He Lied In Every Word

I'm thinking of cultivating an ethereal and mystical aura. The only things that spring to mind from that sentence are a tie-dyed T-shirt, a long cotton skirt, sandals, frizzy hair and the reek of sandalwood, so the look probably isn't for me. Give me jeans, pithy slogan T-shirts and Amazing Impromptu Haircut any day. I also loathe sandalwood.

The reason for this is some of the ridiculous awkwardness from a neighbourhood mum because I gave her daughter an ice pack for a twisted ankle. ("I'll get it back to you," she sheepishly announced). I found these ice-cube bags in the amazing plastic bag aisle while grocery shopping (cringe*) and had one filled up. Since the ice-pack is disposable, I wasn't too fussed about getting it back. Really. If I wanted it back I would have said where and when. I'm direct like that.

While I'm on the subject, I'm not un-fond of my possessions, but they are only possessions. If I lend something to someone, I hope for it back, but I say goodbye before I hand it over. Not because I think it will get damaged, destroyed or run off with, just because accidents sometimes happen. If it's a disposable something, I couldn't care less if it became Prime Minister, won an Oscar and went on to say it was all down to its new owner in its thank-you speech. The awkwardness** then is perplexing, and occasionally irritating.

So the mystical and ethereal manner could work for me. I could look even more vague than usual. I only need to practice a beatific smile, and stop saying "WHAT?" when I've had a zone-out. I could wear a long cotton dress thing and an occasional stretchy velvet thing. And smell of sandalwood (if I had nose plugs). Although practising facial expressions in a mirror feels a bit American Psycho, and Patrick Bateman is a tool.

*Normally I avoid gadgety-plastic-bags like this because they're disposable, usually craptastic (or less fabulous than I've hoped) and seem a ridiculous waste of all the effort to make plastic. I'm funny that way. I also have a sidebar feeling of the great advertising cliche: being one half of two c's in a k. Erk. (Although I don't have another c that I talk to about shopping in my kitchen over coffee and teacakes we've baked ourselves. Perhaps I'm doing something wrong and should embrace the cliche.)

**I have an urge to invent the word "awkwardity". Until I see how stupid it looks when I type it.

It's three a.m. in the neighbourhood and I've hit a sleepy spot.

It's hard to function at this time of night,
When eyelids slide shut in spite of false light;
My head hits the bench as sleeping I fall
In flittering dark, a whispering hall.
Liquid muttering, shapes felt but unseen,
A glimmer of skin, unhealthy, unclean;
I should run away; no running, not yet.
There's nowhere to go, it's in my own head,
As if the horrors I know took root: bred.
Short naps such as this are double-edged gifts;
The rest of the sleep, the dreams in the rift.

So fell Lord Perth; see that crater in the Earth?

Reruns of Reruns

Bewitched? Not really. I saw this episode yesterday.

Small lad excelled himself in the Mother's Day stakes this morning. He made cards, both of them utterly gorgeous (particularly the emoticons in silver pen), and handed over an oil burner - something I've needed for a while.

"Needed" being a relative term: the fates of our lives do not depend on the presence of an oil burner.

The day went sort of downhill from there. I had half-planned a trip to the Powerhouse Museum, but before I said anything about it we had an invitation to a family do. So tough luck on that. It's frustrating that there is never room for compromise with these things. And no is not taken well with this particular bunch. All of that grousing aside, "my" herb bread went over a treat.

So much so I looked it up on the iPad; cue watching youtube videos and getting embarrassed about looking up my stats for this blog. (I opened Safari, okay? Blogger was one of my open pages, okay?) Some people read this page. Good Lord. Drivel ready? Drivel launched.

This is the most stop-start entry ever. I have A Few Good Men playing in the background - late-eighties/early nineties musical grace notes to denote action, ick - and keep getting sidetracked. They're all so young! Jack Nicholson is so crazy! Guantanemo Bay - that embarrassment - before anyone had an idea what it was!

As much as this is compelling, I find myself out of love with easeful deat- Sorry, wrong opinion piece. Ahem, I find myself out of love with American courtroom drama. The constant harping on judicial process and the majesty of the legal system is starting to sound like a denial argument - methinks they doth protest too much. Extrajudicial process? Sure. Go overseas. Disregard any judicial process in the host country; it's probably inferior.

Okay, that's it for my incendiary remarks for today. Good timing. Jessup (Nicholson) has just entered the courtroom. Got to love the logic of the righteous - how utterly insane in the brain, murrain. Well, not really a murrain, unless I wanted to start a whimsy on the death of empathy; the death of understanding and the deeper ramifications. Nah. Take too long, and I'd contradict myself at least four hundred times.

Still worth a thought.

I have mixed feelings about the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. There's no Will Turner or Elizabeth. Not that the only reason I was watching was Orlando Bloom...not at all preciousss.

Hairy Bikers are now cooking, and I have an urge to barbecue a pineapple on a spit, basting it with sugar and cinnamon as I go. Not what the Hairy Bikers are doing, they have some sesame seed thing (gak! blech! I hate sesame!). I had my pineapple thing at the Braza in Leichardt and think about it every now and then as the perfect dessert. Except for the heartburn from the pineapple, but you pay for what you get in life, right?

It is late and I am tired so it is time for me to read a book until my eyes slam shut and I leave the light on all night.

