Where is the 2nd Guitar???

(The answer is: There's no 2nd guitar!)

Once upon a long LONG long time ago, when I was 16-18 years old, I was learning acoustic (classical) guitar. I really enjoyed my lessons, which lasted for about 18 months, and I think the acoustic guitar is a beautiful instrument (I also like the electric guitar but I think acoustic - nylon or steel string - is more pretty). I may have played a little better had I practiced more - as gently suggested by my lovely guitar teacher - and, perhaps, I could've been more proactive in my guitar learning. Still, I had fun and I'm glad I had guitar lessons. I did, however, develop a wee crush on Mr Guitar Teacher, despite his being somewhat older than me and married - which leads me to the next, slightly difficult, paragraph.

Mr G T and I would chat during and after my lesson, mostly about music but other things as well. I can't really remember too much of what we actually talked about, I just know that I was beginning to enjoy his company in a way that even my addled teenage brain realized was becoming problematic and inappropriate and wildly unrealistic. I eventually stopped going to guitar lessons; partly this was because other things were distracting me and maybe I wasn't really going anywhere with my guitar playing, but I also stopped because I knew nothing was ever going to come of my feelings for Mr G T and I was too vulnerable and I felt it was better to be away.

 

Obviously, OBVIOUSLY, obviously, there is a textbook analysis/argument to be made here about a teenager falling for an older person and why it happens; blah blah seeking security, when you're young and insecure, from someone who seems to know stuff, blah blah feeling protected from the big scary world, blah blah he was nice and didn't treat me like the idiot child that I was, so of course I was going to like him. Blah, I don't care, my love was real! Blah!

But what the hell has this got to do with the missing 2nd guitar (as per the title of this blog post)? Let me explain, the title refers to three things:

Firstly, it is a metaphor for a long ago, but occasionally remembered, sadness at not being able to see my guitar teacher anymore (he was the 2nd guitar). 

Secondly, it is a comment about the most incredible Lindsay Buckingham acoustic guitar version of Fleetwood Mac's Big Love, to which I've listened for many years believing there was a 2nd guitar, until I watched the video clip (which I have conveniently placed below).

And Thirdly (if I can keep going a little longer with this kooky 2nd guitar metaphor - which I'm going to do), much like Lindsay Buckingham not requiring a 2nd guitar to play this song, I've become someone who doesn't require a "2nd guitar" (partner) to "play my song" (live my life) - not that my life is as good as acoustic Big Love, but it's pretty good nevertheless.

 

Thank you, Lindsay, that was freakin' awesome!

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).

In The Time of Covid-19

When you get home after shopping for essential items (still no toilet paper - what the hell, Australia!) and greet fellow house occupiers (human or otherwise) with a smile and a wave and a 1.5 metre distance and you thoroughly wash your hands (with an extra chorus of "Happy Birthday", just to be sure) and then you can FINALLY touch that spot on your face that's been needing to be touched for the last 4 hours,

Walking through sparsely peopled shopping centres and worrying (or hoping) that you've been transported into classic zombie horror film Dawn of the Dead,

Being a high level introvert and not noticing too much difference between social isolation and normal life,

Being an introvert and feeling sympathy for extrovert humans who are more likely to struggle without the in-the-flesh social contact lifestyle - the internet is invaluable during this crisis but it's not a total replacement for 'actual' human contact, even for introverts,

Experiencing alarm that people are being told to wash hands after going to the bathroom - WASN'T THIS ALREADY HAPPENING?!?!,

Not feeling guilty for spending so much time playing video games - surely, in this extended time of having to stay home, passing copious hours lost in the worlds of Resident Evil or Tomb Raider is justified,

Wishing journalists and politicians would consult a thesaurus and find alternative words for 'unprecedented',

For example: extraordinary/unparalleled/unimaginable/freakish/novel/unique/holy guacamole,

Admitting that 'unprecedented' is probably the best adjective to describe this global pandemic.

