Saturday, March 01, 2003

Blog Of The Day #2 : Shameless Theft

Now the only thing that gives me hope,
Is my love of a certain dope
Rose-tints my world
Keeps me safe from my trouble and pain

Many thanks to Miss UD at for this. I thought it was interesting, so now, Damn You Must Be Bored To Read This presents;

84 Things I Hate About Me

--Seven things I love:
+ My wife
+ My family
+ Opera
+ Reading
+ Writing
+ Singing
+ Good face days

/--Seven things I hate:
+ Uninformed opinions
+ Being hungry
+ Being late
+ Being told I work too hard
+ My body
+ My face
+ Being touched anywhere from ribs to thighs

/--Seven things in my room
+ My guitar
+ My masks
+ My suit
+ Mucho music
+ My weaponry
+ A Turkish hukkah
+ My wigs

/--Seven Random Facts(TM) about me
+ I am a fairly strict vegan
+ I want to be an actor
+ I am a very lapsed Catholic
+ I wear sunscreen all year round
+ I am allergic to garlic and Bovril
+ My eyes change colour
+ I have been around for almost 300 years

/--Seven things I can do
+ Perform Magic
+ Work without a break for 72 hours
+ Dance
+ Sing
+ Cook
+ Be organised
+ Fool people

/--Seven things I can't do
+ Drive
+ Wear yellow
+ Apply make up
+ Speak Portuguese
+ Take rejection well
+ Sunbathe
+ Sleep well

/--Seven things that scare me:
+ Animate disembodied body parts
+ People I love dying
+ Crowds
+ Failure
+ Losing my temper
+ Mirrors
+ Being looked at

/--Seven things that attract me to women
+ Blonde hair
+ Quirky Sense of Humour
+ Artistic Talent
+ Being small
+ Hazel eyes
+ Strength (I preffer hers to match mine)
+ Being intellectual

/--Seven things that attract me to men
+ Long dark hair
+ Dark eyes
+ Being tall
+ Cuddliness
+ Cruel sense of humour
+ Fun loving outlook on life
+ Black leather trousers

/--Top Seven Films
+ Amadeus
+ Little Shop of Horrors
+ Dead Poet's Society
+ The Virgin Suicides
+ Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas
+ Tale of a Vampire
+ Valentine

/--Seven things I plan to do before I die
+ Be thin
+ Get my work published
+ 'Do' Europe again
+ Show the bastards at school a hard time (AKA get revenge)
+ Learn how to play the pipe organ again
+ Go back to Ireland
+ Become a lecturer

/--Seven things I say a lot
+ Spiffy
+ Oh *kay*...
+ No Shit, Sherlock
+ Curious
+ I can handle it, I'm fine
+ The last time I tortured someone....
+ No, what I meant was...

Hope you enjoyed that.
No, I Will Not Turn The Organ Music Down

I have been found guilty of misanthropy
So hang me. I'd appreciate it

I *was* going to make myself some chilli non carne tonight. I make quite a good chilli, it's just spicy enough, just hot enough, and only has what I really like in it. Can of mixed beans, can of chopped tomatoes, a bit of LMC mince and plenty of spices. Sometimes when I feel like it I'll throw some chopped jalapenos in as well. I really like chilli. Just a bowl of chilli on it's own - not with rice, which is on the Black List, just a bowl of nice, hot chili and a glass of vinegar. It's a good dinner, and it's excellent brain food as well. Since I'm working on my dissertation a good dose of protein would probably do me some good, but it's not about to happen. As a matter of fact, I think I'll skip the soup I was going to have for dinner as well. That way I might actually not feel so guilty that I sit crying and cursing my inability to induce vomiting if I decide to have my treat tomorrow.

