I just had a meeting and used the following bullshit buzz phrases:
- 'We need to inject some more unique elements into this'
- 'We really need to dial up the be better aspect of that'
- 'That will be the hero headline, this is more just a creative wrapping'
Oh god.
Seriously, I need to go away to remember who I am.
I think Portugal is the place to do it. This time tomorrow, I'll be in Porto, injecting some custard tarts into my mouth.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
In one weekend
You can be having the time of your life
You can be reliving the worst time of your life
You can experience an overwhelming sense of relief
You can be broken
You can be hoping for a time when you feel normal again
You can be making mistakes you've made many time before
And you can be waiting for the day your skin doesn't itch anymore
How can one weekend bring such a varied outcome for myself and my friends? For some reason I had the chance to speak to most of my friends from around the world today and shit, I've never had such a variation of sad, happy and strange events retold to me. We're so wrapped up in our own lives that you completely forget that one of your friends could be having the best or the worst time of their life. Of course, you can't go around thinking that all the time, but when you do, it's an mix of a strange and interesting, which is pretty much guaranteed when it comes to thinking about life. Note: I just had a sleep in between those last two sentences, is that a bit weird?
My own wallowing this weekend has made me feel reflective on the things I don't appreciate enough. Of course, the day I get through a day without getting stupid welts all over me, I'll forget all this worthiness, but at the moment, I'm wheeling and dealing with myself like a crack addict looking for their next fix. So at the moment, I'm repeating to myself that I will never complain about going to work again if I get through 9-10pm tonight without a rash appearing. I just want to get better and this stupid reaction to be over. Stupid suspected Romania and it's stupid bugs. Stupid non Romanian things that could also be making me itchy. Stupid everything but I'll also even stop saying the word 'stupid' if they don't come up again. Yeah body? How does that sound?
It's funny that when something is wrong, all you can do is think of how appreciative you'll be of the day it all goes right again. I remember thinking back to having a really bad cold, and all I could think was; the night I can breathe again through my nostrils again will mark me appreciate every breath I take from that day on. Of course, I take every non snotted up breath for granted, but still, these promises we make to ourselves are sometimes hilarious.
Or maybe it's just me who does that?
I need to go and vacuum my room and put my boiled sheets back on my bed.
P.S For everyone who is finding out for the first time about these welts, I'm fine, I've just got a suspected allergic reaction that is impartial to a bit of 9pm action it seems. I've sought the appropriate medical advice and am non spready, just itchy within my own core of 'allergy' (I don't know where that last sentence came from).
You can be reliving the worst time of your life
You can experience an overwhelming sense of relief
You can be broken
You can be hoping for a time when you feel normal again
You can be making mistakes you've made many time before
And you can be waiting for the day your skin doesn't itch anymore
How can one weekend bring such a varied outcome for myself and my friends? For some reason I had the chance to speak to most of my friends from around the world today and shit, I've never had such a variation of sad, happy and strange events retold to me. We're so wrapped up in our own lives that you completely forget that one of your friends could be having the best or the worst time of their life. Of course, you can't go around thinking that all the time, but when you do, it's an mix of a strange and interesting, which is pretty much guaranteed when it comes to thinking about life. Note: I just had a sleep in between those last two sentences, is that a bit weird?
My own wallowing this weekend has made me feel reflective on the things I don't appreciate enough. Of course, the day I get through a day without getting stupid welts all over me, I'll forget all this worthiness, but at the moment, I'm wheeling and dealing with myself like a crack addict looking for their next fix. So at the moment, I'm repeating to myself that I will never complain about going to work again if I get through 9-10pm tonight without a rash appearing. I just want to get better and this stupid reaction to be over. Stupid suspected Romania and it's stupid bugs. Stupid non Romanian things that could also be making me itchy. Stupid everything but I'll also even stop saying the word 'stupid' if they don't come up again. Yeah body? How does that sound?
It's funny that when something is wrong, all you can do is think of how appreciative you'll be of the day it all goes right again. I remember thinking back to having a really bad cold, and all I could think was; the night I can breathe again through my nostrils again will mark me appreciate every breath I take from that day on. Of course, I take every non snotted up breath for granted, but still, these promises we make to ourselves are sometimes hilarious.
Or maybe it's just me who does that?
