Suitable Punishment for the Violators

In a minimalist concrete cell, eternal accommodation.

A filtering of light, barely discernible through small steel shards.

Companionship obsolete, solitude absolute.

 

Your wrists, ankles, and neck shall reside in shackles.

Your skin shall be kept naked and washed with lye.

Your nourishment will be maggots and urine.

 

You entered this world through the body of a woman,

Yet you participated in the desecration of the body of a woman.

 

You believed yourselves entitled to this depravity;

You were not.

You call yourselves men;

You are not.

 

You are no longer entitled to the company of humanity;

You have no humanity.

 

You worshiped at the temple of iniquity;

May the Devil feast upon your souls.

"I Get a Little Lonely When The Sun Gets Low..."

"...And I end up looking for somewhere to go
Yes, I should know better but I can't say no
Oh no, no, no
No, no, no, no, no, no, no..."

 

 ...(From Night Owl by Gerry Rafferty)

          (full lyrics below)

 

Though, to be fair, nowadays I don't really "get a little lonely when the sun gets low", and instead of "looking for somewhere to go", I generally end up looking for a video game to play or a dvd to watch. BUT, once upon a time, much like Gerry Rafferty, I had periods of nighttime melancholy, where I would be "lost in dreams in a world full of shadows", and would sometimes soothe this distortion with "one more drink, you're sailing away".

 

Thankfully, I've never been a heavy drinker; I don't like the feeling of being obliterated (mostly) and I hate hangovers and I wouldn't want to trip over my feet and fall on my face (mostly). So I've stayed away from the demon drink (mostly). But if I'd found (or find, in the future) the lure of the bottle too lurey, I think I could listen to Night Owl for some solace, with its calming melody and gentle melancholy, set against its harsh truth, maybe repeated listenings would be a way to ease myself away from going down, down, down (no, no, no...).

Full Lyrics:

Night comes down and finds you alone
In a space and time of your own
Lost in dreams in a world full of shadows

Down the street the neon light shines
Offering refuge and hope to the blind
You stumble in with no thought of tomorrow

Yes, I get a little lonely when the sun gets low
And I end up looking for somewhere to go
Yes, I should know better but I can't say no
Oh no, no, no
No, no, no, no

The lights are low and the Muzak is loud
You watch yourself as you play to the crowd
One more face in a palace of mirrors

One more drink, you're sailing away
One more dream but it's looking okay
One more time to watch the flow of the river

Yes, I get a little lonely when the sun gets low
And I end up looking for somewhere to go
Yes, I should know better but I can't say no
Oh no, no, no
No, no, no, no, no, no, no

New Year's Day Cthulhu (Welcome to 2022)

(Warning: This blog post does NOT contain hugs and sunshine)

 

Another day, another year. The Covid pandemic continues, the planet warms, political leaders (mostly) continue to be crappy, etc. Maybe it's time we just realize that it's all going to shit and the only thing that can "save" us is to bring forth the Lovecraftian cosmic deity, Cthulhu, to cleanse this earth of its mediocrity and evil.

Cue Metallica (and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra) - The Call of Ktulu (Cthulhu) - and bring on the apocalypse!

Spanish...I am going to (attempt to) learn you...hopefully...at least some of you...

¡Hola!

With the aid of Google Translate, Spanish for Dummies, a Spanish-English diccionario and Spanish language shows/films (with and without subtitulos), I am attempting to learn me some Español. Fantástico!

Why (por qué)? Because (porque):
(1) I like Spanish
(2) I've been disappointed for many, muchos, years that my high school Spanish class was prematurely discontinued
(3) I believe that I've reached a reasonably proficient level of English (though, I'm sure many would disagree) such that it might be time to take on the challenge of a different language
(4) I feel that having knowledge of another language has some kind of 'humanity' value (though, I'm not entirely sure what I mean)

I have started my language learning by trolling for Spanish words (and their meanings) through Google Translate/Spanish for Dummies/Spanish dictionary, then trying to say the words out loud, then trying to pick out these words (and others previously not encountered) from Spanish language shows. I suspect this is not the traditional way to learn a language (as an adult) but I'm having fun.

I'm not very good, however, at joining the words together so as to form coherent sentences (I sometimes have the same problem with English). My deficiencies include, but are not limited to:
(1) sorting out the variants/gender/uses of Spanish words and, specifically, of 'the'
(2) changing the endings of words to give them the correct tense
(3) where/when to use 'accent marks' (known as 'diacritical marks', eg ñ)
- all of which creates havoc in my English-only brain.

Some of my favourite Spanish words, so far, are:

bruja(witch)/cuchillo(knife)/diablo(devil)/Feliz Navidad(Merry Christmas)/fuego(fire)/gato(cat)/gracioso(funny)/idiota(stupid)/llave(key)/infierno(hell)/loco(crazy)/luna(moon)/milagro(miracle)/muerte(death)/mujer(woman)/nieve(snow)/pesadilla(nightmare)/siento(I feel)/siesta(nap)/sombra(shadow)/suerte(luck)/tengo(I have)/tormenta(storm)/tranquilo(calm)/triste(sad)

(words have been arranged alphabetically and without explanation - though there is an evident psychological profile of my brain (cerebro) on display here)

So, obviously, the thing do to now is to use all of the above words in a sentence paragraph; firstly in English, then in Spanish. No problema (sarcasmo).

