Why I don't know what my voice sounds like ...

"Three deep breaths in, and out on a hiss" is how each singing lesson begins. Three deep breaths through pursed lips and exhale on a "hissssss". I think this is to act as a slight resistance so you're more aware of your breathing - or something like that. 

On a whim, well a whim I considered for many a week, I booked myself "Introducing Singing for Adults" in Waltons New School of Music. I think it was the "for adults" part of the title that scared me. 10 week course, group lessons, introducing you to breathing techniques, getting to know your range and what genres you like singing - with the world's most terrifying solo at the last class. The class itself was uneventful - I was happy to be exercising my vocal chords after years of neglect. 

From primary school I had sang in choirs, had the odd solo, short solos during mass. In secondary school I was in choir, again, and eventually built up the confidence to sing as part of music practicals. I was, still can be, cripplingly shy - singing draws too much attention to you, it was a practice I generally avoided. When I did it was along with a CD turned way up then when it came to the solo or having the house to myself - the sound coming out was almost uncontrollable, I didn't know what was going to come out now that the CD was gone, there was no choir around me to blend in with. Sometimes it was a pleasant surprise, sometimes it sounded nothing like it was supposed to and just came out as a generic sing-y voice.

Come fourth year and mandatory auditions for the musical most of my initial apprehension had melted away. I had sang for my music class, I'd done drama classes, I sang for my music exam in the Leaving Cert - a deep breath and hiding my flushed cheeks behind my hair I faced the back of the hall and bravely chose to sing my own song instead of a scale of Doh A Dear. To this day, I consider that a HUGE mistake. Strange as it may seem; but it went well - too well. But I was 15, I had worn a purple velvet gothic dress to a colours day and I was too cool for this musical. I never wanted to be in it, had it been any other musical maybe, or a different part - maybe I'd feel different; but to this day I hate that I never turned around and said I didn't want to do it. Before I knew what was happening I was in the thick of it and I couldn't cause the upheaval of walking out. For this reason I will forever hate anything and everything to do with the show Grease and I stopped singing.

This ban was only lifted for music exams and for car journeys when the radio bored me and once at a party when while playing Band Hero a guyfriend couldn't hit the notes during Paramore's Misery Business - but everyone was too drunk to remember. To even half-sing, hum a bit of a song someone is thinking of, sing along to a CD in the car (which Boyfriend takes very personally) is too much for me. I can't breath, my throat closes up, I blush - instantly, I look for an escape - I panic.

So now, group lessons over. I've paid for one-on-one lessons with my lovely teacher who wears comfy slouchy jumpers, can improv jazz riffs and has a way of teaching that doesn't make it seem like you're on the spot. Two lessons in, we're working on "clearing up the tone" - I have notes that say "Don't be afraid to push the notes" and "Be confident about the sound that's coming out" or "It's a frame of mind" - it's easier said than done, seeing as I'm still trying to grasp the concept that this sound is mine and it surprises me every time.

I'm so used to being quiet all the time ...

"Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice" - William Shakespeare

Spring varnish

I has considered the title "Nailing Spring" or "Spring? Nailed, it!" (just game up with that there) but I was too ashamed to taint that poor innocent title box with such sub-par wit!

Anyhoo, on a more lighthearted note, nail varnish. Whoever it was who thought "let's paint these post-evolution claws we've got here" was definitely drinking their smart juice that day! It's too much fun. I've always had a few bottle of nail varnish in various colours when I was younger - I can trace my first clear memory back to a Sale-of-Work in school.

I'll set the scene.

I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10. A sale-of-work had been planned in school (primary school, the building to this day still smells like milk) but Irish weather, not wanting to act out of character, thought it would be better if it rained that day. So the event which usually took place along the edges of the bigger playground, yard as we called it (god, we had some odd words for things) was organised in the ground-floor classrooms of the senior block.

