Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I have faith
I also have my fingers crossed, am not stepping on any cracks, and am keeping a weather eye out for ladders and black cats.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Scene at the Chippy
I poured vinegar over my chips.
Him: It's interesting. I wonder if it's the height of the counter? But most female customers have to lean forward to put the salt and vinegar on.
Other guy: Must you make a comment about it?
Him: I just think it's interesting! [To me] You didn't lean forward.
Me: I make a point not to lean forward.
Him: Don't worry girl, I'm sure they're lovely and all, but I think most female customers must just be short.
Me: That's weird, because I consider myself quite short.
Him: No, I think you're a good height for a female.
Me: Well, thanks, that's always good to know.
Him: It's interesting. I wonder if it's the height of the counter? But most female customers have to lean forward to put the salt and vinegar on.
Other guy: Must you make a comment about it?
Him: I just think it's interesting! [To me] You didn't lean forward.
Me: I make a point not to lean forward.
Him: Don't worry girl, I'm sure they're lovely and all, but I think most female customers must just be short.
Me: That's weird, because I consider myself quite short.
Him: No, I think you're a good height for a female.
Me: Well, thanks, that's always good to know.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Dig those heels in
Isn't it strange how we dig our heels in when pushed? Is this "I don't wanna" reflex the flipside of freewill?
I've been called stubborn (I disagree, by the way). The Mother has always said that I nod along with everyone, then do exactly what I want anyway.
I just wonder how many mistake we've made with our instinctive no, when a little more flexibility could have won us great things.
I've been called stubborn (I disagree, by the way). The Mother has always said that I nod along with everyone, then do exactly what I want anyway.
I just wonder how many mistake we've made with our instinctive no, when a little more flexibility could have won us great things.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Plato was right
I know
that I know
your shadow
only.
I know
that you are just an
outline
a sketch
an obscure reflection of a conversation long since forgotten.
I know
that I know
your shadow
only.
I know
that you are just an
unfinished note
an unheard song
a whispered melody, misheard and forgotten.
I know
that I know
your shadow
only
I know
that I know
your shadow
only.
I know
that you are just an
outline
a sketch
an obscure reflection of a conversation long since forgotten.
I know
that I know
your shadow
only.
I know
that you are just an
unfinished note
an unheard song
a whispered melody, misheard and forgotten.
I know
that I know
your shadow
only
I know
Fictional Zombies
My favourite part of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? The Readers' Discussion question at the back.
"Some scholars believe that the zombies were a last-minute addtion to the novel, requested by the publisher in a shameless attempt to boost sales. Others argue that the hordes of living dead are integral to Jane Austen's plot and social commentary. What do you think? Can you imagine what the novel would be like without the violent zombie mayhem?"
Ha!
"Some scholars believe that the zombies were a last-minute addtion to the novel, requested by the publisher in a shameless attempt to boost sales. Others argue that the hordes of living dead are integral to Jane Austen's plot and social commentary. What do you think? Can you imagine what the novel would be like without the violent zombie mayhem?"
Ha!
440
The number of emails I just finally got around to deleting from my inbox.
At least half of them were Facebook messages.
Stupid Facebook.
At least half of them were Facebook messages.
Stupid Facebook.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Julie and Julia
This movie is all about Meryl Streep. She just steals every single scene she's in. And she and Stanley Tucci, who plays Julia Child's husband Paul, have the most wonderful chemistry. Their relationship, and Julia's relationship with food, made this movie shine.
I was a bit meh on the Julie part. But it was quite a project to embark on (and definitely one of those "I wish I had thought of that" ones).
And now I just want to go and cook something adventurous and vivacious and French.
I was a bit meh on the Julie part. But it was quite a project to embark on (and definitely one of those "I wish I had thought of that" ones).
And now I just want to go and cook something adventurous and vivacious and French.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Mullholland Dr
I actually don't even know where to start on this movie. The surreal storyline? The bizarre twists? The tense score? The incredible visual tricks? The absorbing plot? The freaky characters? The rather hot scenes I know you all know about and which you know I now know about and to which I will continue to obliquely refer? It was a brilliant movie. Am hooked on David Lynch!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Timing
I've been turning over in my head something that a zen-like friend told me: you receive what you're ready for. Or to paraphrase even further: you have to be in the right time and the right place.