Internal Structure

Would it be wiser to remain with this solitude status quo? Or does it need to change? Would I be a better person if I were 'involved' with someone? Do I need to be a better person? Maybe I'm already the right amount of better? Perhaps there is no way that a human being could possibly be more better than I am right now! Would I be happier? Would non-solitude fill my internal empty places? Doesn't everyone have varying degrees of internal empty places, solitude or non? My internal empty places seem to be getting smaller, less porous, more manageable, as I get older (though my bones and cartilage are getting more porous and less manageable - external structure is letting me down, as I get older).

What drives the impetus to pursue 'involved' interaction with another person? Is it

• desire for connection
• to alleviate loneliness (existential or everyday)
• to follow social convention/expectation
• to make babies
• lust
• intrigue
• a manifestation of narcissism
• security
• solace
• madness

Do we really need these things? Aren't food/water/shelter/oxygen/dvds enough for us?? (Or should that be: isn't food/water/shelter/oxygen/dvds enough for us??).

But what if it's just one another person, in particular, challenging the solitude status quo; someone who seems to emanate solace, seduces with their intrigue, inspires lust. What if it's someone who was encountered unexpectedly, via ordinary daily happenings; not someone found through semi-random, though deliberate, driftnet fishing, but someone who appeared, unbidden, and now you keep thinking about them and want to know all about them and want to interact with them but can't find an appropriate means to do this and are worried that they won't want to interact with you anyway! (And they're probably married, even though they don't wear a wedding ring). And then it gets so bad that you have to write a semi-stream-of-consciousness blog post about it to stop yourself from getting into a desperate state of mind and doing something, well, desperate, and just making everything worse. (And it's been going on for awhile; exhibit A).

It might be time for another Buffy-a-thon, even though I just finished a Buffy-a-thon.

Things I Can Tell Just By Looking at Him

As it turns out, there aren't that many things I can tell just by looking at him. In fact, I can only really observe and then attempt to make conclusions based on my observations (duh!).

Things I have observed and things I know:

• I know for sure that he works at my local library as I have seen him standing behind the library desk, and I've seen him using the behind-the-library-desk computers, and he checked out a branch transfer for me (and while he did this, I 'checked' him out!...see what I did there)
•  I know his first name, which I was able to ascertain by reading his name tag while he was checking out my branch transfer
• I'm guessing his age is somewhere between over 35 and under 50
• He wears brown shirts at work (I don't know if he's wearing the same brown shirt or if he owns many brown shirts)  [EDIT UPDATE: Since posting this blog post, I have observed him wearing a grey-blue shirt]
• I've observed him smiling and being polite and helpful when he is approached by library customers - this could be an indication that he is a polite and helpful person, or it could be an indication that, given that Librarians are meant to be polite and helpful at work, he doesn't want to get fired
• I think I once saw him wearing a cardigan, though this isn't very surprising, given that cardigans are part of a Librarian's armour (but I do like cardigans - in fact, I think the corporate world would be a better world if business people wore cardigans instead of suit jackets)
• He doesn't appear to wear a wedding ring, at least not at work
• I have a suspicion he smoked a bit of marijuana in his younger days, and occasionally still imbibes (I have virtually no basis for this suspicion, other than his longish sideburns, which, in my mind, suggests probable weed smoker, or maybe that he's part Wookie)

But these things do not an insight into a person give. These things don't tell me, for example, whether or not he's a psychopath - maybe he's a psychopath with a heart of gold. Where does he sit on the political spectrum (further to the left would be better)? Is he sexist or racist or homophobic (qualities possessed by some of my ex-boyfriends)? Is he thoughtful or compassionate or tolerant (qualities not overly possessed by some of my ex-boyfriends)? Does he know who The Chosen One is (hint: "into every generation is born") (extra hint: It's Buffy The Vampire Slayer!)?

He has an 'aura' that suggests some degree of weird loner, which speaks to me (I think I'm more likely to connect with another weird loner, even if that sounds contradictory - are weird loners at all able to make 'proper' human connections with normal people, let alone with each other?!?). Though, my 'observation' of his apparent weird lonerism might be more about my projecting qualities onto him that I desire. Maybe, at the very least, he's sympathetic to (and attracted to!) weird loners, whilst not necessarily being one himself.

