September 02, 2003 @ 1:28 p.m.
As talented an academic as I am a dancer...

I have decided that it is really not a good idea for me to have to do class presentations. I have done two in the past two weeks and all they have proven is that I'm a total goof. I mean, quoting Scarface, comparing Renaissance artists to gangsta rappers (RIP Notorious B.O.T.T.I.C.E.L.L.I), and going off on long rambling anecdotes about Stupid People I Have Known would be fine if I wasn't supposed to be giving a feminist critique of the analysis of sexual repression in some short stories, or talking about Renaissance art patrons. I seem to have this urge to be the village idiot class clown at all times, combined with my already quite dire inability to keep on track during whilst talking. Which would be fine if I wasn't bending over for academia, but since I am, it's not so great.

I was talking to my Australian history tutor after the lecture yesterday and I noticed that she was having a lot of trouble keeping her eyes off my chest. I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt and assuming it's because she's really short. However, I must confess that I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to my clothes as I was getting dressed yesterday morning, so it wasn't until the afternoon that I noticed that Rev's Bra Pty Ltd in association with Tight Low-Cut White T-shirt Productions were proud to present Rather More Cleavage Than Was Strictly Speaking Necessary. This is what happens when I have to be at Uni at nine for a goddamn meeting and I've had about four and a half hours of sleep. Whatever, it was kind of amusing to watch her have a problem usually encountered by poorly socialised people of the male variety (coincidentally exactly the type of male I seem to end up dating...)

My weekend rocked. Even the part where I trod through swampy Camberwell to a computer show Stuart tricked me into going along to. Although that part didn't rock as much as the other parts. But I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch for the five trillionth time and realised something. I always used to think and say that I danced like a cross between Cameron Diaz's character in the first Charlie's Angels move, and Elaine from Seinfeld. Now I have realised that my dancing "style" is much more the like that of the young Handsel in HatAI when he's rockin' out in East Berlin. This is not a good thing. Entertaining to others, perhaps, but not really good. Although I guess I don't have to worry about straight white boys being intimidated by my mad skillz on the dancefloor. Paroxysms of laughter, maybe, but no intimidation.

I have to go to class now. Fortunately not to make a presentation.

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