August 2004 Archives

You had to run the tap for at least ten minutes before it stopped tasting like tepid soy sauce. Just how much of people’s lives was spent waiting for hot water to run hot, for cold water to run cold, standing there with a finger, pointing, in the falling column.

Martin Amis, London Fields (193)

…should there be no god, no heaven, no afterlife, and all we have waiting for us is nothingness, then…

(and I know this negates the original nothingness theory, as you shall see)

… if, after dying, we are given the choice to come back and experience life for the briefest of moments, just once, without the choice of when in one's life this re-experience would occur, would it truly be rewarding to agree to it and get the probable outcome of a truly mundane moment, like standing next to a shower and shivering, waiting for the water to get warm?
Would this moment be more rewarding than that of standing under warm water, washing hair, in that more nerve endings would be alerted, ie what in a full life might be considered a bit of a shit moment would, in this situation, ultimately be more sensory?
Would it be rewarding in its ‘plain life’ sense, more rewarding than an emotionally charged moment, say, of love-professing or hatred-displaying?
Would this pointing finger moment really be a sufficient example of how life really was?

And what of comparing the moment of waiting for a kettle to boil against a moment of the most intensely emotional and connective sex you ever have? Would you feel cheated – in agreement to this opportunity, you perhaps expected to relive at the least a really intense kiss and instead you get one of the bazillion times you wiped your ass on the crapper or one of the many times you mindlessly turned your body over in your sleep?

I managed to lock my keys in my car on Saturday, and as such have a broken little back window to take care of. I don't need this expense right now... but I have no one to blame but myself.

First course of action was, of course, to phone my dad. "Find a boy and a brick", was his advice, and I did just that.
Respect to thieves, those windows take some beating.

Well, there's nothing left to do but go home and turn up the Dashboard to shout along level while I mark essays and vaccuum my floor, and deliberate the party-less month to come.

Yesterday...

Was a bad day. In fact, was one of the shittest days I've had in a long time.
To set the tone of the day, I woke up late, and banged my head on the corner of my cupboard door. How this impact did not draw blood from my scalp is beyond me.
Then, seconds before my 08.40 Prof Comm tut was to proceed, I went to the bathroom in the Linguistics Department, only to find a grey hair. And no, not the sneaky bugger I keep pulling out, but a LONG hair, which (get this) was brown at the bottom, and midway up to my head is grey. The repercussions of this are immense; I do not just have a few hairs that have zero pigment, but hairs are now BECOMING grey. My mother went grey at 29. I worry.

Then, after an accumulated 5 hours of work on my font, the only electricity surge to hit Rhodes this year (so far, eep!) wipes out the 40-odd characters I had finished. As I write this, picture me waving a hand and looking away, tone of voice goes flat: I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS. I AM OVER IT. Don't ask questions or sympathise - I can't get it back and yes, I should have saved. I do have reasons for not saving at that time, but they fall flat in the face of five hours wasted. Moving on.

I almost lost my bag. I was drunk, yes, I won't lie. But I want to teach you something, kiddies:

NEVER
UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES
DESPITE YOUR BELIEF THAT YOU ARE DOING ME A FAVOUR AND KEEPING IT SAFE
NEVER
EVER

take my bag away from me and then disappear, leaving me to want a lip gloss refresh and discover that no, it's not on my shoulder, and I don't know where it is and neither do any of the bouncers, nor the two sympathising (but judgemental on the drunkenness) girls at the bar, nor the coat check gal, nor the guy from your dining hall who you've never spoken to but you're sure (SURE) that he would know where it is.

Yes, I got it back, so the day wasn't completely kak. But hey, guy, let me just wallow in the crapness that was Wednesday 25 August.

