Dear Action Biker,
How are you?
Several months ago I stumbled across your cover of Eating Noddemix by Young Marble Giants. I liked it a lot. In fact I liked it so much that I added it as my profile song on my Myspace page. However, a little while back I replaced it with (Lack of love) Will Tear Us Apart by The Honeydrips. That's a great song, isn't it? I think you used to be in a band with the guy from The Honeydrips, didn't you? Anyway, the point is that somehow after I replaced your song on my Myspace page I completely forgot your name! I don't know how this happened, but it did! I should have sent you a friend request when I first came across you, but I didn't want to get my number of friends up near 100. People who have over 100 friends are just fakers, don't you think? I mean, it's alright for musicians, but real people don't have 100 friends, I mean, I doubt I would even have 100 acquaintances! So that is why I didn't friend request you then. Due to not sending you a friend request and forgetting your name I've spent the last couple of months trying to track you down again! Then a few days ago I managed to find you. You were in the top friends of some other band's page I was on (I can't remember who now! You must think I have an appalling memory!). I was very pleased! After I listened to the songs you have up on your page (and enjoyed them very much), I did a google search and came across a YouTube video of you doing Eating Noddemix and La Conjugation Pour Tous at a festival in Sweden. Your performance was very cute. I was very taken with your dancing, especially during La Conjugation Pour Tous. That's a really cool song, by the way. Luckily for me I know how to conjugate être and avoir so I am able to sing along. Although I've been thinking that if the song was about a French verb I didn't know it would probably help me learn that verb more easily. Maybe I could make up my own songs about some other French verbs? It's an interesting idea.
Anyway, I just wanted to write to you to let you know that I like your music. I understand you have just released an album in Sweden so I will place an order for it on the internet. I can't wait to hear it!
I hope you are well,
bye bye
Grant.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The Smell Of Our Own
One of the major ideals that I live by is that I feel it is important to make myself presentable. Now, I can't help the physical features that genetics have given me, but I can do the best I can in order to make these features as inoffensive as possible. This doesn't just involve the way I look, but also the way I feel and smell. Not only do I believe I should dress in a reasonable manner, make sure my facial hair is kept to a minimum and keep my skin soft and smooth, but I also believe that I should emit a pleasant aroma. As previously documented I have no pheromones. This not only accounts for my lack of bodily odour, but also the lack of interest the opposite sex has in me. However, merely having no odour may not be viewed as pleasant by some people (more just neutral), and therefore I like to used female spray on deodorant in order to give myself an agreeable fragrance. Male deodorant has a brutish and displeasing smell. I do not wish to discharge the scent of a building site, a football change room, a beer chugging contest or any other activity primarily associated with uncouth masculinity. Nor do I wish to be attracting people who would find such things appealing. I want my scent to reflect my gentle and loving personality. When people smell me as I walk by I want them to think "that guy seem so caring and affectionate, I would love to get to know him intimately."
This morning I ran out of female spray-on deodorant and so decided it would be prudent to purchase some more. Whilst perusing the deodorant section of the supermarket I noticed a fragrance I had never seen before. It was Norscä's Icelandic Poppy. "Icelandic Poppy eh?" I muttered to myself, "How intriguing". I took the lid off and pressed my nose up against the nozzle, it seemed a very pleasant smell indeed, a smell that could be of great benefit to me. I stood back from the shelf and pondered the the idea of purchasing this can of Norscä Icelandic Poppy. "Icelandic Poppy...Icelandic Poppy", I repeated to myself, "You know, if I were to cloak myself in the scent of an Icelandic Poppy, I just might be able to pick an Icelandic Poppy of my own, if you know what I mean?", I said to no-on in particular. I decided I would purchase the can. Ever since I first saw the Valtýsdóttir twins on the cover of that Belle & Sebastian album and subsequently fell in love with the first Múm album, I've had a bit of a thing for Icelandic girls, and so emitting that the scent of their nation's flora and being able to infiltrate their world has some genuine appeal to me. It's a flawless plan, one that is bound to provide instantaneous results.
This morning I ran out of female spray-on deodorant and so decided it would be prudent to purchase some more. Whilst perusing the deodorant section of the supermarket I noticed a fragrance I had never seen before. It was Norscä's Icelandic Poppy. "Icelandic Poppy eh?" I muttered to myself, "How intriguing". I took the lid off and pressed my nose up against the nozzle, it seemed a very pleasant smell indeed, a smell that could be of great benefit to me. I stood back from the shelf and pondered the the idea of purchasing this can of Norscä Icelandic Poppy. "Icelandic Poppy...Icelandic Poppy", I repeated to myself, "You know, if I were to cloak myself in the scent of an Icelandic Poppy, I just might be able to pick an Icelandic Poppy of my own, if you know what I mean?", I said to no-on in particular. I decided I would purchase the can. Ever since I first saw the Valtýsdóttir twins on the cover of that Belle & Sebastian album and subsequently fell in love with the first Múm album, I've had a bit of a thing for Icelandic girls, and so emitting that the scent of their nation's flora and being able to infiltrate their world has some genuine appeal to me. It's a flawless plan, one that is bound to provide instantaneous results.
Any Hopeful Thoughts Arrive
The following is a transcript of an imaginary follow up consultation with the psychiatrist Dr Veronica Clarke. She's yet to call me back, so it looks like I'm going to have to do this thing all by myself.
Dr Veronica Clarke: Grant, come in! Nice to see you again. How are you feeling?
Grant Wyeth: Oh, I'm alright, Doctor. At little tired to tell you the truth.
DVC: Have you been busy?
GW: Not really. I don't sleep so well.
DVC: Has this always been a major problem?
GW: Yeah, it has. The doctor gave me some Temazepam, but even that doesn't work a lot of the time. I just can't relax. I mean, I like the feeling of being in bed, it's fantastic, but sleep is different. It feels like a duel, you know? Sleep and I are wrestling. He doesn't want me anywhere near him, he puts thoughts in my head that make me restless. It makes it impossible to just lie there and be calm.
DVC: So it's your thoughts that keep you awake at night?
GW: Yeah, I just can't stop thinking and getting upset.
DVC: What sort of things do you think about?
GW: Oh, stuff like what we discussed last time, you know, the whole circumcision thing. Shit like that.
DVC: You get quite obsessed with such matters, don't you?
GW: Well, yeah, I'm just not that good at accepting a wrong, regardless of how entrenched in reality it is. But the thing is, I have nothing to distract me from thoughts like this. When I'm alone they just take over.
DVC: Is being alone something that concerns you? Are you afraid of being alone?
GW: Well, yeah, I hate it, it's fucking awful, but I don't know whether "afraid" is the right word. I mean, I'm pretty much accustomed to it. Although sometimes I think that resignation is merely incomprehension. You know how one of the major themes of Huxley's Brave New World is that one can't truly recognise happiness until one experiences sadness? Well, I've never not been alone so I don't think I'm properly capable of assessing the feeling.
DVC: You told me last time we met that you crave companionship though. Surely this would indicate you feel alone?
GW: Yes, well I do crave companionship, but I feel this is only theoretical, I mean, I have no idea how I would cope with companionship. I've lived my entire life inside my own head, I don't know whether it's a logistical possibility to have a companion. Take walking for example: I don’t walk like a man who could possibly have a girlfriend. I’m so used to walking everywhere by myself that I don’t compensate for having to consider another person. I bound over obstacles, don’t wait for the lights, look for gaps when walking through crowded areas, sometimes thinking two or three moves ahead. At no stage do I look like I could be walking leisurely hand-in-hand with a loved one. If I'm walking somewhere with a friend I have to slow down my pace, wait for lights... it's hard. My brain finds it very difficult to adjust.
DVC: But things like that are part of how adult relationships work, you compromise your actions.
GW: But it's like learning another language, it's much easier to pick up when you are young, before your brain has developed settled patterns of thinking. I fear that my brain would struggle to comprehend an adult relationship. Which upsets me greatly because that seems like a very selfish attitude, it seems like I wouldn't be a very accommodating boyfriend. But... I don't know... I don't mean it like I would be some sort of arsehole or anything, I just mean that the situation would be so foreign to me that I wouldn't know what to do. I worry that I'll be incompetent.
DVC: Is worrying about your ability something that really troubles you?
GW: Ha..umm...sorry, I don't know whether this is what you're implying with your question, but it's not a sexual thing. I'm not concerned with that aspect, I just mean in normal everyday functionality.
DVC: No, I didn't mean sexually, but it's interesting that you thought I might.
GW: No! No, it's not interesting at all. I thought about it because it was amusing, not because I was thinking you might raise it or that I was preparing to be defensive about it.
DVC: Well, you're being rather defensive about it now.
GW: Only because I'm tired of it being such an obvious issue with everyone towards me.
DVC: Well, it wasn't obvious to me, I wasn't even considering it when I thought of the question.
GW: Can we just maybe change the subject back to what we were discussing? I know that this little side-track is going to get you thinking that I've got performance anxiety or I'm impotent or some sort of fucked up sexual pervert or whatever, but can we just put that aside for now?
DVC: Ok, we'll drop it. Now, we were going to discuss your feelings of incompetence. Do you feel like you lack the ability to do what you want?
GW: Actually, in general terms, not relationship-wise, I don't think I lack the ability at all. I think I have ability, but I feel it's more of an issue of control with me. I've never felt I've had much control over my life at all. I struggle with implementing my ability.
DVC: Why do you think that is?
GW: I don't know, maybe it's because the world is against me, or it could just be a combination of paranoia and lack of confidence. I just feel unable to achieve anything.
DVC: You feel there's nothing in your life that you control?
GW: Well, I have a tendency to turn control inwards, setting myself strict rules, like only drinking water for certain periods of time...things like that.
DVC: But things like that are a fairly extreme way of dealing with feelings of powerlessness. From when we last spoke I suspect your acts of "self-control" extend further than just the drinking of water.
GW: Well I guess that's the central idea of anorexic theory, the fact that sufferers feel that their bodies are the only things that they have some control over, starving themselves is the only power they seem to be able to have. And the more extreme the act the more powerful they can feel, regardless of how detrimental it may be. I certainly don't think it's healthy, but I understand it.
DVC: Are you implying that you starve yourself? You are rather slender.
GW: No, not at all. I just have a good metabolism. I was using that as an example of how feelings of powerlessness can make one behave.
DVC: Ok, I understand. Does this feeling of powerlessness extend to relationships? You said you can't control your thoughts when you are alone and implied that some companionship might ease the problem. Do you feel you don't have much control over being able to obtain companionship?
GW: I have no control over that whatsoever. There's never really been any girl who has considered me worthy of being a companion.
DVC: And you, obviously, wish this situation was different?
GW: Of course! No-one wants to be the last person picked at the dance, or not picked at all. It's heart-breaking. Especially when you look around and see all these arsehole douchbags who are able to become involved in relationships and you realise you must be more of a douchebag than them.
DVC: Do you truly believe that?
GW: What other explanation is there?
DVC: That's what you're here to find out, isn't it?
GW: I guess so. I still think the situation is completely out of my hands though. It's not like I can buy companionship, even if I had the money. I suppose if I did I could buy some Ukrainian or Filipino sex slave off the internet, but that's not really the sort of thing I'm after.
DVC: Do you resent people who have it easier that you? Do you envy the control they seem to have?
GW: I can't say that I don't resent them. Regardless of how wrong those feeling may be, I still have them. I do envy them. I do wish I had more control.
DVC: Control over other people?
GW: No, not over other people. Just the ability to be able to fix things. You know, like time travel and shit like that. Well, not so much time travel, but the ability to transport my present brain back into my thirteen year old body. That's always been something I thought would help a lot. I think if my thirteen year old self had all the knowledge I have now things would be a lot easier. We wouldn't be in this mess we're in now.
DVC: Who's the "we" in that sentence?
GW: My thirteen year old self and I. If we combined my present-day understanding with his ample time we would be able to achieve so much more than we could individually. Kind of like Voltron, but with only two parts.
DVC: That is a ridiculously absurd notion. It has no basis in reality whatsoever. However, to indulge you I think what you are getting at is that you feel like you are running out of time? That although you feel a lot more knowledgeable and capable than when you were younger, you feel that you aren't able to implement this knowledge, or that you've somehow "missed the boat"?
GW: The batteries on my biological clock have almost run out and I'm afraid I won't be able to afford to buy any more. I've wasted so much time. This is an undeniable fact. Yet I don't know how to prevent myself from continuing to waste time. It seems out of my reach. And it almost seems over now, anyway. I do think I've missed the boat.
DVC: You mean with finding a companion?
GW: Yeah, it's over. All my attempts up until this point have been thwarted by situations out of my control and I just assume that pattern will continue. And also there's just no more time. I mean, you kind of have to sort that shit out by your mid-twenties or you're fucked.
DVC: Do you seriously believe that?
GW: Yeah, people who hook up in their 30s just have these bullshit superficial relationships, they don't grow and develop together.
DVC: I met my husband when I was 34.
GW: Well, I'm not saying that it's universal, I'm just saying in general. I'm sure you and your husband have a wonderfully deep and meaningful relationship.
DVC: Ok. Anyway, even if one was to take your theory seriously you're not in your 30s yet.