English (Inglés):
I awake abruptly from my nap; a funny nightmare has shaken me from my calm sleep. By the light of the moon, I can see my cat, Luck, going crazy. I feel cold, so I light a fire, this creates sad shadows on the wall. I have an overwhelming sensation that a storm is approaching. I look through the window and see snow. I also see a woman standing in the snow; she is holding a knife and a key. I go outside and walk towards the woman. As I get closer, I realize that she is a witch. She wishes me a Merry Christmas, but, shockingly, her "Merry Christmas" is actually a fatal curse from hell and I immediately experience death. Frustratingly, a stupid miracle happens and I am reincarnated as the Devil!

Spanish (Español):
(mostly from Google Translate/ I changed some things to make it present tense and closer to the original text/don't know if this is allowed/apologies to all Spanish speakers for my ineptitude and possible offence)
Yo despierto abruptamente de mi siesta; una pesadilla graciosa me ha sacudido de mi sueño tranquilo. Por la luz de la luna, puedo ver mi gato, Suerte, volviéndose loco. Me siento frío, así que enciendo un fuego, esto crea sombras tristes en la pared. Tengo una abrumadora sensación de que se acercándose una tormenta. Miro mediante la ventana y veo nieve. También veo a una mujer parada en la nieve; ella está sosteniendo un cuchillo y una llave. Voy afuera y caminar hacia la mujer. Como yo meterse más cerca, me doy cuenta de que ella es una bruja. Ella me desea una Feliz Navidad, pero, de manera chocante, su "Feliz Navidad" es en realidad una maldición fatal desde infierno y yo inmediatamente experiencia muerte. Frustrantemente, un milagro idiota sucede y yo soy reencarnado como el ¡Diablo!

Saludos,
Effulgent13

Fuck You, Grace!

[Special note to person's named Grace; I don't mean you...unless you are an asshole!]

"Grace" - from the (Australian Concise Oxford, 4th edition, 2004) dictionary -

• attractiveness, especially in elegance of proportion or manner or movement
• courteous good will (had the grace to apologize)
• an attractive feature; an accomplishment (social graces)
• in Christian belief - the unmerited favour of God/the state of receiving this
• goodwill
• delay granted as a favour (a year's grace)
• a short thanksgiving before or after a meal
• (Grace) (in Greek mythology) each of three beautiful sister goddesses, bestowers of beauty and charm
• (Grace) (preceded by His, Her, Your) forms of description or address for a duke, duchess, or archbishop

[For the purpose of the rest of this blog, I'm pretty much using grace to mean 'being nice to people' or 'not being a jackass'.]

Once upon a time, I believed that to strive for grace in all my actions and attitudes was a proper and noble endeavour, that being gracious (kindhearted, benevolent, civil, obliging, considerate, merciful, magnanimous, charitable) was the pinnacle of human humanity. Indecorousness; this is a word that never rolled off the tongues of my well-meaning mentors when I was growing up, as they tried to instill a sense of proper conduct into my existence. Well, the times they are a changing, and, quite frankly, I've had it with grace (though, not really) and I wonder if incorporating some elements of gracelessness (uncouth, coarse, crude, boorish, ill-mannered, unsophisticated, shameless, tactless) into my persona would be a sensible, if not liberating, path.

Can too much graciousness be stultifying? Unhealthy? Would a little more obnoxiousness pave the way to enlightenment? A socially inappropriate, expletive ridden, tantrum-fuelled rant might exorcise even the most tightly imbedded of demons; either those of a personal nature or the ones that emanate directly from Hell. If only such outbursts didn't upset proximate people; but there might be a way around this unpleasant side effect. Perhaps all people could have a screaming rant at exactly the same time, then no-one would have to listen other people's offensive diatribes but, instead, everyone would be able to simultaneously get things off their collective chests. A Universal Unburdening. We, as a society, could schedule regular therapeutic yelling - just like the people did in that wacky Orwellian novel...although it wasn't framed as therapeutic yelling so much as it was framed as The Two Minutes Hate:

"The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretense was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one's will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp."

[Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell, pg 17]

If an organized 'hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness' can contribute to a productive and accommodating society in a (so-called) dystopian novel, surely it can work in real life. After all, the novel does end on a happy note:

"But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother."

[Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell, pg 256]

And surely to love is the greatest state to which humans can aspire, so to love Big Brother surely must be super-duper. And if we can achieve this state (of grace)(see what I did), then we can know that War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength. And why has my seeming aversion to Grace led me to George Orwell? Maybe Grace is Vulgar. Or Grace is Obscene. Or Grace is Evil Incarnate. Or This Blog Post is Making Me Crazy...

