Infrequent Blogging May - or May Not - Continue/Adieu, 2020

Only a foolish, foolhardy fool would even attempt to predict the possible future frequency of blogging on this here Effulgent13 Blog. Clearly, Effulgent13 blogging has waned somewhat in recent times, and especially for the duration of this year. But, the blogging may yet continue (Lord Be Praised), for better or worse, and even without the help of New Year's Eve wine (which I may have started drinking a little early - and, yes, this blog is being written with the aid of a few wines). And I make no apologies for this - this year of 2020 is one which, very much so, necessitates the early drinking of New Year's Eve wine.

Of course, one does not have to blog whilst early NYE's wine drinking. But one can, and I am. And I'm feeling that I have neglected this blog of late; so if I can get one last, hopefully not too incoherent, but wildly meaningless, blog post written before the end of this year, then all is not lost.

So, since this is the final day of this year - the year of 2020 (Annus Covidus) - let me farewell thee; with grace, with compassion, with hope.

 

Dear 2020,

You were my final year with my beautiful pussycat Willow;

You gave us hard lockdowns - allowing me to justify excessive video game playing and excessive introversion;

You gave some succour to the flora and fauna (though not always to the humans) of earth;

You brought back long phone conversations (very Gen X);

You engendered face mask wearing - causing humans to realize how much we communicate with each other with just our faces(!);

You allowed the humans of earth to gain some understanding of the fragility of our existence (and, hopefully, to become more wisdomed because of this).

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

When You Turn 50, Stranger Things Will Happen

Barely a month ago, my chronological age became 50. I was coping with this (somewhat confronting) reality reasonably well, until a series of alarming occurrences occurred:

Puzzling Talk to Text message:
"My name is Jim Taylor and I wanted to inquire about doing some cut and paste work in the Nile River. Thank you. Bye."

Toys on the clothesline:

Government poo collection:
(aka: National Bowel Cancer Screening Program)
First the government wanted to collect our metadata, now they want to collect our poo! (Surely the last vestige of privacy is a person's bodily waste).

Of course, these things could simply be coincidences; co-relation rather than causation (ie turning 50 didn't trigger the weird, the weird just sometimes happens). And, so far, there have been 3 occurrences, and superstitious wisdom dictates that happenings happen in threes. So, it may be that my apparent 50th birthday 'stranger things' has finished and was merely a whimsical randomness of the universe. I guess only time will tell, but in the meantime, I will be keeping myself alert in case there are more oddities.

Unreliable Narrator

There is a small cafe, located along a dark alleyway, which itself is located off a one-way laneway. The laneway can only be reached by pedestrian access due to an enormous crater - the result of an enormous meteorite - located in the middle of the adjoining main road. Inside the small cafe is a barista of indeterminate species who serves never-ending lattes and plates of cherry coconut slice. Also inside this cafe is a shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet where I keep most of my truths. I rarely visit this cafe, despite my fondness for never-ending lattes and cherry coconut slice. And when I do visit, I tend to sit not entirely in one of the chairs closest to the door. I steer well clear of the shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet and only ever look at it with peripheral vision; I'm not sure how wise it is to get too close to truths kept in shape-shifting cabinets.

It has taken many years for me to mutate into a being with whom I can be comfortable spending time. It's a mostly amicable relationship, and we have a lot in common; we have the same values, we like the same food, we write the same blog, we have the same relatives, we share the same body. But, occasionally, I wouldn't mind some time apart. I don't want to cut ties completely, but a little more space, and maybe a little less intimacy and co-dependency, might be beneficial.

Sometimes I like to believe that I am flawless or that I have superpowers or that I don't exist.

Some years ago, during a break in transmission, I stopped breathing and became a suspended animation. I thought this would kill me but, conversely, it made me more alive. Due to this transition, I am now able to slow time.