See the thing is, I really like pasta. I love just plain pasta, or with a simple pomodoro sauce with basil, paprika and olive oil. Which is why when I was in Sainsburys last week I picked up a little tin of Angelina Ballerina pasta shapes. I gather the Ballerina is some kind of kid's TV character, I wouldn't know - I didn't buy gimmicky tie-in pasta shapes because of the gimmick, I bought it because only kiddie food comes in tins small enough. I figured if I could stick to The Grand Plan for the whole week I would treat myself to the tin of pasta on Sunday afternoon. Sadly, on Tuesday I was very hard pressed for time (my lift arrived at 6.30AM, I was on campus working for over 12 hours) and didn't have the time to warm up my usual breakfast, when I have it. So I grabbed a slice of bread to wake me up. It was incredibly hard to chew it, even harder to swallow it, and I felt terrible about it for the whole day. Bread is fairly high on the Black List, coming just below rice, so I don't think I actually deserve my treat tomorrow.

But to get back to what I was actually prattling about, there is no way I'll make my chilli tonight. Some of you may know that back in the day I used to play a mean hand of poker. I spent many happy afternoons bludgeoning Spike senseless at it. Which is why I find it quite so galling that Sir Whinealot and The Poor Replacement are going out to the poker game which I was well aware was happening but which I somehow entirely failed to be invited to. Bear in mind please that The Poor Replacement has never played poker before in her entire life before you judge me on whether or not this is me being jealous/bitter. The theory behind the chilli is that if I don't have it, then someone will invite me out to play pool or drink coffee. If I don't have my treat tomorrow, then I might actually be worth considering as a friend and social equal rather than a complete pariah.

I think perhaps I shan't bother going to the cocktail party which promises to be a fun and exciting social event. I'm certain Byron et al can manage perfectly well to be drunk and disorderly without be being there to pick them up, show them where the toilet is or end up being someone's counsellor again. My dissertation needs finishing, as do all my other essays, and I have better things to do than not drink at a cocktail party. Besides, M'amselle has already asked to borrow my tailcoat (yes I'm insane aren't I? Letting someone mix cocktails in MY EVENING DRESS SUIT) and I have only the dress suit which is suitable for the occasion, so due to lack of wardrobe, lack of funds, lack of drinking and lack of being interested, I shall stay at home and work.

Which is oddly enough what I'm doing tonight as well.

Thursday, February 27, 2003

Things I Have Learned : Errata

3. If you believe strongly enough in something, it is worth dying for. Nothing in the world is ever worth killing for.

Well. That was a silly mistake.

Things I Have Learned

Going through the motions,
Losing all my drive
I can't even see
If this is really me,
And I just want to be Alive

1. Nothing is worth arguing about. You hear me? NOTHING. Debate, discuss and cogitate all you want, sit outside the coffee house for days on end trying to get to the bottom of if we truly can prove we exist or not if you like. But never, ever argue. Life's just too short to waste it falling out with people.

2. Never lie, but don't be insulting. If you have a problem with someone you should tell them so in the nicest way you possibly can. Not telling them is only standing in the way of you both becoming better people.

3. If you believe strongly enough in something, it is worth dying for. Nothing in the world is ever worth dying for.

4. The people you lose touch with or isolate yourself from are always the people you find yourself needing most, and you never know what you have until you lose it.

These are the lessons of a person who has ignored every one of them. Heed them, you'll be happy, break them, you'll not. It really is that simple. Alternativly, go read "Political Justice" and heed that, it amounts to the same thing.

Thus spake The VVR

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

Hey Jude #2

And any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulder
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder

Well. That was screwed up and arse-about-face... Rocky Horror made me sad, Hey Jude made me feel better. I never would have pegged it for a feel better song but it is kinda. I know this sounds really odd, but it's kind of like that moment in the Angnus Dei that soothes the soul when you've been through the fire and torment of the Dies Irae, the Confutatis Malaedictis and the Voca Me. At least it is on the CD I have to on. It's the last track on a CD specially made to let you appreciate the full beauty of Hey Jude. It's called the After Dark Collection - not quite Night Music but that time at dusk and just after. After you'd been relaxed by "Dulaman" "Mandy" and "Fear A Bhata" among others, and depressed to the point of tears by "Full of Grace" "The Freshmen" "The End Of The World" and "I am Stretched On Your Grave" THEN you need the redemption and hope of Hey Jude. Why the weepy songs? Because a good cry is theraputic, but you have to have something to redeem you. That CD is the Requiem Mass in modern songs, so I suppose I can honestly say I've written my own Requiem.... yay.