"I'm Not Your Mary"

[This post was going to be some photos of Pyramid Head, James and Maria but it seems to have morphed into a (highly intellectual) dissertation of Silent Hill 2]

In the 2001 psychological horror video game, Silent Hill 2, gamers were introduced to the enigmatic creature named Pyramid Head. His name is somewhat self explanatory:

Pyramid Head has become something of an icon among horror gamers of Earth. Much wordage has been devoted to the deconstruction of "that red triangle thing" and especially to exploring his connection to the tormented psyche of the protagonist of the game, James Sunderland. Here is James, displaying his tormented psyche:

Many analyzes see Pyramid Head (as well as most of the monsters, certainly the 'bubble-head' nurses and 'legs' mannequins) as representing James' unsatisfied sexual desires and the resulting frustration he feels. The reason for his sexual unfulfillment being that he hasn't been getting any lovin' as his wife had been very sick and he wouldn't be unfaithful to her, and even after she died - apparently 3 years earlier - he hasn't been able to move on. Pyramid Head's seminal (albeit without any semen or, indeed, a penis) first cutscene appearance has certainly influenced this theory:

This scene is often referred to as the "Pyramid Head Rape Scene", though I question if 'rape' is the correct descriptor. If this scene does depict rape (or a representation of rape), does this imply that James has raped? Or contemplated or fantasized about rape? Given that the received wisdom - and specifically, James' statement before his final battle with Pyramid Head - is that Pyramid Head exists to punish James (for his weakness and transgressions), then it would be reasonable to link Pyramid Head's actions in this scene directly to James. But it may not be explicitly about rape.

The "rape" that's being witnessed in the cutscene may be more akin to a weird, and unsettling, sex dream. Are Pyramid Head's motions/gyrations during the scene actually violent or are they somewhat rough or 'violently' passionate or overtly dominating???? The distorted moaning noises heard during the scene evoke a sexual context, with a suggestion of pain - maybe James associates sex or sexual intimacy with pain (physical and/or emotional). But if this scene is sexual, it's not clear to me if the mannequins are consenting or not; Pyramid Head grabs their legs, which are flailing around, but that doesn't inherently mean that the mannequin's legs are pushing him away; maybe they're just kicking around with reckless abandon, without a specific purpose. When the scene ends, the mannequins are motionless on the ground; seemingly they are now dead. Did Pyramid Head rape them to death or (consensually) shag them to death? Either conclusion is pretty messed up. But are the mannequins even dead? The mannequins don't attack James once Pyramid Head is finished with them but I don't know if this is proof that they are dead, maybe they just lie on the floor once James/Pyramid Head has finished his crazy sex dream.

A subsequent cutscene involving Pyramid Head and another monster (officially known as a Lying Figure, though I call it a Puker) is further amped up, with the moaning noises sounding extremely orgasm and pain but with more ambiguity - to me at least - as to what the hell Pyramid Head is doing:

I think that a definitive interpretation of Pyramid Head in these scenes is not entirely possible and any analysis is greatly reliant on the subjectivity of the analyzer. But in terms of James' response - in both cutscenes, upon witnessing Pyramid Head's actions, James is visibly distressed and attempts to flee the situation - it is clear that the part of James' psyche from which these scenes have been extracted and distorted is very frightening to James and he would prefer to run away, or hide in a closet:

Then there is The Maroon Menace, or as she is actually named, Maria. James keeps mistaking Maria for his dead wife (named Mary). It happens, we've all been there. Maria looks like Mary, sounds like Mary, but in James' mind, she couldn't possibly be Mary because Mary behaved and dressed like a nun, whereas Maria is a total skank. And, for good measure, Maria is a dancer (though not a reggae skank dancer) at Heaven's Night, Silent Hill's very own nudie bar. Here is Maria, explaining to James that she's not his Mary:

The whole Mary/Maria thing is a bit too virgin/whore, in my opinion. I would prefer that a doppelganger of my dead spouse (if I had one, either dead or alive) be more nuanced (though I wouldn't mind him being sexually available to me whenever I wanted! as Maria seems to be implying she is to James). Maria is another manifestation of James' (somewhat sex-obsessed) psyche but she also exists to punish him. [Spoiler Alert: It is eventually revealed that James actually smothered his Mary with a pillow after years of watching her deteriorate, both physically and mentally, and being subjected to verbal vitriol from her]. Many releases of Silent Hill 2 contain a sub-game titled Born From a Wish, where the protagonist is Maria. Maria has been created purely for James to interact with, and her manifesto is to be totally for James. Here she is, following James around with total devotion (and possibly checking out his butt):

Of course, such single minded devotion to another is not healthy and it takes a toll on both James and Maria. James (and when I say 'James', I mean me when I'm playing as James) starts to get a little creeped out by Maria's over familiarity with him and unnerved by her constant hovering. Maria, meanwhile, is doing what James' psyche created her to do, ie clinging to him, yet he keeps pushing her away and mistaking her for Mary. Fuck you, James! What a cunt. Don't you realize Maria is the embodiment of "Be careful what you wish for"? Maria, quite understandably, starts to lose her shit at this impossible and unfair situation and lashes out at James:

And lashing out at James is exactly what Mary used to do, though presumably only when she was dying and she was angry about dying and maybe the disease physically affected her brain (I'm not completely clear on this last point). James became torn between loving Mary and resenting, even hating, her. As James' journey through Silent Hill draws to an end, and after dodging or killing or maiming many manic monster manifestations (!), James eventually finds a video tape which reveals to him that he killed Mary (up until this point in the game he had been in a disassociated state believing Mary had died from her illness, three years earlier). It is also worth noting that at various points during the game, Pyramid Head 'kills' Maria (Maria keeps reappearing, though, 'cos Fuck You, James!), hinting to James the ultimate shocking truth. James, quite understandably, freaks out after finding out how Mary really died:

James finally has a conversation/confrontation/battle with a Silent Hill version of either Maria or Mary (depending on the player's actions during the game), which is then followed by one of three possible endings (on a first play through): Leave, Maria, In Water.

