Oldest Karamazov brother, Mitya, has been taken into custody for the murder of his father (pg 589). I, the reader/masochist, don't believe he did it. In fact, I'm now beginning to suspect that nobody murdered papa Karamazov. I'm greatly aided in my suspicion by the upcoming chapter heading "Nor was There Even Any Murder" (pg 848) - the drunken muddle-headed madcap probably fell over, knocked himself unconscious and bled to death (a fitting demise). However, there's no point worrying my pretty little head about it at the moment as I've still got another 248 pages to read before I get to the chapter.
So, meanwhile, back in the hypergraphic mire...having left me hanging with Mitya's torment, Mr D has gone off on yet another tangent...something about a neighbourhood boy...intelligent but naughty (rascally?)...I'm sure it's important, and it is vaguely interesting, but I want to get back to the main story.
And speaking of annoying but (mostly) lovable obsessive-compulsive genius-type persons, here is a disturbing clip from the TV show "The Big Bang Theory" (nerd humour rocks!) featuring theoretical physicist, Dr Sheldon Cooper, and his long-suffering neighbour, Penny (who is nursing him during his time of dire illness; he has a cold):
"...little ball of fuuuuurrrrr!"
Saturday 28 November 2009
Wednesday 25 November 2009
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...
...oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I fear that the lovely Adam (and his lovely wife) have moved away from my block of flats. There appear to be different cars parked in the driveway, with different people driving them (ie not Adam or his wife). Initially I thought they might have gotten new cars but then I saw an unfamiliar woman emerge from one of the cars and go into Adam and his wife's flat. (I managed to see all this by not-at-all subtly peering out my kitchen window). Also, on Saturday, I noticed the lovely Adam clearing away all the junk he'd stored in the backyard - he was doing a lot of lifting and carrying of things (he was wearing a singlet top, in case anyone's interested). And the backyard looks really good now.
I'm clinging to the hope that it's all just a temporary glitch in the time-space continuum; that Adam moving out actually occurs/occurred in a parallel universe which, due to climate change, has inadvertently melded into this universe - we have had some freaky weather in the last couple of weeks! Maybe once the weather settles down Adam will reappear. Maybe the Adam that reappears will be the Adam from the parallel universe, who isn't married. He'll be disorientated. He'll need someone to explain things to him. He'll need a Scientist to explain things to him. He'll need a female Scientist to explain things to him...He'll need ME to explain things to him (in case anyone didn't see where I was heading with the last few sentences).
It's also possible that Adam and his wife have separated and the woman I saw getting out of the car and going into Adam's flat is his new woman (HOMEWRECKER!!!). And he was cleaning up the backyard because the woman insisted (presumably because she's some kind of neat-freak psychopath).
Yep, it's all very interesting, but I think the 'glitch in the time-space continuum' theory is the most likely.
I fear that the lovely Adam (and his lovely wife) have moved away from my block of flats. There appear to be different cars parked in the driveway, with different people driving them (ie not Adam or his wife). Initially I thought they might have gotten new cars but then I saw an unfamiliar woman emerge from one of the cars and go into Adam and his wife's flat. (I managed to see all this by not-at-all subtly peering out my kitchen window). Also, on Saturday, I noticed the lovely Adam clearing away all the junk he'd stored in the backyard - he was doing a lot of lifting and carrying of things (he was wearing a singlet top, in case anyone's interested). And the backyard looks really good now.
I'm clinging to the hope that it's all just a temporary glitch in the time-space continuum; that Adam moving out actually occurs/occurred in a parallel universe which, due to climate change, has inadvertently melded into this universe - we have had some freaky weather in the last couple of weeks! Maybe once the weather settles down Adam will reappear. Maybe the Adam that reappears will be the Adam from the parallel universe, who isn't married. He'll be disorientated. He'll need someone to explain things to him. He'll need a Scientist to explain things to him. He'll need a female Scientist to explain things to him...He'll need ME to explain things to him (in case anyone didn't see where I was heading with the last few sentences).
It's also possible that Adam and his wife have separated and the woman I saw getting out of the car and going into Adam's flat is his new woman (HOMEWRECKER!!!). And he was cleaning up the backyard because the woman insisted (presumably because she's some kind of neat-freak psychopath).
Yep, it's all very interesting, but I think the 'glitch in the time-space continuum' theory is the most likely.