Maybe because we're projecting the right energy? Or maybe because that is when we recognise the things we may have been too self-obsessed or self-absorbed, or too naive or too immature to see.
Forgive me, I've been watching too much David Lynch.
Maybe because we're projecting the right energy? Or maybe because that is when we recognise the things we may have been too self-obsessed or self-absorbed, or too naive or too immature to see.
Forgive me, I've been watching too much David Lynch.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Old stuff
Endless rows of endless faces
smudged as far as eyes
can see
peering to the bitter edges
trying to find the rest of
me
Endless rows circle faster
spinning swirling sicken stop.
One room, staring, at the walls,
blackness staring back.
smudged as far as eyes
can see
peering to the bitter edges
trying to find the rest of
me
Endless rows circle faster
spinning swirling sicken stop.
One room, staring, at the walls,
blackness staring back.
How to woo a nerdy girl
Der Fuhrer sent me this ages ago and I forgot to share it. I found it really amusing.
To do list
You know you've bitten off more than you can chew when you have "Life Plan" written on your to do list.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
In which my organisational whims come back to bite me in the arse
I got a sudden urge this afternoon to empty the large box labelled "To file", weed out the masses of envelopes and junk mail, and carefully and systematically refile both the new and existing papers.
So far I have emptied the box and watched The Shawshank Redemption while randomly arranging stuff in piles (Oooh, water bill. I no longer pay water bills, but I might need that. I know, I'll put it on this pile and file it under R for Random.).
The main flaw in my plan was to do all this while perched on my bed. I have managed to dislodge the piles twice and been attacked by the three (three!) packets of batteries I've found. I would take a photo of the carnage but I actually can't find my camera. Or my phone. Could somebody please call me so I can do an echo-location?
Maybe I'll give up, layer all the bills in my clothing in manner of street-sleeper and just watch Mullholland Drive instead.
So far I have emptied the box and watched The Shawshank Redemption while randomly arranging stuff in piles (Oooh, water bill. I no longer pay water bills, but I might need that. I know, I'll put it on this pile and file it under R for Random.).
The main flaw in my plan was to do all this while perched on my bed. I have managed to dislodge the piles twice and been attacked by the three (three!) packets of batteries I've found. I would take a photo of the carnage but I actually can't find my camera. Or my phone. Could somebody please call me so I can do an echo-location?
Maybe I'll give up, layer all the bills in my clothing in manner of street-sleeper and just watch Mullholland Drive instead.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Archiving
I realised tonight that I've been blogging for nearly four years. I think that's the longest I've ever "journalled". I kept a diary for a solid three years pre-blog, and I still do sporadically, but that has very much become my platform. Pretty damn boring huh?
But I was cool once! Here, see for yourself.
But I was cool once! Here, see for yourself.
Keeping Our Thoughts To Ourselves
It's strange how as we get older, we talk less. We share less with each other. And that's not a reflection on our friendships, which deepen, I think, as we age.
Are we protecting ourselves? Are we more cynical about our thoughts and ideas? Less willing to risk them out loud? Or are our thoughts just more precious to us, something we can keep to ourselves when necessity forces us to be shared with the world?
Are we protecting ourselves? Are we more cynical about our thoughts and ideas? Less willing to risk them out loud? Or are our thoughts just more precious to us, something we can keep to ourselves when necessity forces us to be shared with the world?
Monday, September 07, 2009
The Crank
He was a crank, and he knew looked it. He stood under the overhang on the platform at Kenilworth station, a full rubbish bin to his left, empty tracks to his right. He was a crank. Pissed off. Dikbek. He listed them as he waited for the train to come in, peering at the lights, willing them to flash green. It was hot and he was waiting. Trains, heat, waiting. He worried the words over in his mind, making them fit.
