Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

I know a few tech geeks, so don’t be getting ideas about who gave this to me. Actually, am going to have to get said geek to explain it to me again. I forgot what it means.

Plus, it seemed sort of…poetic?

#!/bin/bash
runtime=${1:-10m}
oralsex&
sleep $runtime
#end

…is today!

I failed. I ordered two t-shirts online. Of course this was after I realised today was International BND. Drat!

Hope everyone else fared better?

EMS disco ice skating.

It was rad. However, anti-convulsants and ice skating do not mix.

People who looked like they’d done it before: Rob, Rob’s sister Elly, Laura, Ris, Cat.

People who rocked it hardcore: Matt. Oh my god, when he pulled out the disco moves, it looked fantastic. The clothes. The glasses. The MOVES.

People who were expected to stack but didn’t: Hayden, Felix (who pushed away the resident paedophile before crashing into the rails), Brian.

People who clung like mad to the rails: me, tKelly.

People who were lame for not coming: mattJames, Joel B.

Honorary mention: the afro, for it makes you skate better.

Have gone from two days’ worth of unplayed music on laptop to eight or so hours, and have started reading.

Hot chocolate supply in secret lair is down to one sachet. The times, they are Dickensian.

I’ve just finished reading Fables vol 10 and am lusting after the next instalment which is available…however, have started reading this excellently illustrated graphic novel adaptation of some of H. P. Lovecraft’s stories.

As a bad lit student*, this is one of my gaps (the two others I can think of that I’ve been recently chastised for are Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy and The Great Gatsby, the latter of which I’m thinking of purloining from current place of incarceration…). Every time I try to buy a selection of Lovecraft’s stories, they never have the one with ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ (yes! Got the spelling right first go!).

The illustrations are by John Coulthart – they’re very creepy, completely black-and-white and appear very ‘old-world’ – reminds me a bit of Edward Gorey’s style of illustration.

Plus the short story collection has a recommended soundtrack! I’m pretty sure I mentioned this ages ago, when I first purchased this scary volume. So far, have had no luck in locating any of the albums recommended.

If the Old Ones really did exist, the first question I’d ask them is why so many consonants? I know their language is supposed to be unpronounceable, so why did they choose to use English consonants? Doesn’t sound very smart to me…wouldn’t they be best off inventing their own alphabet?

*my defence for being a bad lit student is always going to be that at least I read James Joyce’s Ulysses from cover to cover. Yep, I’ve mentioned it before, but unless anyone tells me they’ve read Finnegans Wake I think it’s brag-worthy. No, seriously, it really is as difficult as people say, honest

I went home last weekend, and saw a brand new Mozilla Firefox on the dining room table.

Having mentioned it recently, I thought I might tell the tale of Conrad Fox.

Conrad Fox is the name of my Mozilla Firefox. I sleep with him nearly every night (I don’t mind admitting it – I get cold, and hugging him happens to keep me warm).

He got his name after a childhood anecdote that Z told me – one of very few.

When Z was little, he didn’t quite understand the whole communist thing which is perfectly understandable. I’m of adult age and I still don’t understand it. He didn’t know why everyone was called ‘Conrad’ and it puzzled him to hear his former yippie sociology professor parents always talking about communists and Conrads.

Yes, he misheard ‘Comrade’ as ‘Conrad’.

Now, the firefox, or ‘red panda’, being red (ie. communist, haha), I thought it would be amusing to name him Conrad in honour of Z’s misunderstanding as it was quite a cute anecdote and Z is steely: it’s hard to imagine him doing anything ‘wrong’ or ‘cute’ – even as a child. I’m sure he did heaps of things that would prove otherwise, but he most certainly didn’t tell me. As far as I was concerned, as soon as they pulled him out of his birth vessel he probably started creating his first masterpiece or recording a face-melting grindcore vocal track * rolls eyes *. Or painting Warhammer 40k figurines…

His only other ‘weakness’ that I can think of: when I had a sweet in my mouth and put it to the side of my cheek resulting it it bulging – he used to tell me when I did that I was having a ‘cute attack’ which apparently meant being too cute according to him and his brother. Though many have remarked on my supposed ‘cuteness’ (ie. Due to my compact size rather than aesthetic pleasure), this was the only time Z fell into such a trap.

