The more sand that has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.” -Jean-Paul Sartre. Take a look through the hourglass of my life as a big city girl in a small town.
Last year, during exams, I had the wonderful, eye-opening and completely oh-my-word-how-did-I-not-know-these-people-before experience of being introduced to Matt and Kim from Brooklyn. They are a couple (awww).
More importantly, however, they are not two random people, they are an indie-pop band (whatever that means). I also didn't actually meet them, I met them through their music. I think everyone should as well so I am just giving you a friendly introduction.
The astonishing thing about this band is they make this music with just a keyboard, a drum kit and the harsh yet energetic sound of Matt's voice. They do not need stages, light and sound technicians because, as you can see from these videos, they play their music anywhere and anytime. They have a D.I.Y approach to music.
I am now going to shut up and just let Matt and Kim do the talking.
Daylight: one of their first hit singles has been used in multiple commercials and accompanies the credits of a few series and movies.
Block after Block: An excellent example of their D.I.Y approach to music.
Lessons Learned: This video went viral on Youtube and won the Breakthrough Video Award at the 2009 MTV music video awards. Less importantly it is what first got me hooked on Matt and Kim.
Don't Slow Down: Just because its such an awesome song. It's my run on the treadmill song at gym.
Good Old Fashioned Nightmare: Just because your ears will be delighted.
The invention of the cylinder printing press by Richard
March Hoe in 1847 allowed the print media industry to expand, with newspapers
being delivered on almost every doorstep. Today, the invention of the internet
has had a huge impact on all businesses and industries. The News industry is no
exception to this.
The Print media industry is struggling to cope. Blogs, user
generated content and alternative news agencies like Wikileaks has given traditional mainstream media a lot to compete
with. News is now a commodity easily available online, at the click of a button
with no price attached. Gone are the days where a drive to a corner-shop and a
purchase of a newspaper would be the price for an updated, balanced and, in
most cases, reliable account of the happenings around the world. Just as the
printing press brought print its fame. The internet is now throwing the
spotlight on online media, leaving print media in the dark.
But what does this mean for newspapers like the New York Times
and what does this mean for the journalists who work there? Is journalism a
degree worth studying for?
The trend is to adapt or die. In the movie Page One: Inside the New York Times,
columnist David Carr says the New York Times uploads 100 videos every month.
The Times also owns about 80 blogs. “We are fully engaged in the revolution,” said
Carr. In the same debate, Carr presents a printed version of Newser, a site which
aggregates all news content on the web. He says, mainstream media competes with itself
online. The site features all noteworthy news content of the day. In Carr’s
printout, he cuts out all the online content originating from mainstream media
organisations such as the Times,
leaving all alternative online news. There is hardly anything left. The front
page of the newspaper may not be read anymore, but mainstream media is still
alive. It has evolved into a cheaper form. This may be cheaper for the average
person wanting to read an article for free online instead of buying a
newspaper, but information news is not cheap to make.
Page One: Inside the New York Times is a documentary looking at the extinction of Print media and how this affects one of the most powerful newspapers in the print media industry.
The movie offers us a glimpse inside the daily work performed
by quality reporters, editors and columnists in the New York Times. The on-screen tour of these officers filled me with
awe as a reporter. The reporters research, pitch and write stories efficiently
and with great skill. The movie explored how all this might soon be, for
nothing. In 2011, there was a 30% decline in advertising revenue. In 2009, 100 reporters
lost their jobs because the Times could simply not afford to keep them.
So, the work these reporters do, no matter how good, can all
be for nothing. This is not something I, as a journalism student, have not
heard before. Despite these numbers I, along with other members in my writing
class, chose writing and editing as a medium to make news. Despite the easier
access, I still buy newspapers and magazines. Maybe I am not being realistic
but I still hold onto the dream that there are many others like me and that
old-fashioned print, the sound of turning pages and the smell of crisp paper will
always be preferred as a news medium for some people. The amount of media
agencies gone bankrupt blatantly points us to the conclusion that online,
alternative news is the only way to survive.
