Sunday 28 March 2010

Magic Mountain Count: Page 100

"A great many false ideas have been spread about the nature of boredom"
The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, pg 102


Don't be fooled by this quote, I'm not bored by this book. In fact, as someone who is very interested in 'the nature of boredom', I'm quite enjoying this slow-paced novel (though it is light speed compared to Karamazov). The sentence I've quoted is part of a wordier section discussing the passage of time - the quickness or slowness of it, depending on the type of activity or task being conducted. I think it's an apt quote for a novel set in a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps. Quoting from the back cover "To this hermetic yet intrigue-ridden world comes Hans Castorp, a 'perfectly ordinary' young man who arrives for a short visit and ends up staying seven years". Ain't that the truth.

So far there hasn't been any magic (well it is called The Magic Mountain). I was hoping for some wizards or fairies, maybe even a troll. So far there's just been tuberculosis, although I guess this could be considered a kind of troll. There is sex, alluded to, rather than graphically described: "...and beyond any doubt, the game had turned bestial" pg 38 - BESTIAL! there's a word I've never used in polite conversation, or ever. But the first 100 pages of The Magic Mountain has not disappointed, it has been both literary and weird, qualities I look for in the novels I choose for my "special reading project".


Note: The edition I'm reading has been translated by John E. Woods.

Wednesday 24 March 2010

Felony: Breaking and Entering OR Nicole has an Adventure

Last night, at approximately 12:15am (which, technically, was earlier today, but you know what I mean), I broke into the empty flat next door - through a partly open window (hence I didn't do any property damage). It was pretty darn exciting. Now I'm a felon! I'm BAD. Don't mess with me :-). Hmmm, maybe felons don't do smiley faces : # (that's me using profane language).

OK, OK, I'm not a convicted felon - yet. I wasn't arrested and I wasn't accosted by the fuzz - although I was kind of hoping the police would see me 'cos I was in my pyjamas and my reason for breaking in was fairly reasonable: I thought the empty flat might catch on fire. There were 2 lights on in the lounge room even though the flat has been vacant for a couple of weeks. The owners are going to do some maintenance before they rent it out again, so I guess they had the electricity reconnected. I noticed that the lights were on a few nights ago and became a little concerned that they, or the roof, or the wiring, might overheat and catch on fire. I was debating whether or not to ring the landlord and tell him, but hesitated due to a concern that I was being ridiculous. (I still think it was a reasonable fear, you hear about electrical fires that "started in the roof").

It all came to a head just before midnight last night as I lay awake in bed trying to decide if I could smell something burning. I told myself I was just imagining it, but, of course, it doesn't matter what I tell myself because I never listen. So I got up, put a jumper on over my nightie, pulled on my tracky-daks, put on my runners, tied up my hair, got a torch and headed out into the still night, fulling expecting to find a blazing fire in the lounge room of the flat next door. I peered into the window, no fire. There was definitely a burning smell in the air. I couldn't locate the source of the smell, but decided it wasn't connected with the flat. Still, I wasn't happy. This lack of fire didn't preclude the flat from catching fire at 4am, whenst I would be sound asleep. Or, indeed, wide awake, still worrying about a possible fire. Alas, only one thing was going to enable me to sleep: the bloody lights were going to HAVE to be switched off. Thankfully, one of the windows hadn't been latched properly and I was able to pull it open enough to get my hand inside and wind the lever to open the window (had this not been the case I may well have broken a window or rung my landlord right then, at 12:15am!). I was able to hoist myself in through the window ('cos I'm such a badass) and, MERCIFULLY, switch off the lights!!! Yeah! Although, before I switched off the lights, I has a quick look around the flat (which is a mirror image of my flat, or, for those who've studied Organic Chemistry, an enantiomer).

Then I climbed back out of the window, closed it as best I could and bolted back inside my flat, noting the bemused expression on the face of Ms Willow Pussycat who was perched on the windowsill watching my antics. It was all very exciting. If I were a drinking woman, I would've poured myself a whiskey to celebrate, but, since I'm on the wagon, I poured myself a glass of milk (and drank it) and ate a mint slice. Then I went to bed. And fell asleep. Being an outlaw is tiring.