Leave sees James accepting what happened and moving on with his life and away from Silent Hill.

In the Maria ending, James decides he wants to be with Maria (I take this to mean he'll be continuing to live in some kind of delusional state of mind) and the two of them appear to be walking away from Silent Hill when Maria starts coughing, just as Mary had at the beginning of her illness. I had initially felt this to be a creepy ending, but upon reflection, I decided it could act as a form of therapy for James, still in a very fractured state, whereby he explores his demons with Maria, maybe eventually overcoming them and moving on. It could form the beginning of a healing process, though it could also send him insane.

For the In Water ending, James takes a wild, and presumably suicidal, ride, driving his car into Toluca Lake to 'be with Mary' (a commonly held belief among Silent Hill 2 enthusiasts is that Mary's body is in the back seat of James' car - so, by driving the car into the lake, with Mary's body in the car, he can be with her both on earth and in the afterlife...unless they're not going to the same place...).

Silent Hill 2 is a very narrative driven game (maybe 'game' isn't quite the right word...perhaps 'experience' is more apt). It poses some tough moral questions and has provoked much discussion and theorizing about James' actions, the imagery and noise of the monsters and of the environment, and the themes the game explores. Its underlying story is very real and very human. James' real world ordeal and trauma is not outlandish fiction. Near the end of the game the player is shown a note from Mary which states that despite James' apparent surly demeanour, he is actually very sweet. I suspect this is true. I imagine that James, being a man, especially a young man, would have been subject to notions of tough guy masculinity, and so could likely have believed that he was expected to cope with whatever the world threw at him and not admit his distress or pain or seek help or counsel. And even if he did admit that he wasn't coping and tried to seek help, where would he go for help? I wonder if James had been older, with a bit more life wisdom, he might have found the reserves to endure his "long three years" (it is revealed, in the 'Maria' ending, that Mary was actually sick for three years), but if he had endured, then we wouldn't have this beautifully disturbing image:

🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻


Special End Note: For a maximum high level psychological horror experience, Silent Hill 2 should be played on a pink PlayStation 2 console (with bonus pink memory card):

The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast

A recent, and mercifully short-lived, bout of existential loneliness seems to have been effectively curtailed. The soothing salves included port, marshmallows, tea, video games (Tomb Raider 3 and Silent Hill), sleep (replete with freaky dreams), and watching Slow TV (The Ghan: Australia's Greatest Train Journey).

Obviously, being afflicted with the malaise known as 'the human condition' - a condition which affects an overwhelming number of people - means that there is always the threat of existential loneliness (aka The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast) brewing somewhere below the nebulous place known as 'the surface'. However, I find that as the years move inextricably by, and the sands of time slowly swallow and digest me (with their gritty grains that frequently get caught in painful and hard to reach places), it becomes easier to subdue (and, possibly, vanquish) The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast.

Not that The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast serves no purpose, and thus needs to be entirely obliterated from the human world. The presence of The Hideous Beast in the human psyche, with its seeping slime and its terrifying tentacles, seems to provide some kind of motivation; though the configurations this motivation takes can be myriad and obscure, and often with a tendency for destruction rather than construction.

These Are A Few of My Scariest Things (The Handmaid's Tale Edition)

My top 5 scariest things from The Handmaid's Tale:

1. May the Lord open
2. Mutilated bodies
3. Hanging bodies
4. The Ceremony
5. Power chandeliers

Special mentions:

• Aunt Lydia
• Wing hats (though they actually provide good sun protection)
• Janine/Ofwarren/Ofdaniel

Nightmare Mode...I Am Your Master

"Victory is mine. Victory is mine. Great day in the morning, people. Victory is mine!"
(Josh Lyman, The West Wing, S1 Ep2)

I have BEATEN the infamous Nightmare Mode of PS1 game, Parasite Eve 2. Yes, I have. Victory is, indeed, mine. I am truly awesome.

For many years - actually, three - it was my strongly held belief that I would never be able to complete this most arduous endeavour. I did not believe that I possessed the required skill and commitment to achieve such glorious excellence. I documented my Nightmare Mode ineptitude in an earlier post, and since that time, I have lived with the vanquished understanding that winning Nightmare Mode was a life experience that would never be mine. Until now, because now it IS my life experience; mine, mine, mine! And so I must, again, quote from fellow glory-seeker, Josh Lyman (S1, Ep2):

"I drink from the keg of glory, Donna. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in the land."

"Someone give me a river to forge, a serpent to slay."

And I did slay. There was much slaying. For the last 3 months, I have devoted myself to unbridled slayage. My mantra has been: slay, slay, slay! I slayed that damn Knight Golem in the Akropolis Tower. I slayed those floppy, marionette Brain Stingers (and their giant master, the Puppet Stinger). I slayed all the lackadaisical Mossbacks (who always seem kind of relieved when they die). I slayed those adorable jelly-blobs. I killed the absolute crap out of those really annoying Black Beetles. I slayed/exploded all the mutant, exploding babies. I kept slaying, up until, and including, my final battle with Eve. And Eve threw everything at me. Yes, she did. All her deadly, and quite noisy, spells; her crazy screen-wobble chant, her full body torpedoes, her multicoloured balls of pain, and finally, her slap-happy clones (pro-tip: kill the clones before they trap you in a 'slap-lock' - this is pretty much checkmate on Nightmare Mode). I faced everything Parasite Eve 2 - Nightmare Mode - could attack me with, and I won!!!