I'm still feeling lonely, depressed and disconnected. I call it the Silent Phone Syndrome. Nobody ever calls you up for coffee or a game of pool. It's the games of pool I miss. In fresher year I spend so much of my time hanging around, shooting the breeze and playing pool with Tom, I really miss those days. These days I drink my coffee on my own most of the time, and spend a hell of a lot of my days in the library. It seems the more work I do the more I have still to finish, I just want to go to sleep for a long time and wake up when the world is better. We're poised on the edge of war, I don't want to live through another one, nothing is working in the world. To borrow a Two-Face quote "One man is born a coward, his brother a hero. Babies starve, politicians grow fat, holy men are martyred and junkies become legion" - nobody really cares about each other. It's just the way the world has always been - we might look back to The Good Old Days (as I do frequently) and see some sort of golden age where men were kind and just and things *worked* but the truth is that golden age never existed. Things have been better, things have been worse, but mostly the world stays just as bad a place as ever.

All you can ever do in this world is to make your way through it. Hack your way around the golf-course of life and hope the pitch attendant doesnt mind the damage you did to the turf. You can achieve, you can get an education, you can become the richest man in the world, but like Don Henley says "You don't see no hearses with luggage racks"

If you believe in it, or if it believes in you, the only way you really get through is finding your other half. People use that term so lightly - it's like "girlfriend" or "missus" when most people say it. When I say it if really mean Other Half. The bit of you that was lopped off by a thunderbolt when Zeus realised he'd made humans too perfect. They were perfectly and totally content and complete, but his thunderbolts cleaved each and every single one of them apart into two pieces, two halves of the same soul that are joined together for eternity, always searching for each other. If you find your other half, you're incredibly lucky. You can feel complete and whole again, and maybe feel a little of that perfection again. But here's the stinker; that was then, when Time was young and man was even younger, THAT was a golden age of man (though according to Herodotus it came much later) this is now. Even if you are a perfect soul that's managed to join up with its other half again, you're still going through a world that is full of dirty, cold streets walked by the living dead, the penniless, the diseased. You're still looking every day into the polluted eyes of people who have no hope left. You are still facing the inevitability of total and final death, and even if Reincarnation believes in you, dying out of this world starved of beauty, every drop of originality wrung from it, you are still facing the annihilation of your soul while you live, the scream of its wrench out from your body when you die. That bitter, tortured scream when the soul leaves the body and flies.

And yes you heard me right. Hey Jude DID cheer me up. This is cheerful compared to how I was.

Monday, February 24, 2003

Blog Of The Day #2 - That Damned Atheist

I meant to say this last night but I got sidetracked. Atheism - there's a word for you. Seven letters, four syllables, six phonemes (If I got that small point wrong I'll be embarrassed) and a whole bunch of connotations. If you want to really piss off a Catholic, it's the word to say. I love that word. It's just a nice word to say.

In the strictest possible sense of the word Atheist, I am one. I had this point debated with me (or should I say, I was patronised to the point of an RP accent about it) last night. Apparently I am NOt an Atheist in any sense because I have knowledge concerning deities. *ahem* yeah. Because Atheism has anything to do with that.

Definition given to me : Atheist, one who denies God.

Actual definition; : Atheist, one who does not believe in God.

Prefix "a" implying a lack of something, as in anaerobic respiration (repiration without oxygen) and anorexia nervosa (no appetite through nervous/psychological reasons) That last one is a bit of a misnomer, it's not that anorexics don't feel hungry - they do - it's just that they won't give in to it. But anyway enough about my favorite eating disorder. "theis" meaning "belief" Therefore Atheist "lack of belief"

That's why I'm an Atheist. I do not believe *anything* - beliefs are a bad idea and start wars. Far from it, I *know* there is a higher power. Therefore because I do not believe, I am an Atheist. QED.