I need to go and vacuum my room and put my boiled sheets back on my bed.
P.S For everyone who is finding out for the first time about these welts, I'm fine, I've just got a suspected allergic reaction that is impartial to a bit of 9pm action it seems. I've sought the appropriate medical advice and am non spready, just itchy within my own core of 'allergy' (I don't know where that last sentence came from).
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Oh, Romania
Romania. From now on, I won't be able to mention this country without and 'oh' before and a 'sigh' after. So where to start.
Ok.
A couple of months ago, Vic sent through the Romanian national anthem. I had a laugh to myself because all I heard was some angry, 15th century, hatchet wielding men singing/yelling from deep within their bellies which had probably just been filled with meat and cabbage. Having just returned from Romania, I can confirm that these men still exist. They are scary and most of them are taxi drivers.
Oh Romania (sigh). What a land of contradictions, stray dogs and ugly people with the strangest hair growth. When we arrived we couldn’t find the bus stop. There was no information desk, so we asked the 2nd most trusted people, the police, where we might find it. They helpfully informed Luke that the bus stop was 20kms down the road. Not so helpful when you know for a fact there is a bus stop at the airport. So, we decided to catch a taxi. Not so helpful when the taxi driver is trying to charge you about £30 to go 10km down the road. We haggled, and then agreed on a price. After a 10 minute drive into the city, with tunes blaring from the radio that resembled my old keyboard’s demo mode, we stopped at the train station where the driver proceed to demand more money. In fact, he decided the price we had agreed on was actually per person. He just forgot to tell us. Ah, the hilarity. We ended up chucking the money at him and the legging it out of the cab. It was truly a great start to the country.
Then came the train station. As a general rule, most vagrants hang out at train and bus stations. Accepted. But seriously, when you’ve just been ripped off by a fat fuck of a taxi driver and then find yourself walking through gypsy children sniffing aerosol cans, stray dogs with patches of fur missing and generally unpleasant and scary looking men just to get through the front doors, there’s only one thing to do: head to Mc Donald’s. Those sweet golden arches provided the McFlurry and post mix Cokes to will us onto the next 6 hours of our journey; to Transylvania.
The beauty of the Carpathian mountains and the surrounding countryside was probably what made the trip. After another taxi ride from Brasov, through to Rasov and then Bran, we finally made it up the mountain into the Piatra Craiului National Park in Moeciu where our accommodation was. It was everything we needed it to be to start over with Romania. We stayed at a family farm, with about three generations of the family living and working there, including the 100 year old grandma who seemed to spent A LOT of time in the barn. There were cows and chickens as well as massive hay stack houses with pitch forks at the top, as well as homemade tables and chairs and old jars with wild flowers on all the tables. It was beautiful. We even arranged for a farm style breakfast that began with a glass of warm milk, straight from the udder. I really liked the idea of it, but when it came to the thick taste of fresh, frothy teat, it was a bit much. After breakfast, we walked down the mountain into Bran and had a look at the outside of Dracula’s castle. We didn’t go in as we heard that they had re decorated it Romanian style. We figured that probably included tearing up the floorboards and scattering rubbish around the interior, so we didn’t bother. We then meandered back up the mountain and had a traditional picnic halfway up that included cheese and pizza flavoured chip sandwiches, biscuits and many name games.
I think after our mountain time, we were all a bit reluctant to go back to Bucharest, but it wasn’t as bad as we were fearing. After waiting for our train which was almost an hour late, we got to our hostel successfully by avoiding all taxis. Our hostel was just near Cismigiu Park, which was lovely. It had rows of green benches with wrought iron backs and sides, where the old folks would gather to have a chit chat at dusk. There was also a space in the middle of the park for the local Romanian men to play a game that looked like Scrabble, but with number tiles and carpet on top of the table.
Most cities, even the most average, have beautiful old towns. It’s what saves the grime and the ugliness of the concrete. But, of course, because it was Romania, the old town was just as ugly as the rest of the city. There were no footpaths because they had all been dug up. They had been replaced with wooden slats that were so flimsy, the fat fuck of the taxi driver would definitely have fallen through. Surrounding the slats were piles, upon piles of rubbish, guarded by the manky dogs that roamed the city. Instead of the electrical wires being, I don’t know, underground or perhaps inside the electrical poles, they were just wrapped around the outside of the poles at least a hundred times over, with some even hanging down head height. As we continued to walked around, one thing became very obvious; these people like to get married. There were at least five wedding dress shops on every street, with the most hideous looking dresses imaginable. Think Borat’s mankini but with lace and a meringue bottom. Hot.