I am now a victorious person. An achiever. I can walk among society with a champion's demeanour. I can regale ordinary citizens with tales of my video game heroism. Nothing can stop me! Though, okay, sure, there is that whole "pride comes before a fall" business to consider, and I am feeling very prideful right now. So, I will enjoy and celebrate my greatness for as long as I can before I am devastatingly conquered by my next challenge and plunged into rabid ungreatness.

Fragments of Conversations as Spoken by 2 Obnoxious People in a Bad Relationship

[Sub-Heading: Listening to the couple next door yelling at each other - extended edition]

Sometimes their conversations are mundane. Sometimes their conversations are abusive. Sometimes their conversations betray painful truths about the fragile vulnerability of human interactions. Frequently their conversations are loud (such that I can often hear them through the shared wall). Occasionally their conversations take place in our shared driveway (making it even easier for me to eavesdrop on them). One time it sounded like things were escalating to a dangerous place and I considered ringing the police. They are both in their early 30s and there are some difficult decisions ahead for them. In the meantime, they continue shouting at each other:

(NB: the order of fragments is mostly random; some fragments are from the same conversation; some fragments are direct quotes, some fragments are paraphrased; I've grouped fragments into sections of five, with each section being either her or him only; I've tried to balance more toxic fragments with less toxic ones; capital letters indicate screaming rather than yelling)

her: you're acting like a 5 year old
her: it's never going to happen!
her: watch yourself!
her: I'M NOT ACTING LIKE A BABY!!!
her: what about the future?

him: you're fucking nuts!
him: I don't know what I want
him: you say you have revealing dreams about me
him: FUCK OFF!!!
him: I love you

her: unfuckingbelievable!
her: this is as good as it gets!
her: when are we having a baby???
her: I'm your chauffeur
her: GET AWAY FROM ME!!!

him: you keep talking about your biological clock
him: I would never cheat on a woman
him: YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!
him: I want to have a baby
him: how many cigarettes have you had?

her: I love you
her: this isn't 5 years ago
her: I wouldn't not want you to be happy
her: you're following 900 women on instagram
her: FUCK OFF!!!

him: I'm happy in this job
him: SHUT UP!!!
him: I want the mother of my baby to be healthy
him: how many steps have you done today?
him: it was just for fun, it doesn't mean anything

her: why are we still fighting about this?
her: there better not be any teenagers
her: stop touching me!
her: I'm just trying to make suggestions to help you
her: I'm going to talk about this

him: today, I'm not your boyfriend
him: I know how to wash dishes!
him: I will kill your cat
him: what about my happiness?
him: I don't want to talk about this

Gruelling Television Watching Schedule (aka Too Many Shows)

Weekly TV watching:
Sunday night, 7:40; Dr Who
Monday night, 7:30; Dr Who (repeat)
Monday night, 9:30; American Horror Story - Hotel
Wednesday Night, 9:30; Fargo
Ongoing; repeats of Star Wars films (I-VI) - in preparation for Star Wars VII (in December)
Ongoing; News
Ongoing; documentaries of interest (ABC or SBS)
Ongoing; MovieMayhem films of interest (SBS)

Also, I am currently crocheting a blanket, sewing a pair of 'peggings' (pants + leggings), watching a stack of dvds, reading some books, and, in honour of the new release Tomb Raider game (Rise of the Tomb Raider), I'm replaying Tomb Raider 4: The Last Revelation.

These 'activities' require a lot of time sitting on my couch. Ms Willow Pussycat is very happy about my extended couch time, which equates to much lap time for her, however, my circulation and overall fitness is less enthusiastic. Also, American Horror Story and Fargo are really quite batshit crazy/psychotically disturbing - I worry that maybe watching both at the same time isn't the best thing for my delicate psyche. Or maybe it's just what my psyche needs...

The Driveway is Mine!

[Sub Heading: Driveway Party]

Mine, mine, ALL MINE!! In fact, I am officially declaring my driveway to be a 'driveway' rather than a 'shared driveway'. And I can do this because the annoying people who live next door, and with whom I have to share the driveway, will not be annoying me as I have killed them. Yeah! Actually, they have gone away on holiday (probably 'cos they were worried I was gonna kill them, hah!). And they haven't just gone away for a little bit, they've gone away for a month (assuming I overheard her correctly). So I will be having a driveway party every day for the next 4 weeks. And by 'driveway party' I mean that I will be enjoying not being yelled at in the driveway, being able to drive my car up and down the driveway without hindrance from her car, not having to avoid windows breaking onto the driveway (or possibly onto me), and not having to avoid stepping on broken glass left in the driveway from the broken window. I also won't have to listen to slamming doors or to them yelling at each other (though sometimes this can be entertaining), and I won't have to smell her stinky cigarette smoke or hear her whiny voice. For a whole month. Bliss.