Many people make the mistake of not breaking the word down in translation, mistakenly thinking "theis" is connected inextricably with God. It's not, it's a seperate word just like "gnosis" in "agnostic" is a seperate word. On their own these words have bugger all to do with God, and if you were to sensibly even for a second think about this, you'd see why my reasoning is actually correct. Unless of course you subscribe to that silly signifyer/signified theory that a word is what you make it, which is evidently eminently explodable.

Perhaps one day when I've been offended again, I'll explode it right in someone's face.
When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Make Soup

No way to make a living, masochism, pain, perfection
Muscle spasms, chiropractors, short careers, eating disorders
Adventure, tedium, no family, boring locations,
Dark rooms, perfect faces, egos, money, Hollywood and sleaze
Food of love, emotion, mathematics, isolation,
Rhythm, feeling, power, harmony, and heavy competition
Revolution, justice, screaming for solutions,
Forcing changes, risk, and danger
Making noise and making pleas
To faggots, lezzies, dykes, cross dressers too
To Me - to me! To you and you and you you and you!
To people living with, living with, living with
Not dying from disease
Let he among us without sin
Be the first to condemn
La Vie Boheme!

It's true you know. Making soup is almost a nervous habit for me. You can tell I'm having control issues or just generally a bad time of it when I start cooking immense quantities of soup, which I then live on for a little while. I tend to jump on the waggon in these times as well, and throw myself into my work so hard I get concussed.

But since I've inflicted far too much bile and drivel on you, my reading public, recently, I'm pleased to announce that tonight The VVR has something educational and enlightening for you. It is a well known fact that the majority of the people I associate with (most notably my Wife, Byron, Ma'mselle and Archangel) has some sort of literary leaning. For the benefit of these people, and for that of anyone else who randomly reads my 'blog, Damn You Must Be Bored To Read This Productions proudly presents;

The VVR's Guide To Becoming a Romantic Author

The process of immersing oneself in Romantic ways begins of course by studying the great men and women who have gone before you. Mostly men of course, for Romaticism is a gentlemanly and chivalrous way, and gentlemen always go first to open the door. sadly., the becoming a Romantic process tend sto be one of Devolution. You begin at the highest level and (if you manage to live through it) eventually end up at the lowest. The first and therefore greatest rank of Romanticism is of course The Satanic Romantic. Let's look at what you need to do to become one of these great writers...

Satanic School Romanticism
* Devolop an unhealthy interest in Politics, Nature and Death
* Capitalise things like Nature, Politics, Death, Dreams, Sleep, etc...
* Write deliberatly provocative poetry. Get annoyed when people call you immoral.
* Develop some odd philosophies of diet. Vegetarianism is a bit weak, Veganism is well on your way, but to truly embrace this school, try living on bread and distilled water, and tell people the problems of the world can be solved by everyone following suit.
* Take copious quantities of mind-altering substances "for pain relief"
* If you must marry, make your partner a disturbed harridan, frigid stuck-up cow, or mathematician. A happy marriage is not impossible, but highly implausible.
* Harbour contraversial religious views. Write pamphlets about them, which you should then distribute by some crack-addled method such as putting them up in a balloon.
*If you don't wish to devolve, die tragically young through your own stupidity. If you DO wish to live, you are doomed to become....

Lake School Romantic
* You may if you desire continue to take huge quantities of mind-altering substances.
* Alternatively, get your kicks from daffodils.
* Wander around the Lake District with someone taking notes on what you see. Turn these notes into overlong poems and give the note-taker no credit whatsoever.
* Some religious faith may at this point become neccesary. Either become a Priest or worship God through Nature (which should remain capitalised)
* Try to write the poetry of the common man. Fail miserably.
* If you fail to meet deadlines, claim you were interrupted by a man from Porlock, and lost your thread.
* Start off almost as Radical as a Satanic Romantic, then get boring and turn Tory. Alternativley, devolve to the final level of...