GW: Yeah, but it's fast approaching.
DVC: And this scares you?
GW: Yeah, but more so just annoying. It's limiting, you know, my options are limited.
DVC: Do you mean in terms of companions?
GW: Yeah, all the good ones are either taken or too young.
DVC: I think that's a rather pessimistic view.
GW: Yeah, but it has some merit, don't you think?
DVC: I think things like that only have merit if you convince yourself they do.
GW: Yeah, mind over matter. I'm never been very good at the positive applications of that theory.
DVC: Well, maybe it's about time you started learning?
GW: Maybe.
DVC: I want you to do something before our next consultation. I want you to, every morning before you get up, say "Today everything will be fantastic!" Can you do that?
GW: Isn't that just setting myself up for disappointment?
DVC: Well, the point is to try and view everything through a positive angel. I know it's going to be hard for you, I mean, you just failed within two seconds of the suggestion, but I think it might be helpful for you just to appreciate what you have got. You shouldn't expect that this will provide you with big wonderful developments, it's merely just a way of looking at the everyday in a different way to what you are used to. So can you do that?
GW: Ok, it sounds like some hippie bullshit to me, but I'll give it a try.
DVC: I think it might help. I'll see you next time.
GW: Thanks, goodbye.
Dr Veronica Clarke: Grant, come in! Nice to see you again. How are you feeling?
Grant Wyeth: Oh, I'm alright, Doctor. At little tired to tell you the truth.
DVC: Have you been busy?
GW: Not really. I don't sleep so well.
DVC: Has this always been a major problem?
GW: Yeah, it has. The doctor gave me some Temazepam, but even that doesn't work a lot of the time. I just can't relax. I mean, I like the feeling of being in bed, it's fantastic, but sleep is different. It feels like a duel, you know? Sleep and I are wrestling. He doesn't want me anywhere near him, he puts thoughts in my head that make me restless. It makes it impossible to just lie there and be calm.
DVC: So it's your thoughts that keep you awake at night?
GW: Yeah, I just can't stop thinking and getting upset.
DVC: What sort of things do you think about?
GW: Oh, stuff like what we discussed last time, you know, the whole circumcision thing. Shit like that.
DVC: You get quite obsessed with such matters, don't you?
GW: Well, yeah, I'm just not that good at accepting a wrong, regardless of how entrenched in reality it is. But the thing is, I have nothing to distract me from thoughts like this. When I'm alone they just take over.
DVC: Is being alone something that concerns you? Are you afraid of being alone?
GW: Well, yeah, I hate it, it's fucking awful, but I don't know whether "afraid" is the right word. I mean, I'm pretty much accustomed to it. Although sometimes I think that resignation is merely incomprehension. You know how one of the major themes of Huxley's Brave New World is that one can't truly recognise happiness until one experiences sadness? Well, I've never not been alone so I don't think I'm properly capable of assessing the feeling.
DVC: You told me last time we met that you crave companionship though. Surely this would indicate you feel alone?
GW: Yes, well I do crave companionship, but I feel this is only theoretical, I mean, I have no idea how I would cope with companionship. I've lived my entire life inside my own head, I don't know whether it's a logistical possibility to have a companion. Take walking for example: I don’t walk like a man who could possibly have a girlfriend. I’m so used to walking everywhere by myself that I don’t compensate for having to consider another person. I bound over obstacles, don’t wait for the lights, look for gaps when walking through crowded areas, sometimes thinking two or three moves ahead. At no stage do I look like I could be walking leisurely hand-in-hand with a loved one. If I'm walking somewhere with a friend I have to slow down my pace, wait for lights... it's hard. My brain finds it very difficult to adjust.
DVC: But things like that are part of how adult relationships work, you compromise your actions.
GW: But it's like learning another language, it's much easier to pick up when you are young, before your brain has developed settled patterns of thinking. I fear that my brain would struggle to comprehend an adult relationship. Which upsets me greatly because that seems like a very selfish attitude, it seems like I wouldn't be a very accommodating boyfriend. But... I don't know... I don't mean it like I would be some sort of arsehole or anything, I just mean that the situation would be so foreign to me that I wouldn't know what to do. I worry that I'll be incompetent.
DVC: Is worrying about your ability something that really troubles you?
GW: Ha..umm...sorry, I don't know whether this is what you're implying with your question, but it's not a sexual thing. I'm not concerned with that aspect, I just mean in normal everyday functionality.
DVC: No, I didn't mean sexually, but it's interesting that you thought I might.
GW: No! No, it's not interesting at all. I thought about it because it was amusing, not because I was thinking you might raise it or that I was preparing to be defensive about it.
DVC: Well, you're being rather defensive about it now.
GW: Only because I'm tired of it being such an obvious issue with everyone towards me.
DVC: Well, it wasn't obvious to me, I wasn't even considering it when I thought of the question.
GW: Can we just maybe change the subject back to what we were discussing? I know that this little side-track is going to get you thinking that I've got performance anxiety or I'm impotent or some sort of fucked up sexual pervert or whatever, but can we just put that aside for now?
DVC: Ok, we'll drop it. Now, we were going to discuss your feelings of incompetence. Do you feel like you lack the ability to do what you want?
GW: Actually, in general terms, not relationship-wise, I don't think I lack the ability at all. I think I have ability, but I feel it's more of an issue of control with me. I've never felt I've had much control over my life at all. I struggle with implementing my ability.
DVC: Why do you think that is?
GW: I don't know, maybe it's because the world is against me, or it could just be a combination of paranoia and lack of confidence. I just feel unable to achieve anything.
DVC: You feel there's nothing in your life that you control?
GW: Well, I have a tendency to turn control inwards, setting myself strict rules, like only drinking water for certain periods of time...things like that.
DVC: But things like that are a fairly extreme way of dealing with feelings of powerlessness. From when we last spoke I suspect your acts of "self-control" extend further than just the drinking of water.
GW: Well I guess that's the central idea of anorexic theory, the fact that sufferers feel that their bodies are the only things that they have some control over, starving themselves is the only power they seem to be able to have. And the more extreme the act the more powerful they can feel, regardless of how detrimental it may be. I certainly don't think it's healthy, but I understand it.
DVC: Are you implying that you starve yourself? You are rather slender.
GW: No, not at all. I just have a good metabolism. I was using that as an example of how feelings of powerlessness can make one behave.
DVC: Ok, I understand. Does this feeling of powerlessness extend to relationships? You said you can't control your thoughts when you are alone and implied that some companionship might ease the problem. Do you feel you don't have much control over being able to obtain companionship?
GW: I have no control over that whatsoever. There's never really been any girl who has considered me worthy of being a companion.
DVC: And you, obviously, wish this situation was different?
GW: Of course! No-one wants to be the last person picked at the dance, or not picked at all. It's heart-breaking. Especially when you look around and see all these arsehole douchbags who are able to become involved in relationships and you realise you must be more of a douchebag than them.
DVC: Do you truly believe that?
GW: What other explanation is there?
DVC: That's what you're here to find out, isn't it?
GW: I guess so. I still think the situation is completely out of my hands though. It's not like I can buy companionship, even if I had the money. I suppose if I did I could buy some Ukrainian or Filipino sex slave off the internet, but that's not really the sort of thing I'm after.
DVC: Do you resent people who have it easier that you? Do you envy the control they seem to have?
GW: I can't say that I don't resent them. Regardless of how wrong those feeling may be, I still have them. I do envy them. I do wish I had more control.
DVC: Control over other people?
GW: No, not over other people. Just the ability to be able to fix things. You know, like time travel and shit like that. Well, not so much time travel, but the ability to transport my present brain back into my thirteen year old body. That's always been something I thought would help a lot. I think if my thirteen year old self had all the knowledge I have now things would be a lot easier. We wouldn't be in this mess we're in now.
DVC: Who's the "we" in that sentence?
GW: My thirteen year old self and I. If we combined my present-day understanding with his ample time we would be able to achieve so much more than we could individually. Kind of like Voltron, but with only two parts.
DVC: That is a ridiculously absurd notion. It has no basis in reality whatsoever. However, to indulge you I think what you are getting at is that you feel like you are running out of time? That although you feel a lot more knowledgeable and capable than when you were younger, you feel that you aren't able to implement this knowledge, or that you've somehow "missed the boat"?
GW: The batteries on my biological clock have almost run out and I'm afraid I won't be able to afford to buy any more. I've wasted so much time. This is an undeniable fact. Yet I don't know how to prevent myself from continuing to waste time. It seems out of my reach. And it almost seems over now, anyway. I do think I've missed the boat.
DVC: You mean with finding a companion?
GW: Yeah, it's over. All my attempts up until this point have been thwarted by situations out of my control and I just assume that pattern will continue. And also there's just no more time. I mean, you kind of have to sort that shit out by your mid-twenties or you're fucked.
DVC: Do you seriously believe that?
GW: Yeah, people who hook up in their 30s just have these bullshit superficial relationships, they don't grow and develop together.
DVC: I met my husband when I was 34.
GW: Well, I'm not saying that it's universal, I'm just saying in general. I'm sure you and your husband have a wonderfully deep and meaningful relationship.
DVC: Ok. Anyway, even if one was to take your theory seriously you're not in your 30s yet.
GW: Yeah, but it's fast approaching.
DVC: And this scares you?
GW: Yeah, but more so just annoying. It's limiting, you know, my options are limited.
DVC: Do you mean in terms of companions?
GW: Yeah, all the good ones are either taken or too young.
DVC: I think that's a rather pessimistic view.
GW: Yeah, but it has some merit, don't you think?
DVC: I think things like that only have merit if you convince yourself they do.
GW: Yeah, mind over matter. I'm never been very good at the positive applications of that theory.
DVC: Well, maybe it's about time you started learning?
GW: Maybe.
DVC: I want you to do something before our next consultation. I want you to, every morning before you get up, say "Today everything will be fantastic!" Can you do that?
GW: Isn't that just setting myself up for disappointment?
DVC: Well, the point is to try and view everything through a positive angel. I know it's going to be hard for you, I mean, you just failed within two seconds of the suggestion, but I think it might be helpful for you just to appreciate what you have got. You shouldn't expect that this will provide you with big wonderful developments, it's merely just a way of looking at the everyday in a different way to what you are used to. So can you do that?
GW: Ok, it sounds like some hippie bullshit to me, but I'll give it a try.
DVC: I think it might help. I'll see you next time.
GW: Thanks, goodbye.
Monday, March 24, 2008
A Little On The Nose
This morning I was in a pharmacy getting a prescription for what ails me when I spied a display of exotic and alluring soaps. There was all kinds of shit, mint and lavender, frangipani and chocolate, a wide variety of luxurious and appealing combinations. Whilst I was both looking at and smelling these seductive soaps I thought to myself "I wonder if I had a girlfriend would she like one of these soaps as a gift?" Not for, like, her birthday or Christmas or whatever, but as just a little gift to show how much I love and appreciate her. I thought it might be nice thing to do. I'm very keen on doing nice things. However, then I got to thinking about what the implications of giving soap as a gift might be. Would my hypothetical girlfriend assume that I was indicating that she smells? Would she believe that I was saying "Go take a shower because I want you to smell real nice so I can sex you up"? These are horrible things to imply. I don't want her to think that her beloved man is some sort of arsehole. I don't want her to think that I would mistreat her. And besides, she wouldn't smell! I know she wouldn't. Well, she would have an aroma, but it would be a delightful scent. A scent that would sooth and comfort me whenever I was in her company. When she was away with her job as a flight attendant I would long to sense her presence next to me just by smell. I would roll over to her side of the bed and place my face into her pillow hoping to find some remnants of her lovely and unique fragrance. When are you coming home!! I would plead towards the sky, "I long to sniff your exquisite bouquet!". When she would return home I would rush to her side and whilst embracing her tender physique would joyfully inhale her ethereal essence. "But what's this?" I would snap, "This isn't the scent I love. It's Lynx Africa! You've been fooling around, haven't you?". She would run out of the room, leaving the foul stench of substandard manhood wafting past my nostrils. Her scent would never be the same to me again. It would no longer comfort my troubled soul and I would no longer cry out in the mornings for its soothing aroma.
I decided to walk away from the soap display, I felt the question of whether to buy some soap for my hypothetical girlfriend was a little too complex and burdensome to contemplate any further. I decide I would reassess the problem should the requisite circumstance ever arise.
I decided to walk away from the soap display, I felt the question of whether to buy some soap for my hypothetical girlfriend was a little too complex and burdensome to contemplate any further. I decide I would reassess the problem should the requisite circumstance ever arise.
Cutest Lil' Spectacle
Sitting around at The Toff last night, sipping vodka doodles, the conversation turned to the performance taking place on the stage. "What a complete twink", mused Jon, "Always with the "splish splash" said Katy, "Dude make me look like Wayne Carey", I added. The general consensus was that the guy we were watching perform was maybe just a little too twee to be palatable. Aside from "Nicest guy in the world" my other major title has always been "Gayest straight guy ever", unfortunately, after last night's performance I have now realised that the latter description will forever belong to the guy from Lullatone. I haven't got a hope in hell of wrestling it back off him.