I remember it being really dark outside - like thundery dark. I can remember shadowy tables, buying bracelets with my friend make out of coloured wool; they were friendship bracelets as far as we were concerned! At one point we approached a table where a girl was offering nail painting as her trade. I distinctly remember picking a clear varnish with multicoloured glitter as my choice - I can still picture it on one of my fingernails; pink, red and gold glitter ... and maybe some blue, or silver. Honestly the memory is so hazy I can't remember much more. I think the girl herself had long, straight hair. I loved it. The colours especially; all of them, captured in the clear varnish. All the glitter the same size, equally balanced. Perfect. In my eyes.

I later searched the Poundshop in the Square in Tallaght for it - in fact to this day I haven't found it. I'm not constantly looking for it - I had a pang of nostalgia when I saw a picture of the Opi Nail Lacquer in Rainbow Connection from the Muppets Collection; that was the closest I've ever seen - yet still not quite there.

Over the years I collected my fair share of pearly lilacs, a horridly glamourous thick dark green and gold glitter concoction. A trio set of silver, magenta and electric blue all with thick silver glitter - just thinking back on them know is bringing the memories and the images flooding back. Somewhere along the line they've all dried out, been lost, used up - I had three tiny bottles from a toy set of some sort, a clear purple one went on as the most useless topcoat that could be obsessively peeled off afterwards. Then all I wore was black, then branched into reds and now my little box is over flowing and shows no signs of stopping. Trawling through fashion blogs and magazines is not helping the obsession. Oh how I hate that Pay Day is still a week away ...

Well, my ramblings are nothing without pictures. Cracked nailvarnish like Barry M's Graffiti nails was big  for all of a month a while back - now that the word is out any and every brand are doing their own versions and branching into an array colours. Frankly I'm not completely sold on cracked polish is washy pastels but while in Penneys I did grab a trio of own-brand nail varnishes on my way to the till. A dark blue base-coat, silver crackle and a top coat. For €4, I thought it was worth a try. I was wrong - I HATED it. The silver came out mostly chalkly white, no sparkle - but I had to leave it and go out anyway! A friend of mine remarked they looked like denim - which, considering she didn't know how it was supposed to look, she thought looked cool.

The next day I learned my sister had used them while I was out - her results were much better than mine -

I let mine chip away for a while before swapping them for some seasonal pastels I'm much happier with :) The blue is Models Own in Blooboo, it's really lovely colour and the coverage is nice and solid once you give it two good coats. The green is from Urban Outfitters W.I.P in Peppermint - quite thin going on but builds up and lasts really well. And the yellow is Lemoncello (love the name) from Angelica (I know, I know - I swore off buying nail varnish in Penneys, but this time it'll be different - right?)

I'll be quiet now. Loves.

"...until everything was rainbow, rainbow,rainbow!" - The Fish, Elizabeth Bishop

Why are we mean to each other?

Today I had to go to the doctor - long story short I thought I lost my prescription, turns out I never got one and now I have one again. Huzzah! In any case, after I left the surgery I started walking in the direction of home thinking "I'll get a bit of a walk in, and get a bus at some point along the way." Clever, eh? Well, two buses passed me as I was on this "clever" walk of mine, so my bit of a walk got a bit long. I finally settled on a bus stop and waited, as you do.

Upon the bus's arrival myself and the only other passenger stepped forward to the curb. This other passenger was an older man, maybe 60, and possible a little shorter than me. The bus door opened and, not wanting to be rude, I held back to let him on ahead of me seeing as he was closer; he, however, simply gestured towards the open doors as if to say "After you". I smiled. I thanked him. I boarded the bus, beeped my beepycard and went to find a seat - that, you would think is the end of the story.

Instead I heard a voice behind me, the driver, speaking to the polite passenger who had boarded after me. "Chivalry will never dead!" he remarked. I smiled more.

So I got to thinking - chivalry. My iDictionary tells me, is a "medieval knightly system with its (...) moral and social code" or more to the point "courteous behavior, especially that of a man towards women". It's things like, in my case, letting someone go first through the door, holding doors open, giving up a seat, bowing - all that jazz. Feminists everywhere are curling their toes, I know. But before we get carried - it was the "courteous behavior" element that struck me more than anything else.

Something about a stranger doing something nice for you is so uplifting it can turn your day upside down.  Strangers interacting with you is enough to catch you off guard - but they're only people, what's so shocking? We're surrounded by people all the time, we're always communicating - yes, this is another "How social media is ruining us" piece. But not only that, we don't expect much of each other either.