Thursday 19 November 2009
A Forgotten Incomprehensible*
A few nights ago, in a fit of madness, I decided to re-attempt to read "The Fall" by Albert Camus. I didn't have to read very far to remember why I'd abandoned it last time:
Yep, it's a little kooky. And rambly. It's 100 pages of "autobiographical", ponderous monologue spoken to the reader by an ex-lawyer who now refers to himself as a 'judge-penitent'. He's shagged a lot of women. It's important that the reader know this. And he's quite in love with himself; he freely admits this. He's basically a self-involved cad who likes to haul people up in bars and talk at them. If this guy hauled me up in a bar and started monologuing at me I'd have gotten THE HELL OUT OF THERE, probably by page 7. I'd have faked my own death if necessary, or not so much faked it as actualised it, right there in front of him. Jesus! Doesn't this guy know when to shut up!
Yeah, yeah, I know, it's a "novel of ideas", the characters and circumstances aren't meant to be taken literally. It's meant to be all philosophical and allegorical and metaphorical and symbolic(al). But this doesn't stop me from becoming involved in the situations and wanting to, philosophically, beat this guy senseless. (And, in case the judge-penitent is reading this, it was me who was laughing behind you that time on the pier...Hah! Sucker!).
* I forgot about "The Fall" when I was writing my Incomprehensibles list
"I am well aware that an addiction to silk underwear does not necessarily imply that one's feet are dirty." pg 7(While this may be so, I believe the wearing of silk underwear is explicitly connected with an addiction to fluffy slippers.)
Yep, it's a little kooky. And rambly. It's 100 pages of "autobiographical", ponderous monologue spoken to the reader by an ex-lawyer who now refers to himself as a 'judge-penitent'. He's shagged a lot of women. It's important that the reader know this. And he's quite in love with himself; he freely admits this. He's basically a self-involved cad who likes to haul people up in bars and talk at them. If this guy hauled me up in a bar and started monologuing at me I'd have gotten THE HELL OUT OF THERE, probably by page 7. I'd have faked my own death if necessary, or not so much faked it as actualised it, right there in front of him. Jesus! Doesn't this guy know when to shut up!
Yeah, yeah, I know, it's a "novel of ideas", the characters and circumstances aren't meant to be taken literally. It's meant to be all philosophical and allegorical and metaphorical and symbolic(al). But this doesn't stop me from becoming involved in the situations and wanting to, philosophically, beat this guy senseless. (And, in case the judge-penitent is reading this, it was me who was laughing behind you that time on the pier...Hah! Sucker!).
* I forgot about "The Fall" when I was writing my Incomprehensibles list
Saturday 14 November 2009
Mouldy Goodness
Yesterday, I accidentally ate a piece of bread with mould on it. I thought I might die, or at least become gravely ill. I developed a slight headache and felt a little wobbly (psychosomatic?). But then, after awhile, I started to feel pretty good - kind of calm and at peace with the world. Trippy! (Rhymes with hippy). Hmmm...mouldy bread seems to agree with me, maybe I should eat more???
[I have just read up on bread mould - apparently it can be quite toxic - plus, it does taste a bit funny, which is what alerted me in the first place. So, if there are young children reading this or foolish adults: Don't eat mouldy bread!!! It's possible I got away with it because I have some weird 1%-of-the-population type biochemistry which can tolerate at least one type of bread mould (there are many types, some more toxifying than others). AND I've worked for many years with highly toxic chemicals, so I've probably built up some kind of superhuman immunity to toxins (this could be my superpower!). Gosh, there's soooo many things I could do with toxin immunity - I could become a food taster for a king (do they still have those?) or I could become rich by hustling people in poison eating competitions (do they still have those?). However, for the moment, I'm going to go to the supermarket to buy some FRESH bread.]
Colour-enhanced scanning electron micrograph of bread mould (looks like grapes):
[I have just read up on bread mould - apparently it can be quite toxic - plus, it does taste a bit funny, which is what alerted me in the first place. So, if there are young children reading this or foolish adults: Don't eat mouldy bread!!! It's possible I got away with it because I have some weird 1%-of-the-population type biochemistry which can tolerate at least one type of bread mould (there are many types, some more toxifying than others). AND I've worked for many years with highly toxic chemicals, so I've probably built up some kind of superhuman immunity to toxins (this could be my superpower!). Gosh, there's soooo many things I could do with toxin immunity - I could become a food taster for a king (do they still have those?) or I could become rich by hustling people in poison eating competitions (do they still have those?). However, for the moment, I'm going to go to the supermarket to buy some FRESH bread.]