This was, what I believe to be, Lullatone's first show in Australia, and I have to say that I was reasonably excited. I must admit that their sickenly cute brand of glock 'n' glitch is fairly appealing to me. I mean, songs about raindrops, pajamas and Hello Kitty, I don't give a fuck. I lap that shit up. And the Japanese can get away with it a lot easier than the rest of us arseholes. You kind of expect it from them.
Unfortunately, due to my portable digital photo camera becoming inactive somewhere over the Indian Ocean last month I was unable to take any quality photos of the band's performance. However, the above photo, taken on my phone, I think captures the essence of the show quite well. The theme of the evening was obviously cute, and the crowd were mostly of the same description. I managed to get the sexy eye off two different girls. Three times from the first one and twice from the second. Unfortunately, due to my lack of experience in such matters I was unable to capitalise on these comely glances being shot in my direction. However, I did receive a certain gratification from the positive acknowledgment, regardless of there being a lack of fruition.
The band unfortunately didn't play for very long. After working the crowd into a frenzy with some audience participation and balloon volleyball they seemed to just end the set abruptly. However, it did seem like they were keen to hang around and chat to those wanting to approach them. They would have been more than happy to discuss important topics like jumping in puddles and big floppy bunny rabbit ears. Who wouldn't?
This was, what I believe to be, Lullatone's first show in Australia, and I have to say that I was reasonably excited. I must admit that their sickenly cute brand of glock 'n' glitch is fairly appealing to me. I mean, songs about raindrops, pajamas and Hello Kitty, I don't give a fuck. I lap that shit up. And the Japanese can get away with it a lot easier than the rest of us arseholes. You kind of expect it from them.
Unfortunately, due to my portable digital photo camera becoming inactive somewhere over the Indian Ocean last month I was unable to take any quality photos of the band's performance. However, the above photo, taken on my phone, I think captures the essence of the show quite well. The theme of the evening was obviously cute, and the crowd were mostly of the same description. I managed to get the sexy eye off two different girls. Three times from the first one and twice from the second. Unfortunately, due to my lack of experience in such matters I was unable to capitalise on these comely glances being shot in my direction. However, I did receive a certain gratification from the positive acknowledgment, regardless of there being a lack of fruition.
The band unfortunately didn't play for very long. After working the crowd into a frenzy with some audience participation and balloon volleyball they seemed to just end the set abruptly. However, it did seem like they were keen to hang around and chat to those wanting to approach them. They would have been more than happy to discuss important topics like jumping in puddles and big floppy bunny rabbit ears. Who wouldn't?
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Friend Opportunity
I'm a great guy to get to know. A fantastic guy to become friends with. You see, it's impossible to inconvenience me, literally impossible. This is because a) I don't really do anything, b) even if I did have something to do I would consider what you wanted to do more important, and c) I think actually having friends is such an extraordinary anomaly as to be excited by any sort of friendly contact. I mean, you could call me at 4am on a Wednesday morning to merely tell me that you dislike chocolate ice-cream and I wouldn't be upset. I'd be ecstatic to have received a phone call! Regardless of what time of day it was. "Wow!", I'd think to myself, "Someone actually called me. That's so cool! I'm so touched, it's fucking awesome!". Go on, test it out. See if I care.
As well as being impossible to inconvenience, I have an limitless capacity to assist people. If you were my friend there is nothing I wouldn't do to help you. I'll drive you places, wash your dog, take your grandma shopping, mow your lawn, clean out your gutters, lie to the government for you, anything you can think of I'll do it for you and the only thing I would like in return is continued requests for assistance. I don't want money, I don't want sex and I'm completely uncomfortable with people doing me favours. In fact, the anguish that it would cause me if someone was to attempt to do something for me would make the proposed act more of a hindrance than a help. Making a positive contribution to someone else's life is reward in itself.
To add to this I am also a compulsive gift giver. Being my friend is a fruitful endeavour. You see, I'm determined to be the nicest guy in the world. I mean, if anyone came along who seemed nicer than me I'd just take it up a notch. I'm only in second gear at the moment, any challenge to my position wouldn't stand a chance. I've got reserves of nice that you can't even fucking imagine. There are no lengths I wouldn't go to in order to retain my title. You just try me. I'll out-nice any motherfucker on the planet with my hands tied behind my back! Aside from being the nicest guy in the world, I'm also extremely amusing and have a brain full of interesting trivia. While I wouldn't go as far to say it's impossible to get bored of my company, I think it would be reasonably difficult. I have a good to excellent knowledge of a wide variety of topics and am able to converse fluently on most subjects that one may care to raise.
I'm sure people who know me and read this will give their testimony as to the accuracy of what is written above, and I'm positive that they will be in agreement with the sentiments expressed. So if you happen to stumble across this blog please do get in contact, my email address is listed on my profile page. You are bound to get a positive response and you could just make a beautiful and longstanding friendship that will undoubtedly be to your benefit.
As well as being impossible to inconvenience, I have an limitless capacity to assist people. If you were my friend there is nothing I wouldn't do to help you. I'll drive you places, wash your dog, take your grandma shopping, mow your lawn, clean out your gutters, lie to the government for you, anything you can think of I'll do it for you and the only thing I would like in return is continued requests for assistance. I don't want money, I don't want sex and I'm completely uncomfortable with people doing me favours. In fact, the anguish that it would cause me if someone was to attempt to do something for me would make the proposed act more of a hindrance than a help. Making a positive contribution to someone else's life is reward in itself.
To add to this I am also a compulsive gift giver. Being my friend is a fruitful endeavour. You see, I'm determined to be the nicest guy in the world. I mean, if anyone came along who seemed nicer than me I'd just take it up a notch. I'm only in second gear at the moment, any challenge to my position wouldn't stand a chance. I've got reserves of nice that you can't even fucking imagine. There are no lengths I wouldn't go to in order to retain my title. You just try me. I'll out-nice any motherfucker on the planet with my hands tied behind my back! Aside from being the nicest guy in the world, I'm also extremely amusing and have a brain full of interesting trivia. While I wouldn't go as far to say it's impossible to get bored of my company, I think it would be reasonably difficult. I have a good to excellent knowledge of a wide variety of topics and am able to converse fluently on most subjects that one may care to raise.
I'm sure people who know me and read this will give their testimony as to the accuracy of what is written above, and I'm positive that they will be in agreement with the sentiments expressed. So if you happen to stumble across this blog please do get in contact, my email address is listed on my profile page. You are bound to get a positive response and you could just make a beautiful and longstanding friendship that will undoubtedly be to your benefit.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Le Grande Problem
Back in 2006 I went in search of a homeland. I wasn't comfortable in Melbourne, I didn't seem to fit in. I yearned for a place where I could feel at ease, somewhere where I felt I could belong. At first I set sail for Stockholm. I was fond of Swedish music, I liked their social democratic political ideals and even had taken some Swedish classes! It seemed like the perfect place for me. Unfortunately, due to reasons I'd prefer not to divulge at this time, it didn't work out so well. So I decided I would move to Montreal. I'd had an interest in Canadian politics for some time, and also was fond of many Canadian bands, it was bound to be the place where I could find myself. Once again though, it didn't turn out as expected. Rather than blossoming into the beautiful flower that I knew I could be given the right environment, I would instead waste my days in the Chapters bookstore on Rue Sainte-Catherine reading up on Canadian history and politics. It wasn't a great life, it wasn't the life I'd envisaged, but I had little idea of what else I should be doing with myself. I thought that the knowledge I was acquiring was making me at least somewhat productive. It was during this time that my affinity with Canada's Acadian minority grew substantially. Due to my interest in Canadian politics I was aware of the Acadian presence mostly in New Brunswick and but also in Nova Scotia, however did not have much knowledge of their history and identity. However, one day when perusing the shelves of the store I came across a book by James Laxer titled The Acadians: In Search Of A Homeland. The title resonated with me immediately.
The Acadians were the original francophone settlers of what is now the Canadian Maritime provinces of Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick. They developed a distinct community from those francophones who settled in what is now Quebec, and took pride in their neutrality in the struggle for the area that took place between the British and French. Unfortunately, after the British gained control of the region this neutrality was deemed suspicious and they decided to expel the Acadians from their homes. Le Grande Dérangement was a fucked up act of genocide perpetrated by the brutal and arrogant British establishment. Whilst it had the desired effect of removing most of the francophones from Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, many Acadians were able to flee to western and southern New Brunswick where the result of their persecution cultivated a strong sense of identity and resilience to assimilation that to this day rankles both the majority anglophone and franophone communities within Canada. They are mocked and derided for the way they talk, their pride in their hertiage and their place as a minority within a minority, yet they still have enough self-awareness and a sense of humour to not only create for themselves a culturally specific superhero called Acadieman, but also portray him as an apathetic call centre worker.
In the past few days my interest in the Acadians has been rekindled as I stumbled across two majority francophone town in the US state of Maine, just over the St John river from New Brunwick. The towns of Madawaska and Fort Kent are both Acadian strongholds and both culturally and economically connected to their brethren across the border. Towns like these utterly fascinate me. I find it ridiculously interesting how citizens of the most culturally dominate country on the planet have ties to not only Canada, but a minority within Canada, that are stronger than those of their country of origin. Due to my discovery of these two towns I decided that it would be prudent of me to continue my research of the Acadians in more depth. So I decided that I would reacquaint myself with James Laxer's book.
So I took the internet over to Amazon Canada and did a search for the book. Unfortunately, there was one very large problem. You see, usually I prefer to buy paperbacks. Paperbacks are the books of the people. As a strong believer in universal access to education, the hardcover, with its inflated price and inconvenient physicality, seems to be very much opposed to this ideal. Obviously, due to the insatiable greed of the capitalists pigs, the paperback could also be considered a luxury item, however I still consider it a more ethical purchase. Unfortunately, the cover of the paperback version of The Acadians: In Search Of A Homeland is fucking rubbish. It looks very similar to the album of "tranquil harp melodies" titled Serenity that my mum gave me the other week to help with my anxiety problems.
However, the hardcover copy of the book has a far more appealing cover. A picture of the Canadian Maritimes with a compass placed evocatively in the foreground, perfectly illustrating the Acadians search for a homeland that they had already found. Also, it just looks at lot nicer.
So the dilemma I am faced with is whether to order the nicely presented but ethically suspect hardcover copy of the book from Amazon.ca, or order more principled, but shit looking paperback. It's a difficult choice. Am I to stand my ground overlook the hideous cover image of the paperback, much the way the Acadians themselves have stood their ground in face of adversity? Or should I purchase the better looking hardcover, even though it will make me look like an arsehole?
I feel by getting myself so worked up about this ethical dilemma I am not only inhibiting attempts to get to know the Acadians in further depth and by extension broaden my affinity with them, but also, furnishing my own sense of displacement. How can I find a place where I truly belong if I'm not at ease in my own mind? So maybe I should purchase the paperback copy with the bullshit "chill out" compilation cover? Maybe it's a sign that I need to, like the Acadians, show my resilience to a lack of comfort, take a more serene outlook so I can find my identity, be proud of that identity and establish my homeland wherever I find myself.
The Acadians were the original francophone settlers of what is now the Canadian Maritime provinces of Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick. They developed a distinct community from those francophones who settled in what is now Quebec, and took pride in their neutrality in the struggle for the area that took place between the British and French. Unfortunately, after the British gained control of the region this neutrality was deemed suspicious and they decided to expel the Acadians from their homes. Le Grande Dérangement was a fucked up act of genocide perpetrated by the brutal and arrogant British establishment. Whilst it had the desired effect of removing most of the francophones from Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, many Acadians were able to flee to western and southern New Brunswick where the result of their persecution cultivated a strong sense of identity and resilience to assimilation that to this day rankles both the majority anglophone and franophone communities within Canada. They are mocked and derided for the way they talk, their pride in their hertiage and their place as a minority within a minority, yet they still have enough self-awareness and a sense of humour to not only create for themselves a culturally specific superhero called Acadieman, but also portray him as an apathetic call centre worker.
In the past few days my interest in the Acadians has been rekindled as I stumbled across two majority francophone town in the US state of Maine, just over the St John river from New Brunwick. The towns of Madawaska and Fort Kent are both Acadian strongholds and both culturally and economically connected to their brethren across the border. Towns like these utterly fascinate me. I find it ridiculously interesting how citizens of the most culturally dominate country on the planet have ties to not only Canada, but a minority within Canada, that are stronger than those of their country of origin. Due to my discovery of these two towns I decided that it would be prudent of me to continue my research of the Acadians in more depth. So I decided that I would reacquaint myself with James Laxer's book.
So I took the internet over to Amazon Canada and did a search for the book. Unfortunately, there was one very large problem. You see, usually I prefer to buy paperbacks. Paperbacks are the books of the people. As a strong believer in universal access to education, the hardcover, with its inflated price and inconvenient physicality, seems to be very much opposed to this ideal. Obviously, due to the insatiable greed of the capitalists pigs, the paperback could also be considered a luxury item, however I still consider it a more ethical purchase. Unfortunately, the cover of the paperback version of The Acadians: In Search Of A Homeland is fucking rubbish. It looks very similar to the album of "tranquil harp melodies" titled Serenity that my mum gave me the other week to help with my anxiety problems.