So, what if he is someone for me (and I'm someone for him). Is it really a good idea to start something which could go horribly wrong? (That last sentence just seethes with optimism). And if things do go wrong, I'll probably have to go to a different library. I enjoy being a weird loner; do I really want to give up my solitude? Maybe it's possible to be a weird loner AND have a thing with someone - I'd still have to work on my interacting with other people skills, though.

And how would things get started in the first place? If something is going to be done, it's likely going to have to be me that does it. I'll have to 'make the first move', because I would assume that a library staffer isn't allowed to hit on a library customer - workplace sexual harassment protocols would frown upon such behaviour. I'd have to approach him; I could go up to him when he's behind the library desk and ask him some library based questions (and bat my eyelashes and give him my phone number!). But flirting isn't my one of my strengths. I'm not very positive about this strategy. I think I need to sleep on it. I think I will need many sleeps.

The Happy Hermit

Once upon a time, there was a happy hermit. Though, given that there was not total isolation from other human beings, a happy part-hermit might be more correct. She (yes, hermits can be female) was not a sociopath, as some might believe of a hermit, though she would be lying if she claimed to never have experienced anti-social thoughts (but, I suspect, this would also apply to many non-hermits). Her social skills, however, were frequently in need of a makeover.

Her hermit lifestyle was a self-created one (ie not imposed by external circumstances, such as being marooned on a desert island or being in solitary confinement). It was a existence that fit her like a glove, or perhaps, like the shell of a hermit crab (see what I did there - a little hermit humour).

But why was she a happy hermit? It's important to make the point that despite being a hermit, and thus being cast with an expectation of experiencing sadness, likely induced by loneliness, she was generally quite content. And she did not feel particularly lonely - other than the usual, pervasive, all embracing, existential lonely experienced by all sentient lifeforms.

So how did she achieve a state of 'happy'? What she did was to have an active imaginary life. She existed entwined in a joyous, fantasy world. An invented society. One that frequently provided her with connection and solace. Sure, it was all fake, but it still made her feel good.

And what could be wrong with that? Should this be considered insanity? Or could it be considered a sensible, and even clever, coping strategy? I mean, in Real Life World, people obtain connection and solace from all kinds of multitudinous interactions, many that are wildly insincere, and some that are actually completely fabricated. And sometimes, Real Life People either aren't aware, or won't admit, that these interactions are not genuine. They immerse into their delusion, believing in its veracity, while ignoring its facade of happiness. (Or am I being too cynical? Or not cynical enough?!? I mean, love is a human construct, right? Not that a person should have to be unhappy just because nobody loves them - which is kind of the theme of this post). At least the happy hermit was quite lucid in regard to her delusional life. She was vividly cognizant that the world in her head only existed in her head. And she maintained an otherwise healthy lifestyle. She ate a (mostly) balanced diet, she exercised (mostly), and she made use of companion animals, like cats and fuzzy microbes, as well as imbibing a lot of tea - tea being an essential facet of both a hermit life and a happy life. And, on the rare occasion, she would emerge from her seclusion and interact in Real Life World, which was (mostly) not too traumatizing.

The Unknown Unknown Unknowns

[Special Note: Whilst the title of this post was likely inspired by the 'logic' of Donald Rumsfeld, the post itself is not about him or his tautologies]

It is unknown to me what I was thinking, 2 weeks ago, when I wrote the title of this blog post. I know I had something in mind, but then I failed to actually write the blog post, and now I haven't got a frickin' clue what it was going to be about. I'm not making this up! It really is unknown to me what great substance was forming in my brain when I audaciously titled my unwritten blog post the unknown unknown unknowns. If Hermione Granger were here she would say, "What an idiot!". If Donald Rumsfeld were here his brain would melt and leak out of his ears.

Still, I'm feeling a hankering to write a blog post. And I have an intriguing title already in existence; a title that could mean virtually anything. And it's wildly random. A virtually random wild title. A wild title of virtually random unknowns. Okay, that last sentence doesn't entirely make any sense. Nevertheless...

random...

I suspect the average human being requires closer to 9 hours sleep per night, rather than 8 hours. That there are 24 hours in a day isn't scientific justification for dividing up the day into 3 lots of 8 hours, it's just convenient maths.

I also have suspicions about the 8 hour work day.