This entry is a lot longer than I intended, and I even skipped some stuff to try and save your eyes and attention span. I guess I’d like to wrap this up with, oh Romania (sigh). I’m glad I went and saw you. You were ugly, you had an old woman who kissed Vic’s cleavage with her gummy mouth and called me a Mongoloid. You had people with huge moles, the worst dress sense on the plant (red horizontal and pink vertical stripes in ONE outfit is TOO much) and hair spurting out of some weird places. You had people who would do anything to get ahead, people who crossed themselves upon going past every church, stray dogs and drunk gypsies stealing petunia’s from a restaurant. You were both weird and a little wonderful. I liked you and I hated you.
Ok.
A couple of months ago, Vic sent through the Romanian national anthem. I had a laugh to myself because all I heard was some angry, 15th century, hatchet wielding men singing/yelling from deep within their bellies which had probably just been filled with meat and cabbage. Having just returned from Romania, I can confirm that these men still exist. They are scary and most of them are taxi drivers.
Oh Romania (sigh). What a land of contradictions, stray dogs and ugly people with the strangest hair growth. When we arrived we couldn’t find the bus stop. There was no information desk, so we asked the 2nd most trusted people, the police, where we might find it. They helpfully informed Luke that the bus stop was 20kms down the road. Not so helpful when you know for a fact there is a bus stop at the airport. So, we decided to catch a taxi. Not so helpful when the taxi driver is trying to charge you about £30 to go 10km down the road. We haggled, and then agreed on a price. After a 10 minute drive into the city, with tunes blaring from the radio that resembled my old keyboard’s demo mode, we stopped at the train station where the driver proceed to demand more money. In fact, he decided the price we had agreed on was actually per person. He just forgot to tell us. Ah, the hilarity. We ended up chucking the money at him and the legging it out of the cab. It was truly a great start to the country.
Then came the train station. As a general rule, most vagrants hang out at train and bus stations. Accepted. But seriously, when you’ve just been ripped off by a fat fuck of a taxi driver and then find yourself walking through gypsy children sniffing aerosol cans, stray dogs with patches of fur missing and generally unpleasant and scary looking men just to get through the front doors, there’s only one thing to do: head to Mc Donald’s. Those sweet golden arches provided the McFlurry and post mix Cokes to will us onto the next 6 hours of our journey; to Transylvania.
The beauty of the Carpathian mountains and the surrounding countryside was probably what made the trip. After another taxi ride from Brasov, through to Rasov and then Bran, we finally made it up the mountain into the Piatra Craiului National Park in Moeciu where our accommodation was. It was everything we needed it to be to start over with Romania. We stayed at a family farm, with about three generations of the family living and working there, including the 100 year old grandma who seemed to spent A LOT of time in the barn. There were cows and chickens as well as massive hay stack houses with pitch forks at the top, as well as homemade tables and chairs and old jars with wild flowers on all the tables. It was beautiful. We even arranged for a farm style breakfast that began with a glass of warm milk, straight from the udder. I really liked the idea of it, but when it came to the thick taste of fresh, frothy teat, it was a bit much. After breakfast, we walked down the mountain into Bran and had a look at the outside of Dracula’s castle. We didn’t go in as we heard that they had re decorated it Romanian style. We figured that probably included tearing up the floorboards and scattering rubbish around the interior, so we didn’t bother. We then meandered back up the mountain and had a traditional picnic halfway up that included cheese and pizza flavoured chip sandwiches, biscuits and many name games.
I think after our mountain time, we were all a bit reluctant to go back to Bucharest, but it wasn’t as bad as we were fearing. After waiting for our train which was almost an hour late, we got to our hostel successfully by avoiding all taxis. Our hostel was just near Cismigiu Park, which was lovely. It had rows of green benches with wrought iron backs and sides, where the old folks would gather to have a chit chat at dusk. There was also a space in the middle of the park for the local Romanian men to play a game that looked like Scrabble, but with number tiles and carpet on top of the table.