Thursday 18 March 2010

How I Have Happy and Safe Relationships

I invent a boyfriend. He's either completely made up or based on someone "real", maybe a character from a film or a television show or a novel. I've found it's safest not to base him on someone I actually know; therein lies confusion and heartbreak. Or it can be a real person, but someone I'm VERY unlikely to encounter in actual life and who (whom?), if I did encounter, probably wouldn't be as appealing to moi as he was prior to the encounter. (Jesus, that was a sentence you don't want to be reading everyday). I then attribute character/personality qualities to this person - qualities that I would find appealing in a boyfriend. For example, my current "boyfriend" is James from Metallica (see here for an example of my delusion). In reality, James is married with 3 children and lives in San Francisco (I live in Australia), he owns way too many cars and goes hunting (2 things I'm not so keen on), he also seems to have a Darwinian/Capitalist approach to life. In my fantasy I am able to completely overlook his Darwinian/Capitalist views, he has given up hunting due to the bad karma, he still owns too many cars but he doesn't drive them as often as he used to, and he still has 3 children but one of them is mine (WTF??). And I'm living in San Francisco, which is kind of fun.

Interesting, I seem to have incorporated quite a bit of real life into this imaginary relationship. Perhaps my mind is gradually moving towards a more reality based existence. Hmmm...not sure if this is a direction I want my mind to take.

One of the really great things about imaginary relationships is that if things start to go badly or we become bored with each other, there's no messy break-up. I can just stop fantasizing about him. Though, if I want to, I can imagine a break-up. It could be a "good" break-up, where no-one gets hurt; maybe we both meet other people at exactly the same time or, perhaps, we both want time alone. Or, if I'm feeling a little bitter and vindictive, I might imagine that he's miserable without me, even though he broke it off! Bastard! But it's all okay since no-one is actually hurt due to no-one actually existing (well, yes, I do exist but imaginary me exists only in my imagination - I think - and is usually a little altered from real me - whoever that is!). And, after the break-up, no-one gets stalked or harassed or runs into each other at parties (although I rarely go to parties) or weddings (sometimes I go to weddings) or the supermarket (I'm frequently at the supermarket).

I wonder if I my Imaginary Relationship technique could be incorporated into an Imaginary Workplace protocol and, by corollary, an Imaginary Income scheme.

Friday 12 March 2010

One Year Since We Talked

For 29 years we talked.

One year ago strange things were said.

An impasse was reached.

Now there's silence.

Maybe it's for the best. At least for now. There was some tension, I'm not entirely sure why. In many ways we are very different people but this has always been the case. Did something change? Maybe we were 'holding each other back' somehow and our friendship needed to be re-assessed, and then altered. Well it's definitely been altered. In the extreme.

I've thought about trying to make contact, to have another discussion. But I don't think I will. I have this strong sense that it will get us nowhere, and possibly make things worse.

Monday 8 March 2010

You Can Shove Your Shit Into My Rubbish Bin But You Can't TAKE My Rubbish Bin!

(Warning: blog post is overly petty - there are bigger things going on in the world than my rubbish bin issues.)

As it turns out, there are some things you CANNOT shove into my rubbish bin - eg human body parts, explosives, vacuum cleaner parts. You could, of course, physically, shove these things into my rubbish bin but I would be very very unhappy about it. I would be forced to protest. And, in fact, I have, in a non-verbal kind of way. (It's ok, I haven't found body parts or explosives in my bin...yet).