He reached up to touch the rafters above his head, scowling as his fingers brushed over pigeon shit. He ground his teeth at the unconcerned birds, hating them for their well-worn perches, their homey mess. As he hated the other would-be passengers who joined him under the overhang. His antipathy swelled as he watched them cluster together, away from the bin where he stood.
Flies, attracted to his overheated appearance, circled lazily. Flies, heat, trains, waiting: he listed them again as the lights went green and the train screeched into the station in fits and starts. The people around him forced open the doors, clambering over each other in their eagerness for seats away from the broken windows. Carrying his list of peeves with him, the crank chose carriage number two.
Unsure of his reasons, he faltered for a moment, trying to rationalise his decision. The shrieking whistle yanked him out of his reverie and he barely managed to avoid the closing door and grabbed onto a rail for safety. Unnoticed, unheeded, unwanted, he thought morosely when none of the other people in the carriage so much as glanced at him.
Not thinking this time, the crank chose a seat by the door. He settled next to a schoolgirl absorbed in her book. A wave of something encroached on his habitual self pity. A quick glance at the girl confirmed that she hadn't noticed. Uncaring, he thought, adding the word to unnoticed, unheeded and unwanted.
He glumly examined the spear of sun shining on his well scuffed shoes. Soon it would creep over his ankle, attack his knee and bake his leg. Stickiness, stuffiness, sullenness. The alliterative misery broke through and he smiled, briefly and sardonically. He reached into his pocket and brought out the other list, the one he had had no say in compiling.
Breathe, it said.
Quashing the impulse to roll his eyes, he huffed in and out.
Close your eyes and absorb the atmosphere, it said.
He blinked and considered that done.
Sit without judgement, it said.
Look without criticism, it said.
Relax, it said.
He folded the list away carefully, placed his hands on his knees and prepared to stare at the floor. He ground his teeth as he noticed an identifiable stain by his right foot.
“Think we'll be late again?” a young voice asked.
Startled, he swung around to face the schoolgirl.
She bent the spine of Wuthering Heights back. “Were you stuck yesterday too?” she ventured when he looked at her.
“No,” he answered eventually.
Breathe, the list had said. He inhaled, exhaled.
“I don't usually take the train.”
“I always take the train,” she answered him comfortably. “But it means I'm late a lot. Have you ever tried to explain to a teacher that it's Metrorail's fault? The first 50 times, sure. After that they start to get a bit sceptical. Have you read this?” She gestured with the book.
He nodded slowly.
“It's prescribed,” the girl said. “I don't know how I feel about it yet.”
“Either you like it or you don't,” the crank said, surprising himself.
She shook her head.
“Impossible to say.”
“Why?” the crank asked, despite himself.
“Because they're horrible. Obsessed and pathetic is not particularly appealing you know. They should just let it go.”
Relax, the list said.
“This is me,” the schoolgirl said as the train shuddered to a halt. She leapt up and was immediately lost in the crush.
The crank followed more slowly, his instructions screwed up in a ball in his hand. He walked up the platform, not noticing the vendors and their buckets of ice and cooldrink. He didn't notice the ticket collector's glare when she buzzed him through the turnstile. He walked straight past the boys with their hands outstretched to where the young therapist waited.
“Well?” the young man asked. “Did the list help?”
“Goddamn fucking waste of my time,” the crank grunted, and threw the list away.
He reached up to touch the rafters above his head, scowling as his fingers brushed over pigeon shit. He ground his teeth at the unconcerned birds, hating them for their well-worn perches, their homey mess. As he hated the other would-be passengers who joined him under the overhang. His antipathy swelled as he watched them cluster together, away from the bin where he stood.
Flies, attracted to his overheated appearance, circled lazily. Flies, heat, trains, waiting: he listed them again as the lights went green and the train screeched into the station in fits and starts. The people around him forced open the doors, clambering over each other in their eagerness for seats away from the broken windows. Carrying his list of peeves with him, the crank chose carriage number two.