Most cities, even the most average, have beautiful old towns. It’s what saves the grime and the ugliness of the concrete. But, of course, because it was Romania, the old town was just as ugly as the rest of the city. There were no footpaths because they had all been dug up. They had been replaced with wooden slats that were so flimsy, the fat fuck of the taxi driver would definitely have fallen through. Surrounding the slats were piles, upon piles of rubbish, guarded by the manky dogs that roamed the city. Instead of the electrical wires being, I don’t know, underground or perhaps inside the electrical poles, they were just wrapped around the outside of the poles at least a hundred times over, with some even hanging down head height. As we continued to walked around, one thing became very obvious; these people like to get married. There were at least five wedding dress shops on every street, with the most hideous looking dresses imaginable. Think Borat’s mankini but with lace and a meringue bottom. Hot.
This entry is a lot longer than I intended, and I even skipped some stuff to try and save your eyes and attention span. I guess I’d like to wrap this up with, oh Romania (sigh). I’m glad I went and saw you. You were ugly, you had an old woman who kissed Vic’s cleavage with her gummy mouth and called me a Mongoloid. You had people with huge moles, the worst dress sense on the plant (red horizontal and pink vertical stripes in ONE outfit is TOO much) and hair spurting out of some weird places. You had people who would do anything to get ahead, people who crossed themselves upon going past every church, stray dogs and drunk gypsies stealing petunia’s from a restaurant. You were both weird and a little wonderful. I liked you and I hated you.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Stop my weirdness
Do you ever only act weird around certain people? I do. There are people who bring out my weirdness, usually because I don't know what to say to them. They're mostly people in authority, like a couple of my bosses at work, where I say really inappropriate, random things to them.
Example one
Scene: At a random desk. It's one of my bosses first day and I decide to strike up a conversation with him which is totally not like me.
Me: Hi, I'm Vanessa, how are you going?
Him: Hi, Dave. How are you going?
Me: Good thanks, how are you?
Him: Good, how are you?
Me: Err, good thanks.
Example two
Scene: In the kitchen. It's day three for my as introduced boss, Dave. We're boiling water together. He's making a selfish tea round, I can't get away with that shit, so I'm on about four cups.
Me: Hi, how's it going?
Him: Oh yea, you know how it is when you start somewhere new.
Me: Yeah, you totally feel like a spare dick.
Him: Err, did you just say spare dick? (note this man is head of COPYWRITING)
Me: Um, yes, spare dick. You know, spare dick?
Him: No, no I don't.
Example three
Scene: In the kitchen. Again, the below conversation is with Dave. Note to self, I really should check he isn't in the kitchen before I venture in there next. Again, we're making tea. Him a selfish one, me, a morning round I, no doubt, did with a lot of fuss and claims of 'you're just asking me because I'm a woman'.
Him: Hi
Me: Hi (cautiously)
Him: Most Aussies don't drink tea.
Me: I know, I've assimilated.
Him: I don't drink it that much, I've just started getting into coffee.
(The conversation is going normally until this point where I launch into a passionate rant about how English people don't understand what good coffee is. This goes on for a full kettle boil. It is long and unnecessary, but once I get started on this topic, I have to finish).
Him: Err, yes. Well, instant coffee..
Me: DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THAT SHIT. It's soooo the equivalent of Melanie Griffiths 'finding her way' in the corporate world of Working Girl. HA HA HA HA.
Him: I was going to say I quite like it. Are you saying I'm like Melanie Griffiths?
Me: Oh. Yes. Well. Some of it's nice. And. Um. No. HA.
Example four
Scene: In the freakin kitchen again. But this time, not with Dave, but Simon, a director of the company. The conversation is about Luke's Swine Flu t-shirts that went around the work email - attached with a pic of him and I wearing them.
Him: Nice t-shirts
Me: Thanks.
Me: Um, I thought sticking my chest out more might help sell them? HA!
Him: Right
OH GOD. WHY WOULD I SAY THAT?!!
Today, he made some 'funny' comment about my sandwich. All I let out of my mouth was, 'Ha, yeah'.
If I'm not making a dick out of myself with too much dribble, I'm like a Ha-ing mute.
Example one
Scene: At a random desk. It's one of my bosses first day and I decide to strike up a conversation with him which is totally not like me.
