Pete was up early to go to work, and the house is quiet.
Last night there was loads talk about social media. The topic came up when I asked PoshPhD how her meeting with her supervisor went, and she expressed frustration. She said that much of her thesis revolves around the use of social media in interactive art, but her supervisor doesn’t understand even the basics of Facebook or Twitter. Her chapter was about the theories of replicating Facebook and using similar audience interaction, and PoshPhD said that her supervisor didn’t understand what she’s doing. She said that he still has to read her chapter, but this is the third draft, and she’s not feeling quite positive about it.
Oh, by the way, I’ve had to paraphrase PoshPhD’s discussion of her chapter in a way that’s understandable to a normal person, because last night it took me a bit to realise what she was talking about. She was using far too many of those academic-y type words mixed in with adjectives that don’t make sense. For example, ‘My supervisor’s concepts of epistolary discourse is limited to lexicological interactions and he doesn’t understand the new paradigm of an interpersonal multi-platform exchange.’ And ‘Twitter smells like green.’ Okay, I don’t really know if she said that long sentence, I’ve just put together a bunch of words she said last night , I’m not even sure if they’re in the right order. (Although, she did say ‘Twitter smells like green.’) But after some intent listening, I figured out that her supervisor doesn’t understand her project. I feel bad for her, she’s obviously stressed about it.
Anyway, this lead us on to a conversation about social media, Twitter in particular. So, this morning, I’ve decided I’m gong to give Twitter a go for NFTI. I’m not sure why I’m doing this. I quite like blogging (obviously), it’s really cathartic. And I like that I can ramble on, like in a diary. But Twitter? What am I going to do with 140 characters? I don’t know. Well, I have an account now, and if I don’t use it, oh well. (Maybe I should have done a Twitter account for me personally? Not for NFTI? Oh well, too late now.) Oh, and another annoying thing, I couldn’t register NotesFromTheIntern because it was too long. So, I did NotesFromIntern, which just sounds like English is my second language. I should have registered as NFTI. Can I go back and do that? Do I actually care? No.
Right, last night was a good laugh. It was not a Fashion Awards as PoshPhD had told me. It was a charity fashion show for cancer. I was way over dressed, but I didn’t care, because I never get to wear my glad rags. I had on metallic silver ankle boots with over the knee black socks, and a short black sequined skirt. On top I had a tailored white shirt with French cuts and little black cuff links. I looked smoking, if I do say so myself.
I don’t mean to sound vein, but I never get to get dressed up like this. And usually, even when I try to do myself up, I fail miserably. I end up with a latter in my tights, or my skirt doesn’t fit and causes my stomach to do a tyre roll, or the shirt I want to wear is dirty and nothing matches. Last night it came together.
Although, I do kind of hate PoshPhD, because she’s totally that posh type who literally wears a wholly jumper with a corduroy skirt and tights, and some sort of scratchy pashmina tied up in her hair, and she looks like she just came off the runway. Essentially, she was dressed like a hot hobo. I can’t pull that off. In fact, only posh people can pull that off, and I don’t know why.
The night was fun. They had cancer survivors modelling clothes, and that was really cool because they looked happy to be on the stage showing off. You could tell they were so glad to be alive.
But in between the cancer fashion show, they had typical models. I don’t even really know why they had these guys, because they weren’t interesting like the cancer models (sorry, they’re not modelling cancer, I’m just not sure what else to call them). These regular models came out on the stage looking bored, angry and wearing Primark. The angry, sullen look may be appropriate for London/Paris/Milan Fashion Week, but at a charity fashion show in Dundee they looked like twats. Maybe they were trying to be ironic, but they still looked stupid. So, I wish they would have just had the cancer survivors and skipped the angry skinny models.
Anyway, good night all around. Up early to see Pete off to work. Now, I think I’m going to enjoy some telly on my own.