Semanticular

I am currently in a massive shit-storm (the worst kind of storm) of friends' birthdays. They're coming thick and fast, just as their fathers presumably did nine months ago. What is it about the beginning of February that makes conception so widespread? Perhaps people were erotically celebrating Groundhog Day.

"When the groundhog sees his shadow, you get six more inches of winter, honey!"

That makes little sense. Anyway, as I've written this, and am aware of all the birthdays coming, it means that I haven't forgotten yours (even if I send no card or make no mention of it). This is like a giant disclaimer; just one read by so few readers they could be counted on the fingers of a butcher with Parkinson's.

I'm sure I'll send a few belated birthday cards. Birthdays are the only time that the word 'belated' is pulled out and dusted off. The rest of the time we wisely use the more economical 'late'.

I think we use 'belated' because it implies that our forgetfulness was somehow out of our control.

"You're late!"
"Of course not! I was just belated. Blame fate."

I'm hoping to introduce similar softeners to other areas of life. For example, when I get every question wrong on an exam, I was 'befailed'.

When I shit my pants, I've been cruelly 'beshitted' (or beshitten, for all you Shakespeare types).

Anyway, I should probably finish this here, as I've just been 'be-arrested for sexual assault'.

Heh.

Actually, that one doesn't work.

Poor boy

It is one of the cruelest twists of fate's ebony dagger that as an adult, you are able to do all the things that you most desired as a child, but now have no interest in them.

Eleven-year-old Paul would have spent all his free time in Toys R Us, looking at action figures. I frustrated my parents on many an occasion by leaving them waiting in the car for an hour, because I was so enthralled.

But now, I have no interest in going to Toys R Us (oh, alright, some interest). I have the ability to stay in a toy shop all day if I want, but I don't feel the need (although if they still sold good Marvel figures, I might consider it).

And McDonalds. If I could have chosen my meals as a kid, I would have eaten at McDonalds all the time. But here I am, with freedom of choice and my own money, and I haven't been to the Golden Arches for four years. Admittedly, this is probably for the best.

Poor child-Paul. If he could see me know, he'd beg me, BEG ME, to buy some toys and burgers.

Oh well. At least we could watch wrestling together.

***

I have created a new character. One that can stand alongside the greats such as the Khaki Dynamo, and Paddy O'Paque.

He is called Ging Gu, and will be a terrible Chinese stereotype. I'm part-Chinese, so I can be as racist as I like. I haven't got many ideas for his adventures yet, but I'm sure something interesting will arise.

***

So... yep. Doesn't seem like anything else is gonna happen here. Might as well find something else to do.

Murder?

Not murder.

Murder.

Black Jacques Cousteau

I handed in my dissertation on Friday and I still feel very down. That can't be right, can it? I know that the anticlimax of finishing something big is pretty powerful, but I thought I'd be over it by now.

After my first year undergraduate exams, I felt really bad, and slept for the whole day. But after that I felt better.

When am I going to feel some sense of satisfaction? I wonder if it will come. I feel like this MA has been this long marathon race, that has taken up all my time and seemed so important, but just before the finish line I started my job, which feels like a whole other race; the end of which is not insight.

So, just as I headed down the final straight, the spectators and commentators (which must represent some element of my psyche or something) transferred their attention to my new race, so that I crossed the MA finish line with no fanfare, no celebration, and just kept on running.

I have also got plans for the coming weeks. I'm going to my sister's gig in London, and then am going to a Radio Masterclass in Bournemouth (and by most accounts, I'm not quite a master yet). These will weigh on my mind. I have this psychological problem with having planned events. I always have. Any meeting or class or appointment looms on the horizon like an ugly simile, and I can't enjoy myself until it's over.

Even if the appointment is for something good, I dread it. I don't like being obliged to be anywhere, even if it's something really enjoyable like Tuvan throat singing, or bowling with the Pope. It's as though my laziness has pervaded my brain so much, that I can't even stomach the knowledge that there will be some future time in which I will not be allowed to be lazy.

I don't mind doing stuff, I just hate being compelled to do it at a particular time.

***

I swam in the sea yesterday, which is pretty good for September. It wasn't too cold, either.

I can't really think of anywhere interesting to go with that fact.

I wasn't naked. I wasn't attacked by a shark. I didn't hi-five Poseidon. I did spend a few hours living inside a whale, but he had quite a dull digestive tract, so I just read Heat until the coast guard arrived.

***

I mentioned The IT Crowd a couple of weeks ago, and after a good first episode, and a disappointing second episode, they redeemed themselves with the third, which included the following anti-piracy video. This tickled me a great deal:




***

I hope am slightly more upbeat soon, so I might avoid wallowing in depression through this tedious online treatise-to-nobody. I just need inspiration. Or drugs.

Man, I could use some drugs.

Cover Story

I haven't written anything here for a while, because I've been finishing my dissertation (yay!) and going to work (boo!), leaving little time for my important works.

My brain is a bit fried at the moment (and not in the good way), so my powers of... uh... you know, thinking and shit... will be... pff. Whatever.

I'm listening to Elliot Smith's version of 'Because' which is almost identical to the Beatles' one. Still a good song, though.

I feel that a good cover version should either be completely different from the original, or be covering a largely unknown song in the first place. What fun is there in doing a straight cover of 'Don't Stop Me Now'? Whereas a thrash calypso cover of the same song, possibly sung by Gary Glitter, would be much better.

***

I feel so tired, I can't imagine a time when I'll be happy anywhere but my bed. The world seems a cruel and hectic place. One can only find true happiness, true contentment, in that magical place where the eyelids meet. That place is probably some kind of idyllic forest made of duvets and pillows, where little feather bunnies beckon you towards home. Your true home. Your only home.

Tomorrow morning, my eyelids will be wrenced apart like rusty machinery, leaving the soft creatures screaming and burst. And I won't have time to say goodbye. My heart is broken every morning by the sound of the alarm.

Melodramatic melancholy? Fuck you.

Fuck. You.

I hope.. with all my heart, I hope it's true

Do you think John Nettles ever wakes up at night, sweating, breathing hard, and his wife says to him "What's wrong?", and he pants, almost whispers: "Dock leaves!"

And then she rolls her eyes, and says "For fuck's sake, John. We've been through this. Just because your name is Nettles, doesn't mean you should be afraid of dock leaves".

And he just sits there rubbing his eyes.

"Dock leaves aren't even dangerous to nettles. They're just used to treat stings."

But he doesn't hear her. He just sits with his eyes held open, hoping, hoping, hoping he doesn't fall back asleep. Periodically he takes a sip from his glass of water and wonders.

And prays.