Fake Blog Post for June

Blogging doesn't seem to be happening this month, as witnessed by the absence of June blog posts. So I'm posting this fake blog post instead. Sure, I may be calling this too early, given that there is still another week and a half of June to go, but I sense a definite inability of my ability to finish a blog post (I have, in fact, been able to start blog posts, as evidenced by the plethora (two) of partially written blog posts sitting in my drafts folder, but completion of these posts remains wanting). I will also be needing to direct my energies - mental, physical, spiritual, gravitational - to attending to the upcoming Winter Solstice and its requisite celebrations; ie alcohol drinking, sugar/lard consumption, dvd-a-thon. (Winter Solstice celebrating necessarily takes place indoors as it's too cold and too dark to be going outside - naked pagan dancing beneath the moonlight is for Summer Solstice, and Stonehenge, and somewhere away from where anyone can see me). So, it does seem, on balance, that a PROPER June blog post is unlikely to occur. However, that this is a FAKE blog post doesn't mean that there can't be a photo of Ms Willow Pussycat (sitting on her car):

Filler New Year Blog Post

As is mandatory for 21st Century blogging, I am writing a blog post to usher in the New Year. However, as I cannot be arsed to think about anything, let alone write about anything, I am forced, instead, to submit this filler blog post. It will have to suffice, despite not containing any of the regular references to hopes/dreams/goals etc. for the upcoming year, nor deconstruction of hopes/dreams/goals etc. from the previous year. Nope. Nada. Nein.
In fact, this blog post refuses not only to not reference anything, but to not say anything at all - except for what has already been written, which wasn't very much or very meaningful or very interesting - and it does not take issue with any overuse of the word 'not', even when too much 'not' not only does not contribute to furthering the comprehension of a sentence, but actually increases the convolution of an already convoluted sentence (or, as is now the case, paragraph).

Terms and Conditions

[Sub-Heading: Whatever]

Note: For the purpose of this vague, confused and random blog post, the word "whatever" refers to; interactions between people (verbal, emotional, physical, intellectual), degrees of love (however this is defined), availability of mind (however this is defined), and anything/everything else.

What is the correct amount of whatever in any equal human relationship (so excluding, for example, the parent/child relationship - though, in theory, this relationship becomes more equal over time)? What parameters should be used when framing the measure of whatever - moral, legal, social, cultural, economic? How much commitment to whatever is reasonable or necessary or justifiable? Is it ethical to extract more whatever from another human than is being freely given? Maybe it turns out that the human is happy to give more but hadn't thought to do so. But what if a human isn't wanting or willing or able to give more whatever? And if extraction is allowed, how much is allowable, and what strategies are acceptable? To what extent is the whatever in relationships negotiable? Does one person ever have more say about the whatever than another because of certain circumstances? Or is it the case that the whatever that is offered is all that should be expected?

Things that are usually sought by humans from other humans are companionship, solace, nebulous love, adoration, emotional intimacy, physical intimacy, mental stimulation, intellectual connection - things that, supposedly, stave off existential loneliness and existential sadness, and which make life more worthwhile and enjoyable. Do humans have an obligation to provide these things for other humans? Why not embrace existential loneliness and existential sadness? Most likely there are terribly enlightening truths to be found in these. Does a person have to accept feeling lonely and sad because nobody loves them or wants to interact with them? Are people only allowed to be 'happy' if they are loved by other people? I don't need for other people to love me. I don't even need for me to love me (though, sometimes, I am quite besotted with myself). There are times when I'm not even sure I want people to love me. Don't love me! Or, do love me! Just don't expect me to finish this ill-conceived and increasingly inane blog post with any kind of reasoned conclusion about whatever.

Evaporative Cooler as Art

Now that the planet is on fire, due to global warming, I've had to obtain a cooling device more powerful than a fan. I've chosen an evaporative cooler:

Unfortunately, the evaporative cooler takes up some degree of space in my modestly sized flat, and it's not the most inspiring entity. Also, it's really only in use for about 2 weeks per year (though this time span may increase as global temperatures increase). So, rather than allowing the evaporative cooler to become an ongoing and intrusive eyesore in my living space, I've decided to turn it into an evocative and aesthetically pleasing art piece (note the chain-link feature, constructed from unused hair pins, which symbolically expresses the eternal existential angst of existence):

Ms Willow is quite moved:

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!