And rejoice, you heard me, REJOICE (onward with the capital letters!) in the knowledge that my birthday is also International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

I watched Lost in Translation again today. I feel I have been in that ending situation too many times. I’m leaving, or being left. But my moments are never resolved like that. It’s crappy standing on a busy Tokyo street, waiting for Bill Murray to whisper the words that make everything alright, and he doesn’t. He can’t. He doesn’t know what they are. As far as I know, they don’t exist.
I guess he tries to figure them out. At least the hard and tearful hug is still there. Maybe it’s never possible for one or two sentences to relate precisely to what is happening right then in both minds. Maybe trying and trying and trying to find those words wears you down, and shutting up and just sharing the sentiment in a look is enough.

It’s clearly never going to be enough, though. I still want the right words.

I thought about this while emerging from an especially rewarding afternoon nap. As I lay and surfaced I breathed shallowly; breathing in made my left eye buzz and lose focus, which breathing out corrected but initiated in the other eye. Breathe in again, right eye focuses, left eye buzzes. I enjoyed it.

And now I sit typing, my toes getting cold as I invisibly steam off the warmth of bed and drop to the room temperature. I should have put my heater on. It’s going to be a cold night again.

... the pixel link to the right. Do yourself a favour and become a regular. I think I'm just happy to find something that finds some rare connection between language play and simple graphics.

Kinda like me... I can only produce simple graphics and I do admire someone pun-ny...

Anyone who can wedge in a plausible line about "back flips of despair" gets my vote.

Thanks to Ade for the link.

... with some colour enhancements, now awaiting to be turned into a portrait of my classmate.

Me: "What are you doing today, Jess?"
Jess: "Same thing I do every day... research Geriatrics on the internet."

The art projects we're currently undertaking are interesting... a self-portrait through your favourite shoe, digital manipulation allowed. Monday's crit provided perhaps too much insight into the other 9 people I share these labs with.
Now, we have to take our OWN shoe, and do a portrait of someone else in our class. We may not tell anyone else who we've chosen.
What if someone chooses me and draws something like, I dunno... like a shoe that's just stepped in dog crap? This is going to be weird.

It's sad that a gang-rape on campus has to happen before any action is taken. It seems that tri-varsity will always bring back painful memories for at least one person. My pepper-spray is always at the ready at night, but when two people restrain you while three of their friends violently rape you, a little white canister of mace hardly seems adequate. Campus is in an uproar.

It seems the meskanky blog group has fizzled. Hardly anyone updates any more. I'm not going to nag you to. I like updating. I also like reading updates, though...
Tell me what's happening in your life. Lie to make it interesting, if you have to! Or tell the harshest truth, that's interesting too.

Sigh. After two crits and a new assignment, I need a pee. Today's going to be a mixed bag - an anti-rape protest, again; an SRC Aids awareness week HIV test, again; and Friends at 7.30.

Dear Lecturer,

Using a rhotic 'rrrr' in your speech does not make you sound more authoritative.

Dear Guy who screwed me around with the book project,

Don't ask me to do another book for you. You couldn't pay me enough.

Dear tutlings,

Don't say you couldn't find your reader this weekend to do the homework when I saw you on the floor of the beer tent on Saturday afternoon. I don't blame you, but don't lie.

Came across a new game on Saturday night. As the formal dinner became a bit boring, I joined up with some guys playing with the cheese and biscuits platter after dessert. It's basically fives alive - but be the last to lose and your punishment is a knife of blue cheese (gross) and a lemon smusched in your eye.

I got lemoned four times, twice in each eye.

Good times.

Was awesome. I hit that Graca and the rest of the weekend sorta followed.

More to follow.

[ed: more trivarsity pics up over the next 3 days on the buzznet link]

I could sit in labs and log in to Blogger and let the blue and orange screen blare out to the world, and all they thought was "that's pretty arb. What's a blog?" and went back to their porn or kitty pictures or emails begging mom for more money.

Weirdo-guy-who-gets-too-touchy-when-boozed came up to me in labs and asked for my blog address. This is uncool. Compared to more abstract and pseudonymous/anonymous blogs, this one is pretty much me without most of the dirtier thoughts (I leave that up to her). So, strange STRANGE little man, I do NOT want you reading my blog. Is this like asking for a phone number now? Do I change my address to .co.za? Do I give him the address of an Eskimo blog?