Me: Hi, I'm Vanessa, how are you going?
Him: Hi, Dave. How are you going?
Me: Good thanks, how are you?
Him: Good, how are you?
Me: Err, good thanks.
Example two
Scene: In the kitchen. It's day three for my as introduced boss, Dave. We're boiling water together. He's making a selfish tea round, I can't get away with that shit, so I'm on about four cups.
Me: Hi, how's it going?
Him: Oh yea, you know how it is when you start somewhere new.
Me: Yeah, you totally feel like a spare dick.
Him: Err, did you just say spare dick? (note this man is head of COPYWRITING)
Me: Um, yes, spare dick. You know, spare dick?
Him: No, no I don't.
Example three
Scene: In the kitchen. Again, the below conversation is with Dave. Note to self, I really should check he isn't in the kitchen before I venture in there next. Again, we're making tea. Him a selfish one, me, a morning round I, no doubt, did with a lot of fuss and claims of 'you're just asking me because I'm a woman'.
Him: Hi
Me: Hi (cautiously)
Him: Most Aussies don't drink tea.
Me: I know, I've assimilated.
Him: I don't drink it that much, I've just started getting into coffee.
(The conversation is going normally until this point where I launch into a passionate rant about how English people don't understand what good coffee is. This goes on for a full kettle boil. It is long and unnecessary, but once I get started on this topic, I have to finish).
Him: Err, yes. Well, instant coffee..
Me: DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THAT SHIT. It's soooo the equivalent of Melanie Griffiths 'finding her way' in the corporate world of Working Girl. HA HA HA HA.
Him: I was going to say I quite like it. Are you saying I'm like Melanie Griffiths?
Me: Oh. Yes. Well. Some of it's nice. And. Um. No. HA.
Example four
Scene: In the freakin kitchen again. But this time, not with Dave, but Simon, a director of the company. The conversation is about Luke's Swine Flu t-shirts that went around the work email - attached with a pic of him and I wearing them.
Him: Nice t-shirts
Me: Thanks.
Me: Um, I thought sticking my chest out more might help sell them? HA!
Him: Right
OH GOD. WHY WOULD I SAY THAT?!!
Today, he made some 'funny' comment about my sandwich. All I let out of my mouth was, 'Ha, yeah'.
If I'm not making a dick out of myself with too much dribble, I'm like a Ha-ing mute.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Swine apparel
There's some figure that if people actually actioned the ideas they had, persevered and learnt from their mistakes, the changes of being successful would be something like 1000 to 1. Think about the odds people play with the lottery and then compare that to a little hard work and some hard core, scary arse, putting yourself out there. Most of us are too scared or too lazy to actually do half the stuff we really want to do, but not Luke. However this turns out, I'm stupidly proud of him and completely admire him.
http://www.swineapparel.com
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Update, 27 things
1. Bake some biscuits - DONE: ANZACS, some choc chip ones and oat and apricot
2. Visit Turkey - DONE: note this changed to Iceland and this is ok cause it's my list
3. Own something expensive - Having trouble with this one
4. Go on a holiday with Luke - DONE: and to be continued
5. Read a classic - DONE: Catcher in the Rye, Farewell to Arms
6. Make a really good curry - Hmmm, need to get onto this
7. Go to the ballet - DONE: Swan Lake at the Royal Opera
8. See another play - DONE: The Frontline, but I will see another one
9. See Shakespeare at the Globe - HALF DONE: saw a play at the Globe but not a Shakey
10. Write some letters to people - DONE!
11. Go to the underground rebel bingo night - Do-able
12. Go to Chagford - The next three I will need to get onto
13. Visit the Lake District
14. Visit the Cotswolds
15. Eat in one of the best restaurants in London - Do-able
16. Do one of the country walks in my London book - Hmmm, can I do one in Brasov?
17. Do another bedroom art project - DONE
18. Try and see a deer at Richmond park - DONE
19. Have a summer picnic - DONE
20. Find out how hard it is to apply for a visa for the US - Do-able
21. Be a good bridesmaid - Getting there, will be doing a chunk this weekend
22. Go to Essex - DONE
23. Go to a quiz night - Do-able when Vic moves to Clapham
24. Try to (ha!) get better at drawing - Getting there, but never do-able
25. Enrol in a writing class - all booked, won't be able til until 28 things before 29
26. Try to get an article published in Frankie - being slack, must try harder
27. Do the Jack the Ripper tour (random last one, I know) - DONE
How is everyone going with theirs?