The movie, however, concludes that the public needs the money
and platforms mainstream media provides in order to get information to blog,
tweet, video and facebook about. I, for one, think this is true. An
authoritative voice is needed to inspire and pull-together more content,
comment and opinion. A bunch of blogs shouting at each other has no unifying
voice. This is why I still plan on becoming a journalist for the written and
printed word. The world needs more people uniting things and tying them
together.
Ps. This is a
hilarious video I found about online news.. sort of. Take a look-see.
Exam time is almost upon me and this means a whole lot of time spent thinking about stuff and doing stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with my studies at all. The common word for this phenomenon is procrastination.
Food is a fantastic way to procrastinate. Not only can you eat it, you can also shop for it, you can cook it and you think about it till you drool. My thoughts at this very moment go something like this:
Mmmm cookies would be so good right now...
Especially choc chip ones
And what about some fudge too?
It is also very easy to justify spending your time thinking about, buying, cooking and eating food. You need food for your brain to work, right? That giant packet of Lays chips is giving me brain power. Yes, it is full of nutrients. Yes, that is my excuse and I am sticking to it.
So, the whole point of this blog post is to tell you that although I do think of food a lot, I am not the only one. This website has tons of recipes for Oreos. Oreos have chocolate. They are chocolate biscuits. Yes, that makes me happy.
Another group of people dedicate an entire series on Youtube to coming up with the most disgusting, yet somewhat enticing ways to cram as much junk food into one dish as possible.
Epic Meal Times- Fast Food Lasagne
Epic Meal Time makes a 100 pound chocolate bar.
These people put their talent to good, use. They made an entire song. It was not about war. It was not about childhood. It wasn't even about love. It was about toast. They do, however, have a valid point. I also like toast the most.
Wall posts, inbox messages, tagged photos, tagged posts and the all-important "facebook official" relationship status are all virtual reminders of a real relationship which hopefully existed beyond this blue and white virtual forum. A click of a button can summon old memories, create new ones on the screen and facebook chat your crush just as he comes online. The big question is whether all this virtual attention to our relationships is helping them or hurting them.
In the movie He's just not that into you, Mary, played by Drew Barrymore feels overwhelmed by the complexity social media brings to her love life. I find that myself and many others, feel exactly the same.
Drew Barrymore as Mary in He's Just Not that Into you
How many times do you meet someone interesting and immediately rush home to log on and stalk their profile? How many hours have you spent memorising your exes profile, tormenting yourself every time you click on that picture of him and his new girlfriend? How many times has his new girlfriend studied your profile, sizing up a virtual representation of you that sometimes bears no resemblance to the person you actually are?
We live in a world where first impressions do not come in the form of outward appearances but as a Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr or Myspace profile. Today if you want to improve the way you appear to the opposite sex you do not get a haircut, you change your profile photo. Virtual qualities are sometimes more valued than real ones. Internet dating sites consist of thousands of people who have the ability to use photoshop on their photos and all types of false advertising. My one friend in Johannesburg, Tamara* (the name has been changed) recounts an incident when she met someone online and later discovered that he was not 21 as his profile suggested, but rather he was a sixteen year old who had not yet graduated from high school. She was unaware she was dating someone illegally.
Well, how do you solve a problem like this? You just don't meet anyone online, right? This is a reasonable plan but even each meeting in real life is automatically followed by a stalk session on the web. My friends and I live for these sessions. We have anything, from his age, which high school he went to and his hometown to his music interests, his religion and his sexuality, at our fingertips. The only problem is that I would have preferred to know these things by actually asking him, getting to know him the old-fashioned way- through an actual conversation maybe had over coffee or a dinner. I once met someone who told me he never had any religious beliefs until he prayed for his friend who was in a coma. The next day she woke up. Would I have known this from his listing of Christianity as his religion on Facebook? When you take the time to find out what a person actually is about it provides a much richer picture, full of colour and depth, much more than the one accessed on the two-dimensional blue and white Facebook wall.
And even when you meet someone you like in real life, the relationship status on Facebook is a trap in any relationship waiting to begin. When do you become "Facebook official"? If both people are not on the same page when answering this type of question, being "official" might lead to becoming "unofficial" both on the web and in real life.