Colour-enhanced scanning electron micrograph of bread mould (looks like grapes):
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Brain Randoms
- I spent most of my 20s in a semi-fugue state
- There are too many humans and not enough tigers on this planet
- There are probably enough lambs, though
- Madness...sleeping...dreaming/psychosis...sanity
- Loneliness is bliss in comparison to living with an abusive partner
- I'm craving sugar more than usual at the moment
- I'm lucky that cigarettes make me feel ill - so I've never become addicted
- Things which irritate the skin on my face: alcohol, the sun, caffeine (especially hot caffeine), pre-menopausal hormone madness, spicy foods, work, laughing, talking, heat, wind, stress, being alive. Some things I've eliminated (eg alcohol) and some things I've cut back on (eg being alive)
- Fresh wholemeal bread with peanut butter spread on top is delicious (but not for those with peanut allergies)
- How do you know if you've offended someone if they don't tell you?
- I wonder if I should try reducing my ratio of stupid-thoughts to not-so-stupid-thoughts. Stupid-thoughts are often inappropriate to voice in polite conversation but they sometimes reveal amazing things
- I wonder if having too many stupid-thoughts floating through my brain reduces my ability to talk to people
- Is it important to talk to people?
- How do you know if people like you?
- Is it important that people like you?
Saturday 7 November 2009
The Role of Eccentric Tenant goes to...
MEEEEE!!!
I'm very honoured to accept this challenging, but important, position. It's a role I think I've always subconsciously known would be mine, but given the marginalization and lack of glamour with which it is associated, I've always shunned it. But life is short and serenity is dubious (huh?) (well, it's these very kind of comments that won me the much avoided title of 'eccentric') and the experts say you should give in to what you are, or you'll be miserable (or something very similar). I think what really swayed me though, was not wanting to seem unfriendly towards my neighbours. Since I'm not very proficient at pretending to be normal, I felt that talking to my neighbours too much would alert them to my weirdness, so I have mostly tended to avoid my neighbours. But now I say: "weirdness be damned!" or actually "how's it going?", as I think greeting people with "weirdness be damned!" might be a little confronting, even for the most stoic.
I believe every block of flats should have at least one eccentric tenant (larger blocks can easily sustain 2 or 3). It's important not to confuse the eccentric tenant (or ET) with the annoying neighbour (or ANAL). The ET is mostly liked by the other tenants as she/he is actually a warm and cuddly person. There is, of course, the creepy ET, who is not at all warm or cuddly and it's best to minimize eye contact (or any contact) with this person. However, occasionally, the creepy ET can turn out to be a warm and cuddly ET (or, at least, a not-so-creepy ET or even a misunderstood ET). In one block of flats in which I lived, there was a man who would periodically stand on the balcony outside his flat and yell: "fucking cunt!". He didn't seem to be yelling at anyone specifically, his wrath seemed directed more at the universe in general - he mostly seemed to be looking toward the horizon, and/or possibly the sky, during a rant. One morning he was taken away by MICA paramedics and he never reappeared. I've never been sure which kind of ET he was.
So, I've made a start with being more friendly (and eccentric). Yesterday I spoke briefly to the 20-something identical twin sisters and their 10-year sister, with whom I share a corridor wall. They were all sunbaking in the back yard. They had their disobedient pug-dog with them who likes to run down the driveway - so I asked them to hold onto the dog while I reversed my car. I also tried to discern a way to tell the twins apart but was unsuccessful. Today I went out to the clothesline without my glasses on (I like to test my limitations, live on the edge - I managed to find the clothesline without bumping into it first). I was hoping to run into someone so I could tell them they looked blurry (I thought this would be a nicely eccentric thing to say), but sadly no-one came out. (Actually, I was really hoping to run into the lovely Adam, who is a little eccentric himself, but then I'm always hoping to run into the lovely Adam).
I'm very honoured to accept this challenging, but important, position. It's a role I think I've always subconsciously known would be mine, but given the marginalization and lack of glamour with which it is associated, I've always shunned it. But life is short and serenity is dubious (huh?) (well, it's these very kind of comments that won me the much avoided title of 'eccentric') and the experts say you should give in to what you are, or you'll be miserable (or something very similar). I think what really swayed me though, was not wanting to seem unfriendly towards my neighbours. Since I'm not very proficient at pretending to be normal, I felt that talking to my neighbours too much would alert them to my weirdness, so I have mostly tended to avoid my neighbours. But now I say: "weirdness be damned!" or actually "how's it going?", as I think greeting people with "weirdness be damned!" might be a little confronting, even for the most stoic.
