It’s happened. Just like I promised myself it wouldn’t.
Maybe it’s the few days’ absence, making the heart grow beyonder. Completely unrealistic. Fantastic.
But she’s a concept now. An idea. A (potential) sensation. Not the physical person I’d been getting to know and keeping on a level with.
Maybe it was the argument. Too.
The mental, emotional and physical distances with time and absence which has shifted, displaced the pragmatic reality of the relationship into the (un)Real.
Heavy shit for a change
We’d done well to avoid it, but it’s happened now for me. Maybe it can switch back.
We’d done well up to now to keep it sane, avoid the fantastic. Maybe we can do it again.
Maybe it’s just human nature.
[Life on Mars, in jars; on pills, in bars. Driving cars.
Freaking on SARS... swine flu.
Spills. Scars.
And so on...]
Does every ’successful’ intimate human relationship need a phase of fantasy and need to descend into the mundane and resentful?
Being paid to watch video for the Internet (yes, that’s what I do for a living… for the moment) is a sweet deal.
But some days I really earn my pay. Coldpl*wretch*lay.
Cunt
Need to cleanse the pallette.
Thanks to The Little Lady for clueing me into Arthur Russell.
I’d known and owned some of his disco productions (check Loose Joints), but I wasn’t aware of his truly sublime [I use that word rarely] solo work. Yeah, you probably need to be open to his buzz, but what an ideal pallette cleanser.
(I couldn’t find ‘Lucky Cloud’ from World of Echo on the youtubes, but wow, looky lucky, I found a bona fide Arthur Russell video from the same album!)
Soon-To-Be Innocent Fun
That sets me up for a fairly mellow weekend. It’s my Great Aunt’s 90th tomorrow afternoon in Rathangan. w00p w00p! Glo-sticks and whistles at the ready.
Hope you enjoy yours kids. And if you’re having a bit more of a blast than I, here’s one of those ‘Loose Joints’ I mentioned to get you into the groove. ; ]
Naptime, and it’s not an unusual occurence at this stage – two or three girls ranging from 4 to ten years of age outside my bedroom window.
They begin at the same pitch – low enough for their young girly voices, and as they run out of breath, increase pitch and volume. They repeat this with chatting in between.
As wreck the head as it is to have so many children in the apartment block these days, with nowhere else to play but the echoey amplifying courtyard, every once in a while there’s a gem that makes it absolutely okay.
Sorry to say – out of frame is the line: “and I meen it”
What are little girls and women of all ages made of?
That’s what little girls and women of all ages are made of.
.
.
Seriously, every time a female comes to visit for a significant amount of time, be they friend, relation or ’special friend’, I’m left with those things scattered hither and tither about the place. They must fulfill their function extremely well, because I’ve only ever seen them left behind on a chair, table or bathroom shelf, never on a person as such.
And there are so many of them, always discarded without a thought.
They are definitely a by-product of the female form, no one would purchase that many of them.
How come it’s the most pointless jobs – the ones you just know as you’re being asked to do them, are the ones which require the most effort?
It’s these jobs, the most fiddly fucking ones, that you spend all day on, fixing this, sorting that, fishing that and trying to get it to work with the other, which inevitably (and you’re more than aware of this when you start) are destined for the bin.
And as you just come up trumps and are about to slap yourself on the back, having told the boss it’s done at last, expecting little treats thrown your way, the boss remembers: “Actually, forgot to tell you before lunch that wasn’t necessary after all”.
My mother is one. And I know all too many people who wake up next day the same – tens of ‘accidentally’ pocketted lighters.
I’ve always been actively opposed to the practice, being a lighter-buyer. I am amazed at smokers who openly admit to the notion: “Who buys lighters? No-one!”
But I have fallen into the habit. I’ve only bought one out of my five last lighters.
Woops
It happens. But it needs governance. It needs policing. Rules to adhere to, bend and find exception for.
That’s where my lot come in. My friends have devised a system which legitimises lighter theft. Of course, this immediately opens up the area of corruption and turns it all into a damn game, but most of the rules are sound and provide a fairness.
All rules apply to disposable lighters. Zippos etc. may never be stolen.
1) If you wake up with a lighter, you officially own it.
2) If you are accused of acquiring a lighter by the owner on the day you acquired it, you must admit acquisition and return said lighter.
3) If someone is wrongly accused of lighter theft, the lighter in question must be relinquished. (i.e. you can accuse once, if you are incorrect, say goodbye to your green clicky).
Exceptions.
The following exceptions have been contested, but myself and KJames adhere to them:
a) Lighters of sentimental value. (Said value must be demonstrated and proven to a convincing enough extent, possibly requiring an objective third party to determine said sentimental value).
b) Hexagonal roller Clippers are to be treated as under the ‘zippo’ rule.