The Fevered Creativity of Phone Scammers

A couple of days ago, my answering machine recorded this:

“Message from the ATO. My name is Jason O’Connell calling you from the Australian Taxation Office, and the nature and the purpose of this call is just to inform you that there has been a lawsuit filed against your name concerning tax evasion, and this case is about to get executed into the common delt(?) code house(?) of your territory. So, before things go wrong against you but before the police officer from the local police department will approach you at your doorstep and issue a warrant for your arrest, kindly call me back on the call back number, which is (02) 61528629. I repeat my number again, which is (02) 61528629. Again, this is Jason O’Connell from the Australian Taxation Office, the ATO. Thank you and ….” (call abruptly cuts off)

I think what I love most about this message from the "Australian Taxation Office" is that while they seem quite confident filing a lawsuit against me, they don't appear to know who I am - at no stage does "Jason" state my actual name. And, since my income has been below the tax-free threshold for the last few years - meaning that I haven't had to pay any tax in the last few years - I suspect it would be highly unlikely, if not impossible, for me to have committed tax evasion on tax which I didn't have to pay. Also, the phone number given by Mr O'Connell (which I didn't ring) bears no resemblance at all to the phone numbers of the actual Australian Taxation Office. So I have concluded, in my infinite wisdom, that this phone message is actually an enormous pile of horsecrap.

Still, a part of me hopes that I am wrong and that the police officer from my local police department does 'approach [me] at [my] doorstep' (actually, doorsteps - there are 3 steps to my door) with a warrant for my arrest (because arresting someone is the very first thing the Tax Office does when trying to recoup unpaid taxes) as being arrested is an exciting experience I've never tried and, as a bonus, my arrest might freak out my annoying neighbour.

Note: I did check the ATO website and, surprise surprise, this is actually a scam - if I had rung the phone number, the scammers would've instructed me to send them a money order for some amount of money (which would presumably pay off my "tax debt") and if I didn't send them this money, the POLICE OFFICER would come and arrest me, straight away, right on my doorstep!

"I'm an Asshole...

...(he's a real fucking asshole)". I'm An Asshole, Denis Leary.

(Just to clarify, I'm not saying that Denis Leary is an asshole, though he may well be, I'm referring to the title of his catchy and inspiring 1994 song).

"I'm an Asshole" is the song that 'plays' in my head whenever I think about my neighbour (my neighbour being the asshole of the song title) with whom I have to share a driveway. (See here for other blog posts relating to this asshole-neighbour phenomena). I've codenamed my neighbour, Cruella, or Planet Cruella (as she seems to believe she is inhabiting her very own planet).

However, the intention of this blog post is not to snark vitriolically about Cruella - as much as I would derive much pleasure from such a task ('cos maybe there's a bit of asshole in me, too). In fact, and conversely, living next door to Cruella has forced me to consider the implications and tribulations of the expectation to "love thy neighbour". Gah!

[Obviously, I can try to avoid and ignore Cruella, which I am mostly able to do, but as we live in the same driveway (it's just our two flats) and our front doors are 4.5 meters apart (I measured), and she and her partner are VERY LOUD people, complete avoidance/ignoring isn't always possible.]

So, given that she is in my 'sphere', and at times, has aggressively protruded herself into my sphere, I feel compelled to form a judgement about her. But what judgement? Is it really necessary (morally, practically) to try to see the good in people? How much latitude is reasonable when focusing on a person's positives and overlooking their negatives, before giving in and screaming: Asshole!?

Planet C has certainly presented me with a challenge. I want to be someone who is sympathetic and empathic, who sees the beauty in others, but I also want to smack Planet C in the head (not always, but often enough).

I feel some degree of 'motherly' concern for her - I don't know why, possibly because I'm somewhat older than her and I don't have children of my own to worry about - and I can see that her attitudes and actions are more likely to get her into trouble than to get her what she wants (or thinks she wants). But, equally, she's not a (petulant) teenager anymore, despite behaving like one (she's actually in her early thirties).

I know some things about her (which I know because she talks VERY LOUDLY on her phone while she's having a cigarette in the driveway, right next to my flat). I know she grew up in a large family - maybe her siblings were boisterous and competitive, and she always felt overlooked, so she developed a toxically self-centered and hostile persona as a way to cope. I know she very much wants to get married and have children but, so far, her partner seems to be resisting these commitments, which is making her even more volatile. But plenty of people want children and marriage (or some kind of romantic security) who don't get these things; there's no guarantee, there's no human right. And, realistically, I worry how Planet C would cope if she did have a baby; it could make or break her. She can't be having one of her tantrums when it's 3am and her baby is hungry and sick (and probably covered in sick) and its diaper seriously needs to be changed, and this is the 5th night in a row of this; she'll need to harden up and deal with it. I think someone as entitled and immature as Planet C might struggle with the challenges of motherhood.

I accept that there are myriad life circumstances, unknown to others, that may explain some asshole behaviour - though not necessarily justify it. And I try to believe that everyone has a likable side - not only because society says I should. But I don't think, for the foreseeable future, Planet Cruella is someone that I'll be able to like; if she has redeeming qualities, she keeps them very well hidden. I don't wish ill upon her; if she were having a medical emergency, I would call an ambulance - though I probably wouldn't inquire afterwards as to how she was doing. And while I can't bring myself to wish that she has happiness in her life - Planet C doesn't seem to give a flying damn about other people's happiness - I don't wish that she doesn't have happiness. She's not evil, but she is frequently annoying, sometimes obnoxious, and it doesn't help in the quest to like her that she has a (VERY LOUD) laugh that possesses the essence of a cackle.

I've Gone MAD with Christmas Festivity!