However, the hardcover copy of the book has a far more appealing cover. A picture of the Canadian Maritimes with a compass placed evocatively in the foreground, perfectly illustrating the Acadians search for a homeland that they had already found. Also, it just looks at lot nicer.
So the dilemma I am faced with is whether to order the nicely presented but ethically suspect hardcover copy of the book from Amazon.ca, or order more principled, but shit looking paperback. It's a difficult choice. Am I to stand my ground overlook the hideous cover image of the paperback, much the way the Acadians themselves have stood their ground in face of adversity? Or should I purchase the better looking hardcover, even though it will make me look like an arsehole?
I feel by getting myself so worked up about this ethical dilemma I am not only inhibiting attempts to get to know the Acadians in further depth and by extension broaden my affinity with them, but also, furnishing my own sense of displacement. How can I find a place where I truly belong if I'm not at ease in my own mind? So maybe I should purchase the paperback copy with the bullshit "chill out" compilation cover? Maybe it's a sign that I need to, like the Acadians, show my resilience to a lack of comfort, take a more serene outlook so I can find my identity, be proud of that identity and establish my homeland wherever I find myself.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Consuming Passion
This is my favourite fork. I use it for every meal I eat at home. Even if it has been used previously I will clean it so I am able to use it. The blue handle has excellent grip and manoeuvrability allowing me to efficiently shovel food from the plate or bowl into my mouth with great speed and accuracy. If I am eating away from home I find that my ability to deposit foodstuffs in my my eating hole is severely diminished. This fork is like a golf player's putter, I have a special relationship with it. Using any other utensil is just not the same. If I could carry this fork everywhere with me I would. But unfortunately, with terrorism paranoia and tough new legislation concerning the carrying of implements that could potentially be used for harm, carrying my fork around on my person could be deemed suspicious and leave me with some serious explaining to do. However, this situation does lead a feeling of joy when I am reunited with my special fork. I come home from having eaten elsewhere during the day and I pick up my fork and pretend I am using it eat a meal. "That's how you transport food to your mouth" I say to my fork, "Because of you I've got an impeccable action". Whereas previously my relationship with food hasn't been the best, a lot of the time I just wasn't interested in food and this had an adverse effect on my health, I was weak and lethargic, unable to concentrate. However, now that I have the perfect utensil for the consumption of food I find that my relationship with it has improved. I feel like I am now gaining the nourishment I require and growing stronger and more capable as a result.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
A Telegram From The Future
On a recent flight from Delhi to Kathmandu I spent a considerable amount of time contemplating whether a Japanese girl has ever had lesbian relations with an Icelandic girl. It certainly is an interesting question. Considering the distance between the two countries, and Iceland's small population I initially considered it not very likely. However, upon further reflection I thought that it could very well be possible. Both cultures are relatively au fait with the concept of lesbianism and both countries have upwardly mobile populations. If a Japanese lesbian was on holiday in Reykjavik and was looking for a good time I'm sure she wouldn't have too much difficulty finding it. However, if say, an Afghani woman wanted to have it off with a lady from the Belgian Congo it might be a little more difficult. The practise would not only be deemed culturally unacceptable, but both ladies would have trouble raising the capital in order to facilitate their sexual rendezvous. So after much meditation, I reconsidered. I now think that there could have possibly been at least one instance of a Japanese girl lezzing out with an Icelandic girl. And as I stepped off the flight in Kathmandu this conclusion made me happy.
If one were to take the theories of Charles Darwin seriously, one could come to the conclusion that lesbians are more highly evolved than other people on the planet. As technology improves, the physical strength of men is becoming less valuable, therefore over time Mother Nature will naturally select their removal from the planet. As this removal is taking place female sexual desire will shift from predominately heterosexual to predominantly homosexual. Those who are lesbians now have got the jump on the rest of humanity. You see, even at present it is not essential for a woman to engage in sexual intercourse with men. It is already "theoretically possible" for synthetic sperm cells to be produced from female tissue, rendering sexually stimulated penile discharge obsolete. Once robot technology advances to the point where machines are able to perform all the heavy lifting tasks by themselves then Mother Nature will realise that men's existence is futile and phase him out completely. It's a beautiful vision of the future that I unfortunately have neither the years remaining nor the correct sexual organs to be able to witness.
This new utopia will be a wonderful and peaceful world. Women will be free to express themselves in any way they want. Japanese girls will be getting into it with Icelandic girls and Afghani women will have both the cultural consent and financial capability to engage in steamy sexual affairs with women from the Belgian Congo should they so choose. It will be a magnificent open society full of beauty, love and compassion. I feel jealous of our future generations. They will truly inherit a better world.
If one were to take the theories of Charles Darwin seriously, one could come to the conclusion that lesbians are more highly evolved than other people on the planet. As technology improves, the physical strength of men is becoming less valuable, therefore over time Mother Nature will naturally select their removal from the planet. As this removal is taking place female sexual desire will shift from predominately heterosexual to predominantly homosexual. Those who are lesbians now have got the jump on the rest of humanity. You see, even at present it is not essential for a woman to engage in sexual intercourse with men. It is already "theoretically possible" for synthetic sperm cells to be produced from female tissue, rendering sexually stimulated penile discharge obsolete. Once robot technology advances to the point where machines are able to perform all the heavy lifting tasks by themselves then Mother Nature will realise that men's existence is futile and phase him out completely. It's a beautiful vision of the future that I unfortunately have neither the years remaining nor the correct sexual organs to be able to witness.
This new utopia will be a wonderful and peaceful world. Women will be free to express themselves in any way they want. Japanese girls will be getting into it with Icelandic girls and Afghani women will have both the cultural consent and financial capability to engage in steamy sexual affairs with women from the Belgian Congo should they so choose. It will be a magnificent open society full of beauty, love and compassion. I feel jealous of our future generations. They will truly inherit a better world.
Monday, March 17, 2008
School, And The Girls Who Go There
The last few weeks I've been fantasising pretty hard about all the hot young girls I'm going to be getting myself acquainted with at university this year. I've started scanning the lecture halls and carefully selecting the ladies I'd like pursue, giving them descriptive nicknames like cute-hair-sexy-legs and smiley-face-super-boobs. I know it's not the most ethical thing to be doing, but us men have needs and it's essential that they are met. Who knows what disaster may occur if they aren't? And, anyway, it isn't all one way traffic, you know. I've seen the girls checking me out as well. The mature-age student with the skinny physique and the awesome hairdo, a bit more worldly and sophisticated than the other boys they know, why wouldn't they be interested in me? I've got a lot to offer as both a sexual partner and a cultural beacon.
There's a girl in my history lecture that I've singled out as a potential love interest. She's a mature-aged student, maybe around 23 or 24, has a pretty face and a well proportioned body, seems to be quite the studious type as well which I find appealing. Like me, she is always sitting down the front of the lecture hall, listening intently, not up the back making paper aeroplanes and gossiping about who is rogering whom in the campus lavatories. Unfortunately, she is not in my tutorial class so it makes it difficult to approach with her without seeming like I want more than just a discussion on 18th century Russian feudalism. It seems I have a real blind spot when it comes to picking tutorial classes that contain cute girls. I have the same issue with plane flights, I really have no idea what airlines and what flights cute girls catch. It's endlessly frustrating. I know cute girls must catch planes, international travel can't be limited to just men and ugly girls, but I've never seen a cute go on a plane once! This obviously has to do with me selecting flights that cute girls would find inappropriate. Now I have the same issue with tutorial classes, not only is my history tutorial devoid of cute girls, but my politics and English classes are similarly lacking in cute girls. It's very upsetting. However, I'm considering making one more attempt. I want to try and change my history tutorial in order to be in the same class as this cute girl from the lecture. Also there's a retarded girl in my current tutorial and she's really annoying. However, as my natural class selecting instincts are incompatible with those cute girls possess, I think I will have to consult a cute girl as what tutorial class they would select. I believe this to be a flawless plan in order to firstly, being able to occupy the same tutorial class as this cute girl, and secondly, engage in some passionate sexual activity with her.
There's a girl in my history lecture that I've singled out as a potential love interest. She's a mature-aged student, maybe around 23 or 24, has a pretty face and a well proportioned body, seems to be quite the studious type as well which I find appealing. Like me, she is always sitting down the front of the lecture hall, listening intently, not up the back making paper aeroplanes and gossiping about who is rogering whom in the campus lavatories. Unfortunately, she is not in my tutorial class so it makes it difficult to approach with her without seeming like I want more than just a discussion on 18th century Russian feudalism. It seems I have a real blind spot when it comes to picking tutorial classes that contain cute girls. I have the same issue with plane flights, I really have no idea what airlines and what flights cute girls catch. It's endlessly frustrating. I know cute girls must catch planes, international travel can't be limited to just men and ugly girls, but I've never seen a cute go on a plane once! This obviously has to do with me selecting flights that cute girls would find inappropriate. Now I have the same issue with tutorial classes, not only is my history tutorial devoid of cute girls, but my politics and English classes are similarly lacking in cute girls. It's very upsetting. However, I'm considering making one more attempt. I want to try and change my history tutorial in order to be in the same class as this cute girl from the lecture. Also there's a retarded girl in my current tutorial and she's really annoying. However, as my natural class selecting instincts are incompatible with those cute girls possess, I think I will have to consult a cute girl as what tutorial class they would select. I believe this to be a flawless plan in order to firstly, being able to occupy the same tutorial class as this cute girl, and secondly, engage in some passionate sexual activity with her.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The Very Modern Dance
Today I received an email from Katy Stevens that upset me greatly. It seems that the hip night bar Roxanne was having some sort of birthday celebration this coming Friday and were staging an evening of danceable musical tunes for anyone wishing to enter their venue on that specific evening. Katy was suggesting to me and some other people in the gang that we should attend. The prospect sounded mildly intriguing until I scrolled down the relevant information to read the following:
For a city that prides itself on its musical reputation, Melbourne is conspicuously short of club nights that play decent and danceable indie and electro pop. So short, in fact, that there are no clubs nights whatsoever of this nature. It's a shame and a blight on the city that is in desperate need to be rectified. I would love to one day be able to stumble across a flyer that read something like the following:
So Friday will come around, I may be convinced to attend and I may even enjoy myself, however secretly I will be seething with anger and disappointment, knowing that what may be a good night could have easily been a fantastic night if there was someone in Melbourne who had the musical taste, organisation skills and mental whereforall to stage the sort of significant indie and electro-pop night this city desperately needs.
Expect new wave, synth pop, post punk, electro, new romantic, no wave and eighties trash glam from then, and from now! Hear Bronski Beat, Adam and the Ants, Franz Ferdinand, The Smiths, Joy Division, Interpol, Duran Duran, Blondie, Pylon, Pet Shop Boys, Bloc Party, The Contortions,Wire, LCD Soundsystem, Visage, Fiat Lux, OMD, The Rapture, The Eurythmics, Echo and the Bunnymen, These New Puritans, Shy Child, Gang Of Four, Fischerspooner, Simple Minds, Berlin, Japan, New Order, The Cure, Presets, Cut Copy, Midnight Juggernauts, Le Tigre, Daft Punk, White Rose Movement, She Wants Revenge, The Killers, Futureheads, Hot Chip, The Knife, The Strokes, Iggy Pop and more.Now anyone who has known me for more than 15 minutes has heard me rant long and hard about the evils of old music. Old music, as well as being fairly rubbish, gives the impression that the listener is stuck in a rose-coloured nostalgic haze unable and unwilling to venture into the bold new horizons the future has to offer. Also, it makes me suspicious that someone whose musical tastes aren't progressive (both musically and socially) will be similarly regressive with their political views. So upon reading the following list of musical acts you can imagine I wasn't overly impressed. Aside from The Knife and Le Tigre, there isn't anything there that I would A) want to listen to in a night club environment, and B) give my approval to by flailing my body around to the sound of their tunes.
For a city that prides itself on its musical reputation, Melbourne is conspicuously short of club nights that play decent and danceable indie and electro pop. So short, in fact, that there are no clubs nights whatsoever of this nature. It's a shame and a blight on the city that is in desperate need to be rectified. I would love to one day be able to stumble across a flyer that read something like the following:
Grab your dancing shoes and best manners and come along for a night of indie and electro-pop music for cute girls and respectful guys: Of Montreal, Annie, The Tough Alliance, La Casa Azul, The Blow, Saint Etienne, The Knife, Belle & Sebastian, Broadcast, The Pipettes, The Brunettes, Camera Obscura, Envelopes, Lucky Soul, The Russian Futurists, Familjen, Girlsareshort, Jens Lekman, Jenny Wilson, Au Revoir Simone, Le Tigre, Bis, Love Is All, Junior Boys, Animal Collective, Kanda, Architecture in Helsinki, The Postal Service, Stereolab to name but a few!At one stage my friend Claire and I resolved to fix this dilemma and start our on club where would we be able to play such wonderful music as that above, but unfortunately other priorities at the time prevented us from doing so. Not a day goes by where I don't consider revisiting the idea and organising a club night myself. However, there is one thing stopping me. I'm aware of how young people today behave in social environments and I think I would be uncomfortable facilitating the rampant heterosexual activity so common amongst today's youth. It would be fine if people wanted to lez out or fag up, but anything hetero going down would severely disturb me. I can't be seen to be, through my organising of a club night, not only condoning, but promoting that unsavoury lifestyle choice.