First take how much easier, and addictive, it is to talk to people online. Not only that, it's so much easier to talk AT people online. Trolling being the most obvious example. We've got very good and very comfortable with our fluffy, superficial relationships we conduct online. Our screens actings as shields against, what? Reality? I've personally always liked having the security of not having to think on the spot when it came to communicating online. "Lisa is typing..." buys you time when replying in conversations, you can go back and change something before you say it - and not only that, it doesn't even have to be "Lisa" typing, no-one has to know who we are online. It's the height of escapism - the masquerade ball of modern times.

The second hurdle is our expectation of those around us. This may be a city thing, or a recession thing, but people are wary - they don't trust people they don't know, some people don't trust people they do know. In thinking about this I couldn't settle on just one reason why this may be. Anything from TV programs about street crime or glamorous homicide investigators, to graphic newspaper reports and sensationalized tabloid stories; to mean and horrible people, trolls, on the internet - this has all shed light on what has always been the darker side of humanity. Bare with me here. We're more aware of how mean people can be, maybe we always knew this, but it's as if we're reminded of it more often - and that's not because there's more bad people than good out there, it's because scandal sells - a story isn't a story without the shock factor. Bad news is good news.

Ask anyone who was bullied in school; it only takes one person to put you off school. To protect ourselves we won't repeat a situation that got us hurt before - so one person in school is mean, may as well write everyone in school off as mean. Okay, maybe that's my bad school days talking - but hopefully it's making sense. It only takes one person out of a hundred to do something that leaves us wary of the other ninety-nine.

So that's my theory on strangers - in a strange, roundabout way. My perspective on the world hasn't been drastically changed because someone let me ahead of them on the bus - but it did draw my attention to the bizarre change social interaction has taken. We've protected ourselves against invisible enemies with earphones, smart phones and laptops - blocking out the real world around us and dealing only with a world in front of us which we see as something we can control, manage.

When, really, it just takes a second to realise - people are nice, people are polite and people do still talk to each other. Maybe not all the time, maybe not enough and maybe sometimes it doesn't happen - but there's hope yet.

... and while we're on the topic of mean people - (",) where was Taylor Swift when I was 14?

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. -Plato

Dreamer, dreamer, daydream believer

I spend a great amount of time thinking. Dreaming almost. The majority of these dreams are directed at trying to figure out that age-old question "who am I". If I were to try to describe myself I would be at a loss for words.

I don't know how many people honestly, truthfully, know who they are. I find it hard to believe that anyone can be sure of something like that - but maybe my brain is just incapable of wrapping itself around that concept. I have vivid memories of sitting in class, looking around and wondering

"How is it no-one else seems bothered by this? Are they oblivious? How do they just go about their day without this obsession with consciousness...?"

I think I may have heard someone remark something similar "Do you ever wonder if anyone else thinks about being here?" a brief statement of enlightenment on their part, but they may have been coming down from a sugar crash - and being that it was during English class, one's mind does seem to wander. I get the impression that wondering if people think like you think is generally a thought process avoided. It's so abstract that without an extensive vocabulary like that of Foucault or other post-modern gurus maybe it's a topic best ignored. I find myself so consumed with this I often find myself drawn to the theory "maybe everyone else is crazy and I'm the only normal one", like the elephant in the room. The outsider looking in. That's the story of my life. So far that's all I've figured out.

Why Disney? A line that as always stuck with me goes as follows;

" A dream is a wish your heart makes ..."

I'll leave it at that

Everything and Nothing

Self Portrait No. 7 (Final year college project 2011)

I was 15 when I got my new room (our new room, shared with my sister) and I could choose the colours. Now it's a disaster - who asked a 15 year-old to pick colours for her room? She wore super-wide flares, baggy tshirts and listened to System of a Down. It's royal purple - which is fine. But it's also royal blue and sparkly purple - and it's tiny. It doesn't take a genius to realise that dark colours in a small room are by far one of the worst idea anyone could have (besides wearing leggings with a short top - that's just hidious)

My room now a haunting memory of everything I haven't achieved. I come home to it to be reminded I'm not some metropolitan, independent butterfly; it's disorganised, undefined - completely undecided as to what it's trying to be so trying to be everything. Everything and nothing.