2. Visit Turkey - DONE: note this changed to Iceland and this is ok cause it's my list
3. Own something expensive - Having trouble with this one
4. Go on a holiday with Luke - DONE: and to be continued
5. Read a classic - DONE: Catcher in the Rye, Farewell to Arms
6. Make a really good curry - Hmmm, need to get onto this
7. Go to the ballet - DONE: Swan Lake at the Royal Opera
8. See another play - DONE: The Frontline, but I will see another one
9. See Shakespeare at the Globe - HALF DONE: saw a play at the Globe but not a Shakey
10. Write some letters to people - DONE!
11. Go to the underground rebel bingo night - Do-able
12. Go to Chagford - The next three I will need to get onto
13. Visit the Lake District
14. Visit the Cotswolds
15. Eat in one of the best restaurants in London - Do-able
16. Do one of the country walks in my London book - Hmmm, can I do one in Brasov?
17. Do another bedroom art project - DONE
18. Try and see a deer at Richmond park - DONE
19. Have a summer picnic - DONE
20. Find out how hard it is to apply for a visa for the US - Do-able
21. Be a good bridesmaid - Getting there, will be doing a chunk this weekend
22. Go to Essex - DONE
23. Go to a quiz night - Do-able when Vic moves to Clapham
24. Try to (ha!) get better at drawing - Getting there, but never do-able
25. Enrol in a writing class - all booked, won't be able til until 28 things before 29
26. Try to get an article published in Frankie - being slack, must try harder
27. Do the Jack the Ripper tour (random last one, I know) - DONE
How is everyone going with theirs?
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Neurons are cool
Our minds are amazing, funny things. Last night, Luke and I went to a School of Life (www.theschooloflife.com) talk about memory and it was so surprisingly thought provoking. Man, I love being an adult. I totally embrace this stage in my evolution whereby comfortable shoes rule, on the odd occasion can say ‘shit’ in front of my mother (only occasionally as it still feels naughty), wear stockings with open toe shoes (not sure about this one but Vic has welcomed it into her life quite happily) and finally, go to something kind of nerdy and not be ridiculed about it.
So, for the first time in ages, I actually listened with the intent of retaining information. I even did it for a whole 90 mins, give or take a few mind wanders. It’s crazy how we remember things, or as we learnt, how we don’t. Our memory isn’t for what we may think. In fact, we can only hold up to five pieces of information at a time. It’s not built for long term retention. Thank god, because I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me. Interestingly, our memories are often shaped and re shaped each time we revisit them thanks to many things, including the change of environment. Even our mood, smells, even sounds can alter what and how we remember. So basically, every time we think back to a memory, we’re actually going back to the last time we thought of it, rather than the original event. How we work is seriously fascinating. Even how we experience déjà vu is intriguing. Our neurons shoot through the middle of our brain and along the way, pick up other contributing neurons to form a particular memory. In the case of déjà vu, the wrong neuron (the familiarity one) is picked up, making us think we’ve seen or done something before. As you can see, I could go on about this for at least another five paragraphs, but I won’t.
Yay learning!
So, for the first time in ages, I actually listened with the intent of retaining information. I even did it for a whole 90 mins, give or take a few mind wanders. It’s crazy how we remember things, or as we learnt, how we don’t. Our memory isn’t for what we may think. In fact, we can only hold up to five pieces of information at a time. It’s not built for long term retention. Thank god, because I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me. Interestingly, our memories are often shaped and re shaped each time we revisit them thanks to many things, including the change of environment. Even our mood, smells, even sounds can alter what and how we remember. So basically, every time we think back to a memory, we’re actually going back to the last time we thought of it, rather than the original event. How we work is seriously fascinating. Even how we experience déjà vu is intriguing. Our neurons shoot through the middle of our brain and along the way, pick up other contributing neurons to form a particular memory. In the case of déjà vu, the wrong neuron (the familiarity one) is picked up, making us think we’ve seen or done something before. As you can see, I could go on about this for at least another five paragraphs, but I won’t.
Yay learning!
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