So Friday will come around, I may be convinced to attend and I may even enjoy myself, however secretly I will be seething with anger and disappointment, knowing that what may be a good night could have easily been a fantastic night if there was someone in Melbourne who had the musical taste, organisation skills and mental whereforall to stage the sort of significant indie and electro-pop night this city desperately needs.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The Magic Position
When I was in Grade 2 I walked up to my teacher Mrs Barber and informed her that I knew how to spell "Piquet". She probably assumed that I was referring to the popular brand of chewing gum PK, as when I started to spell P-I-Q-U-E-T she developed a curious look on her face. Because she was a dumb fuck, she had no idea I was actually referring to Brazilian Formula 1 driver Nelson Piquet. Realising she was out of her depth, she merely told me that that was "good" and preceded to busy herself with some other arsehole's finger painting or some shit.
Ever since a very young age I have had a keen interest in the world of Formula 1 race car driving. Every second Sunday during autumn, winter and spring I stay up to ridiculously late hours in order to watch the races in Europe. The thing is, unlike most fans of the sport, I have absolutely no interest in cars whatsoever. As long as a car can get me from A to B I don't give a fuck what make it is, I don't care what it looks like and I especially don't care (and have no idea about) what's "under the hood"*. I hate "car guys" and I'm both suspicious of, and disappointed with, girls who like guys who like cars. What I do like, however, and what appeals to me about Formula 1, are charts. I love charts, from my early fascination with the Australia and American Top 40s music charts, to my current last.fm obsession, charts are something I just can't get enough of. But not just any type of chart, the charts I like are movable ones. You see, rather than see cars racing around the track, I see entities that are moving up and down a chart. The start of the race is always the most interesting part. Whereas there is an orderly positioning of cars after the qualifying session, the start of the race immediately jumbles those positions and there's usually about minute where my breath is held as I wait to see just how the cars will reposition themselves in the chart after the first few corners of the track. It's wonderfully magical.
Although some people believe that the dominance in recent years of the Ferrari, McLaren and to a lesser extent Renault teams has made the sport boring, I tend to think otherwise. Not only does having dominant teams make races where one of the less strong teams does well more interesting, but also, quite frankly, I'm not actually concerned with who wins. All I'm concerned with is that there is chart movement somewhere, and as the second tier of teams are all quite close together in terms of performance, there has been plenty of movement in the team's positionings throughout the past few seasons. This year is set to be no different, whilst Ferrari and McLaren are once again going to be leading the chart positions, Williams, Renault, Honda, BMW-Sauber, Toyota and Red Bull will all be challenging each other for the position of the third placed team overall, indicating that there will be some significant chart shuffling taking place throughout the season.
Tomorrow is the staging of the Melbourne Formula 1 Grand Prix. People who know of my interest in the sport often ask me why I don't attend the event. The reasons are fairly obvious to me. I have no interest in watching cars speed around a track, my interest lies in all the data that is transmitted about the cars, not the cars themselves. I need to know all the factors that will effect a car's positioning in the race, what movements are made up and down the race chart and how this will effect the overall standings. This is information I can't receive whilst sitting in a grandstand, I need to be in front of a television.
Tomorrow's race will be the debut of Nelson Piquet Jr driving for the Renault team. Although he is driving one of the quicker cars, he has qualified second last on the grid, a very interesting chart position in the context of the race. In fact with the last two World Champions in Kimi Raikkonen and Fernando Alonso starting 16th and 12th respectively, and BMW-Sauber's Robert Kubica starting from second it makes for some utterly fascinating potential movement in the positionings.
*This doesn't mean I'm not taking good care of your car, Kate!
Ever since a very young age I have had a keen interest in the world of Formula 1 race car driving. Every second Sunday during autumn, winter and spring I stay up to ridiculously late hours in order to watch the races in Europe. The thing is, unlike most fans of the sport, I have absolutely no interest in cars whatsoever. As long as a car can get me from A to B I don't give a fuck what make it is, I don't care what it looks like and I especially don't care (and have no idea about) what's "under the hood"*. I hate "car guys" and I'm both suspicious of, and disappointed with, girls who like guys who like cars. What I do like, however, and what appeals to me about Formula 1, are charts. I love charts, from my early fascination with the Australia and American Top 40s music charts, to my current last.fm obsession, charts are something I just can't get enough of. But not just any type of chart, the charts I like are movable ones. You see, rather than see cars racing around the track, I see entities that are moving up and down a chart. The start of the race is always the most interesting part. Whereas there is an orderly positioning of cars after the qualifying session, the start of the race immediately jumbles those positions and there's usually about minute where my breath is held as I wait to see just how the cars will reposition themselves in the chart after the first few corners of the track. It's wonderfully magical.
Although some people believe that the dominance in recent years of the Ferrari, McLaren and to a lesser extent Renault teams has made the sport boring, I tend to think otherwise. Not only does having dominant teams make races where one of the less strong teams does well more interesting, but also, quite frankly, I'm not actually concerned with who wins. All I'm concerned with is that there is chart movement somewhere, and as the second tier of teams are all quite close together in terms of performance, there has been plenty of movement in the team's positionings throughout the past few seasons. This year is set to be no different, whilst Ferrari and McLaren are once again going to be leading the chart positions, Williams, Renault, Honda, BMW-Sauber, Toyota and Red Bull will all be challenging each other for the position of the third placed team overall, indicating that there will be some significant chart shuffling taking place throughout the season.
Tomorrow is the staging of the Melbourne Formula 1 Grand Prix. People who know of my interest in the sport often ask me why I don't attend the event. The reasons are fairly obvious to me. I have no interest in watching cars speed around a track, my interest lies in all the data that is transmitted about the cars, not the cars themselves. I need to know all the factors that will effect a car's positioning in the race, what movements are made up and down the race chart and how this will effect the overall standings. This is information I can't receive whilst sitting in a grandstand, I need to be in front of a television.
Tomorrow's race will be the debut of Nelson Piquet Jr driving for the Renault team. Although he is driving one of the quicker cars, he has qualified second last on the grid, a very interesting chart position in the context of the race. In fact with the last two World Champions in Kimi Raikkonen and Fernando Alonso starting 16th and 12th respectively, and BMW-Sauber's Robert Kubica starting from second it makes for some utterly fascinating potential movement in the positionings.
*This doesn't mean I'm not taking good care of your car, Kate!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Shower Scene
In the past few weeks two people have told me stories which involved them taking a shower with their respective partners. Whilst not to dismiss these people's stories, it was the concept rather than the content that fascinated me. To be honest, I have never thought about having a shower with someone else. I guess my brain must have thought that it would be so completely illegal as to have never contemplated it all.
After becoming aware that a two person shower is not only possible, but something that people actually do, I started to give it some serious thought. "I wonder if I had a girlfriend she would want to take a shower with me?", I considered. What would this girl expect of me in the shower? Are we supposed to discuss current events whilst tending our respective cleanliness? Or is the shower considered an arena suitable for sexual activity? With the low water storages at the moment, is it responsible to use the shower for sexual purposes when a bed is more than adequate? And if we are to have sex in the shower, will this leave time clean ourselves thoroughly as well? Recently I've become very concerned that my back isn't getting the proper scrubbing it deserves. I mean, I scrub it to the best of my ability, but having to reach around is awkward and I feel that it leaves far too much of an opportunity to not do the job properly. I know my back is clean, but whether it is sparkling clean is a matter of contention. I feel I need all the time I can get to at least attempt to have my back in a reasonably clean state.
It seemed to me that there were numerous issues that needed to be resolved before any two person showering could take place. I decided to meditate on these issues for a while. As I did so I had a rather dark thought. I wondered whether it would be possible, instead of pleasuring this hypothetical young lady sexually, I could instead ask her to scrub my back? With easier access I'm sure she would be able to do a better job than I could. She could scrub my back with greater capability and efficiency so I would have no need to be concerned about its state of cleanliness any longer.
Despite of the prospect of having a sparkling clean back, I'm not sure whether I'm, firstly, comfortable with the ethics of showering with a female, and secondly, asking said female to scrub my back. Even though in the past I have not only asked an 11 year old Moroccan boy to scrub my back, but also paid him to do so, I would still have to say that a man asking a woman to scrub his back would be, in terms of servitude, the moral equivalent of demanding fellatio. Maybe a little less, but still far worse than paying an 11 year old Moroccan boy to do the same task. Not that I condone white westerners abusing the child labour of developing countries at all. However, there's a good chance that this 11 year-old Moroccan boy will grow up to join a fundamentalist Islamic sect, beat his wife and then suicide bomb a Madrid commuter train. So I think I still have the moral high ground. Unless, of course, it was my actions in paying him to scrub my back that destroyed his self-esteem leaving him vulnerable to the devious machinations of Al-Qaida and to his eventual explosion of innocent Spaniards. Then I wouldn't be so smug. The point being, whilst I'm not perfect, I'm still uncomfortable asking a woman to scrub my back.
So after thinking long and hard I decided that if I was to ever have a girlfriend I would only shower with her if she directly requested me to do so, sexual activity would depend on the capacity of Melbourne's water storages, and I would not ask her to scrub my back. I would have to live with a less than sparkling clean back, however, I would still feel less dirty than if I were to place her in a position subservient to me.
After becoming aware that a two person shower is not only possible, but something that people actually do, I started to give it some serious thought. "I wonder if I had a girlfriend she would want to take a shower with me?", I considered. What would this girl expect of me in the shower? Are we supposed to discuss current events whilst tending our respective cleanliness? Or is the shower considered an arena suitable for sexual activity? With the low water storages at the moment, is it responsible to use the shower for sexual purposes when a bed is more than adequate? And if we are to have sex in the shower, will this leave time clean ourselves thoroughly as well? Recently I've become very concerned that my back isn't getting the proper scrubbing it deserves. I mean, I scrub it to the best of my ability, but having to reach around is awkward and I feel that it leaves far too much of an opportunity to not do the job properly. I know my back is clean, but whether it is sparkling clean is a matter of contention. I feel I need all the time I can get to at least attempt to have my back in a reasonably clean state.
It seemed to me that there were numerous issues that needed to be resolved before any two person showering could take place. I decided to meditate on these issues for a while. As I did so I had a rather dark thought. I wondered whether it would be possible, instead of pleasuring this hypothetical young lady sexually, I could instead ask her to scrub my back? With easier access I'm sure she would be able to do a better job than I could. She could scrub my back with greater capability and efficiency so I would have no need to be concerned about its state of cleanliness any longer.
Despite of the prospect of having a sparkling clean back, I'm not sure whether I'm, firstly, comfortable with the ethics of showering with a female, and secondly, asking said female to scrub my back. Even though in the past I have not only asked an 11 year old Moroccan boy to scrub my back, but also paid him to do so, I would still have to say that a man asking a woman to scrub his back would be, in terms of servitude, the moral equivalent of demanding fellatio. Maybe a little less, but still far worse than paying an 11 year old Moroccan boy to do the same task. Not that I condone white westerners abusing the child labour of developing countries at all. However, there's a good chance that this 11 year-old Moroccan boy will grow up to join a fundamentalist Islamic sect, beat his wife and then suicide bomb a Madrid commuter train. So I think I still have the moral high ground. Unless, of course, it was my actions in paying him to scrub my back that destroyed his self-esteem leaving him vulnerable to the devious machinations of Al-Qaida and to his eventual explosion of innocent Spaniards. Then I wouldn't be so smug. The point being, whilst I'm not perfect, I'm still uncomfortable asking a woman to scrub my back.
So after thinking long and hard I decided that if I was to ever have a girlfriend I would only shower with her if she directly requested me to do so, sexual activity would depend on the capacity of Melbourne's water storages, and I would not ask her to scrub my back. I would have to live with a less than sparkling clean back, however, I would still feel less dirty than if I were to place her in a position subservient to me.
Cool Shades
After hearing the weather report on Wednesday evening and resigning myself to the fact that it was going to be ridiculously hot, I took two bottles filled with water and placed them in the freezer. The plan was for them to freeze during the night and then gradual melt during the following day, giving me a handy supply of cold water to replenish myself as I walked around the university campus from one class to another.
Although I like to think of myself as a cool dude, I'm not so cool that I have to keep my sunglasses on whilst I'm in a class, a lecture or the library. Instead, I remove them and place them in my bag until the next time I venture out into the sunlight. There were several occasions when this occurred yesterday, however on one such occasion I was leaving the library and noticed something strange. I took the sunglasses out of my bag and felt they were cold to the touch. "My sunglasses must have been lying inside my bag right up against the frozen water bottles", I thought to myself. Regardless of this, I put them over my eyes (making sure the arms of the glasses were neatly tucked behind my ears) and immediately felt a pleasurable sensation. "Holy shit! This is fantastic!", I exclaimed to Nadine, who was walking beside me. "Check this out, put these on!" I enthused. "No!" she protested, pushing my hand holding the sunglasses away. "Just do it!" I insisted, "It's totally awesome!", she agreed and took the sunglasses from me and placed them over her eyeballs "Oh my god, that's so cool!" she said, "I told you so!" I replied, "Now give them back, you're warming them up"
Throughout the rest of the day, whenever I needed to remove my sunglasses, I endeavoured to place them them as closely and snuggly beside the frozen water bottles in my bag as possible. I was determined that the next time I required their protection from the harsh daylight that they were going to be as cold as could be. Although it is still hot, as we are now in autumn I feel that it won't be long before these hot days start to disperse. Although I will be glad when this occurs, I can't help feeling a little sad that I won't get to utilise the cooling effect of the cold sunglasses for much longer. It's a shame I didn't discover this earlier in the summer as I sure could have used the cold sunglasses refreshing touch on some of those long hot days that brutalise me so mercilessly. At least I'll be prepared for next summer.