The stairs, four walls and ceiling of my attic room encapsulate every insecurity I've managed to lock away, locked up in a tower. I emerge having pulled myself together and closing the door behind me so no can see in. No-one gets in, hardly anybody has seen inside. Frankly, I'm embarrassed by it. It's just a wardrobe with a bed in it. That, and piles and piles of sentimentality.

Scary grown-up things seemed slightly easier knowing I was still going back to curl up and hide in the same place I have for the passed 7 years (great, now I feel old). There's some sick reassurance in that. Feeling like I shouldn't feel relieved to be there, but I can't help it. The last thing I have to change to really pull myself out of the rut I was run into is my room. I know all too well nothing has really changed until it's gone - until it's different. Not until it feels like my room, as opposed to somewhere I'm used to going...

... can't I just paint it grey?

... in a glass teapot

Maybe I'll start this again. Needing somewhere to dump my thoughts when they get too packed in up there.

Strange changes have been occurring. I'm fluctuating between being broke and having money, loving my job and wishing I was somewhere else, somewhere I could have my own place, but then I could never imagining working with anyone else. There's something to be said about being a bar-maid-person, just wish the customers were nicer.

With college almost over, I'm realizing I don't feel as worried as maybe I should be - that said, I'm probably going to Haber a nervous breakdown tomorrow. At the moment the exams are worrying me, and getting enough photos done for my personal project. I have to get that 3D print done, I keep telling myself I want to do it.

The biggest realization I've had recently is... people might actually be starting to know me and what I like. I'm not a birthday person, but Wifey bought me a glass teapot - someday I'll explain why that was so brilliant! And also the Irregular Choice shoes and London to see the Lion King -well that's obvious why that's awesome!

Run out of steam for now, but I shall return.

Picture Books, Around-the-World Post

So it finally arrived. But first, a little back story.

I have a friend who lives in New Zealand. We met a number of years ago by crazy random happenstance - she won a trip to Ireland, this included going to an art camp I was almost off. By break-time the first day people thought we were related. We kept in touch, when my epic

family holiday of 2007 brought me to New

Zealand we met up. And of course the terrible wonder that is Facebook made keeping in touch easier again when we fell out of the letter-writing habit.

So again, through the double-edges sword that is social networking it was revealed my birthday was coming up. Right on time a parcel arrived with a bee-themed address book (complete with stickers on pages of less-popular letters) a very original card (made by ethnic people of sorts) and a really lovely purple top. I needed to repay the favour. I very quickly had the idea of what I wanted to do, but had no time to get it done. I then read, oh Social

Networking - is nothing sacred, that her pet rabbit (bunny) died. If there was ever a time, it was then.

So I put together "Jenny's Picture Book"

I took a roll of film out in the SLR, planned a few locations to shoot. Around the house, my room and Marley Park - somewhere to take some nice pictures I can write around. In some cases I wrote updates on life on my side of the equator, in other cases I commented on the picture. For example; some Yeates-Quoting graffiti, the resultant bluebells of my "search for Spring" and the dilapidated cottage on park grounds.

I'm surprisingly happy with the roll of film over all, as in - there was a lot of shots I liked, rather than just a few.

I got word yesterday, after thinking it was taking time, that it arrived and was very well received. Happy days. Glad I could be of service.

Oh, some of my favourite favourites from the book:

Muffin Bokeh

I've had some less-than-great news. The job I was being trained and settling into has been cut short. I was told they were "looking for more speed" and older staff were asking for extra shifts and the manager in charge of the rota said she'd prefer to put them in so there were "no shifts left" and it "was a case of last in, last out" or something along those lines. I'm quoting to resist the urge to biased paraphrasing.

I could be paranoid and come up with my own conspiracy theories as to why I got let go (as of yet, I don't know if anyone else was) but I'm just more annoyed in how it was handled. I was in Monday, it was quiet, told I could go home early - which has happened before. Tuesday the general manager called me and gave me the news and that I didn't have to do my shift on Thursday. Quite the kick in the teeth ... had my last shift and didn't even know it.