The longer I'm single, the more I enjoy it. I do have the occasional 'relationship', though. For example, I have an on/off thing going with the 12th doctor, so I always set aside time on the Saturday/Sunday nights when Dr Who is screening so I can spend this time with him. But when Dr Who isn't screening, I forget all about him.

(And following on from the joys of being single...the pitfalls of lurv...)
The shouty, volatile, obnoxious couple living in the flat next door need to break up (and definitely not procreate - which she is keen to do, he maybe not so much). Their semi-regular and very loud fights seem to be intensifying; last week's fight culminated in a shattered window and broken glass all over the driveway. It started with a disagreement about driving the car and to whom the car belongs:
she said, "you never drive"
he said, "it's your car"
she said, "it's our car"
and repeat. Add hysterical yelling. And feet stomping. And door slamming. And window breaking.
(Incidentally, the car is actually hers, and he catches the train to/from work, he also rides his bike and walks).
My keen observational and psychoanalytic skills lead me to conclude that the conflict about driving and ownership of the car (a Holden Astra - a notoriously divisive car) is symbolic of incompatibility in their desired levels of relationship commitment: He wants to remain a passenger (just along for the ride), she wants him to 'drive her around when she's 8 months pregnant' (presumably pregnant with their baby). I foresee more and escalating tumultuous times ahead.

Last night Alexander Skarsgård appeared in my dream. It would be okay with me if this were to happen more often.

I should try to write something meaningful about unknown unknown unknowns.

An unknown may not always be unknown, and an unknown unknown may eventually become a known that is known, but the unknown unknowns which are unknown will always remain as unknown unknown unknowns...

Manizer (fictional)

Manizer is, of course, the accepted term for the female version of womanizer. Yes? No. Obviously, having 'manizer' as part of everyday vocabulary would give too much moral elevation to the concept. Instead, the accepted iniquity and malignancy of a woman slutting from man to man is encapsulated in terms such as harlot, floozy, strumpet - all of which are kinda cute words, despite the massive double standard they embody (emwordy?).

But I digress.

I think I may be a manizer. At least of imaginary men. A fictional manizer. I just can't settle on one (made up) man. I usually last a few months in love (lust) with one of my figments of my imagination, but then another one forms in my mind and I forget all about the previous one. It's like I have ADHD of the invented love (lust).

I worry about the trail of imaginary broken hearts left in my wake. I struggle with the notion that I've transformed into some kind of Dr Frankenstein of the mind, creating thought-lovers to satisfy my own nefarious desires, then tossing them aside when I've finished with them, leaving them to roam - alone and untethered, innocent and childlike - in the brain fiction realm. It's terribly immoral, but as I'm evil - being a woman and all - it's inherent in my nature to do naughty things. So don't ask me to stop, because I can't (won't).

Unfortunately though, brain creating is potentially quite dangerous, given that, under the right circumstances, brain creations have been known to take corporeal form. It's possible one of my creations may become flesh, hunt me down and seek vengeance upon me for my transgressions. Though, it's also possible one of my creations may become flesh, hunt me down and seek to explore new transgressions with me. Or previous transgressions. Or both previous and new transgressions. Or no transgressions, and instead we'll have a cup of tea and a chat. Maybe some cake. (All my brain creations like cake).

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.

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!

!!!

"CALLING ALL FUN FUNKY PEOPLE"

If by "funky" you mean questionable hygiene standards, then I'm your gal! And if by "fun" you mean weird loner, then call me now!

Why do job ads never call for "languid morose socially inept underachievers"?

Also, the job ad from which I got the title of this blogpost wants "fun funky people" for retail (ok), sales (ok), bar (ok), hospitality (ok) AND CONSTRUCTION (wtf!). Since when does construction require funky. Not that "funky" and "construction" are mutually exclusive (just ask The Village People). But, perhaps, other qualities - fitness, endurance, manual dexterity, familiarity with operating a crane - might be more important. Still, the ability to wear a hard-hat and steel-capped boots with pizazz can't be underestimated.

Harden the Fuck Up, INFJ!