I believe every block of flats should have at least one eccentric tenant (larger blocks can easily sustain 2 or 3). It's important not to confuse the eccentric tenant (or ET) with the annoying neighbour (or ANAL). The ET is mostly liked by the other tenants as she/he is actually a warm and cuddly person. There is, of course, the creepy ET, who is not at all warm or cuddly and it's best to minimize eye contact (or any contact) with this person. However, occasionally, the creepy ET can turn out to be a warm and cuddly ET (or, at least, a not-so-creepy ET or even a misunderstood ET). In one block of flats in which I lived, there was a man who would periodically stand on the balcony outside his flat and yell: "fucking cunt!". He didn't seem to be yelling at anyone specifically, his wrath seemed directed more at the universe in general - he mostly seemed to be looking toward the horizon, and/or possibly the sky, during a rant. One morning he was taken away by MICA paramedics and he never reappeared. I've never been sure which kind of ET he was.
So, I've made a start with being more friendly (and eccentric). Yesterday I spoke briefly to the 20-something identical twin sisters and their 10-year sister, with whom I share a corridor wall. They were all sunbaking in the back yard. They had their disobedient pug-dog with them who likes to run down the driveway - so I asked them to hold onto the dog while I reversed my car. I also tried to discern a way to tell the twins apart but was unsuccessful. Today I went out to the clothesline without my glasses on (I like to test my limitations, live on the edge - I managed to find the clothesline without bumping into it first). I was hoping to run into someone so I could tell them they looked blurry (I thought this would be a nicely eccentric thing to say), but sadly no-one came out. (Actually, I was really hoping to run into the lovely Adam, who is a little eccentric himself, but then I'm always hoping to run into the lovely Adam).
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Karamazov Count: Page 500 (Murder! Most Rascally)
(blog entry challenge: include the word "rascal", or variations thereof, as often as possible, without being gratuitous)
He is dead! Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, patriarch to those rascally Karamazov brothers, no longer walks this (fictional) mortal coil. He is a deceased muddle-headed madcap (though some would call him a rascal).
And about bloody time!
It appears he has been murdered. But who is the murderer? All roads (and evidence) point towards the oldest (and most rascally) brother, Mitya, who literally has blood on his hands. But is it really his father's blood? The blurb on the back of the book states: "it is Mitya's passion for two women that contributes to disaster, and it is he who inwardly accepts the guilt of his father's murderer" - which kind of, pretty much, suggests Mitya didn't actually do it. It's all very intriguing, and thankfully, there's only 400 more pages to go to find out the truth, or the denouement (as literary types would say). I'm quite hysterical with excitement; anticipating the lengthy convolutednesses Mr Dostoyevsky will employ to denoue his novel. He's such a rascal. He's a rascally writer. A rascally Russian writer. Or, as Elmer Fudd would say, a wascally Wussian whiter...
...(I suspect the character of Elmer Fudd is politically incorrect and possibly offensive to people with speech impediments and thus I probably shouldn't have included the last bit - but I couldn't stop myself, and besides, Monty Python did something similar with "release Roderick" in "The Life of Brian", a film not at all offensive to anyone). Still, I have some lingering doubt (but yet don't want to delete the Elmer Fudd reference) so, as a form of penance (once a Catholic always a Catholic) and as a sufferer of myopia, I offer Mr Magoo.
He is dead! Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, patriarch to those rascally Karamazov brothers, no longer walks this (fictional) mortal coil. He is a deceased muddle-headed madcap (though some would call him a rascal).
And about bloody time!
It appears he has been murdered. But who is the murderer? All roads (and evidence) point towards the oldest (and most rascally) brother, Mitya, who literally has blood on his hands. But is it really his father's blood? The blurb on the back of the book states: "it is Mitya's passion for two women that contributes to disaster, and it is he who inwardly accepts the guilt of his father's murderer" - which kind of, pretty much, suggests Mitya didn't actually do it. It's all very intriguing, and thankfully, there's only 400 more pages to go to find out the truth, or the denouement (as literary types would say). I'm quite hysterical with excitement; anticipating the lengthy convolutednesses Mr Dostoyevsky will employ to denoue his novel. He's such a rascal. He's a rascally writer. A rascally Russian writer. Or, as Elmer Fudd would say, a wascally Wussian whiter...
...(I suspect the character of Elmer Fudd is politically incorrect and possibly offensive to people with speech impediments and thus I probably shouldn't have included the last bit - but I couldn't stop myself, and besides, Monty Python did something similar with "release Roderick" in "The Life of Brian", a film not at all offensive to anyone). Still, I have some lingering doubt (but yet don't want to delete the Elmer Fudd reference) so, as a form of penance (once a Catholic always a Catholic) and as a sufferer of myopia, I offer Mr Magoo.
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