Cockney School Romantic
* Early on in your career, contract some kind of fatal illness. Tuberculosis is perfect.
* Continue to write rambling political poetry. Tone it down and get it published in journals.
* Acceptable themes for this School are mythology, politics, love, and the ever popular Skylarks.
* Try to write the poetry of the common man. Suceed, since you are far less snobbish than either Satanics or Lakers.
* Die young of said fatal illness.

Simple isn't it? Now you too can be a great Romantic following my simple guide! Happy writing, all. And by the way I think I slurred everyone fairly thoroughly, so I want no recriminations from fans of ANY Romantic who may or may not have been slurred in this guide.

Sally would kill me. She really would.

Sunday, February 23, 2003

Little House of Couples

Tell me how and I will, I'll get out of here
I'll start climbing uphill and get out of here
Someone tell me I still could get out of here
Someone tell Lady Luck that I'm stuck here

Hmmm. Dull day. Not dull in the "I am so bored of this film" sense, dull in the quiet, worky sense. Finally dragged myself out of my pit at about half midday having laid there all night and half the day staring at my canopy considering staying there for the rest of my natural life, had a shower, worked all day. Decided to go to bed about 10 because I have to get up early tomorrow and had the crazy idea I might be able to get some sleep. Yeah right.

My wife does this thing. She waits til I'm just about asleep and then whines "Joooooooohnathaaaan..." at me. Wakes me straight up. It's endearing when she does it. When Sir Whinealot suddenly starts moaning at the top of his voice from the living room when I'm trying to sleep, then it's a pardonable homicide. He's in my bad books for more reasons than I care to ennumerate, but really it's not just him, he's just the rat poison laced icing on a razor blade filled cake.

Couples. New couples particularly, but couples in general. Now and again it suddenly seems like everyone you know is pairing off, lust is in the air like toxic smog and suddenly everyone is at it like bunnies. I believe in Free love, but not free and CONSTANT P.D.As. Even couples who aren't couples do it, it's just annoying!!!!! I may sit with my wife on my knee and a mug of ale in my hand but that's not PDA that's "I don't see my wife eight months of the year, her visits are rare and I make the most of them. also we're in love enough to get married so you can all fuck right off" And so, if you're bitter and single or in a long distance relationship, Damn You Must Be Bored To Read This Productions presents....

Living With Couples 101

1 Remember, nobody except the two halves of the couple exist. Do not try to make conversation, if you do even get a response, it will be some sort of monosyllabic grunt or the kind of "MmmHhmm" that clearly means "Fuck off, you may as well not exist"

2 As a continuance of point 1, remember at all times that you are no more than the mosquito that buzzes somewhere in the room when you're trying to sleep to these people.

3 Couples are always excused from housework. It takes a great deal of energy to be so completely absorbed in each other, and so they cannot be reasonably expected to do anything in the house that remotely counts as useful. NOTE only new couples qualify for this. Established couply-couples often do the washing up and such, for which we are all very grateful.

4 What someone else may count as indecent behaviour worthy of shock treatment (not the film) is merely normal behaviour for couply-couples. If they want to practically have sex in a bar, it's not only do-able - it's acceptable.

And the final and most important thing to remember;

5 Noisy kissing, silly giggling and other such behaviour can still be heard no matter how loud you turn Toccata and Fugue up. It travels not through ordinary sound but through the medium of moosh, which is far less dense, and therefore competes with any and all other sound. Industrial ear defenders may offer some small respite.

Does anyone get the distinct impression I'm imposing my bitter, missing-my-wife views on you the rest of of the world? Yup. Got it in one. I'm depressed, I'm angry, I'm restless, deal with it.

Beth, I love you with all my heart. Now come back here and save me from this Fate Worse Than Gypsies.