!!!

New Year's Day Message From Effulgent13

Goodbye, 2013. Hello, 2014.

This Blog is not affiliated with, nor does it play favourites with, any calender year. It endeavours to appreciate each year as each year happens, and to assess each year on its own merits. It tries not to judge years. It gives each year equal opportunity to reach its highest potential, or to sink to its lowest, most disgusting, depravity. It embraces the (so called) positives and negatives of every year. Climbing the biggest mountain or plunging head first into the deepest, darkest chasm; it's all the same, really.

2013 has now passed and 2014 is upon us; whatever will be, will be, or not.

[P.S. However, my experience of 2014 would be greatly enhanced - in a "positive" way - if dvd distributors of planet earth would release Bates Motel, season 1, on region 4 (Australia/New Zealand/South & Central America). Also, Mr Show with Bob and David (all seasons, though any season will do at this point!).]

Have You Got Yourself an Occupation???

Not really, though I am sufficiently adept at procuring for myself daily endeavours for which my being can entangle itself, such that I am 'occupied'. But, alas, these undertakings are not, in the traditional sense, considered to be An Occupation. Also, nobody's paying me. (Capitalism hates me).

So, to summarize the previous paragraph: I have no job..I am not employed..I have not got myself an occupation. But I am significantly happier and healthier than when I did have an occupation. It seems to me, at this point in time, that the thing that was giving me the biggest headache/heartache/lifeache was the workplace. Retirement is the drug I've been looking for. (Sorry, meth dealers).

There are many things I love about being retired from the workplace. Here are some examples:
* Minimal responsibilities
* Having autonomy over my days
* Not being judged and assessed all day long
* Not having to answer to my 'superiors'
* Being allowed to feel unwell until I get better - with no pressure to 'soldier on'
* Not having to interact with people who I either don't want to interact with or don't know how to interact with
* Not having to get (coerce) my brain into a work-headspace configuration
* Not having to keep my brain in a work-headspace configuration for many hours of the day
* Engaging with whatever meaningful or non-meaningful things as my daily moods decree (usually via the internet or the library or the video store or the windmills of my mind)
* Wearing whatever clothes as my daily moods decree
* Wearing whatever mood as my daily moods decree
* Not being around toxic chemicals (specific to laboratory-based workplaces)
* Not being bored
* Drinking as much tea/coffee as I like
* Using the bathroom as often as I like
* Hanging out with Willow all day

Of course, being in my mid-forties means that society thinks I should have an occupation. Retirement isn't really culturally acceptable until a person reaches mid-sixties. Social gatherings are tricky for the non-retirement age not employed; people avert their gaze when informed that the person they are conversationing with is 'unoccupied'. I live in terror of being called up for jury duty and not knowing what to write in the occupation section - is it perjury to say I'm unemployed when I have worked as a scientist (ie is this the kind of information that would entice a defendant's lawyer to challenge me as a jurist)? Also, there is the not insubstantial issue of requiring a livable income. (I will not, however, be using my knowledge of science, and specifically organic chemistry, to undertake a career in meth cooking, even as exciting as it may seem - I've watched Breaking Bad!).

But I think it is not beyond the realm of possibility that, one day, and after actually starting to search, I will find myself a proper occupation (maybe even one that pays). Perhaps by the time I reach my mid-sixties I will have encountered an occupation (maybe even more than one) which not only doesn't suck, but which is not entirely unenjoyable to do. (Capitalism will love me - but it will not be some kind of namby-pamby-touchy-feely love, it will be a wild unrestrained triple X-rated kind of love).

I am Ready for 2013

I have my 2013 student diary (though I am not a student - I just like the diary) and I have brand new underpants!

Nothing can stop me now.

Will the Wonders of Masking Tape Never Cease?