Whenever I take the Myers-Briggs secret identity test (a.k.a personality test), I always 'come out' as an INFJ.
[I=introvert, N=intuition, F=feeling, J=judging]
[Whatever all that means]

Apparently, this personality type is the least represented personality amongst the people of Earth, and sometimes, other personality types think that we're crazy (sometimes we are). We can be quite aloof at times (though we do care). We like to understand and ascribe meaning to things/situations/people. We can only have a proper conversation with one other human/animal/object at a time. We shun conversations that aren't proper. We are terrified of gatherings where we're expected to conversation with more than one person. We love interacting with books/movies/television 'cos we can be alone with them or close/stop them when our brains start to go fuzzy. But the thing that an INFJ most likes to do, the thing that makes it all worthwhile, is wallowing in puddles of maudlin reverie. Oh yeah!

Friendly Neighbourhood (Female) Weird Loner

(Caveat: Sometimes the 'friendly' can seep toward the 'grouchy' - so, somewhere between friendly and grouchy, is where the truth lies)

Apparently, according to Aristotle;

"Man is by nature a social animal; an individual who is unsocial naturally and not accidentally is either beneath our notice or more than human. Society is something that precedes the individual. Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god."

As a weird loner, I find this sentiment comforting. My task now is to deduce whither my true nature is that of beast or god. (Hint: it's beast.) Also, as I have never studied philosophy, I don't know how this Aristotelian wisdom is received, either in general or academically. I have minimal enlightenment of what deeper meanings are contained within its scholarship (though, scientifically, I'm a little sceptical that "society is something that precedes the individual"). I'm mainly interested in the weird loner beast/god dichotomy.

On my Twitter profile, I have declared myself a 'friendly neighbourhood weird loner'. I have also used this description as the title of this blog post, but have added 'female' as a way of highlighting societies' differing assessments, judgements and strictures of female loners in comparison to male loners.

All loners are freaks, obviously; popular cultural representations of loners frequently allude to this veracity. But the freakishness of female versus male loners, like women and men in general, is treated and valued differently.

Male loners are allowed to joyously avoid social attachments such as partners or children. Their rejection of traditional expectations often manifests as a reckless, but adventurous, spirit. A male loner is permitted (sometimes encouraged) to obsessively pursue interests or goals at the expense of human contact - even when those pursuits are dangerous. If the male loner has psychopathic tendencies, his psychosis is spectacular; he will generally try to manipulate and/or kill the largest number of people possible - there is a glorification in the presentation of his atrocities.

Female loners tend to be presented in a less exhilarating, if not dour, light. They are mostly confined to the roles of crazy cat lady and/or doting maiden aunt. Often, these tropes sub-textually (or textually) suggest that a single, childless woman compensates for the 'emptiness' of not having a partner or children by doting on cats and/or nieces/nephews. And if a female loner insists on having psychopathic tendencies, it must be under the rubric of bunny boiler (megalomaniac world domination is rarely the dominion of a lady loner - except for me; plus I'm a crazy cat lady, but I am nobody's aunt, doting or otherwise).

Using Aristotle's logic, can these two contrasting cultural milieus be categorized as metaphorical beast or god? And which one is which? (Another Caveat: I'm pretty much excluding speculative fiction type representations of loners, since these frequently turn out to be actual beasts or gods).

Given that men tend to be exalted to varying degrees, much more so than women, I think it's feasible to conclude that the male loner would more likely be seen as a god. Thus, the female loner, especially one who shuns her expected role of nurturing spinster, is more likely to be cast as beast. Paradoxically, however, the role of the most depraved of all the beasts is usually reserved for the male loner.

Current Psyche...Jack Torrance

I am attempting to channel the essence of Jack Torrance - the father from Stephen King's novel The Shining, who becomes possessed by the evil Overlook Hotel.


This photo - from Stanley Kubrick's film version - shows the beginning of the transformation of Jack (Jack Nicholson) from a non psychotic, non axe-wielding man, who is NOT trying to kill his family, into a psychotic, axe-wielding, passionately trying to murder his family, kinda guy. It's quite a transformation.