For so many years, I've steadfastly abhorred Christmas and its requisite, sadistic spirit of celebration. From the beginning of December until Boxing Day, I would be a seething mass of humbug. Christmas Day would often find me blind drunk before breakfast - having gotten up extra early to make sure I imbibed as much "Christmas Cheer" as possible, in order to get me through the Yuletide Terror. So it came as quite a shock to my person (aka me) to discover this in my lounge room:

Someone (aka me) decorated the wall heater in a frenzy of tinsel (turning off the pilot light first, for safety) and put cheerily wrapped presents underneath/in front of it. And look at all those Christmas cards.

Feliz Fucking Navidad!

Hierarchy of Difficulty

The Hierarchy of Difficulty is, in principle, a ratings system in which various everyday tasks and situations are allocated a numerical value reflecting the degree of difficulty experienced by an individual whenst that individual encounters said everyday tasks or situations. Commonly, the rating scale is from 1 to 10, with 1 = super easy ("I am strolling through a well maintained park on a pleasantly warm summer's day whilst eating a delicious non-dripping ice-cream") and 10 = massively fucking hard ("I have reverted to a permanent foetal position, you may as well kill me now").

I have personally found the Hierarchy of Difficulty to be an effective tool in identifying irksome obstacles and assessing their level of irksomeness upon my person. This helps to give me a more concrete picture of the irksome and, thus, the extent of its evil. I am then better prepared to devise an irksome-reduction strategy. Here are some recent examples from my hierarchy, with ratings in brackets:

♣ Spelling 'hierarchy'. (5)
♣ Writing a blog post titled 'Hierarchy of Difficulty'. (4-5)
♣ Reversing out of my driveway with neighbour's bins almost obstructing driveway - with the margin of error being not more than 2 inches. (8-9)
(though closer to (7) now that I've moved bins approximately 4 inches to the north - away from the driveway - and neighbour seems not to have noticed)
(for those of you at home doing the maths, that does indeed mean that my total margin of error is now approximately 6 inches, which is still pretty tight, but I am highly skilled at driving my car in reverse out of my driveway, so I can handle it, unless I've been drinking or am experiencing a severe inner ear condition or I've got my eyes closed)
♣ Reversing out of my driveway with my eyes closed. (9-10)
♣ Talking to neighbour about bin/driveway issue. (10)
(see here for previous driveway issue involving the same neighbour)
♣ Not obsessing about the driveway irritations of neighbour. (8)
♣ Not obsessing in general. (7-8)
♣ Accurately differentiating between healthy and unhealthy obsessing. (4-5)
♣ Using my powers of obsessing for good rather than evil. (5-6)
♣ Not obsessing to the point of freaking myself out. (3-4)
♣ Establishing a personality that is not easily freaked out. (5)
♣ Establishing a personality that is not easily freaked out by other people. (6-7)
♣ Establishing a personality that does not easily freak out other people. (6)
♣ Deciding whether or not to care about people freakage in general. (1-10)
♣ Finding a job commensurate with my ability to hold it down. (7)
♣ Determining my level of ability in the 'job holding down' arena. (7-8)
♣ Focusing on the positives rather than the negatives. (1-10)
♣ Maintaining high enough energy levels - physical, mental, emotional - to cope with everyday obstacles. (1-10)
♣ Not giving in to Asperger type tendencies. (7-8)
♣ Giving in to Asperger type tendencies. (1)
♣ Going to the supermarket. (1-10)
♣ Finishing blog posts. (1-10)

Exclamation Points are Infiltrating this Blog!!!

!!!

Increasingly, as this blog continues to be written, there are recurring manifestations of exclamation points. Frequently, as evidenced in the last two blog posts, both the blog title and the blog entry will contain exclamation points. And, perhaps portentously, these exclamation points have often been appearing in threes.

According to Wikipedia, "the exclamation point or exclamation mark is a punctuation mark usually used after an interjection or exclamation to indicate strong feelings or high volume (shouting)".

The exclamation point, sometimes referred to as the Lion of Punctuation, is certainly the king of the (punctuation) jungle. It is the warrior of the writing world. When a battle cry is needed or a terribly important idea demands to be expressed emphatically, the exclamation point heeds the call. It also has a commanding presence in the other areas in which it is found - eg maths, signage, computing.

So, why do exclamation points keep showing up in this blog? What is their intention? What is it about this blog - at this point in time - that attracts them?

I suspect the answer lies in what I would describe as my current requirement for 'high volume' as a means to motivate myself. And I don't mean listening to Metallica turned up to 11 or shouting at the stars; though these approaches are not without merit. I think my natural inclination to inertia may be holding me back from things I would maybe like to be doing. At the very least, I think I'm spending a little too much time alone in my flat (actually Ms Willow Pussycat's flat - maybe she would like to have the flat to herself for a change!). It may be the case that some extra energy is needed to activate some action, and blogging with exclamation points may assist with this 'energy creation'.

Or else the end of the world is nigh, and the exclamation points - particularly when they appear in threes - serve to warn of this impending doom!

!!!

Move Your Car!!!

