PHWOAR so yesterday, I had an almost-monumental emotional freakout. It seems these episodes are quite periodic and happen about...every two months or so. Is that healthy? I suppose not, but in a very strange and quite masochistic way, it of course feels very good.

I BLAME THE RIGOURS OF ADOLESCENCE.

Haha well I am half-kidding anyway. It seems that after such breakdowns, I take very little seriously and everything's a joke as if I've just run out of emotional juice! It is quite funny, observing one's own emotional cycles. Not so funny when you see how ridiculous it all is but well, no matter!

Wednesday was the submission of our Art A Level Coursework, and no I don't really want to talk about it because I'm not veryvery happy with it and oh woe, artistic anguish!

Although I will send pictures to you Aini, if you ask!

And at some point of time, when photobucket is being kind, will post up pictures too.

But hey! Let's talk about my sooper-dooper fun art class! It's a pity we only got to know each other better these recent weeks, but heck isn't that how things always are?
They're marvelous people and what's so great is that we're like a collective of random people thrown in from different cliques and backgrounds, so things are always always interesting.


So here's Zara and I (woah, proper grammer) at the examination center at Margaret Drive where we submitted our projects. We took a bus there, while Kenneth was carted into a truck with his larger project. We are jumping with MUCH JOY because it is all over!

Joy also, because the trucks delivering the works of other schools (and hence, anxiety over our own competency) have not yet arrived.

You know funny thing is that while we look so happy here, the class was collectively having seperation anxiety after we submitted our works. Typical symptoms exhibited include: reluctance to leave the submission room, half-hearted attempts to sneak back into room and MASSIVE PARANOIA.

EXHIBIT A

While giving a last check on our coursework 5 minutes before it goes into the hands of Cambridge

Zara: (pointing to the name label on a prep board) Iz, that's my name right?

(Izyanti reads: Kok Dengyun Zara)

Me: Yes Zara, that is your name. NOW GET YOUR O.C.D BUTT TO THERAPY NOWWWWWW!

Okay fine, I didn't quite say the last bit but I did give her the Look! Right Zara, that look?

So while waiting for Kenneth's truck to arrive, the rest of us decide to explore the wilderness that is Margaret Drive.



We frolicked on fields, poked about mimosa patches and hopefully looked for four-leafed clovers for A Levels luck!



Here's a picture of our art room that we have grown really fond of. In a good mood, we call it cosy and um, a rustic terrace if one were to consider the open space downstairs where the easel-painters work to be an extension of the art room.

But when the electricity goes bafflingly bonkers, it is just stuffy and REALLY sucks.

As you can see, the two walls in view in the photograph are exact width of the room. The windows seen make one end of it, and where the picture was taken is the door. THIS MEANS IT IS VERY SMALL.

And here we have with us our art teacher, Mrs Haworth! Who, as much as she frustrates us, probably saved us. We like her a lot secretly, although sometimes we have little jokes about her British mannerisms but HECK, that happens to all teachers! It's an occupational hazard.



Okay. So now that's done, I'm off to grapple with the next art assignment due next thursday HURRAH!!!

Death! Death! Death!










PATD is good for massive anxiety assaults. Pushing off the cliff!

So have been hearing that some people in the fashion industry do not agree with Milan's move to actually ban 'sick-looking models' who have a BMI under 18. Granted, some reasons given are quite valid:

- BMI inaccurate:
Very true actually, if you do research surveying a wide range people with different body types, you kinda find that some perfectly healthy, athletic people have soaring BMIs that would otherwise categorize them as obese.

Come on, I was looking through a livejournal community's response to said issue, and had enough varied answers.

- Legislation not the only answer:
True, gotta throw in the whole educating-the-youths package.

BUT!

BUT!

When Elite accuses this recent development for using the fashion industry as a scapegoat for spikes in eating disorders, well!

Who in the world are they trying to kid?

Right, people didn't starve themselves a decade back to look heroin chic. Of course. Not for fashion. They just...weren't hungry.

When they say that the industry is being used as a scapegoat, they're saying that they don't have that much of an influence in the real world after all, and god knows that ain't true. People at the top of the industry themselves know very well how influential fashion is, and what that spokesman said is probably the hugest, embarrassingly blatant,whopping lie I've ever heard in the media.