And even if this hurdle is overcome, are constant facebook inbox messages from the person you love completely fulfilling? Many couples spend their lives posting their love on each other's Facebook wall. Is this romantic? Or is it just a more convenient way to remind someone how much you love them. As this is the Internet, you are also reminding everyone else as well, to your single friends' greatest dismay and annoyance. In my opinion, it takes away the intimacy of affection. I personally wish that one day I will receive a letter in the mailbox or a phone call instead of yet another notification.
Facebook is also another one of the countless spaces in which we can embarrass ourselves in front of the opposite sex. Except that we have access to it ALL the time. It is also a much-too-convenient way to stalk our exes. The old-fashioned way would require hiding in a tree with binoculars, now it requires a web address followed by the click of a mouse. In many ways, constantly reminding ourselves of this person by obsessively stalking them stops us from being able to let them go and turn our attention to making future relationships a success.
Facebook is not just a waste of cyberspace though. Facebook does lead to people who would not usually meet falling in love with each other online.A lot of these people even get married. That is great for them, but for me, I choose to "unfriend" my exes, attempt to stop cyberstalking and to keep my relationship status off my Facebook wall and in my real life instead.
Electric guitar
swings through the music, making an energetic sound that lifted me up when I
was down all through my years of teenage angst. Paramore reminds me of a time
where mouths didn't do the talking and heads did the banging instead. They are the
soundtrack that distracted me from studying for my matric finals, the lead
singer I idolised and wished I was. I was and will always be a Parawhore.
Definition: A
parawhore is a person with an undying obsession with the alternative rock band
Paramore. The word is derived from the lyrics from their song Misery Business,
a single on their first album Riot! The lyrics read "Once a whore you're
nothing more, I'm sorry that will never change." If Parawhores are what we are talking about then the band is onto something because once you're a
Parawhore, that is something that will certainly never change.
Misery
Business
My
personal favourite song Brick after Boring Brick speaks of throwing away fairy-tale
dreams. The energy is incredible, the music is mesmerizing and the lyrics are
just plain magic. It almost brings the fairy-tale world they speak about alive.
Here is a taste of the lyrics:
"If
its not real you can't see hold it in your hand, can't feel it in your heart
and I won't believe it. If its true you can see it with your eyes or even in
the dark and that's where I want to be, yeah."
Oh,
and here is a video too...
Brick
By Boring Brick
This
band does not just create amazing music, they are one of the few musicians I
think society can try and look up to. They started as a Christian band. Besides
some issues of conflict in their band, they have no bad publicity. I feel sorry
for teenagers today. They have singers posing for nude shots while back in the
day I chose to follow the one band who just makes good music. They may not be
the most well-known, but their music speaks for itself.
The
new Paramore hit song: Still Into You
Four albums later, they have evolved into something
beautiful yet still have a sound that is both innocent and mature. Their new
self-entitled album is more upbeat and definitely leaning towards the rock-pop side of the
musical agenda, yet their songs remain on repeat.
I love movies. They
transport you to another world and make for an excellent excuse to eat popcorn.
As much as I love the movies, I never had that one movie I can watch over and
over again until I knew it off by heart. I would always get bored somewhere in
between.
I do, however, like
many other girls, appreciate a good love story. In actual fact, I have a bit of
a weakness for them. It’s not something that should be proud of, but I love the
cheesy romcom that makes the rest of my friends groan, or the classic romance
that everyone has seen a million times before. It just gives me this warm fuzzy
feeling inside. Immersing myself in TheNotebook, Titanic, Gone with the Wind and
any movie that has something to do with a wedding is a perfect way to spend any
lazy Sunday afternoon. My family trips to the video shop usually end with my
sister choosing a horror and me picking the latest offerring from Drew Barrymore
or Jennifer Anniston.
I might not have a
favourite movie but I have a favourite rom com. Last year I watched 500 Days of Summer and
it not only gave the warm fuzzy tingles, it also made me think. The movie was
about a failed relationship this guy Tom, had with his girlfriend Summer (hence
the title). It shows his heartbreak in a beautiful way which many can relate
to. It shows how he begins their relationship thinking she is the one. We see
him reminiscing over each day they spent together. We also see how this shapes
what he does with his life after Summer until he eventually meets a new girl
called Autumn and asks her out. Day 1 of Autumn is when the credits begin to
roll.
