I just created a new and completely delicious pud out of desperation for something sweet after dinner this evening - I'm so dead tired after working at the wood shop all day I really needed some sugar supplies!
My initial plan, formed under the duvet, was to mix sultanas and oats with the bit of soya yoghurt left in the fridge, and add something sticky like syrup. Gaving made it downstairs, found an appropriate receptacle (difficult and potentially plan-scuppering tasks) and poured out some oats, I opened one of my kitchen drawers to retrieve the raisins and ponder the something sticky. This is where I had the brainwave that turned it all around. Cocoa powder. I shook out a generous helping over the oats, scraped the remains of the yoghurt over and mixed it up. It didn't taste nice. Then I remembered the wonder-substance waiting quietly in the fridge... Maple syrup! A generous splosh and a good handful of raisins were the transformative ingredients.
The resulting smooth/chewy/chocolatey/fruity pudding was exactly the right thing. I think next time it would benefit from a sit in the fridge to properly macerate - and perhaps a few slivers of crystallised ginger...mmm...
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Friday, 19 February 2010
Clearing out
It's so difficult to do - I know they're just clothes, but I can't part with them without some serious heart pangs. They seem like old friends. