Naked NZ cop nabs would-be car thief(!)

How's that for a headline?

In the meantime, I'm waiting for US university application results to be released. I'm not sure exactly what time that will be, but I know it's today (or at least Monday 31st in the States.) I'm more than a little anxious and apprehensive about it, and therefore not in a huge rush to see the results; I'm breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about my chances (slim-none.)

Last night I had the strangest dream.* Or at least what I can remember. I don't know where exactly we were - it was my family and one of my aunts, and I think it was her farm (though it didn't look like it.) We were in an absolute bomb of a car, driving around the farm/landscape/wherever when a man comes up to us and tells that not only have I been accepted into Columbia but I've been granted a scholarship because of some art I'd done (I don't do art, at least not in the painting/sculpture sense, I'm just not that way inclined, talent-wise). The said art was a plate with fabric scraps stuck on one side and old food on the other, and was apparently a statement about the state of third world countries (and perhaps materialism.) I also remember there was a library...

Now I'm not one for reading into dreams much, mostly because they're kind of way out or I don't remember them. But being that this was the night before I'm going to kind out whether or not I have the chance (because I don't even know if I'll go, even if I get in somewhere) to study overseas, which is a huge dream of mine, I think it might be reflecting this subconscious desire, want, ambition to be accepted. The art/plate idea might have come from some artwork - also a plate - in the Arts Centre that I was admiring yesterday (it had "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg..." or something similar painted on it) and the whole Third World country theme might stem from a poem I've been writing and workshopping in creative writing that I might publish here.

Or maybe I'm just reading too much into my dreams. I don't I think it's a sign or anything of whether I'm going to get in, it just indicates the extent to which I care. Eventually I'm going to have to suck it up and log onto the website/s to see whether I have been accepted or not, but for now, I might procrastinate majorly and watch Becoming Jane. James McAvoy would provide a great and very good-looking distraction.

I'm blogging like I actually have a chance of getting in. I highly doubt I do - we're talking about Ivy League universities here (except for Rochester, which is a "New Ivy," according to Newsweek), to which tens of thousands of people apply and I have a 10-11% chance of getting in - and all this stress will be for nothing, but I'm glad I went through and applied, because I tried, I didn't just let the dream pass me by and dismiss it a hopeless ideal, which it probably is, but it won't be for want of applying.

Phew. I really needed to get that off my chest.

x
Just a girl

*An unintentional quote from Break My Stride.

Later (4.38pm)

I have just finished watching Becoming Jane and had an epiphany of sorts. I'm postponing reading my results because I want to have that hope that I have a chance. Because if (when) I don't, there's no more hope after that. No more wistful dreams of fall falling in New Haven, or a white Christmas in New York, or a sunny Spring in Rochester.

Becoming Jane was sad and bittersweet love story. I cried at the end like the hopeless romantic that I am. There's a terrific line, though, when Jane (Anne Hathaway, as beautiful and wonderful as ever) kisses Tom (James McAvoy, as handsome as ever, swoon) and says (afterward) "Did I do that well?" which made me laugh, because that's something I would (will?) say.

Two quotes that made me laugh:

Mrs. Austen: That girl needs a husband. But who's good enough? Nobody. Thanks to you.
Rev Austen: Being so much the model of perfection.
Mrs. Austen: I've shared your bed for 32 years and perfection I have not encountered.
Rev Austen: Yet.

Mrs. Austen: JANE!
Lady Gresham: What is she doing?
Mr. Wisley: Writing.
Lady Gresham: Can anything be done about it?

And this, poetic:

Mr. Wisley: Sometimes affection is a shy flower that takes time to blossom.

I have decided to get it over and done it with. Soon.

x
Just a girl