Unsure of his reasons, he faltered for a moment, trying to rationalise his decision. The shrieking whistle yanked him out of his reverie and he barely managed to avoid the closing door and grabbed onto a rail for safety. Unnoticed, unheeded, unwanted, he thought morosely when none of the other people in the carriage so much as glanced at him.
Not thinking this time, the crank chose a seat by the door. He settled next to a schoolgirl absorbed in her book. A wave of something encroached on his habitual self pity. A quick glance at the girl confirmed that she hadn't noticed. Uncaring, he thought, adding the word to unnoticed, unheeded and unwanted.
He glumly examined the spear of sun shining on his well scuffed shoes. Soon it would creep over his ankle, attack his knee and bake his leg. Stickiness, stuffiness, sullenness. The alliterative misery broke through and he smiled, briefly and sardonically. He reached into his pocket and brought out the other list, the one he had had no say in compiling.
Breathe, it said.
Quashing the impulse to roll his eyes, he huffed in and out.
Close your eyes and absorb the atmosphere, it said.
He blinked and considered that done.
Sit without judgement, it said.
Look without criticism, it said.
Relax, it said.
He folded the list away carefully, placed his hands on his knees and prepared to stare at the floor. He ground his teeth as he noticed an identifiable stain by his right foot.
“Think we'll be late again?” a young voice asked.
Startled, he swung around to face the schoolgirl.
She bent the spine of Wuthering Heights back. “Were you stuck yesterday too?” she ventured when he looked at her.
“No,” he answered eventually.
Breathe, the list had said. He inhaled, exhaled.
“I don't usually take the train.”
“I always take the train,” she answered him comfortably. “But it means I'm late a lot. Have you ever tried to explain to a teacher that it's Metrorail's fault? The first 50 times, sure. After that they start to get a bit sceptical. Have you read this?” She gestured with the book.
He nodded slowly.
“It's prescribed,” the girl said. “I don't know how I feel about it yet.”
“Either you like it or you don't,” the crank said, surprising himself.
She shook her head.
“Impossible to say.”
“Why?” the crank asked, despite himself.
“Because they're horrible. Obsessed and pathetic is not particularly appealing you know. They should just let it go.”
Relax, the list said.
“This is me,” the schoolgirl said as the train shuddered to a halt. She leapt up and was immediately lost in the crush.
The crank followed more slowly, his instructions screwed up in a ball in his hand. He walked up the platform, not noticing the vendors and their buckets of ice and cooldrink. He didn't notice the ticket collector's glare when she buzzed him through the turnstile. He walked straight past the boys with their hands outstretched to where the young therapist waited.
“Well?” the young man asked. “Did the list help?”
“Goddamn fucking waste of my time,” the crank grunted, and threw the list away.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Carboot Moment 6
Sustenance (the bacon butties had already been consumed at this point)., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.
Sustenance (the bacon butties had already been consumed at this point).
Carboot Moment 5
The Sister is appropriately ashamed of spelling DVDs with an apostrophe., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.
The Sister is appropriately ashamed of spelling DVDs with an apostrophe.
Carboot Moment 4
You want to buy this one! And this one, and this one, and this one, and this one...
Carboot Moment 2
The Sister is less than impressed about Milton Keynes at 6:30 on a Sunday morning., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.
The Sister is less than impressed about Milton Keynes at 6:30 on a Sunday morning.
Friday, September 04, 2009
Grosse Point Blank
"You know what you need? Shakabuku. It's swift spiritual kick to the head that changes your reality forever."
Minnie Driver, Grosse Point Blank
Not every silence needs to be filled
If you have something to say, say it.
But you don't always have to say something.
But you don't always have to say something.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Pondering rudeness
Is it rude to ask someone what they're thinking? What if they've suddenly laughed to themselves? Is it rude to ask what they're laughing at? Are you putting them on the spot?
I like knowing what people are thinking (not as much as I like making up what people are thinking of course), but I would hate to think that I was offending someone's sensibitilies by wondering aloud.
I like knowing what people are thinking (not as much as I like making up what people are thinking of course), but I would hate to think that I was offending someone's sensibitilies by wondering aloud.
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