Although I like to think of myself as a cool dude, I'm not so cool that I have to keep my sunglasses on whilst I'm in a class, a lecture or the library. Instead, I remove them and place them in my bag until the next time I venture out into the sunlight. There were several occasions when this occurred yesterday, however on one such occasion I was leaving the library and noticed something strange. I took the sunglasses out of my bag and felt they were cold to the touch. "My sunglasses must have been lying inside my bag right up against the frozen water bottles", I thought to myself. Regardless of this, I put them over my eyes (making sure the arms of the glasses were neatly tucked behind my ears) and immediately felt a pleasurable sensation. "Holy shit! This is fantastic!", I exclaimed to Nadine, who was walking beside me. "Check this out, put these on!" I enthused. "No!" she protested, pushing my hand holding the sunglasses away. "Just do it!" I insisted, "It's totally awesome!", she agreed and took the sunglasses from me and placed them over her eyeballs "Oh my god, that's so cool!" she said, "I told you so!" I replied, "Now give them back, you're warming them up"
Throughout the rest of the day, whenever I needed to remove my sunglasses, I endeavoured to place them them as closely and snuggly beside the frozen water bottles in my bag as possible. I was determined that the next time I required their protection from the harsh daylight that they were going to be as cold as could be. Although it is still hot, as we are now in autumn I feel that it won't be long before these hot days start to disperse. Although I will be glad when this occurs, I can't help feeling a little sad that I won't get to utilise the cooling effect of the cold sunglasses for much longer. It's a shame I didn't discover this earlier in the summer as I sure could have used the cold sunglasses refreshing touch on some of those long hot days that brutalise me so mercilessly. At least I'll be prepared for next summer.
A Space Boy Dream
Nothing shits me more than when I'm having a conversation with people and I mention the television series Stargate (either SG1 or Atlantis), and some arsehole immediately changes the subject to Star Trek. Now science-fiction traditionalists may consider Star Trek to be the pinnacle of the genre, but I'm not part of the sci-fi establishment and I say that is bullshit. Those people fear change. They can't handle a new bad boy on the block showing them what it's all about. Stargate is a superior concept, has more thoroughly researched story-lines, contains wittier dialogue and has a higher quality production (I know it has the benefit of more modern technology, but it's the way they use it!). It's a wonderfully insightful and exciting vision of the opportunities and dangers that we humans face as we come to terms with our place in the universe.
I've always wanted to be a space alien. When I was growing up I used to think I was. I didn't relate well to my parents, nor the wider world, and was convinced this was because I was from outer space and that one day soon my real alien parents would come down to earth and take me back to my home planet, a planet where I could be truly happy. I had this melancholy inside of me that would not dissolve. I longed to feel comfortable in my environment, but unfortunately, this has never occurred. I've always been an outsider, been different from the rest of the population.
However, when first the movie and then the series Stargate started it gave me hope that my search for my alien parents would be easier. Rather than having to build a spaceship myself and travel millions of light years to numerous planets in search of my home world, the series showed me that it was simply a matter of dialing the co-ordinates of a planet on the Stargate and stepping through the portal. This would dramatically decrease the amount of time it would take me to locate my true parents and the world where I would be free from this soul-pulping mental prison you people call Earth.
That is why I'm going to university. If I just waltzed up to the Cheyenne Mountain Military Complex and told them I needed to find my home planet they would deny any knowledge of the Stargate within and politely ask me to leave the area. However, if I am able to make myself smart enough through hard work and sticktoitiveness then I will be able to secure a job within the complex and have all the access I required to find the planet where I belong and become whole.
You see, I have a birthmark on my inner-left thigh that could possibly be a symbol in an alien language. I've always know that my alien parents left this mark on me in order to help me find my way back to them. I know that once I'm working inside the Cheyenne Mountain Complex I'll be able to develop a close working relationship with Dr Daniel Jackson and I can ask him to examine my birthmark. With his supreme knowledge of alien languages he will be able to decipher its meaning and use the information to locate the planet where my alien parents live. Then I would finally be able to be happy, away from this horrible Earth, in the place where I am wanted, feel comfortable and have the freedom to blossom into the beautiful flower I was always meant to be.
I've always wanted to be a space alien. When I was growing up I used to think I was. I didn't relate well to my parents, nor the wider world, and was convinced this was because I was from outer space and that one day soon my real alien parents would come down to earth and take me back to my home planet, a planet where I could be truly happy. I had this melancholy inside of me that would not dissolve. I longed to feel comfortable in my environment, but unfortunately, this has never occurred. I've always been an outsider, been different from the rest of the population.
However, when first the movie and then the series Stargate started it gave me hope that my search for my alien parents would be easier. Rather than having to build a spaceship myself and travel millions of light years to numerous planets in search of my home world, the series showed me that it was simply a matter of dialing the co-ordinates of a planet on the Stargate and stepping through the portal. This would dramatically decrease the amount of time it would take me to locate my true parents and the world where I would be free from this soul-pulping mental prison you people call Earth.
That is why I'm going to university. If I just waltzed up to the Cheyenne Mountain Military Complex and told them I needed to find my home planet they would deny any knowledge of the Stargate within and politely ask me to leave the area. However, if I am able to make myself smart enough through hard work and sticktoitiveness then I will be able to secure a job within the complex and have all the access I required to find the planet where I belong and become whole.
You see, I have a birthmark on my inner-left thigh that could possibly be a symbol in an alien language. I've always know that my alien parents left this mark on me in order to help me find my way back to them. I know that once I'm working inside the Cheyenne Mountain Complex I'll be able to develop a close working relationship with Dr Daniel Jackson and I can ask him to examine my birthmark. With his supreme knowledge of alien languages he will be able to decipher its meaning and use the information to locate the planet where my alien parents live. Then I would finally be able to be happy, away from this horrible Earth, in the place where I am wanted, feel comfortable and have the freedom to blossom into the beautiful flower I was always meant to be.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
All Of My Thoughts
A few months ago my doctor suggested to me that it might be wise if I sort some professional psychiatric advice. She thought I was fucking insane. She gave me the number of one Dr Veronica Clarke, a psychiatrist she thought may be of some assistance in obtaining some sort of normalcy for me. Although I considered calling Dr Veronica Clarke several times over the past few months, I didn't actually do so until this morning. Upon having our respective phones connected I was surprised to hear a German accent on the other end of the line. "She must have made it all the way with some Anglo dude and taken his surname" I thought to myself. After I explained that I had be referred to her by my GP, she informed me that she was about to go on holiday next week and so it would be about three weeks before she could see me. She took down my details and promised to call when she returned to work. As it is going to be a while until Dr Veronica Clarke would start to probe my mind, I started to imagine what our conversations would entail. The following is a transcript of the imaginary conversation Dr Veronica Clarke and I had inside my head:
Dr Veronica Clarke: Grant, come in. Please take a seat.
Grant Wyeth: Thank you. How was your holiday?
DVC: Oh, it was wonderful. My husband and I went white water rafting down the Amazon.
GW: Sounds adventurous.
DVC: I've always had an adventuresome spirit, I'm interested in the new and different. That's why I became a psychiatrist; everyone is unique in their own special way. I find probing their minds exhilarating!
GW: That's wonderful.
DVC: Now, your referral states that you have anxiety issues. Can you tell me a bit about that?
GW: Where do I start? There are so many issues.
DVC: What is the most recent issue that has been disturbing you?
GW: Well, I was stewing over the weekend because I got into a fight with my friend Katy Stevens about circumcision.
DVC: What in relation to circumcision were you fighting about?
GW: Well, I'm pro-male-circumcision, and she's not really concerned either way.
DVC: And, so you fought because...?
GW: I wasn't able to convert her to my way to thinking.
DVC: Is not being able to convert someone to your way of thinking something that causes you to get into a lot of fights?
GW: No, I'm not some bigoted intolerant guy, I just have a problem with uncircumcised penises.
DVC: What is your problem with uncircumcised penises?
GW: Well, it all goes back to when I was at school. I had no idea that foreskins even existed, I just thought the way my penis looked was its natural state. But then one day I overheard some guys discussing their "dick cheese" and I was appalled! I went to the library to conduct some research and discovered the truth about penises. Since then I have always been pro-circumcision. I think it is a symbolic gesture, like putting the toilet seat down. It recognises the disrespect, to put it mildly, men have shown towards women since the year dot and says "hey, you shouldn't have to deal with my combination of dried urine and dead skin flakes".
DVC: But the majority of men who are circumcised are done so at birth, they're not conscious at that stage of making that sort of gesture.
GW: I realise that, but the parents should be conscious of their overall social responsibility when bringing a child into the world.
DVC: But isn't it the father's responsibility to teach his son to be respectful towards women as he develops?
GW: Of course it is! However, men don't really have the capacity for selflessness, it's not in their instinct, they can't really be trusted to act in a respectful manner, a quick snip at birth gives them a little assistance.
DVC: And so you think circumcision prevents men from becoming abusive?
GW: No, not at all. But if they can be prevented from ramming their dick cheese into some poor girl's vagina or mouth with a procedure that is of no negative consequence, and in fact studies have shown it to be quite the opposite, then I believe that it should be mandatory. And hopefully, just hopefully, it may lead to them looking down at their circumcised penis, thinking of the alternative and saying to themselves "Hey, it's not such a bad thing to be respectful towards women, they haven't deserved the way we've treated them for the last 200,000 years, I'm going to go buy my special lady a present!"
DVC: I'm not exactly sure that mandatory circumcision is going to counter misogyny and the gender imbalance.
GW: Oh, I agree, I'm actually rather pessimistic that those things will ever be countered. However, it's a start, it's a minor gesture that will at least go some way to preventing heterosexual women being treated like a bathroom sink.
DVC: Whilst your intention may be admirable, I'm concerned that your views are a little too far away from mainstream thought for you to be able to live a comfortable existence. I take it you are a heterosexual man yourself? I have a feeling that you are quite invested in this subject.
GW: Yes, I am heterosexual, but I guess I could be classed as "non-practising". Although I am circumcised, I have other issues which prevent me from being able to justify sex. Also, the opportunity to partake in the act has never really arose for me.
DVC: What do you mean by "justify"?
GW: Well, just being able to talk to girls is enough isn't it? You can't have your cake and eat it too. Or at least you shouldn't be able to. It seems a little self-serving, don't you think? Decadent even.
DVC: You seem to be somewhat of a self-denialist. Are you familiar with Asceticism?
GW: I am, and I can't deny I'm not fascinated, but I don't know whether I'm a subscriber. There's just nothing I find more extraordinary than when people talk about their "sexual needs". "Needs" are oxygen and water, and maybe the occasional large chips from Red Rooster, using someone for your own sexual gratification isn't a "need". I don't claim that this is going to help me connect to the Divine, I don't really believe in God, I just...I don't know...do what I think is right.
DVC: Isn't doing what is perceived as "right" the point of asceticism?
GW: Ok, well to say I'm not a subscriber is somewhat false. The point I was trying to make is that I don't follow any religion, I'm probably heavily affected by my Christian upbringing, but I don't believe in the key components of the Christian faith so any self-denying tendencies can't be attributed to some sort of reward in the afterlife. To tell you the truth I find that idea rather odd as well, it seems to me that those who subscribe to asceticism through various religions are really only doing so for what they will believe will be their compensation after death.
DVC: So if you don't believe in God, and I presume you don't believe in an afterlife as well, what is the point of "doing what you think is right"? There isn't going to be any judgment, surely this sets you free?
GW: Free to what, murder? Regardless of whether one believes in judgment there are certain personal ethics that are obvious. Humanism was founded on this idea.
DVC: But Humanism doesn't involve any sort of extreme self-denial.
GW: Well, basically, I think that any action that leads to a personal benefit is suspicious. A truth, or a pure intention, can only be achieved without any skepticism if the action involved is of little personal benefit. I feel I'm able to best prove my love toward someone by not engaging in sexual intercourse. If I am gaining personal gratification then my motives could be deemed suspicious.
DVC: But if you have a connection with someone that suspicion can be transcended.
GW: Well, like I said, I've never had the opportunity so I can't be certain whether there is any truth to that.
DVC: It that something you'd like to experience? Surely you would like some companionship.
GW: Of course! I've craved companionship ever since my early teens, however, I've always deemed it too much of a privilege.
DVC: What do you mean by "privilege"?
GW: Well, as I said before, just to be able to talk to girls seems enough, anything more would just be too good. Greedy.
DVC: You seem to hold females in an extremely high esteem.
