Saturday 29 November 2008

Too Much Solitude

Just another quiet Saturday night, listening to Norwegian black metal and devouring the flesh of my enemy. Yummy!

It is with overwhelming and transcendent joy that I embrace my insignificance. Hallelujah!

This Jameson Irish whiskey I'm drinking is really good. Goooood!

Bring on the dancing Leprechauns!!!

Wednesday 26 November 2008

The Snowman

A while ago I had a vivid dream about a snowman. I’m not entirely convinced it was a dream. Some dreams jump around too much and are so ridiculous you just know you’re in a dream. This one was very real, despite the dancing snowman. I decided to write it down and it came out poem-ish. So I gave it a title. Here it is:

The Snowman
I am alone in the comfortable dark.
The balance shifts when the snowman appears.
The infinite quiet transforms into sound and he takes his place beside me.
I try not to look at him but he wants to play.
I do not trust a man made of snow.
His icy flesh will burn my fingers.
If I try to warm him he will melt.
We dance a little but I keep my distance, until it’s time to leave.
I sneak away but with some reluctance.
A small hollow has formed in my breast.

Outside, in the unsettling light, a man passes by.
We look into each other for a period of unmeasured time.
I can see he is lonely and wants something from me.
I want to give him something.
But I remain still, craven.
Protected by my silence.
He moves away.



Snowman picture by Hugh Whyte from art.com (subjects>holidays>Christmas>snowman gallery)

Monday 24 November 2008

Fiery Television

Looking forward to a wild night in front of the television tonight. At 7:30 is the revisited "90210", which is promising a 'bitch-off' between the now adult Brenda and Kelly. Followed at 8:30 by part 2 of "The Howard Years", continuing the 'bitch-off' between John Howard and Peter Costello begun in last week's episode. Excellent.

Saturday 22 November 2008

Slacker

That would be me. Maybe. I guess society would view me as such. I'm currently having a self-funded, mid-life retirement. Some people would call it being "unemployed". I disagree. I've found many useful ways to occupy my time; I'm 'employing' myself in a number of constructive pursuits (the recent deluge of blog entries being a testament to this). I'm just not getting paid. So 'frugal' is a word I've come to know. But I don't need a lot of money to live; I don't have children or a mortgage - things which can require large sums of money. I can darn my socks if I need to, I can cut back on my shopping trips to Paris (OK, not really; but I know of people who have done this - people who live in Melbourne - it's probably not so extravagant to go shopping in Paris if you live in Paris).

I feel like I've spent enough years working; I'm over it, the thrill has gone. However, I'm still looking at job ads. They usually say things like 'fast-paced', 'busy', 'multi-tasking', 'full-time' - no, no, no, no. These things are not for me. I want 'reasonably paced', 'easy-going', one-task-at-a-time', 'part-time'. I don't think I was meant for this 9-to-5 life.

Sometimes I need to meander through the day - through my life - just see what happens. Some people would find this unfulfilling. Not me. I have a very high boredom threshold; I can stuff around for hours. It hasn't always been this way. I've had periods of high energy, intense motivation. November of 1991 was very productive. And let's not forget the heady, wild days (and nights) of 1998, which lasted from mid-September until Christmas. Mad times. I got things done, baby. Oh yeah. Unfortunately, I can't recall any of it now; those times are just a hazy, vague memory.

At some point, god knows how, I managed to get a degree in Science (with honours in organic chemistry), which has served me well. And now I think it would be fun to get a PhD (so I can be Dr Nicole), but I don't want to do the laboratory work, which is fairly unavoidable if you're doing a PhD in organic chemistry. Hmmm. Tricky. But maybe not impossible. I'll have to have a long, hard ponder about this. Perhaps there's a really, really, obscure and seemingly ridiculous project that nobody else wants to do because it involves long hours of stuffing around and minimal lab-time. And if I have to move to a far away location with unusual fauna and odd people, that would be okay.

Monday 17 November 2008

All Night Long

No, not that lilting melody by the lovely Lionel Ritchie. And no, sadly, not that other thing.

The title of this blog post refers to the length of time spent, by my neighbour, playing heavily bass-laden music. Normally I love the bass. I'm totally "addicted to bass" - I too hunger for the beast below. But not at 3am, two nights in a row. And there have been other nights - sometimes I fall asleep despite the noise, I'm usually a good sleeper. But not at the moment. And last night, as I lay in bed, my head pounding, I imagined myself breaking down my neighbour's door and smashing the speaker over her head. Which isn't very nice, and I quite like her. She's in her early twenties and I think she has a good heart and I like her music the rest of the time. I suspect she doesn't realise how well bass-laden music travels in the stillness of the night.

So I wrote her a polite but firm note explaining how her musical-joy is detracting from my sleep-joy. I don't know if it will have any effect and I feel like a grumpy old woman, but she needs to be warned; as sleep-deprived Nicole might morph into psychotic-speaker-smashing-over-the-head Nicole.

I actually know quite a bit about her life as we share a wall and she's fond of speaking at a yelling volume. It's always interesting when her boyfriend comes over. He's a very passionate young man. Sometimes he stands outside her bedroom window (I assume this is because she won't let him inside) calling out his love to her (or something like that). It's all very Romeo and Juliet. Just last week I happened to glance out the back window and noticed he was standing in the backyard without his shirt on, I guessed he was sunbaking - I checked a few more times, just to be sure.