I have repaired my computer mouse using the very latest high-tech specialist equipment:

[PS: This blog post was brought to you by I'm too cheap to buy a new mouse]

Face Stealer

I get a dislocating sense when I look in the mirror and see parts of my mother's face attached to my face. I feel as though I've misappropriated aspects of her visage for my nefarious purposes. My face is not really my own. I'm misrepresenting my mother by being me, in her face. This mostly started happening from around the time I turned 40. I suspect some ego-id-superego/Freudian/Jungian psychological wackiness is at work here - given that when my mother was in her forties, I was a teenager, hence I'm now at the age my mother was when I wanted to assert my own (radical!) identity - separate from the parents. I'm probably getting teenage identity angst flashbacks when I spend too long gazing at my (quite alluring) reflection.

Waiting...(with music)...

I seem to be trapped in a lengthy, and slightly excruciating, interlude. Apparently, though, 'hope springs eternal'. I'm not entirely convinced.

Thankfully, during this interim (or is this my permanent state??), I have The Butterfly Effect to quell my hoping angst - which is not to be confused with my hopping angst, a painful and treacherous affliction for which I require much therapy.

Am I holding on in vain
Am I praying for a change
All the wounds set deep within
Cold the walls you set around me
Am I holding on in vain
Am I praying for a change
That's never coming

Cats LOVE Tennis!

Well, at least one cat (Ms Willow) does, to which these following photos bear witness:

Watching the 2012 Australian Open Ladies' Final (Victoria Azarenka versus Maria Sharapova)



C'mon, Azarenka!



C'mon, Sharapova!


I don't think Ms Willow really minded who won, she just wanted to see a good match. Unfortunately, the match was pretty much an Azarenka stampede (6/3, 6/0), but there was some quality grunting from both players.

Now We Are Forty

(Actually, now we are closer to mid-forties, but my point is that we are no longer eight and nine years old - damn!)

What do you say to your childhood/early teenagehood friend when being re-acquainted with him 25-30 years later? I, for one, had no idea when this recently happened (though, admittedly, I often have no idea what to say to people, in general). An extra degree of difficulty was added by the looming possibility that my friend - now high achieving and highly respected in his field – would be dragged away by an over zealous colleague wanting to ‘have a word’. I had to think fast (not my greatest skill), and so I went with the (seemingly) easy and accepted topics: children, partners, career. There wasn’t space in which to find out who/where he is now; what had his first twenty-five years of adulthood given him?

I didn’t know how appropriate it would have been to recount with him tales of unhinged childhood, given the propriety of the venue and of the crowd, or if he even wanted to remember. But if it had been possible, some of my memories of us, which I would have recounted, are:

• watching The Goodies
• swimming in his neighbours’ pool (usually at my insistence)
• playing Charades in his backyard (usually at my insistence)
• his introducing me to the joy of eating Milo from the tin (which, quite frankly, I still do)
• playing Battleship (and my cheating, and his catching me)
• founding new territory in my backyard
• trying to come up with a title for his spy novel
• sailing with him and his father, on his father’s boat
• his drawing up and signing a Statutory Declaration (complete with “official” wax seal) indicating that he would come with me to my next school disco. (NB: As I have never ‘collected’ on this document, I assume the offer is still valid).

Oh, Yeah...Another Year...

2011 mostly sucked. May 2012 suck less.


Meanwhile, Ms Willow Pussycat is VERY ADORABLE:

The Blog Posts MUST Continue

This blog seems to have gotten stuck at post number 200. I fear that if I don't move beyond post number 200 soon, there will be no more posting. Ever. This would be a tragedy. I can't let Effulgent13 die. So, in order to alleviate any potential post-less karma which might occur if I don't pass post 200, I am posting this post-less prevention post, pronto! Peace.

200

Hurrah!!!

I have reached blog post number 200. I am fantastic. In honour of this momentous and celebratory occasion, I will now pour myself a whiskey (and drink it). This has been a very exciting and extraordinarily productive Saturday night.

[For those of you playing at home, please feel free to join in the fun and pour yourself a beverage of your choosing (and drink it)]