GW: That's because they're incredible! The thing is, all I've ever wanted was to be in the company of girls. However, I didn't actually talk to a girl around my own age until I was 19 and a half, I guess the fact that I was literally distant from them throughout those developmental years must have given them some sort of mythical status in my mind.
DVC: You mentioned your friend earlier, you obviously have female friends, have you never considered pursuing anything with one of them?
GW: Well, I'm a little uneasy about the idea of men pursuing woman. It's a little bit too much like a caveman dragging some poor woman back to his cave by the hair.
DVC: You seem to be obsessed with historical precedent, you don't need to be so bound by the past.
GW: Well, I worked in a law firm for almost three years, I've possibly been affected by the ideals of Common Law.
DVC: Those ideals do permit the creation of new precedents though. I feel that your opinions are reactionary, your ideas, whilst unique, seem to be kicking against society rather than creating your own conditions in it to be able to live comfortably. As much as one may like to alter reality, at some point you have to learn to accept it. I think that after talking to you I definitely think you could use some help in accepting reality. I think it is something we can work towards. What do you think?
GW: Well, my initial reaction is to resist, as if receiving assistance is somehow selfish, but I think it's come to a point now where I think I do need some assistance to help me function a little more competently.
DVC: Shall I see you the same time next week then?
GW: I think that would be helpful.
Dr Veronica Clarke: Grant, come in. Please take a seat.
Grant Wyeth: Thank you. How was your holiday?
DVC: Oh, it was wonderful. My husband and I went white water rafting down the Amazon.
GW: Sounds adventurous.
DVC: I've always had an adventuresome spirit, I'm interested in the new and different. That's why I became a psychiatrist; everyone is unique in their own special way. I find probing their minds exhilarating!
GW: That's wonderful.
DVC: Now, your referral states that you have anxiety issues. Can you tell me a bit about that?
GW: Where do I start? There are so many issues.
DVC: What is the most recent issue that has been disturbing you?
GW: Well, I was stewing over the weekend because I got into a fight with my friend Katy Stevens about circumcision.
DVC: What in relation to circumcision were you fighting about?
GW: Well, I'm pro-male-circumcision, and she's not really concerned either way.
DVC: And, so you fought because...?
GW: I wasn't able to convert her to my way to thinking.
DVC: Is not being able to convert someone to your way of thinking something that causes you to get into a lot of fights?
GW: No, I'm not some bigoted intolerant guy, I just have a problem with uncircumcised penises.
DVC: What is your problem with uncircumcised penises?
GW: Well, it all goes back to when I was at school. I had no idea that foreskins even existed, I just thought the way my penis looked was its natural state. But then one day I overheard some guys discussing their "dick cheese" and I was appalled! I went to the library to conduct some research and discovered the truth about penises. Since then I have always been pro-circumcision. I think it is a symbolic gesture, like putting the toilet seat down. It recognises the disrespect, to put it mildly, men have shown towards women since the year dot and says "hey, you shouldn't have to deal with my combination of dried urine and dead skin flakes".
DVC: But the majority of men who are circumcised are done so at birth, they're not conscious at that stage of making that sort of gesture.
GW: I realise that, but the parents should be conscious of their overall social responsibility when bringing a child into the world.
DVC: But isn't it the father's responsibility to teach his son to be respectful towards women as he develops?
GW: Of course it is! However, men don't really have the capacity for selflessness, it's not in their instinct, they can't really be trusted to act in a respectful manner, a quick snip at birth gives them a little assistance.
DVC: And so you think circumcision prevents men from becoming abusive?
GW: No, not at all. But if they can be prevented from ramming their dick cheese into some poor girl's vagina or mouth with a procedure that is of no negative consequence, and in fact studies have shown it to be quite the opposite, then I believe that it should be mandatory. And hopefully, just hopefully, it may lead to them looking down at their circumcised penis, thinking of the alternative and saying to themselves "Hey, it's not such a bad thing to be respectful towards women, they haven't deserved the way we've treated them for the last 200,000 years, I'm going to go buy my special lady a present!"
DVC: I'm not exactly sure that mandatory circumcision is going to counter misogyny and the gender imbalance.
GW: Oh, I agree, I'm actually rather pessimistic that those things will ever be countered. However, it's a start, it's a minor gesture that will at least go some way to preventing heterosexual women being treated like a bathroom sink.
DVC: Whilst your intention may be admirable, I'm concerned that your views are a little too far away from mainstream thought for you to be able to live a comfortable existence. I take it you are a heterosexual man yourself? I have a feeling that you are quite invested in this subject.
GW: Yes, I am heterosexual, but I guess I could be classed as "non-practising". Although I am circumcised, I have other issues which prevent me from being able to justify sex. Also, the opportunity to partake in the act has never really arose for me.
DVC: What do you mean by "justify"?
GW: Well, just being able to talk to girls is enough isn't it? You can't have your cake and eat it too. Or at least you shouldn't be able to. It seems a little self-serving, don't you think? Decadent even.
DVC: You seem to be somewhat of a self-denialist. Are you familiar with Asceticism?
GW: I am, and I can't deny I'm not fascinated, but I don't know whether I'm a subscriber. There's just nothing I find more extraordinary than when people talk about their "sexual needs". "Needs" are oxygen and water, and maybe the occasional large chips from Red Rooster, using someone for your own sexual gratification isn't a "need". I don't claim that this is going to help me connect to the Divine, I don't really believe in God, I just...I don't know...do what I think is right.
DVC: Isn't doing what is perceived as "right" the point of asceticism?
GW: Ok, well to say I'm not a subscriber is somewhat false. The point I was trying to make is that I don't follow any religion, I'm probably heavily affected by my Christian upbringing, but I don't believe in the key components of the Christian faith so any self-denying tendencies can't be attributed to some sort of reward in the afterlife. To tell you the truth I find that idea rather odd as well, it seems to me that those who subscribe to asceticism through various religions are really only doing so for what they will believe will be their compensation after death.
DVC: So if you don't believe in God, and I presume you don't believe in an afterlife as well, what is the point of "doing what you think is right"? There isn't going to be any judgment, surely this sets you free?
GW: Free to what, murder? Regardless of whether one believes in judgment there are certain personal ethics that are obvious. Humanism was founded on this idea.
DVC: But Humanism doesn't involve any sort of extreme self-denial.
GW: Well, basically, I think that any action that leads to a personal benefit is suspicious. A truth, or a pure intention, can only be achieved without any skepticism if the action involved is of little personal benefit. I feel I'm able to best prove my love toward someone by not engaging in sexual intercourse. If I am gaining personal gratification then my motives could be deemed suspicious.
DVC: But if you have a connection with someone that suspicion can be transcended.
GW: Well, like I said, I've never had the opportunity so I can't be certain whether there is any truth to that.
DVC: It that something you'd like to experience? Surely you would like some companionship.
GW: Of course! I've craved companionship ever since my early teens, however, I've always deemed it too much of a privilege.
DVC: What do you mean by "privilege"?
GW: Well, as I said before, just to be able to talk to girls seems enough, anything more would just be too good. Greedy.
DVC: You seem to hold females in an extremely high esteem.
GW: That's because they're incredible! The thing is, all I've ever wanted was to be in the company of girls. However, I didn't actually talk to a girl around my own age until I was 19 and a half, I guess the fact that I was literally distant from them throughout those developmental years must have given them some sort of mythical status in my mind.
DVC: You mentioned your friend earlier, you obviously have female friends, have you never considered pursuing anything with one of them?
GW: Well, I'm a little uneasy about the idea of men pursuing woman. It's a little bit too much like a caveman dragging some poor woman back to his cave by the hair.
DVC: You seem to be obsessed with historical precedent, you don't need to be so bound by the past.
GW: Well, I worked in a law firm for almost three years, I've possibly been affected by the ideals of Common Law.
DVC: Those ideals do permit the creation of new precedents though. I feel that your opinions are reactionary, your ideas, whilst unique, seem to be kicking against society rather than creating your own conditions in it to be able to live comfortably. As much as one may like to alter reality, at some point you have to learn to accept it. I think that after talking to you I definitely think you could use some help in accepting reality. I think it is something we can work towards. What do you think?
GW: Well, my initial reaction is to resist, as if receiving assistance is somehow selfish, but I think it's come to a point now where I think I do need some assistance to help me function a little more competently.
DVC: Shall I see you the same time next week then?
GW: I think that would be helpful.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Ok, Computer?
Dear Internet,
How are you?
You sure have come a long way, haven't you? Did you ever expect to get so big? I mean, there's a lot of people in this world who wouldn't be able to survive without you. You've changed the way people live. Surely you wouldn't have had such high expectations for yourself? Me, on the other hand, I'm the opposite to you. I was going to make something of myself. I was going to be a football star. I had it all worked out. From age 0 to 16 you couldn't pry the ball out of my hand. I was a talented half-forward flanker and occasional on-baller, more than capable on both sides of my body, an excellent overhead mark and a dangerous goal sneak. Everything was set for me to join the professional leagues. I'd have a fast car, a hot model girlfriend, been seen at all the right nightspots around town, it was going to be a great life. But then I got into music in a big way. I'd always been fond on music, ever since as a youngster I use to listen to Barry Bissell countdown the top 40 tracks in the country on a Sunday night. However around my mid-teens my interest started to explode. I became obsessive. I'd listen to the local alternative stations and devour the music press from around the world. This was before you had grown up, you see, when we got out information from the NME and Melody Maker. It gave me a sense of individuality, I no longer wanted to be one of the pack. I wanted to be myself, and I wanted to be a rock and roll star. I'd play some bluesy riffs and wear leather jackets and have a weird hairdo, I'd sing songs about girls and cars and be seen at all the right nightspots around town, I'd be my own man. Unfortunately, it never worked out for me. I couldn't cut it in the music world. They didn't want a guy like me, said I didn't have the "spirit", whatever that meant. So I never made anything of myself. I just became a washed-up old crank, sitting around my room, re-reading the same 6 websites everyday. You see, Internet, although I spend a lot of time with you, I don't really know you. I'm yet to experience all the wonderful delights that you are apparently capable of providing me. I mean, I like the email and I like compiling the music I listen to on last.fm, I enjoy catching up on the news throughout the globe on the various websites of the reputable newspapers and I am definitely fond of illegally downloading all the latest tunes, but beyond that I don't really know what else to do with you. I'm sure there's plenty that I'm missing. I did try this whole "social networking" thing for a while, but I found it too mentally consuming and ultimately heart-breaking. I mean, why would people comment on other people's message walls and not mine? I'd like a message on my wall sometime too, you know. It was just too much of a popularity contest for me and I couldn't bear to know the results. But it's alright for you, Internet, isn't it? Everybody loves you. You're the Queen of the apple festival, aren't you? But the thing is, you know it now, you know how the people adore you and you lap it up. You love the adoration. But what about the pain, Internet? You don't care if people crash and burn on your information super-highway, do you? You're one cold motherfucker, you know that? You've changed and you're changing all the time. Getting faster and more efficient with more whizz-bang devices, but in the process you've forgotten your roots, forgotten guys like me who were there at the start. That's right, you don't remember do you? I first logged-on back in '95, I was totally OG. I helped make you what you are today. But you spat me out. That first internet girlfriend you provide for me was a dud. I followed her to the other side of the world and then ended up having to call the police on her 'cause she stole my shit! I was a little disappointed, to tell you the truth. But I never received an apology from you did I? You probably thought it was a great joke. Had a good old chuckle at my expense. But I survived, whilst difficult at the time, the experience only made me stronger. So now I sit here staring at you, wondering just when and how you're going to make it up to me? I've played your games, worked your chatrooms, ordered products from your stores and even customised my Myspace page but none of that has truly satisfied me. I feel like you haven't given me any decent returns for my online endeavours. So I'm waiting for you to give me something special, something that'll make up for all the years of disappointment I have experienced whilst associating with you. Cough up, arsehole.
Yours expectantly,
Grant.
How are you?
