- I can’t believe how influential pop culture is on my daily life. OK, no, I lie. I can believe it. I am a pop culture junkie. I am not high brow, I won’t even begin to pretend I live a highly cultured life. I’m not saying that I turn away from high art, but I do live life with both Ludwig van Beethoven and Lady Gaga on my playlist. Living life as a lover of low-brow culture means I am a slave to pop culture references, and it infiltrates my life all the time.
I don’t think I can go through life without attaching a thought or moment to a quote from a TV show or movie.
Like just now, my boyfriend was talking about him and his brothers watching a magician’s performance when they were kids. After he finished his brief anecdote, I quoted a line from Community during the episode called Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, when Chang explained that he was “A magiciaaaaaan”. And I laughed because of the delivery of the line. And I laughed because of the line after it (which is, for those playing at home, “Magic user baby, whaaaaaaat”).
Not many people will understand the reference above. I wonder if there are other people out there who also receive blank stares when referencing a moment in pop culture?
- When someone talks about their insignificant problems (what is now commonly referred to as First World Problems), I follow it up with a line Chandler Bing said in Friends, which goes like this: Oh, I know, this must be so hard. “Oh no, two women love me. They’re both gorgeous and sexy. My wallet’s too small for my fifties AND MY DIAMOND SHOES ARE TOO TIGHT.”
Nobody thinks that funny except for me and maybe the 50 Friends fans left in the First World. Ironically, I’m probably related to about 12 of them.
- I am with two or more of my friends. One of them is not facing the rest of the group, so we cannot talk to him or her face to face. To remedy this situation, my other friend tells them to turn around. To which I sing in my head: Turn around, bright eyes. Every now and then I fall apart!
And then I just go into the full song, silently in my head, while the conversation with my social group continues around me. Does anyone else ever hear Bonnie Tyler in their head
- I am sitting at work, checking my emails. One of them is immensely, intensely and mind-numbingly uninteresting. You know the one? It usually includes phrases like, “The northern end of the car park is under construction” or “Please ensure you check out HR’s charity cupcake stall on level two”. I read emails like this and quote Michael Cera from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World and think: This is boring. Del-eeete.
I didn’t even like the movie when I first watched it and now, that line is all I tell myself when I read boring emails at work. Oh, hahaha, sorry. Did I say work? I meant at home. I only read unimportant and insignificant emails at home, never during work hours because everything I read at my place of work is important and interesting and I am service-oriented and will die an employee of Status Quo Pty. Ltd.
I am so sleepy and I need to sleep. I feel so sleepy. Sleeeeeepy. Sleeeepy. Poppies will put you to sleep. Sleeeeeeeeeeep ….
I met up with a writer’s group last Monday and at first I was a bit hesitant to do so. I didn’t feel like I should be in cahoots with a group of writers. And also, it was Monday night and raining, and Mondays at my 9-5er usually do my head in.
But I’m glad I went along, because they were great and it was just nice to be around a nice bunch of people, outside of my tight-knit circle of friends, with whom I shared a common interest . I don’t think I would’ve been able to do this 3 years ago. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do this even 5 years ago.
Back then I didn’t think I had anything to write about. I thought, “If I don’t have anything to write about, then I’m effectively a shit writer”. It’s only been in the past year or so I’ve realised that what you write has nothing to do with how you write. You just have to write. I still don’t have anything to write about (preferring to write about other people) and all in all I’m no Hemingway but being a writer means you just sit down, and write.
I’m not getting any younger but I’ve become a little more courageous. So I now know that I need to make a concerted effort to write, lest I look back on my life in my twilight years and wish I had pursued my passion. I didn’t have this courage before, preferring to go another route (career-wise) instead and always wondering why I didn’t feel any satisfaction from what I was doing. And it’s not like I had shitty jobs or worked with shitty people or shitty companies. In fact, it’s been quite the opposite. And then I just ended up feeling guilty for wanting to quit my jobs (yes) because I knew how lovely these roles and companies were. For people who gave a shit. Which I didn’t. I was happier when I was doing the writing tasks for my roles, but couldn’t find the drive to put my all into other parts of my responsibilities. And I dearly wanted to, trust me!
I’m happy to say that I’m back on track and following my passion. Not my dreams, no. Calling writing a “dream” kind of makes it sound like it’s smooth sailing and easygoing, which it so is not. Finding the time, energy and inspiration to write is hard, and networking and pitching scare the bejesus out of me. But I’m doing more of it, and slowly, slowly I will get better at the business of writing. And then one day, hopefully, I will actually be better at writing.
But I’m very glad I went out last Monday night to meet with the Sydney Writer’s Meetup Group. Very glad indeed.