There is such a syndrome at Rhodes known as LOSERS, which attacks everyone from time to time. It hits you too, but now you have a name for it. Trivarsity is not the time to have losers. I feel it coming on. Bud - nipped. The bottle of Graca Rose currently frying in the sun on Sparky's passenger seat could alleviate, or aggravate. Only time will tell. Reasons for losers? Putter's absence - I got pretty psyched. The come-down of being here after Joburg. The annoying baby-voice girl in res is once again getting on my tits. My foam hand is a bit of a let-down - a little permanent marker and some anti-UPE sentiments should solve that one.

In all honesty, this seems a bit try-hard. All I really want to do tonight is paint my nails and read my book and go to bed with coffee and the new Third Eye Blind, and not be asked any questions or be woken by drunken students.

I feel old. I guess I have a confession... I am, at heart, a complete and utter homebody. 2 out of every 5 nights out, I'd rather be at home, preferably being cuddled.

So, I'll drink my wine. I'll get past this. I'll go to Friars and dance to the same songs again. I might have a tequila. I'll wake up tomorrow, empty wallet and pounding head. And then do it all over again.

Wow, it's a hard life when you don't have to work and your leisurely lifestyle is such a burden. I'll quit my bitching now.

... for being sick and having your birthday next weekend and so not wanting to aggravate it and ruin next Saturday. I would have hooked you up with many an easy hottie.

Well, I now have a less fun date for the party on Saturday, and my Friday night plans are less certain. I WILL HAVE A PURPLE AND WHITE WEEKEND GODDAMIT.

I have plans to purchase a foam hand as we speak.

You've got to love coming back to your PC after a weekend and a bit, only to find that some brainless third year (yes, I spit on third years *hock pithoo*) has somehow removed Messenger from your system, and none of your urls or passwords are remembered - you now have to actually remember these yourself and input them. It's bad enough having to unpack bags and wash your clothes, but this kind of technological laundry is so uncalled for.

Putter is coming down this weekend for Trivarsity.

Ready D at the Suite on Friday. UPE 1st team V Rhodes 1st team on Saturday morning. Hall Warden's 50th birthday party at the Monument (black tie) on Saturday night. Extreme hangover and Wimpy breakfast on Sunday morning.

After which I have nothing more to look forward to this term aside from an enormous workload which is already seeping through the gates attempting to keep it in the back of my mind.

Sigh. Jo'burg is over. And not over-rated.
What a fantastic trip! There's too much to tell, so much to see, just excess and fun and people absolutely everywhere. Telkom were hospitable, but not lavish. I have what are quite possibly the world's most all-outfit-suiting black pointy shoes. My Born Lippy gloss stocks are replenished. My earring cup doth overflow. I have flown for the first time (twice), gone on a rollercoaster for the first time (twice) and finally been to Joburg properly for the first time (at last).

Huge smiles and enormous thanks are due to Vern for letting me get into Joburg slowly, in manner of a cold swimming pool toe dip, leading to final immersion. I am no longer scared of such an amazing city.

If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, great. If not, it's probably having dinner with someone more attractive than you. - Bill Grieser

Joburg is concrete - I have a ticket, it's for flying, and yessir, my name is on it.

So excuse the silence, but have to fly to Joburg and present a website for a company that everyone loves to hate. There will be shopping, oh yes. There will be shopping.

In other news, a haircut is imminent.

And should you hear of a freak plane accident tomorrow, I leave my ram to Wa, my music to Vorn, and my earrings to Acid's girlf Rene.

The wonder of what a great night out can do for your mood. Coupled with the gorgeous weather outside (sleeveless tops to tan the arms a little bit), some Snow Patrol in my headphones, pink nails from a 'pink is your passion' 21st, and some Zambuck for my chapped lips... today is so bearable.

Current project: draw your shoe as a self-portrait, digital manipulation allowed.