You sure have come a long way, haven't you? Did you ever expect to get so big? I mean, there's a lot of people in this world who wouldn't be able to survive without you. You've changed the way people live. Surely you wouldn't have had such high expectations for yourself? Me, on the other hand, I'm the opposite to you. I was going to make something of myself. I was going to be a football star. I had it all worked out. From age 0 to 16 you couldn't pry the ball out of my hand. I was a talented half-forward flanker and occasional on-baller, more than capable on both sides of my body, an excellent overhead mark and a dangerous goal sneak. Everything was set for me to join the professional leagues. I'd have a fast car, a hot model girlfriend, been seen at all the right nightspots around town, it was going to be a great life. But then I got into music in a big way. I'd always been fond on music, ever since as a youngster I use to listen to Barry Bissell countdown the top 40 tracks in the country on a Sunday night. However around my mid-teens my interest started to explode. I became obsessive. I'd listen to the local alternative stations and devour the music press from around the world. This was before you had grown up, you see, when we got out information from the NME and Melody Maker. It gave me a sense of individuality, I no longer wanted to be one of the pack. I wanted to be myself, and I wanted to be a rock and roll star. I'd play some bluesy riffs and wear leather jackets and have a weird hairdo, I'd sing songs about girls and cars and be seen at all the right nightspots around town, I'd be my own man. Unfortunately, it never worked out for me. I couldn't cut it in the music world. They didn't want a guy like me, said I didn't have the "spirit", whatever that meant. So I never made anything of myself. I just became a washed-up old crank, sitting around my room, re-reading the same 6 websites everyday. You see, Internet, although I spend a lot of time with you, I don't really know you. I'm yet to experience all the wonderful delights that you are apparently capable of providing me. I mean, I like the email and I like compiling the music I listen to on last.fm, I enjoy catching up on the news throughout the globe on the various websites of the reputable newspapers and I am definitely fond of illegally downloading all the latest tunes, but beyond that I don't really know what else to do with you. I'm sure there's plenty that I'm missing. I did try this whole "social networking" thing for a while, but I found it too mentally consuming and ultimately heart-breaking. I mean, why would people comment on other people's message walls and not mine? I'd like a message on my wall sometime too, you know. It was just too much of a popularity contest for me and I couldn't bear to know the results. But it's alright for you, Internet, isn't it? Everybody loves you. You're the Queen of the apple festival, aren't you? But the thing is, you know it now, you know how the people adore you and you lap it up. You love the adoration. But what about the pain, Internet? You don't care if people crash and burn on your information super-highway, do you? You're one cold motherfucker, you know that? You've changed and you're changing all the time. Getting faster and more efficient with more whizz-bang devices, but in the process you've forgotten your roots, forgotten guys like me who were there at the start. That's right, you don't remember do you? I first logged-on back in '95, I was totally OG. I helped make you what you are today. But you spat me out. That first internet girlfriend you provide for me was a dud. I followed her to the other side of the world and then ended up having to call the police on her 'cause she stole my shit! I was a little disappointed, to tell you the truth. But I never received an apology from you did I? You probably thought it was a great joke. Had a good old chuckle at my expense. But I survived, whilst difficult at the time, the experience only made me stronger. So now I sit here staring at you, wondering just when and how you're going to make it up to me? I've played your games, worked your chatrooms, ordered products from your stores and even customised my Myspace page but none of that has truly satisfied me. I feel like you haven't given me any decent returns for my online endeavours. So I'm waiting for you to give me something special, something that'll make up for all the years of disappointment I have experienced whilst associating with you. Cough up, arsehole.
Yours expectantly,
Grant.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Call Me, If You Can't Take The Heat
Sometimes when I'm leaving my room to venture out into the wider world I consider leaving my mobile telephone at home. I think to myself "I don't need it. I'm not a popular guy, nobody is going to call me. It will only weigh me down". However just as I'm about to leave the house I panic and reconsider. I worry "What if someone is trapped in a fire and needs me to rescue them? If I leave my phone at home I will never receive the call, they won't be saved from the fire and I will effectively be a murderer". That is why I believe it is important for me to carry my phone, just in case someone is trapped in a fire. If someone is trapped in a fire I am the best person to call. You see, I'm impervious to physical damage. I've never broken a bone in my life, never had any stitches (apart from when I was a baby and my belly button popped open), never been to hospital for anything. And it's not as if I haven't tried! I've walked through windows, fallen out of trees, had my foot run over by a car, played dangerously physical sports and even been charged by a rhinoceros, yet I have come out of all of those things without injury. That's why I would be the best person to call if someone was trapped in a fire. Fire can't harm me. It wouldn't even dare try. Also, because I find smoking utterly repulsive, I have never partaken in the vile habit and as a result I have an excellent lung capacity. So the smoke generated from the fire would not be able to overcome me either. To test my lung capacity sometimes I fill up the bathroom sink with water and put my face underneath the water and see how long I can hold my breath for. I have been known to survive up to two minutes! So when it comes to the crunch I would be able to just walk through the fire, whilst breathing very easily, pick up the person who had called me, then carry them out through the fire (obviously shielding them from the fire with my body) and whisk them away to safety. I feel that being completely impervious to injury comes with a certain responsibility. I feel that I should use the gift that I have been given for good and not evil. I want to be able to help those people who are trapped in fires. I want to be able to give them a chance to grow up to see their grandchildren. This is why I think it's important, nay, imperative for me to carry my phone at all times. I would be abusing my privilege otherwise.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Comfort Food
I met Lisa at a Belle & Sebastian concert at the Brixton Academy in the July of 2002. She approached me and informed me that although she hated my shoes, she liked my khaki messenger bag and had an overwhelming urge to make me butternut squash soup. This was reasonable enough, I thought, and continued to converse with her throughout the evening. Lisa was suspicious of mobiles at the time, so I wrote my number on my ticket stub using Katey’s eyeliner pencil. Lisa was from Toronto and had only been in the UK for around a week. 2 days after the show I received a telephone call from her. During this telephone conversation she explained to me that she’d had some of her money stolen. With my faith in humanity, I immediately suspected she was trying to swindle me. I feared that she was going to ask to borrow money from me and then immediately jump the next flight back to Canada to spend it on drugs and alcohol, leaving me so destitute that I'd have to resort to living in a bus shelter and sucking cock for packets of crisps. I listened intently to her story with a skeptical ear and then told her if she needed any help to let me know.
As it transpired Lisa only required someone to relate her story to and over the next few weeks we developed an important and meaningful relationship. The main thing I liked about Lisa was her brute honesty. At first I found it a little odd that someone who was so critical of my actions would continue to call me wanting to hang out, however I soon discovered that this actually aided me in become a more socially competent person. Regardless (or possibly because) of my faults and idiosyncrasies, Lisa still enjoyed my company. This enabled me to converse freely with her without any façade or pretense. Of course, Lisa would be quick inform me precisely what my problems were, yet for some reason it had no effect on her fondness of me.
As winter approached we devised a plan to have a "standing date". Every Wednesday we would meet up and go for a meal. Lisa was a vegan and I was a vegetarian with a severe phobia towards dairy products that expressed itself in absolute hysterical panic should anything either white or yellow come within 5 metres of me. I mean, seriously, anyone who grew up with dogs will confirm that melted parmesan cheese smells exactly like dog diarrhoea. How people eat that shit is beyond me. So it was of extreme relief for me to find someone whose culinary predilections matched my own, and with these inclinations in mind the most obvious cuisine for us to choose was Indian.
Anyone familiar with the demographics of the restaurant industry in the UK will note that for all the Sikhs one may see or Urdu speakers one my hear on the streets of the country, the majority of those who run sub-continental restaurants are Bengali. If one wants to enjoy the dairy-heavy "delights" of Punjabi food, or share in the Kashmiris fondness for nuts and dried fruit, or even if you have a hankering for the coconut milk based and predominantly vegetarian fare found in Kerala, you are going to have a limited options. However, if you like seafood or crave the lentils and pulses common in Bengali cuisine then there is one place where you will find this food in abundance, Brick Lane.
As obvious a choice as Brick Lane was, Lisa and I had a plan. Each Wednesday we would go to the street, to a different restaurant each time, yet order the exact same two dishes. Then we would rate each restaurant according to how well these dishes were prepared. The two dishes that we ordered were Sag Aloo and Channa Masala. Beside dahl, these two dishes are stables of the vegetable selections in most Bengali restaurants. If a restaurant prepares excellent Sag Aloo and Channa Masala then you know that it is a quality establishment.
There is nothing more impressive than someone who knows a good restaurant. Both Lisa and I were well aware of this and were determined to add this knowledge to our list of skills. As we were both foreigners we felt it would be highly regarded if we had a familiarity with The Capital's premier sub-continental culinary precinct. You never know who may have arrived in London from our countries of birth, looking for us to take them out for a quality meal. Having the expertise equal to or greater than a local would command considerable respect.
Every time I eat at a restaurant with someone or a group of people, and this especially applies to food like Indian which is predominantly shared, I feel a great unease that my culinary peculiarities are limiting the choices of my dinning companions. I worry that these people secretly resent me for my tastes and harbour a desire to cease from eating in my presence. The fact that I didn't have to worry about upsetting Lisa with my predilections was very much a relief. To add to this, for someone like myself who feels perpetually lacking in human contact, to know that every Wednesday evening I would be able to eat a meal with someone whose company I enjoyed and whose palate I shared was something that consoled me greatly. It made me feel that for at least one day a week I had a comfortable social outlet, something that even to this day I have yet to regain.
As it transpired Lisa only required someone to relate her story to and over the next few weeks we developed an important and meaningful relationship. The main thing I liked about Lisa was her brute honesty. At first I found it a little odd that someone who was so critical of my actions would continue to call me wanting to hang out, however I soon discovered that this actually aided me in become a more socially competent person. Regardless (or possibly because) of my faults and idiosyncrasies, Lisa still enjoyed my company. This enabled me to converse freely with her without any façade or pretense. Of course, Lisa would be quick inform me precisely what my problems were, yet for some reason it had no effect on her fondness of me.
As winter approached we devised a plan to have a "standing date". Every Wednesday we would meet up and go for a meal. Lisa was a vegan and I was a vegetarian with a severe phobia towards dairy products that expressed itself in absolute hysterical panic should anything either white or yellow come within 5 metres of me. I mean, seriously, anyone who grew up with dogs will confirm that melted parmesan cheese smells exactly like dog diarrhoea. How people eat that shit is beyond me. So it was of extreme relief for me to find someone whose culinary predilections matched my own, and with these inclinations in mind the most obvious cuisine for us to choose was Indian.
Anyone familiar with the demographics of the restaurant industry in the UK will note that for all the Sikhs one may see or Urdu speakers one my hear on the streets of the country, the majority of those who run sub-continental restaurants are Bengali. If one wants to enjoy the dairy-heavy "delights" of Punjabi food, or share in the Kashmiris fondness for nuts and dried fruit, or even if you have a hankering for the coconut milk based and predominantly vegetarian fare found in Kerala, you are going to have a limited options. However, if you like seafood or crave the lentils and pulses common in Bengali cuisine then there is one place where you will find this food in abundance, Brick Lane.
As obvious a choice as Brick Lane was, Lisa and I had a plan. Each Wednesday we would go to the street, to a different restaurant each time, yet order the exact same two dishes. Then we would rate each restaurant according to how well these dishes were prepared. The two dishes that we ordered were Sag Aloo and Channa Masala. Beside dahl, these two dishes are stables of the vegetable selections in most Bengali restaurants. If a restaurant prepares excellent Sag Aloo and Channa Masala then you know that it is a quality establishment.
There is nothing more impressive than someone who knows a good restaurant. Both Lisa and I were well aware of this and were determined to add this knowledge to our list of skills. As we were both foreigners we felt it would be highly regarded if we had a familiarity with The Capital's premier sub-continental culinary precinct. You never know who may have arrived in London from our countries of birth, looking for us to take them out for a quality meal. Having the expertise equal to or greater than a local would command considerable respect.
Every time I eat at a restaurant with someone or a group of people, and this especially applies to food like Indian which is predominantly shared, I feel a great unease that my culinary peculiarities are limiting the choices of my dinning companions. I worry that these people secretly resent me for my tastes and harbour a desire to cease from eating in my presence. The fact that I didn't have to worry about upsetting Lisa with my predilections was very much a relief. To add to this, for someone like myself who feels perpetually lacking in human contact, to know that every Wednesday evening I would be able to eat a meal with someone whose company I enjoyed and whose palate I shared was something that consoled me greatly. It made me feel that for at least one day a week I had a comfortable social outlet, something that even to this day I have yet to regain.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Parking Problems
I slept in this morning. As a result I drove to university, rather than catch the bus. After parking I walked over to the ticket machine in order to purchase a ticket. I had the exact change in a variety of denominations. I pushed the coins into the machine in descending order of worth. The last two coins left in my hand were five cent pieces and as I inserted each of them into the machine they were both spat back out the coin return. I pushed both coins back into the machine and once again they both were rejected. I promptly came to the conclusion that the ticket machine did not take five cent pieces. Having no other coins on my person I walked back to my car. I decided that I would write a note explaining the situation and informing the parking inspector that I would return to purchase a ticket upon obtaining some more change. As I walked through the car park toward the university buildings I spied a $2 on the ground. Being someone who is not opposed to the idea of free money, I picked the coin up and placed it in my pocket. Now the most ethical thing for me to do would have gone back to my car, taken the rest of the change I had and gone and purchased a ticket. Did I do this though? No I didn't, I just kept on walking. You see I'm the type of guy plays by his own rules. If I write a note, I stick by that note. I'm not going to bow to the pressure of merely having the means to follow the state's parking laws. The whole car parking industry is a scam as far as I'm concerned! They make millions these car park operators. Millions! Even if a parking inspector had of approached me and asked me to prove the factuality of my note I wouldn't have backed down. I would have been all like "What are you gonna do, frisk me? You gonna pat me down, man? You've got neither the authority nor the whereforall" . And he would have been like "I come across snot-nose punks like you every day. You think that you're special because you wrote some bullshit note about 5 cent pieces? You and your university educated think-you're-better-than-me attitude, you can go to hell!" But I would haven't taken his guff, I would have been right back at him, giving as good as I got "You and your inspector buddies think you're playing god. You're nothing but a bunch of police academy dropouts, getting some power-hungry perverted thrill out of stalking single mothers who may have parked slightly into a loading zone. You make me sick. Why don't you go take a long walk off a short pier?" Luckily it never came to this, however, if it did I would like it to be known that I would have been more than capable of standing my ground.
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