of bright red hair and denim-on-denim.

Insights of a bored mind.

The other day I was filling in the hour between my lecture and my tutorial by people-watching at the Great Court, Boost in hand. Some people were sitting, most were walking. There was even a pair playing with a Frisbee. How typically uni is that?

Eventually it neared to 11:10 and the crowds on foot lessened a bit (easier for people watching, to be honest). After a girl with a nose piercing passed, I started wondering what I’d look like with one. Trés grunge, obviously. But I don’t think I could hack a needle or gun or whatever they use puncturing my nostril. I have one piercing, on the middle of the edge of my ear, but even that was a frightening Schoolies experience… and much easier to hide from Mum for a week or so.

The Frisbee boys were still going. People dressed like they’re from the 20s were still passing. A few hipsters and a few people in need of haircuts sauntered past. I still had half an hour to kill. I wished I had brought a magazine or a Barrel of Monkeys or something.