People watch celebrities and who we define as beautiful and naturally, if stupidly, we try want to have some semblance of that beauty. If you say that well, high fashion doesn't have that much of an impact on the common Lime-reading teenager, okay. But you can't deny that the celebrites that said teenager does know about, and probably adores do follow trends set by high fashion.

I think more concrete evidence about how influential fashion is anyway, is to consider the changing trends in beauty. Not in decades, I'm talking CENTURIES. During the Renaissance, fat ladies were in. Reubans through his paintings made sure that even now, we know that at some point of human history, fat people were hot.

Aiya - Singlish for emphasis! - and what's really wrong with not having sick-looking skeletal models on the runway? I think the difference between Jack Skeleton and the toned Gisele or even waif-like Gemma Ward is quite, quite apparent.

I suppose there's only a problem because it means somebody has to determine what's healthy, and what's not. But ooh, big moral dilemma! The fashion industry has only been like, deciding what's beautiful and what's not, at the loss of a massive amount of consumer welfare!! (Sorry, economics exam tomorrow.) Point is:

"In fashion, one day you're in and the next day you're out."

Sounds familiar, eh? But I still love you Heidi.

So c'mon fashion people - at least have the dignity and shame to play by your own rules! Can't keep the fat people (I use this term here REALLY loosely) off the runway just because you say so, and then cry foul when we want to keep the super-skinny people off too.

Maybe when you have size 10 people beside the size 0, I'll shut my trap.

In any case, this whole brou-ha-ha is as funny as the word brou-ha-ha itself because it accidentally and finally revealed the industry (and our) hypocrisy to the WHOLE WIDE WORLD so come, gather round and let's hear it: hahahahahaha!



(I think some equally generously proportioned comedian said that if she was in Reuban's time, she'd be the Pretty Young Thing and Kate Moss would be his paintbrush. What, it's funny!)

Because this is disgusting, and you need to read about it.



"The two teens are those spokeskids for white separatists, [14 year old] Lamb and
Lynx Gaede, who vaulted to international attention after they appeared on ABC's
"Primetime" last year.

Lamb and Lynx created the band Prussian Blue to communicate their white
separatist views musically. The song "Sacrifice" praises Nazi leader Rudolph
Hess, Adolph Hitler's deputy.

In the "Primetime" interview, Lynx who was 13 at the time, says she and her
sister were "proud of being white."

"We want our people to stay white," she says. "We don't want to just be, you
know, a big muddle. We just want to preserve our race."


YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

I've heard of white supremacists, but this just makes me sick. So, in the same interview mentioned above, the interviewer asks, "What are your views on Hitler?"

"We think...Hitler was just trying to preserve his race."

"...But he killed 6 millon jews."

And then the other one, amazingly says, "We think that's an exaggeration...we hardly believe there were even that many Jews alive back then."

Yes, because people like you killed them!

I think what grosses me out more than the things that they say, is that they say it so easily. They are so convinced by their brainwashing that I am just amazed. Their parents by the way, are divorced with the mother holding full custody. The father contested this - evidently because the woman taking care of the children is a PSYCHO RACIST DELUDED WITH THOUGHTS OF WHITE SUPREMACY.

Notably, they call themselves Prussian Blue as a reference to their German descent and blue eyes. Funny thing is, despite all this pro-Aryan shit, that crazy mum is a brunette.

Accompanying my feelings of nausea, was some curiosity over how racist racist their songs can be. Existing racism in Singapore, due to the effective *cough* control of speech, isn't very malignant. We have jokes about Singhs in turbans (I don't understand why this is funny, I mean really. I don't get it), male Malay bums aka 'mats' and crazy-kiasu Chinese people. At the worst, some suspiciously dubious trends in the military, but it is not in general very malignant.

Well at least, not as bad as these lyrics:

(Hate for Hate)
"Because too many white men choose wrong over white over the fight.
If the white man won't battle for life and for race.
Then women and children, the terror will face."

Or another one! Possibly, I might be interpreting much in this and may have taken in out of context. But well, when the context is white supremacy, you just don't know.

"Completely oblivious,
To what is going on.
What matters is us."

Or this!