Ok, the whole Summer
Autumn thing is a little bit cheesy, but it’s nice to see a story not ending on
happily ever after but rather a new beginning. Reviews say that it is a
postmodern love story. And just like postmodern love it is depressing yet real.
It just shows how the heady romanticism in The
Notebook has been swopped for something more relateable. It seems
Hollywood is not only showing the story where the girl is swept off her feet,
but the story that really happens. It is the one where hearts get broken and
fix themselves again. It’s kind of beautiful. Plus the soundtrack is amazing. I
especially love this song Hero by Regina Spector. Here is a video showing it
being played in one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the movie.
Handing in multiple amounts of essays in the same week leaves little time for anything else, besides finding ways to procrastinate. The Rhodes University gym's fan club slowly begins to dwindle as the ever-present pressure of exams and that psychology that has to be handed in tomorrow begins to take over our need to torture ourselves with exercise. After all, don't we have enough things to worry about other than keeping the scale from groaning under our weight? That cold walk to the gym and back is just too time-consuming. I would rather spend half an hour on facebook instead.
Anyways, since there is no time for anything but dedication and procrastination, I have come up with some easy steps to do two things at the same time. These are a few short, easy exercises that you are probabely doing anyway to delay starting that essay that is due tomorrow. It really is a win-win situation. You fit exercising into your schedule while coming up with brand new ways to procrastinate. So here it is, winter's brand new workout created by yours truly.
1. Cardio
Since you are going to be up all night, why not take a quick walk to pick n pay? Just be careful that you don't allow the big bag of chips in aisle three to distract you. An easy remedy is to buy two litres of that wholesome and healthy drink we all love: diet coke. Also don't forget your sugar-free red bull. Allow yourself to feel the burn of the sugarless taste.
2. Weights
While training your eyes on the stuff you need to study for your test, always remember that the hefty stack of notes piled neatly on your desk, well, ok, strewn across the floor, makes for very good weight-traning. Proceed to lift this pile of paper until you realise that your test is in an hour and you have not studied a single word.
3. Endurance
When your back is aching and your legs are cramping, stand up and proceed to jump on your bed until you feel like doing your essay. Warning: make sure a friend is around to help just in case of the high possibility that you never feel like doing your essay.
With all these wonderful tricks up your sleeve, who wouldn't look fantastic just in time for exams. A wise person once told me that if you are going to rock up and fail an exam, well, you better look good while doing it.
Warning: I am not responsible for a new-found addiction to coke light and sugar-free red bull. I am also not liable for any broken beds.
Computer screens, files of uncompleted
work and no money replace beach sunsets, 12 am breakfast and late night movie
marathons. Sigh, my holiday has officially come to an end.
Like any other holiday, this holiday
saw an embarrassing amount of time spent sitting in front of the TV set, no
matter how much work I needed to do. I am therefore writing this blog post so I
can feel like my hours spent in front of the TV was actually for something.
Like reading, TV series are so exciting because, well, it is like having a
bunch of friends without ever having to actually talk to them. The writers
behind hit TV shows spend a good deal of time coming up with three dimensional
characters just like the people you know in real life. The best thing is, while
it takes months for something exciting to happen in you and your friend’s
lives, in less than half an hour, your small screen friends have given you a
month’s worth of real-life drama and/or side-splitting comedy.
Hell, there is even a whole series called, well, Friends. And who wouldn’t want
Rachel, Monica and Phoebe as your friends? If they start to annoy you,closing
the book or pushing a button on a remote will sort that out. While books make
my life, TV shows admittedly take less time to watch than a book does to read,
so what more could you want? I therefore choose to dedicate this blog to my
fabulous friends of the small screen and what they have taught me over the
years.
Teletubbies
taught me to always have a hoover handy- you never know what might go wrong. It
also taught me that a purple man with a red handbag is a perfectly nice person
so you should not judge or hate him (Homophobics clearly did not watch this
show). Hannah Montanna taught me that pop-stars have fake hair. Pikachu from
Pokemon taught me that, if I ever got into a fight, sneezing noises always
help.