[Subtitle: I'm using this blog post to snark indirectly at my neighbour instead of snarking directly at her as that may be too confrontational and possibly lead to violence and I really would (mostly) prefer to solve this issue in a peaceful manner]


Dear Annoying Neighbour (front flat),

The problem with your firm belief in your 'entitlement' to park behind me in the driveway such that I cannot get my car out, is that you actually have NO entitlement to do this. And, more importantly, I actually have a legal right to move my car in and out of my parking space whenever the hell I like. I also have a legal right to get both you and your car booted off the property if you keep blocking my car (which I'm currently in the process of doing). So, you might want to start parking in your allocated parking space - to the side of the driveway - if you don't want to get evicted (surely not being able to park in the driveway is a somewhat minor inconvenience compared to being evicted).

You seem to think that it's perfectly reasonably for me to have to knock on your door every time I want to take my car out and that I'm being mean by not agreeing to such an arrangement. Would you agree to it, if you lived in the back flat?

Your strategies to try to get me to swap parking spaces with you have not been without some measure of creativity. Your appeal to my 'compassionate' side ('my life is harder than your life, so I deserve to park in the driveway/under the carport', or something like that) whilst not being original (or true) was executed with some flair. Your attempts to passively-aggressively bully me by being slow to come to the door when I knocked and then being hostile about moving your car (in effect, trying to make it so difficult for me to get my car out that I give up and start parking in your spot) were unexpected and initially unsettled me, but now I'm battle ready and prepared for the onslaught. Your self appointed role of being gate-keeper to my life is making my angry and defiant, not submissive (your understanding of human nature seems a little misguided here). But you really are wasting your energy because there ain't no way I'm giving up my (allocated) parking space (which I've grown quite fond of over the years).

I accept that my parking space is a little nicer than yours. I park under a carport (though I do have to park right in front of my doorway, which some people might not like), whereas you park under a tree (but the area in front of your flat is clear). But your argument that you have a right to a carport is pretty wild. You, as a human being, have a right to shelter, your car does not. Unfortunately (for you), when I moved in (many years ago), the flat with the carport was vacant so I took it (not because of the carport, that was just a bonus). Maybe one day I'll die an untimely death and you can move into my flat and park under the carport. (Warning: if I am murdered, I will be exercising my right as a spirit-in-limbo to haunt the hell out of my flat). But, for the present, you'll have to park in the side spot or find somewhere else with a carport and move there.

You are being immature and illogical and a bully, and something you need to realise is that the tactics you are using on me to try to get your way may have worked when you were in high school or living at home, but in the real world they are likely to get you evicted from a tenancy or fired from a job. But I think the most important thing you need to realise, the thing that you are foolishly failing to appreciate, is that I'm just as big a cotton candy ass as you!

Bite me,

Effulgent13 (back flat)


[UPDATE/EDIT (6/8/2014): The driveway/parking situation is now under control! The front neighbour is now parking in the spot to the side of the driveway (and has gotten the tree cut down, making that spot a much better parking space). All is now (seemingly) calm in our driveway.]

The 49 cents is OURS!!!

"Unfortunately your electricity account has been undercharged due to an incorrect Meter Reading."

Look, I probably would have just spent the 49 cents that my electricity company undercharged me on alcohol and drugs and psychics. So, really, it's a good thing that they followed up on collecting this missing money. And, sure, the 49 cents probably won't even cover the cost of postage, paper, ink and personnel required to mail out the amended electricity bill, but this is a minor drawback compared to the ecstatic anal retentiveness of making damn sure that every single kilowatt of power is PAID FOR. No freebies. Good day, Sir!

Clash of the Titans (aka Home Appliances)

The history of White Goods is, of course, also the history of epic battles. Since the dawn of the first refrigerators and stoves, there have been long and bloody mechanized white plastic conflicts. The Great War of the Washing Machines, which lasted nearly a decade, saw massive destruction both to the machines themselves and to the households that had become so reliant on these extraordinary creatures.

In recent times, some modicum of civility has infiltrated the ongoing frays, and White Goods interactions have witnessed less violence and more diplomatic methods of negotiation.

But vestiges of the brutal old ways still remain in the polymeric cross-linking (ie "DNA") of the appliances, and flare-ups, though increasingly rare, continue to be a feature of these modern conveniences. Recently, I was privy to such an altercation between two kettles in my kitchen:

The new kettle (on the right) was brought into the kitchen to replace the old kettle (on the left) which had been experiencing difficulties with its water-boiling functions. Foolishly, I placed the new kettle onto the bench without first removing the old kettle. I wandered off for a brief interlude and when I returned I encountered a savage display. Lids were raised in fierce rage, pouring spouts glowered with fiery fury, water boiled angrily from inside the kettles despite neither kettle being connected to an electricity outlet (nor having been filled with water). It was a bestial scene.

The teapot and the coffee-maker, kitchenware known for their enduring pacifism, huddled together in apprehensive anticipation of the outcome. The toaster (to the far right) sat in the corner with Zen-like stoicism, not giving a damn.

Denouement: There wasn't a true victor for this battle, mainly because I broke up the fight before it got too gory (not that I abhor violence, it's just that I prefer for it not to occur in my kitchen). The new kettle is now my everyday kettle, a position it has earned by its consistency in both heating water to boiling point and switching itself off when reaching this point. The old kettle received a thorough soaking in diluted vinegar, which removed all the gunk from its element, thus allowing it to regain its ability to boil water, but it is unable to switch itself off and so it is now relegated to being my emergency kettle. The old kettle now lives in the cupboard under the sink, an arrangement which should hopefully deter it from interacting with the new kettle and thus prevent any more kitchen brawls.