"And black masked men with guns come bashing down the doors.
Where freedom exists for only those with darker skin.
Where lies and propaganda will never let you win.
Where symbols of your heritage are held with such contempt,
and benefits of country 'cept tax are you exempt .

Aryan man awake,
How much more will you take,
Turn that fear to hate,
Aryan man awake."

Thanks for being much more direct girls. Now I can point my finger at you and scream, "BLOODY IGNORANT RACISTS!" so much more easily.

But this, oh this makes me shudder.

"Rudolph Hess, a man of Peace.
He wouldn't give up he wouldn't cease,
he gave his loyalty to our Cause."

Rudolph Hess of course, was one of Hitler's deputies and according to Wikipedia, third in leadership of Germany during Nazi rule. I suppose he has my sympathies though because as the Fuhrer's private secretary, he had to read and edit that apparently unreadable tome, 'Mein Kampf'.

Evidently, he didn't do quite a good job.

C-c-check this out!


Spanish Fashion Show Rejects Skinny Models

MADRID, Spain (Sept. 9) - Spain's top fashion show has turned away a slew of models on grounds they are too skinny - an unprecedented swipe at body images blamed for encouraging eating disorders among young people.

Organizers of the pageant, known as the Pasarela Cibeles, used a mathematical formula to calculate the models' body mass index - a measure of their weight in relation to their height - and 30 percent of the women flunked, said the Association of Fashion Designers of Spain.

The association said Friday it wanted models at the show running from Sept. 18-22 to project "an image of beauty and health" and shun a gaunt, emaciated look.

The decision was made as part of a voluntary agreement with the Madrid regional government, said Jesus del Pozo, a designer who is part of the association, said Thursday.

Last year's show, also called Madrid Fashion Week, drew protests from medical associations and women's advocacy groups because some of the models were positively bone-thin.

This time the Madrid regional government decided to intervene and pressure organizers to hire fuller-figured women as role models for young girls obsessed with being thin and prone to starving themselves into sickness, said Concha Guerra, deputy finance minister of the regional administration.

Fashion shows, Guerra said, "are mirrors for many young women."

Del Pozo said this was the first time skinny models have been snubbed at a major international fashion show.

Ryan Brown, director of marketing and public relations in North America for the Elite modeling agency in New York City, agreed. "It is very unprecedented," said Brown, who has nothing to do with the Spanish show.

He welcomed the decision saying "I think it is great to promote health."

Madrid's show, which features mainly Spanish designers, is not as prestigious as catwalks in Paris or Milan but "it is not at the bottom of the pile," he said.

The impact of rejecting skinny women would have been greater at those other glitzier venues. Still, he said, "I am sure the industry is taking note."

The body mass index is a tool for doctors who study obesity. It is calculated by dividing weight in pounds by height in inches squared, and multiplying that total by 703.

If the resulting number is between 18.5 and 24.9, the person's weight is normal. Below 18.5 they are underweight. In the case of the Madrid show, organizers rejected women with indices under 18.

Brown of the Elite agency said fashion shows reflect the tastes of clothing designers, who for now prefer the Kate Moss look as opposed to the curvier dimensions of models such as Cindy Crawford in years past.

"They don't want voluptuous girls any more," he said. "It would be nice if fashion got back to that."

In the words of Georgia Nicolson, my dear friends:
OH MY GIDDY GOD TROUSERS AND PANTALOONS!

See, was organizing my Firefox (inferiority, thy name is Internet Explorer!) Favourite folders and I came across a long forgotten folder optimistically labeled 'Universities and Scholarships'. A vague sense of nausea arose in my being O comrades!

The reason is such - there is no plausible and human way for me to do barely decently (C average) for my prelims while at the same time, meeting my A Level Art deadline. There is no way. What frightens me as well, is my absolute certainty of said impending doom. Usually, I carry along in my Survive-It-All backpack massive doses of Desperate Optimism that usually buoys me up so that I am able to do slightly better than gloomily forecasted - wherence of course, my neurones proceed to implode from sheer exhaustion.

This time however, I've been using up said Desperate Optimism (D.O? O.D? HAHA!) to push myself for art. Some days it is good, some days not so and productivity is as high as um. Wait, I'll think of an analogy later.