Friends taught me that one day you will end up with
the love of your life, even if it takes ten seasons for it to happen. And even
if you don’t, your friends will always be there for you anyway. Big Bang Theory
taught me that nerds have a lot of fun. New Girl also taught me that it is ok
to be that weird sort of borderline annoying roommate. (Well, they still
haven’t kicked her out yet so that counts for something). I also saw that I am
not the only one who watches Dirty Dancing over and over again and sings at
inappropriate moments. Downton Abbey taught me that you should marry for love
and not money because even great estates don’t last forever. It also taught me
how to lace up a corset if all those three course meals (or our modern version:
McDonalds) make your stomach poke out. Desperate Housewives taught me to always
be wary of your neighbours because you never know how crazy they are. Grey’s
Anatomy taught me to always make sure my hospital sheets are clean because you
never know which doctor is now getting lucky at work. Jersey Shore, taught me,
well, nothing except that I should be grateful I am not that stupid.
I could go on for much longer but that is all I can
think of right now. Oh and I am about to miss my show and we all know that I
might miss out on some valuable or not-so-valuable lessons. So pop another bag
of popcorn in the microwave but remember that although TV friends are the best,
real ones are always more important so make it a bowl of popcorn for two.
Today happens to be Easter. As I
write this I have a giant chocolate bunny for company. Unfortunately she is not
a very good listener due to her ears having been eaten off by yours truly
earlier today. Nonetheless what she lacks in ears she makes up for it by being
very delicious.
I love Easter. It is my second
favourite holiday of the year. I don’t see it much as the day Jesus was rose
from the grave but rather as the one day where I get to stuff my face with
chocolate and not feel guilty about it. I have had a very pleasant day doing
just that. It was also the first Easter where, after the traditional, yet
brutally competitive Easter egg hunt, I had no plans, no family braais or
dinners to get dressed for. It was a day for pyjamas, chocolate, a warm bath
and multiple episodes of Downton Abbey. I also had to fix my sisters trophy
which had fallen to the floor in a struggle for a candy-coated egg. All is fair
in love and war... and Easter egg hunts too.
I should have some kind of
excuse for or meaning behind spending a day doing absolutely nothing, let alone
breaking a trophy and consuming copious amounts of calories. Easter does have
some reason for it, right? The rising of Jesus Christ is one of them but after
a few weeks of church when I was seventeen, I decided that neither God nor
Jesus was the root of anything that went on in my life, including me gnawing on
rabbit-shaped chocolate.
There are, however, other
meanings behind Easter. The Easter egg was originally a Pagan symbol of new
life. The egg illustrated the end of winter and beginning of spring in the
Northern hemisphere. It was the end of one cycle and the promising beginning of
another. My mother, who grew up in Scotland, remembers rolling painted Easter
eggs down grassy hills as the warm rays of spring sunshine touched her winter-paled
shoulders. Easter is a promise of the things that are to come. It is New Year’s
Eve with eggs and hot-cross buns instead of fireworks.
I therefore propose a toast. I
raise my half-eaten Easter egg to the beginning of a new cycle. It is a
slightly colder one but it is still new. May you have a lovely Easter, become
sick from too much chocolate and have a fantabulous new cycle, or at least a
better one than my chocolate bunny. She has now lost her face. Cheers.
They say that some blind people
swear they can see the light of the sun, but in reality all it is is the warmth
of the sun on their face. This is how I felt as I woke today, the sun was
warming my face, but I swear I saw the light at the end of the tunnel of my
unsettled sleep. I had not slept well. Mosquitos
sang when they were not busy biting. I have some beautiful pieces of red, itchy
artwork courtesy of le mosquito all over my ankles, legs and, regrettably,
face. I must say I do not appreciate the mosquito’s art or singing, especially
at all hours of the night.
When I eventually booed (or
swatted) le mosquito off the stage, my own bad dreams took their cue. The
result was circles under the eyes and resentment at my dad for waking me up
before ten to go to the beach, something I had actually asked him to do.
Wait. Hold on. When did
Grahamstown have a beach? Well, I wish it did, but I am on holiday in
Plettenberg Bay which, much to my delight, does have a beach. My grandparents
own a house there. My dad happens to be there on business so I saw an
opportunity to catch some salty water in my face and beach sand in my toes as
the shades of summer begin to fade.