That’s the tale of Conrad Fox. Here’s a picture below. He’s a good deal more battered, squashed and drooled upon than the pristine model I saw today on the table downstairs. But, I love him all the same. My father bought him for me instead of a Mozilla shirt.

(The photo lies – it was taken two years ago)

So there I am, just about to enter Jordi Savall’s masterclass, when I see him walking next to an old uni teacher who at first didn’t recognise me.

I’d had a nosebleed for verging on two hours, and had to stick a tissue up my nose and ride to uni.

So Jordi Savall looks at me with disdain, and rightfully so. Old music prof says he didn’t recognise me with the funny thing stuck up my nose (no one seemed to notice my lack of hair. Perhaps they think I have cancer. Kind of look like it at present. Well, a fat cancer victim).

The masterclass was pretty cool – it ran for two hours and there were five musicians present?

But the recital – oh my. It was packed, I got a seat right up the back, didn’t bring glasses and could barely see Maestro. The programme was fantastic – my favourite items were probably the French (Sainte Colombe pere et fils) and Tobias Hume (tablature love!). He played a piece I could play once…

It was over all too soon. We did get an encore, though. Tomorrow, Hesperion XXI play at the Concert Hall – am pretty much spending my last pesos to go.

The gamba is the perfect instrument for pedants. I’d forgotten how fiddly it was, and also how bloody often you have to tune (Savall tuned pretty much before/after all pieces because gut strings are pesky!). Kind of amusing given that it’s fretted.

I still remember, one gamba class I had, the weather was fine. Then bang! rain starts absolutely bucketing down – and the instruments went haywire. Our teacher was livid. Giggle. It didn’t take much…but that’s another story.

Some quiz thingies.

You Are 34% Vain

Okay, so you’re slightly vain from time to time, but you’re not superficial at all. You are realistic. You know that looks matter. You just try to make them matter less.

(after my brother’s wedding I am planning to test just how vain I am…am thinking of shaving my head)

You Are 80% Open Minded

You are so open minded that your brain may have fallen out! Well, not really. But you may be confused on where you stand. You don’t have a judgemental bone in your body, and you’re very accepting. You enjoy the best of every life philosophy, even if you sometimes contradict yourself.

Hmm…I do try.

You Are 87% Non Conformist

You’re incredibly strange. And a weirdness like yours takes skill to cultivate! No one really understands you. And you’re cool with that. You just hope you never have to understand them!

I don’t think I’m strange, or weird, but sometimes understanding people, and being understood is imperative though it often occurs at the time which it is not so needed.

You Don’t Have a Boyfriend Because You are Too Shy

When a guy gets to know you, he finds a great catch Problem is… you’re too shy for most guys to get to know. From meeting someone to dating, you usually have your guard up. And while you’re just holding back, it makes you seem like you’ve got something to hide.

I should try for a girlfriend?

You Are Occasionally a Jerk Magnet

You’ve been known to attract real jerky guys from time to time… But the truth is, you know what you’re getting into. You can help but love bad boys.

I don’t think I attract jerks, perhaps I just have some retarded way of bringing the jerkiness out of them?

Sat 22/11/2008

Indulged in retail therapy and had wonderful day at parents’ place, especially enjoying Puss’ company.

Sun 23/11/2008

Had breakfast with some Twitter lovelies, then took parents out to dinner at pub in my neighbourhood and strangely enough had wonderful time with them.

Ten minutes after I took Stilpox (we call it Stilnox here, in the States it’s called Ambien), take a look at what it did to my handwriting.

I shan’t mention what other…hilarity occurred, but JS informs me I went on my first legal acid trip. Yea me. It seems pretty funny now, but at the time it was kind of embarrassing.

Note how many times I failed to write the word ‘difficult’. Haha.

Hey, at least I’m sleeping?