Then on some days, I think up of clever ploys to survive said deadline! If technically, September 18/21 is the deadline because we need to photograph our work and September 28 is the REAL deadline...well, perhaps since my project is an illustrated book, maybe I don't need a picture taken of every single COMPLETED page!Eh? Eh? So, if I complete 80% of it, maybe I'll come out of this alive?

Nevertheless, with screwed prelims, it is thoroughly thoroughly unlikely that I can successfully apply for a scholarship which means NO OVERSEAS ART COLLEGE BABY. Goodbye! Farewell! I shall be stuck here with you, my fellow comrades. Which is only a bad thing because it means I'll only ever know you.

The Chinese call it being a mountain tortoise. The Malays call it being a toad under a coconut shell..I think. Say it with me, it's very funny! Katak dibawa tempurong! Malay, phonetically, is an awesome language - very dramatic and emphatic. For example, if you wish to say you waited and waited and waited for someone untild GOD KNOWS WHEN, you say:
"Aku tunggu tunggu sampai bulan tak timbul!"
Translated: I waited and waited until the moon didn't rise!

or

"Aku tunggu tunggu sampai buah tak jatuh!"
Translated: I waited and waited until the fruits didn't fall (of the tree)!

It is 3:48AM, and I am very scared.

How can I not fangirl Astreal when they say things like this:

Titled Fragments Of The Same Dead Star, the album is a whimsical tribute to a myth the band's vocalist/bassist heard. Explained Ginette, "There's a myth that goes something like we're all made out of star stuff, carbon etc... And when stars die, they form humans and other living creatures, so you spend your life looking for that one soul mate who came from the same dead star as you. Your other half, your cosmic twin. I heard that myth from a friend and was instantly charmed."

Well anyway, to accompany this fangirlish entry, here are a few songs from Hazri's copy of the said album. I suppose this is not very legal.

Crowd favourites -
Wallflower

Snowflake

June12 my favourite, so far!

In case legal type people are poking and tsking around, well, I'm just spreading the music love babe, the music love!

Because posting up random pictures is easier than actually writing:

More photo-editing.


A watercolour I did. As much as I enjoyed painting this, some angsty gender-conscious part of me thought, "Oh look: some girl painting pretty flowers. PFFBT!"


And hey hey CJ people! Check out cikgu yati's baby!





Feeling rather down recently, not quite sure why. Listening to The Dear's 'No Such Thing As Love' DOES NOT HELP.

Although it is a very good song.

Because
a) I didn't really like the photo editing I had done on the previous entry either,
b) I just discovered the significance of my digicam's ISO settings so no more grainy shots because of unfavourable lighting conditions,
c) and just to prove that I still have m4d editing skillz,

Matthew's Birthday

We baked!




Chopped up Cadbury's fruit&nut hocolate that went into the cupcakes!


Vincent is very excited (by the chocolate that went in)!
He also claims superiority in dolloping batter into the cupcake cups.
PFFBT.


Evidently, Charmaine is distressed!


The icing, very very evidently, REFUSES to cream!


"Oh come now, don't be such as wussy!" says Hazri.


PWNAGE


Charmaine doesn't care of course, she's just glad to get it off her hands!


Iced! Well, we never got it to cream properly cos we used the wrong sugar =(
But it did give the icing...interesting texture. Really, I mean it!




HURRAH TWENTY CRAZY-SUGAR CUPCAKES!


Close-up. Charmaine is convinced that the artificial colouring will eventually give us cancer and DEATH. Possibly Charmaine, possibly.


Matthew arrives! He mutters, "More confectionary."
You're welcome, Matthew.


Looking more appropriately enthused!




HAPPY PICTURE! Ooh, cupcakes.


The eating commences - look at all that icing! Vincent chooses to handle the icing by avoiding it completely. He ate a hundred chicken wings.


"Too many cupcakes! No more!" pleads a flailing Charmaine.


The sugar high hits, and things get trippy.

So we triapsed off to Hazri's room to do things wholesome teenagers do for fun. We took lots and lots of photos on Matthew's camera (anticipate a sequel to this photo-post!), lolled around the bed, watched Vincent's ears bleed as we unabashedly sing Kelly Clarkson and Avril Lavigne, smoked weed -





AS IF.


It can't get any more wholesome than this! We're like, the Brady Bunch. Poster children for the MOE!

It was a happy, happy birthday.




FINIS.