So I'm many respects I have been distracted, and in a bout of irony I am now trying to distract myself from said distraction. Some photographic evidence of said distractions I'm baking form.

Pistachio and plain chocolate muffins.

Notoriously difficult to de-shell, the pistachios left a little to be desired - a hint of the flavour is there, but more next time for sure.

Nonetheless, they're delicious - and photogenic.



A breakfast variety are soon to follow.

If all else fails I'll do a cookbook dedicated to muffins. Breakfast, snack, sweet, savory, treat, dessert; the cupcake has had its time, now it's all about muffins as far as I'm concerned. I have a recipe for carrot cake muffins, I may try to come up with one for Black Forest Gateux (spelling, anyone?) or Brazilian chocolate cake (it involves cola I'm told).

In describing my baking endeavour as a muffin party, my filthy mind notice tbd innuendos available on the subject. Working titles include - "Dirty Muffins - Baking for the Filthy Minded" or "Bluffin' with Muffins"

This is what happens with all play and no work ... make Lisa something something

Adhesive Personalities

There's been a lot on my mind as of late, for one reason or another. The best way to put it at rest is to deal with one topic at a time. Today subject is one of the longest running; and recently I came up with the catchy name - Adhesive Personalities.

It was pointed out to me recently how some people appear to "latch", something I was already aware of. Some people are more prone to it than others - we're all bound to get attached at some point to someone; outside of the obvious romantic relations. But there are some personalities that instinctively attach themselves more frequently. I don't want to generalise and say "every chance they get", that's not realistic considering I'm not a psychologist or anthropologist; just an avid people-watcher. So these are just observations on a relatively narrow field of "study", for want of a better word.

But beyond how other people with this personality act, what's been on my mind recently is how I react to this personality. And what I've noticed is I just run the opposite direction. Completely unpredictably at that too ... I somehow doubt that's a word, but however. Once I notice a pattern of dependency, and that I'm on the receiving end I tune out. Why? That's what I've been wondering about. I've found I can related lot of my habits or behaviours to experiences years ago, I think I can pinpoint the person-place-time but I don't dwell on it anymore. But in this case, I will draw an example from that time.

I'm not making much sense, I'm well aware. I'll try to explain, I used to get attached. Still have a tenancy to, but it's short-lived because I notice myself doing it. And people don't like to be clung to, they push that person away. It's only natural, it's the "I need my space" argument. So having been on the receiving end of that, I think I'm quicker to act on what I consider the inevitable. I wouldn't exactly call it pressure, or responsibility but it feels close enough to that when you're on the receiving end of someone's dependency. Again, it's based on personal experience. It gets messy, and granted feelings get hurt; but there's two sides, as there always is, and it's not fair on either side. I'm figuring that's just how the world works sometimes, more often than expected; but all we can do is learn from it. But just how many times it has to happen before any sort of lesson can be extracted ... that's up for debate.

Crayons on Brown Paper and Snapshots of Time

Humidity is an odd thing. It makes me feel like I can't breath and gives me a headache. But a warm humid night is a rather nice night to be locked out of the house (it didn't last long, don't worry). Plenty of wind making the clouds glide across the sky. It's so strange how they're orange at night having been white all day; light pollution is a strange concept.

While the weather was not my friend today - I got my photos back from the day in Marley Park. There's plenty of green, plenty. I started to assemble them into a book for a friend of mine; the idea being one roll of film to show her around life here in Ireland (she's in New Zealand) contained in a little book with accompanying text; more than captions, an illustrated letter of sorts. I was planning this when she sent me a birthday present, but barely had time to change my socks never mind go out and shoot a roll of film just for the fun of it. So far I covered the front cover in brown paper. Always loved its texture and understated quality; it's really quite pretty I think. In my last job I bought enough to keep a constant supply for presents; brown paper and ribbon - the right people appreciated it at least.

Alas, this air pressure is reeking havoc with my head. Bed is calling, as is an early shift in work. Update on the book later.