Read a poem that made me giggle like a child. It’s cute, funny and…I want a catfish friend!
(It also made me learn a new html thingy I didn’t know. God, formatting is a bastard). Someone remarked that the concept of a catfish friend is very Pythonesque – quite true! Anyway, read it here.

I’ve read Matthew Dickman before, and liked loved him, but this poem is just atrocious. Forgive my shallowness for not being able to see a purple gorilla in a romantic light.

The next poem by Christian Bok is just dazzling in an almost mathematical way – well, for poetry. Getting assonance that consistent could not have been that easy. Notice anything about the vowels? It’s called Eunoia, whose definition is equally impressive, if not appallingly rare.

This is for the internet lovers.

I’ve actually posted a shitload more stuff on my Tumblr – some of which might be amusing, some of which might not. Again, I’m torn about liking Larkin so much when he was so xenophobic. I was happy to see that @lluke marked Larkin’s ‘Aubade’ as liked on Tumblr. Exceptional taste!

Wed 19/11/2008

Found out that I had my first crazy sleeping pill ‘drunken’ episode last night, thankfully with someone I can trust; today has been a bad day, slept too much.

Thu 20/11/2008

Another bad day, being taken out to dinner by DH to one of my favourite pubs which will be good.

Fri 21/11/2008

Not good if tearful in afternoon, but have made a friend who is a former poet and found a fragrance that smells like they bottled powdered virgins.

(Keats, I think, via Anthony Burgess)

It is sad that gardenias smell so much better as they die.

Found my translation of a poem from Apollinaire’s Le guetteur melancolique – I still struggle with the translation today. I like it, but I don’t know if it’s true to Apollinaire’s style.

And you my heart why do you beat

Like a melancholy vanguard
I observe the night and death

Observe, or witness? Ugh! Today I prefer ‘witness’. More fatalistic, and softer sounding than ‘observe’. I would provide the original, but I can’t find the book it’s in (one of many father packed away when relatives came to stay).

Self-imposed bannination on reading poetry sucks.

Still, here’s a few I really liked this year – this one reminds me of someone I know, s/he thinks s/he’s pretty nice but I think they’re kind of…evil *wink*.

This one reminds of me…well, former me. ‘Tis a teetotaller’s life for me from now on…

This one is just funny.

Here’s something I wrote on Sunday night about poetry. Obsessed, much?

***

I’m writing this mainly for a few friends who don’t really understand the poetry thing. Based on the assumption they might want to understand.

To be honest, I don’t really understand it much myself. Whatever I have learnt about it has been from reading, and feeling. I happen to do both a lot, and quite hate the latter. However, it is necessary.

Tonight I wrote something for the first time in ages. It doesn’t really make sense. But does the construction of personal mythology have to make sense? I happen to belong to the (very lame, I might add) group of people who think that no, not necessarily.

One of the reasons, for me (I speak a lot from my point of view because it’s the only one I can really claim to know. Even that becomes at times…obscure), that losing a loved one hurts is that when you are with someone, you begin to construct a mythology that only you and that person can understand. For instance, I have a soft toy (a Mozilla Firefox, actually) called Conrad Fox. I have told a few people the story of how he came to be named thus, but as far as I know, only Z and I would find that funny. Or what would be so tenderhearted about kissing ‘zippers’ (if you don’t know what they are, look it up on Urban Dictionary). And so on. Once you lose the loved one, you lose the person with whom you share a mythology of sorts. Hence heartbreak. Again, that’s just for me. Everyone’s experiences are different, there is no such thing as a unified self rah rah rah… (yea poststructuralism. Sigh)

When James Joyce first wrote and published Ulysses, no one had any fucking idea what he was on about. He had to publish ‘glosses’ on each episode (no, I’ve no idea why they’re not called chapters. Modernists were wanky. I love them dearly, but it’s true) so that people could actually comprehend the second most difficult book written in the English language (the first being his Finnegans Wake – written after Ulysses. Turns out he was just warming up, haha).

(I’ll post my fragment in a minute)