Plettenberg Bay is the place of
childhood memories. It has been my holiday destination since I was a tiny baby.
It was where, many years ago, my father attempted to get my pregnant mother to
the point where stormy waves meet sun-baked rocks. When she refused he took her
to a smaller set of rocks. Once there he asked her to marry him. It was where I
celebrated my new-found freedom after the last day of high school was over. It
was where I bravely ran into ice-cold ocean at four o’clock in the morning last
year. It was where I usually welcome the New Year, face glowing from the
reflection of fireworks across the sky. It is no surprise that I love this
place.
I am not the first one to have a
holiday home I love like no other place in the world. All my friends fortunate
enough to leave reality for sand, waves and natural beauty love their holiday
homes too. When I show them Plett most of them say their holiday hideout is
better. I have sometimes visited theirs but I remain unconvinced. I suppose
everyone thinks their childhood holiday is the best, but I remain convinced
that Plett is the bees-knees.
The most obvious attraction is
the beach. Duh! I am what is known as an inland city-slash-hovel-they-call-a-town
dweller, crying for some salty air and sand between my toes. As I stare across
the blue-green expanse of sea, staining the beach like paint off a paintbrush,
I am reminded just how small my problems and issues really are.
This term has been the most
challenging first-term encounter at Rhodes so far. It started with my most
valued friendship, one I used to think of more as a sisterhood, falling to pieces.
A little discouraged, I still was determined not to let this ruin my term. I
fought the urge to cry, determined instead to show myself that I could handle
it. I over-committed myself to other activities and other friends, determined to
not let this affect my life. The result was me falling behind in everything. I
forgot to pitch at my waitressing job twice, my journalism marks started to
tumble and I rocked up at meetings late. My best efforts of going to gym were
thwarted by me stuffing my face with pizza after a shift where someone who I
could always count on proceeded to ignore me through hours of working together.
I shiver as my striped bikini
fails to protect me from the icy waves. A cloud moves across the sky, making
room for a little sunshine. It feels like the light at the end of the tunnel. I
could be wrong, maybe blind and thinking I see light instead of just feeling
warmth. The hope that I think I see could be mistaken for something else. All I
know is, blind or not, the warmth of the sun feels good on my face.
My mind spins, unable to grasp on a single reason.
Each piece I write brings a different reason bursting into my mind like a
popcorn kernel in the microwave. Sometimes I think there are too many reasons.
Other times there is not a single one in mind. Or maybe it is just hidden, a
treasure chest hoping for a new piece of writing to discover it.
The one thing that has always been true is that I
write because I need to. Barely tall enough to grab my colouring book off the
top shelf and still believing that I was going to be a princess, I had to force
myself to sit still as a kind teacher pointed to some letters on a blackboard
and told me to write them. I have since used these letters to fulfil all sorts
of requirements needed in my having a promising future. I write because,
without it, my exam paper would be an empty page. I write so I can spell my name
on an identity book application. I need to write to prove my existence and
continue to exist in a world where a good existence is earned.
We all have to write. Some write more than others.
Academics write papers to create theories, doctors write prescriptions to save
lives, but writers write to write. Writers write not because they have to, but
because they want to. There are many reasons why. Each reason makes the five
minutes before putting pen to paper seem longer than the five hours spent
spilling thoughts across the page.
I write as an educated person in progress, but I
also write because I am human. I write because I think. I write because I feel.
The spontaneous thoughts before falling asleep, the hazy musings on a long car
ride would never see anything but the inside of my brain if I did not write.
The knot in my stomach or the tug of my heart will remain hidden for none to
know, not even myself. An introvert at the best of times, I write what I cannot
say. In many ways, the empty page is my closest friend, my lover and my shrink,
always ready to listen, never allowed to judge.
I do not write for a diary, clutched to my heart,
locked from all eyes. Thoughts and feelings rise to my consciousness like
bubbles to the surface of the water and run across the page like a river off
the face of a mountain, my fingers dancing on the keyboard. I do not write just
so my thoughts and feelings are on this page. I write because my thoughts, my
experiences, good and bad, are in my head. Many remain in my head. I think
about what I write about to find the meaning amidst all that which is cottoned
in my consciousness. I write to share that meaning in a way I cannot with
thoughts, or emotions, or even a diary. All in all, I write so others can read.