Let me explain. Our bins are numbered with our flat numbers on them. Duh. A seemingly easy system to follow. Some residents create more rubbish than others. I don't create very much rubbish and, mostly, I'm ok with the others putting their excess rubbish into my bin (although, for the record, no-one has ever asked me if it's ok to use my bin). But today, when I went out to collect my bin from the road (today is bin-day), a series of things put my otherwise calm and generous demeanour into crankiness:
  • Someone had put out my recycle bin despite it not being recycle collection week (recycle is collected fortnightly). So I had to bring the bin back in. Ok. A fair enough mistake.
  • The recycle bin, which had been barely a quarter full yesterday, is now nearly full. Shit. It's hard to move when it's this full.
  • So now I've moved my recycle bin back into its spot next to my ordinary rubbish bin. Except the ordinary bin isn't there. Hmmm. Looking. Aha. It is with flat #3's bins - this is NOT where it belongs! So I go over and start moving it back. Then I realise it has stuff in it. I open the lid to find the bin half full with mostly recyclable stuff AND vacuum cleaner parts. Vacuum cleaner parts are for the hard rubbish collection (and this is not the first time hard rubbish items have been put into my bin). I'm concerned that the garbage collectors might get cranky with my bin and refuse to collect it. At this point I have the option of knocking on the door of flat #3 and sorting this out. Um...let me also point out that it's raining and windy and cold. I can sense my capacity for neighbourly verbal negotiation abandoning me...yep...there it goes...
  • I dump the contents of the bin on the ground next to the other bins of flat #3
  • I vigorously move my bin back to its rightful position, accidentally banging it into a rock
  • I go into my flat feeling justified
  • Sometime later (ie now) I ponder my actions and feel mild regret...
  • ...very very mild

Friday 5 March 2010

Why???

I had a question, as many of us do (probably not the exact same question...it's just that we ALL have questions...). The specifics of my question are not important to the tale that is this blog post. My question began with the word "Why" - not an unusual starting point for a question. In seeking an answer to this most vexing question, I went to the most sage of sources...google. I got as far as typing 'Why' into the google search bar when google, in its infinite wisdom, gave me a list of why-questions most frequently asked by other seekers of knowledge. Here is a selection:
  • Why do men have nipples?
  • Why is the sky blue?
  • Why can't I own a Canadian?
  • Why do dogs eat poop?
  • Why did the chicken cross the road?
  • Why do cats purr?
I became completely distracted by these questions, and one in particular. Which one? I hear you ask. Hmmm, let me confess now that I'm not overly proud of the scatological (hint!) direction in which my curiosity took me...

...Why do dogs eat poop?

I guess, given the number of dog owners across this vast planet, and this seemingly bizarre affliction of man's best friend, it's not surprising this question has been so frequently asked.

OK, OK, I won't keep you in suspense ANY longer...Here are the top 10 (actually 8) reasons a pooch will consume poop:

  • Dogs are neat animals, so if they poop in their crate or kennel, they want to clean up their home.
  • A dog may eat feces because of parasite or worms.
  • Dogs may be hiding the evidence because they have gotten into trouble previously for pooping where they shouldn't.
  • A mother dog may eat her puppies' poop so predators won't know there are puppies available
  • Young puppies may experiment tasting it since it's there
  • A dog may watch his owner pick up the poop and think that it's a good idea and do it himself.
  • A dog may not get fed often enough, and is hungry.
  • A dog may be trying to get his owner's attention.
source: dogs.suite101.com

So glad I have a cat - although she does like to clean her bottom whilst sitting on the coffee table.

Monday 1 March 2010

How Long Has This Been Going On?

I'm currently obsessed with this photo of Metallica band members James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich:



I mean, seriously, does it not suggest something a little more intimate between James and Lars than just friendship? It's all there, especially in Lars' eyes (or is that just irritation from too much eyeliner?). Whatever be the truth, I have to admit to being quite taken by the idea that James and Lars may have made more than just music together.

The photo was taken during the Load album era (and, given that the album cover features an Andres Serrano photograph titled Semen and Blood III, which features these exact body fluids, I think it's safe to assume that one interpretation of the album title is that it refers to the first of these fluids). Some Metallica fans were not happy with this not-so-heavymetal album or with Metallica's not-so-heavymetal image during this period. Not me. I like them as Metal Cowboys:




Although I have some reservations about this photo:




Um...Metal Cowboys on Acid?