Okay, I'm not actually seeking to find the right psyche which would allow me to murder the peoples but I am obsessed with the above photo: the manic glare, the unkempt facade, the turtleneck sweater. It's like looking into a mirror (except for the sweater - turtlenecks irritate my sensitive neck skin). I think everyone should spend some time in the thrall of a manic glare and unkempt facade, it nourishes the soul (before the devil takes it)

Also, it's possible this most recent psyche was influenced by the events which occurred about a month ago, documented in the previous blog post.

Wild Weekend

The clip below is a montage of the weekend activities of Olive Penderghast from the movie Easy A.

I can relate.  

Imaginary Boyfriend

I have a crush on an actual person. Let us all join hands and rejoice. I'm quite excited and positive about this recent development despite the unlikeliness of he and I ever having a thing - I don't know him very well and my interaction with him is limited. But these are minor details, especially when considering my previous crushes - Eric Northman, a 1000 year old vampire invented by Charlene Harris for her Sookie Stackhouse (Trueblood) novels, and James Hetfield, lead singer of heavy metal group Metallica. My new crush not only exists but lives in the same city as me! He is also not married and is about the same age as me (42). I mention his age because I've noticed, with my keen observational skills, that as people get older they tend to become attached - hence, there are less unattached peoples of my epoch. There is, I guess, the option of seeking out a younger person - I imagine the under 25's have a reasonable number of unattacheds - but, as I'm now old enough to have given birth to an under 25, I don't consider this age group to be a viable option.

So, why have I called this blog entry "Imaginary Boyfriend"? Well, because sometimes I find myself imagining that my crush is my boyfriend, and imagining how he would be as my boyfriend. It's a behaviour I've previously indulged in (see here for a bizarre example). Wiser people than myself (there were 3 of them, at last count) would probably say that putting favourable characteristics onto a person for whom I have hotpants, before I've gotten to know them, is a foolish endeavour. In fact it could be argued, wisely, that even just having hotpants for someone before getting to know them (let alone making up personality traits) is also not the wisest of endeavours. Whatever the case, it's something that I've done and continue to do. (And I suspect I'm not the only one.)

But is this person-imagining really a bad thing? Is my devotion to wayward winsome wanderings upon matters of the heart such a blight to wisdom? Will Wally weep when Wendy walks westward? Is it time to end this wacky W alliteration? YES!

I'm not entirely convinced that there is only badness in my imaginings - although caution is very much advised. I've noticed, over the years, that the characteristics which I've imbued upon my various crushes are mostly unchanged, and have been refined over time (and, I guess, as I've gotten to know myself better). I'm not referring to physical characteristics, eg height, hair/eye colour, shoulder width etc. And I haven't made any cheesy lists, eg:
1) must be ambitious
2) must have good sense of humour
3) must love kittens
4) must wash regularly
5) must have penis
- what defines a "good" sense of humour (point 2) anyway? It's subjective. I, for example, have a depraved sense of humour (see point 5); some would classify this as "good", others as "please leave the table and go to your room, Nicole".

My imaginings are more about how a person interacts with me and the world, and their life philosophy. For example, it would be ludicrous for me to be involved with someone who is materialistic or homophobic or racist or narrow-minded. And yet, many years ago, I had a crush on (and subsequent semi-relationship with) a person who was materialistic and homophobic and racist and narrow-minded. And I was terribly broken hearted when he ended it (whereas I should've been jumping for joy). On the plus side, however, it was the beginning of a revelation, inside my brain, that maybe I wasn't being very discerning in my choice of men - my strategy was pretty much "he's kinda cute, let's have a thing". I know, I know; it's hard to believe this could happen in these enlightened times. I should also point out, in the case of the above mentioned person, that at the time I was a little blinded by cluckiness - my estrogen wanted me to get pregnant, and estrogen can be quite Machiavellian when it has a task to complete. Evil estrogen. I have to say that now I'm very thankful I didn't procreate with this person.

My point, in all this rambling, is that, maybe, if I pay a bit more attention to the traits of my Imaginary Boyfriend, I might find myself attracted to someone with these actual traits. I know, I know; radical. (For those long-suffering readers who have made it this far: Welcome to Nicole's Dominion of Dumb). Maybe part of the reason I'm without a real boyfriend - other than that I really quite enjoy being a weird loner - is that I've been having trouble extracting, from my foggy consciousness, whatever the hell it is that I'm actually attracted to.