I write for the small chuckle in my mother’s throat
as she read my first poem. I write so others can drink my bottled up ideas,
thoughts and feelings. I hope to one day write in a way that makes them less
thirsty. I write so that one day, my words will fulfil and enrich. I write
because I choose not to speak. I write because it is both my talent and my
biggest flaw. I write, not just because I have to, but because I want to.
I stand shivering in a queue which stretched its way like a
half-buried worm into a Rhodes University dining hall. Wednesday dinner has
arrived promptly at five o’clock like it has every other day. You would think
it is like any other dinner the dining hall serves but it is one of my personal
favourites. Last year I worked at a restaurant on Wednesdays. I had the option
of eating a meal that others would pay for- at a convenient discount. I still,
however, left the Rat and Parrot’s pizza (a local favourite) for a res meal-
something most students would not dare to think of.
There are many reasons why I did this. The sauce I drenched
my chicken kebabs, noodles and even my peas was nothing short of delicious.
What made me desire this meal so much, however, was the smooth, sweet chocolate
mousse that made my tongue cling to every last mouthful like a long-lost lover.
I would sit my plate down at the table and consume the chocolate mousse first
before anything else.
“I could never eat my dessert first,” said one of my friends,
pointedly staring at me stuffing my face. “It just feels so wrong.”
I spent the remainder of my meal explaining to her how eating
dessert first is so much better than eating it last. “So what if you were busy
eating and someone sneaked up behind you and shot you, and you died having
eaten one less dessert because you chose to eat it last.” That was one of my
arguments and I did not think it was in the least far-fetched.
I do not know why I always eat dessert first. It could be like
going on facebook or watching series before starting an essay; a bad habit which
I am unfortunately very good at. It could be because I just like something
sweet but then wouldn’t it be sweeter if I saved it for last?
I know the answer to that is no. Chocolate mouse is simple.
It is delicious whether you have it before a meal or after. Watching series, on
the other hand, is much better when your work is out of the way and I can enjoy
it without stressing. Facebook, well, I just use because it is the best
procrastination technique in the book.
Nevertheless, I am not even supposed to eat dessert. Word is
that it makes you fat and therefore eating it would make you unhealthy or worse,
undesirable. I try to make my dessert days only Wednesdays and the occasional
Saturday after a very long week. There is always room for dessert in my diet,
no matter how much weight I wish to lose.
This makes me think of the Titanic. I do not quite know why
chocolate mousse reminds me of a famous shipwreck, but I wonder of the mouth-watering
desserts served to the upper-class ladies and gentlemen aboard the Titanic. I
think of the ladies. It was the last night they would ever have the chance to
eat the dessert, yet many wouldn’t for fear of their corsets becoming a notch tighter
(if they weren’t already tight enough). I wonder what if the Titanic had not
sunk, if all those people hadn’t died. They would have lived long lives and
told of their journey aboard the Titanic to their children and maybe their
grandchildren. They would have said the desserts looked simply delicious. “So
did they taste as good?” one of the grandchildren might have asked. “I am sure they did, but granny didn’t have
any.”
These are all guesses. The Titanic did indeed crash and many
died, and maybe the desserts on board weren’t even that great. I just think it
is pointless to go to new places and not try delicious food. I am not saying
that everyone should pig out every time they sit down for breakfast, but surely
there is no harm eating a small bowl of chocolate mousse once a week before
filling your stomach with healthier food? If it really will do so much damage
is it not nothing a run, a swim or a Sunday afternoon hike could fix?
Also, why do we have to eat the main meal first? Maybe people
like my friend enjoy the steady routine of it. But I really think that life is
so much more exciting when we shake it up a bit. So when I finally am rich
enough to board a fancy cruise ship it will come as no great surprise that I
will be asking for my dessert first. It is always good to start with something
sweet. Let me hope nobody shoots me while I eat it.
Ps. Sorry if all the delicious photos made your mouth water. Wednesday is tomorrow so chocolate mousse will come soon:)
