One thing I love about going into the Art Gallery in the Domain is that occasionally you'll still get old men standing on soapboxes outside ranting on about corrupt governments, the rights of Australian male workers, things old men usually ramble about. One had a huge picture of John Howrad next to him, illuminated by candles and draped in the Australian, Eureka and US flags. Another stood on a stepladder and fed his dog treats as he delivered a treatise on how Australia has to make vehicles that can fly to the moon. I haven't seen anything like this anywhere else - cities today are so full of noise, of buses and cars and construction and dance music piped out of shopfronts - but if you really listen, what you can't hear is what you'd expect to hear most - voices. Everyone is cuaght up in their own little iPod/mobile world. Which is why I love buskers and spruikers and men on soapboxes. They give the city life, they give it a voice apart from the honking of car horns.
I've cancelled all my shifts for work this week to concentrate on these essays. I wnat to gte the plans done by Saturday. Things are getting pretty scary now... Uni would be so much fun if it weren't for the assessments.
It's a good week for movies: Crossfire is on tonight on the ABC, which I'll have to tape. Sarah and I stayed up last night to watch a Bollywood movie... I forget what it was called but it had Aishwarya Rai in it (I think she's in every Indian film I see, it's crazy) and Salman Khan (mmmhmm). Then we caught an episode of The Storm Rages Twice (Lebonese soap opera - it's sooooo bad yet so very good; a staple of my late night viewing diet). I tried to stay up later to watch New Faces of 1937 and pick Ann Miller out in the finale but Harriet Hilliard sent me to sleep.
I NEED TO DO MY HOMEWORK AHHHHHHHH.