None of this is meant as a slur against my ex-boyfriends. Or against the many and varied and (mostly) inappropriate crushes I've had over the years (bless their miscellaneous hearts). It's about assessing and understanding the choices I've made in regards to Lurv. I know, I know; icky. But, despite the ickiness, I think it's been a positive exercise.

Magic Mountain Count: Page 200

I'm having trouble deciding how to write this blog post - well, you could use the keyboard and type in some words - yes, THANKYOU, annoying and sarcastic voice in my head. What I mean is, I'm not sure how to capture the essence of pages 100 to 200 of The Magic Mountain. In fact, I'm not entirely sure what "the essence" is but I think that's okay since the book is 700 pages long and would probably be classified - to an extent - as a novel of ideas, which means it's unlikely to be easily accessed. Okay, what I really mean is: I don't know what the hell this novel is on about. Yet. I suspect I'll need to read at least another 100 pages, or even the entire novel, before it starts to reveal its true intentions.

Nevertheless, I will summarize what I have discovered so far. The events in the novel take place in a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps, in the years before World War I. The main character is Hans Castorp, a young man about to begin his career as a ship designer, who has taken himself to the sanatorium for a 3 week holiday/rest, and to visit his cousin, Joachim, who has tuberculosis. During this time Hans takes part in the daily routines of the sanatorium; walks in the alpine air, resting times ("rest cures"), lectures, music concerts (weekly) and numerous, and generous, meals. Hans begins to become acquainted with some of the other residents (mostly patients) as well as spending time with his cousin. He also begins to notice unusual aspects of his own physicality; his cheeks are frequently flushed, his cigars have lost their taste. Towards the end of his stay he senses that he's developing a cold. He takes his temperature - an activity the other residents conduct with great regularity and devotion - and discovers it is alarmingly high. A visit to one of the sanatoriums doctors reveals that Hans has a "wet area" on one of his lungs. Hans is ordered to stay at the sanatorium for another 3 weeks.

I think I've inadvertently chosen a very apt novel for myself to be reading at this point in my life - "for myself to be reading at this point in my life"; the essence of this sentence is grammatical violation. I'm kind of living the life of a confined person, although, thankfully, I'm not sick (especially with a life-threatening illness like tuberculosis) and I have the option of not being "confined". What I mean by "confined" is that I spend alot of time in my flat. A large reason for this is that I'm not employed, but also I choose not to "go out" very often. Most of the activities I enjoy doing I can do in my flat, eg reading (although I do sometimes "go out" to the library or the bookstore), sleeping, eating (occasionally I'll "go out" to eat), surfing the internet, watching dvd's (which means I have to "go out" to the dvd rentals store or the dvd shop), contemplating, exercising (sometimes I "go out" for a walk), studying my cat, writing this blog, staying in touch with friends (via email or phone - most of my friends don't live nearbye or have time-constrained lives, but I do enjoy "going out" to catch up with them when it's possible). I have to admit, though, that having the internet is a huge contributor to my being able to spend so much time by myself in my flat. I always look forward to logging on and finding out what's going on with the world - big and small. I think, despite my introverted and non-social ways, I'm not an island.

I've slightly veered away from comparing my current life to the lives of the residents of the sanatorium in The Magic Mountain. I think the similarities lie in both the reflective, retreat-like quality of our lives and the being outside of "conventional" life. In the novel, the residents refer to the towns below the Alps as "the flatlands" and speak of the flatlands as though they were a different, and, perhaps, less privileged, world. The "slowness" and "boredom" of life in the sanatorium provide a unique perspective. For myself, at the moment, this is something I really enjoy about not having a job. But I also enjoy not having work responsibilities, ie having to be at work on the required days and at the required time, having to present in a work-mode frame of mind (whatever the hell that means, maybe not being in a psychotic state - which is A LOT to ask of your average human being), being able to do the required work and continue to do the required work until the required time has elapsed, even though my every human fibre longs to be somewhere else and mortal life is short. (Yes, me and work are not affable companions at this time).

So, in conclusion...actually, there won't be a conclusion, more of a: I've waffled on enough and would like to end this blog post before my brain implodes.

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.

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).