Phwoar! (again)
Their one other rule has nothing to do with lighter acquisition and I take exception to its arbitrary and unnecessary finnickiness.
When (if) purchasing a lighter you have absolutely no right to voice preference of style or colour.
I agree regarding colour since it’s an interesting indication of what the person serving thinks of you. I like when they clearly consider the choice and lash over a deep purple or royal blue. Less so when they don’t and chuck a yellow at me. And less again when it’s a half considered choice and I get a black one.
But foot down at style. “Do you have any lighters that aren’t clickies?” I’ll ask if I can’t see any. If the answer is no I’ll get a box of matches.
If I see Clippers I will ask for a Clipper. It’s my damn prerogative to avoid child locked clickies at all costs. Damn it.
The indignation I get from the likes of Spook when I mention this is nothing short of pure dismissal.
………………….PRO ………………………………….. CON
=================================================
………………. Cool? ………….|…………… Stupid looking? ……………. Strokable ………|………………… Irritating …Less bother (shaving) .|…………. More hassle (grooming)
The manly manliness of it|… I can’t actually grow a full beard …… Blog post fodder. …..|Difficult to construct a pro/con table for
Has nothing to do with …|…….Has nothing to do with
Michael Jackon’s death.. |………………..Michael Jackon’s death
Yep. Every year we say the same things. The evenings are getting very long. Mad how everyone strips off as soon as the sun shines. Where do all the pretty ladies hide during Winter? Only gorgeous weather isn’t it?
oooh abstract reference
In the past week I’ve had theories ranging from flippant to reasonable regarding the hotness of the Summer girls in proportion to the hotness of the Summer days.
1) Attractive women hibernate.
2) When the sun shines and ladies are inclined to show flesh and frame (concealed by big old coats in Winter), the male eye sees more than just the pretty face. And let’s face it, guys are attracted to hot bodies. “You don’t look at the mantlepiece…” is one of the stupidest analogies I’ve ever heard, but you can see where it comes from.
3) The sun shines, brightening the day and toasting us all nicely. Skin glows in it. Legs and arms, muscles, bone structure – all on display. Shades are cool. Good mood. Smiles. Fitter. Healthier. Happier.
We all look better in the sun.
We all feel better in the sun.
We all look better when we feel better… and so on.
Smokers, we’re a dying breed. And the rich and fertile yeild of smoking culture has gone fairly unexplored on this blog.
Let’s get stuck in with a rant about disposable lighters.
Clickies, flint-roller ones and clippers. Child locks. Crazy gas flamers.
Got a light?
I hate clickies. There’s always plenty more gas left in them after the electronic spark ceases to ignite it. I can see the spark in there, and I can hear the gas rushing through. Feckin’ useless. And worse still in any breeze whatsoever.
Add a child lock to them and you may as well use the trusty packet of chewing gum. (*tip!*It’s always most amusing to hand someone a pack of gum and see them attempt to drunkenly light up with it).
*tip!*clicky child lock trick: Whip off a bit at the end of an incense stick and lodge it in the lock. You still have a really shitty lighter, but at least you can multiple-repeat-click into your jacket’s armpit on a windy day rather than scream at the thing before bouncing it off the ground and into on-coming traffic.
Flint rollers are fine. They’re the staple lighter – particularly bic. (*tip!* Always adjust them to singe eyebrows – do so by carefully removing the metal casing and adjusting the plastic do-hickey over the flame strength wheel so that it turns multiple times stronger than it ever should. *tip!*Always replace the casing or you’ll melt the bastard in the thirty seconds it takes to locate your phone under the couch in the pub. *tip!*Just ring the phone – it’ll light up). In some cases freeze your hand trying to refill them from a can of butane. *tip!*Usually there’s a bit of flint left when the gas is gone, and if you’re so inclined you can hang on to it to flint-up the greatest of all dispolasbles, the modest but outstanding Clipper.
Nice.
Clippers. What can’t they do? Clip them out. Clip them in. Clip them out. Turn the clippy-out around a bit. Clip it back in…
It’s a world of pointless, but a-bit-cool-looking fidgetty bliss. If so inclined, the plastic shaft can be used to poke things – even smoking related (tobacco into the end of a rollie/a roach… eh… a knacker looking for a “spare smoke bud” in the eye).
And it gets better. One and a half words: Hex Wheel.
Phwoar!
Finally, I mentioned the mad gas rocketty ones. They’re mad they are. Even if utilised purely on a practical level, the flame lasts all of three hours.
But of course, they’re so mental they last but three minutes. Usually in the hands of a child, but people of all ages are just as spellbound by the hissing blue wonder of a flame.
.
And there you have a quick overview of the rollercoaster ride of disposables – tips and all, fair play to me.
Stay tuned for the Disposable Lighter Etiquette installation to come, and watch the sparks fly.
Heavy shit for a change
That’s what little girls and women of all ages are made of.