Saturday 15 November 2008

Nicole-Fly

I’ve been thinking about my favourite films (in case I decide to do a favourites list). One of them is “The Fly” (David Cronenberg’s version). The film has acquired some infamy due to its amazing, and gory, special effects. It’s not a film for everyone. I saw it when I was twenty (which was twenty years ago – so I hope I’m not remembering wrong – and, yes, I know, I can get it on dvd, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet). Maybe someone will give it to me as a Christmas present.

It’s a film full of allegory, as well as being a fascinating science fiction story (although the film is usually classified as horror; I think the two categories can easily meld together – just like the scientist in the film melds with a fly). I identified with the main character, Seth Brundle. He was a socially awkward, obsessive scientist, who was willing to ignore danger and consequence in pursuit of knowledge and control of the material world. Or something like that. Also, he was really drunk when he jumped into the teleportation pod accompanied by that sneaky fly (it’s never a good idea to drink and teleport). I don’t identify with him quite so much now that I’m more mature and sensible – however, just to be safe, I don’t keep teleportation pods in my home.

I imagine a lot of people will have dismissed it as a shocking special effects film. And it is shocking, and somewhat stomach-churning. But a lot of the ‘shockingness’ and horror comes from the viewer’s emotional involvement with the characters and their story. It was an incredibly sad and tragic tale, and at its heart was a doomed love: for once Seth became the Brundle-fly he could no longer be with the woman he loved, as she was completely human.

After seeing the film I would often find myself in sombre contemplation of it, even to the point of tears. I think it made me sad because I’d begun to realise that I was also part-fly and that my boyfriend (who was my first true love - though not really - it's just that the expectation is that you have to have a first true love) was completely human. So I had to end the relationship. Though, to be fair, I also had to end the relationship because he was kind of sexist and narrow-minded and conservative and a little bit patriarchal and maybe somewhat controlling. Actually, now that I think about it, there were many, many reasons to end this relationship.

Many years later I met someone who seemed to be part-fly. Initially, I was so happy to have found someone seemingly like me that I didn’t notice how much of him was fly. Or how little of him was human. Or that his fly part was more bot-fly than house-fly. The relationship ended badly. I’m much more cautious now. (I think this blog entry itself has just delved into the murky waters of allegory).

I think the real tragedy of Seth Brundle is that he didn’t fully accept what he’d become or, possibly, was meant to become. Perhaps it was his destiny to merge with an insect; maybe the fly had been hanging around him on purpose, knowing that Seth was spiritually and emotionally part-fly. And it was waiting for an opportunity to make a physical union with Brundle – I’m completely serious; flies are strategic creatures, very cunning.

It’s a shame the Brundle-fly didn’t take some time out, reflect on his new existence and its possibilities. If he’d done some travelling, say to Prague, he might have run into that other well-known part-insect, Gregor Samsa. Then he’d have had a buddy; someone else who knows what it’s like to be part-insect in a world of humans.


(Gregor Samsa: painted by Migvel Tepes)

Monday 10 November 2008

Favourite Lists

Some of the blogs I've visited have included lists of the blog writer's favourite movies and books. I'm always interested in other people's favourites and wonder what it is about the film or book or TV show that speaks to them, or about them. Of course, it could be argued that people sometimes read a book or watch a film to escape from their lives and themselves - perhaps books or films that seem obvious or shallow or easy. But what is it they're escaping to and why. If a person lists something as being a favourite, above other obvious and shallow things (and assuming they've had a proper think about it), then there is probably something in it; maybe something that isn't obvious or easy, something buried deep in their psyche (this is my current new favourite word; another new favourite word I've had was 'baffled' - of course none of them will ever come close to 'effulgent').

Thursday 6 November 2008

Inner Psyche

Here is a picture of a famous painting by Edvard Munch; I think it encapsulates my essence:



My cat, Willow, asked if I could include a picture which encapsulates her essence. Here is the one she selected:




Beautiful kitty-cat.
While we were looking for pictures of tigers we found out that:
  • Most tigers have more than 100 stripes
  • No two tigers have identical stripes
  • The roar of a tiger can be heard more than a mile away (much like Willow's meow and my scream)

Tuesday 4 November 2008

Preciosity

Science textbooks are not always easy to read. Complex ideas can be difficult to explain. It is important to carefully and precisely define a concept. Sometimes a big word is necessary, sometimes many big words are necessary; sometimes too many big words can spoil the broth. Here is an example from a Chemistry text:

"A theoretical prerequisite of qualitative analysis was the acceptance of a corpuscular philosophy: for if the theory of chemistry is epigenetic and permits real transformations of forms and qualities, then analysis is meaningless. The adoption of a preformationist corpuscular hypothesis implied that chemically invariant candidates were available for identification routines." *

Huh?

'Corpuscular' - I can't understand why this sexy word has dropped out of everyday English.

* From "The Norton History of Chemistry" by William H Brock, pg 178.

Saturday 1 November 2008

Diverging Paths

I seem to be disconnecting from some of my friends. With one friend I had to end the friendship; fullstop, don't contact me anymore. It was not easy to do, but I felt I had no choice; there was a level of 'betrayal' (for want of a better word that doesn't sound quite so et tu, Brutus?) that I thought was too high for forgiveness. Another friend, a long-haul friend, seems to be drifting away from me. Or I'm drifting away from her. Maybe it's mutual drifting. Whatever the case, I think I'm now floating in a completely different body of water (I can't decide if I'm in a pond or a river or maybe even an ocean).