Morphometric Cartoon Characters

At the moment I'm reading The Wayfinders Why Ancient Wisdom Matters in the Modern World by Wade Davis. Very long-winded title, but appropriate since it's a lecture series, really, rather than a book. Very interesting. I just finished The Stars My Destination (yes, okay also known as Tiger! Tiger!) by Alfred Bester ("...for tin crumbles to dust in the absolute zero of space."), one of my favourite novels for the moment.

At the back of my copy is a little blurb from Neil Gaiman (is it just me or does he turn up everywhere?); apparently Alfie Bester bequeathed his estate to his favourite bartender. Who knew? Well, apparently lots of people, but Wikipedia was strangely reticent about the fact. Because I like conspiracy theories, even small ones, I'm going with no-one wanting to mention that he drank. A Lot. Towards the End.

In the way of wiki, that led me on to Babylon 5's Alfred Bester. For some reason, although he's played by Walter Koenig, still recognisably Chekov, the character keeps morphing in my brain into Bilis from Torchwood season 1 (Captain Jack Harkness/End of Days).

The mind is strange. Mine, anyway.

As predicted, I've done less than I hoped to do in the house-clean-keeping stakes, but then, I also made Yorkshire puddings with dinner tonight, so I'm not too bummed. The boys are keeping well. And I predict, since I've come in to work and there were puddings left over, over-fed.

Anything else to report? No not really. I've taken to braiding my hair again. Isn't that a bottom-of-the-barrel mention?

My head is all over (the braid isn't long enough to hold it in place), partly due to my reading habits lately, because nothing messes around with my inner life than compelling science fiction - slideshows of the Spanish Stairs, a space-yacht and the commercial dynasties of the world persisting into the future ad infinitum as a ridiculous upper class - the exhilaration is marvellous, though the spontaneous giggles are off-putting for passersby.

The rest of the slideshows currently running (come visit my head, bring your own popcorn and please be tidy) are intercuts between two short stories that are not written yet. Probably if I did the work instead of thinking about it, things would proceed swimmingly, but again I'm caught in the conundrums of far too much to do half the time, and little motivation for things other than sleep the rest. And the boys have been home. And I'm sure I can think of more excuses if I try only a little. If I try really, really hard, my head might pop.

I normally drink about a litre of water on my shifts these days. The tea room is right next door! There is nice water! There are no comfortable chairs! Count them, zero. Really. No comfortable chairs in a tea room. I'd bring in my own, but it's a bit big to be carting around. It probably doesn't comply with OH&S requirements either. Frankly the thought of doing a risk assessment on a comfy chair doesn't float my boat. It does boggle my mind, however. The Spanish Stairs must be wearing off.

I have no idea where I was going with that. I had to stop and do some work (that is, after all, what they pay me for); marvellous for breaking the concentration.

Anyhoo, as I wasn't saying, I was thinking of doing something postgraduate. I found a couple of master's programs (not the "he knocks four times" Master, but the- oh, you know), that looked pretty interesting. I think it was either Charles Sturt or UNE that had an MA with a non-MA component. I was thinking of doing the "Arts" requirements and then picking up either maths, IT or pathology subjects to fill it out. That would be interesting. Then I looked at the cost. Which didn't bother me, per subject; I could always do the units I wanted without an award at the end. I'm a grownup, I can do whatever I want. Then I saw a disclaimer on one of the websites saying "you must balance the expected career benefits against the cost of this course". Consider me paused. I think I'll just muddle along without, thanks.

Speaking of he knocks four times, back to the science fiction, what the hell was up with those episodes? Flying death's head. Green light things. Ay? Tim Dalton as evil Time Lord, kinda nifty.

No idea where I was going with that either, except the boys are having the Doctor Who Bonanza (all seasons and specials now available in my iTunes library! Go nuts, boys!). Me, not so much, although I did make them sit through "Midnight", my favourite creepy Doctor Who after "Blink".

Much, much later than the above, that will teach me to think it was going to be a really quiet night. You know it's bad when you start growling every time the phone rings. Although people who know me are remembering the number of times I've been caught swearing whenever the phone rings at work. The only thing that mortifies me is that I'm not all that creative in my swearing, generally it's {expletive} off and then I answer the phone. Pick an expletive, I don't always go on about fornication.

Not everything is about sex. Including sex. Apparently.

God, That's Good

I've watched Red Dwarf approximately twenty-seven times. All of the series and Smeg-Ups. Now t'yoong man is watching them all again too, on top of my twenty-seven viewings.

I am so very bored (and boring) at the moment. My biggest achievements for the entire weekend are multiple loaves of bread. I had my hand on the pre-sliced, rust-proof, easy-to handle loaf of Wonder White in the shop (love that fibre) and thought it wasn't quite as bouncy as fresh bread ought to be. Thus, this weekend has been a festival of hand-made, hard to toast (look at the size of that thing!), crusty bread. (Cut the chatter, Red 2).

Other than that the house looks like something out of a zombie movie - plaster dust everywhere and the continual small pieces of kipple that have accumulated over the last two months of renovating the bathroom. Any minute now I'll buy a real sheep and we'll be complete (and it's pretty unlikely some robot woman will toss said sheep off the roof in revenge).

There are rather a lot more references to science fiction in this post than usual, but so it goes; at least I don't browbeat people with geekdom: "why would anyone have to ask that?"

It might be all geek to me as well, but believe it or not, there are fully functioning members of society out there who have no clue about Star Wars, Trek or -ship Troopers. Fully functioning. Imagine that.

Well before I start sobbing into my keyboard over the waste, I believe I'll take my crap mood elsewhere. Thanks for reading. I really, really appreciate it.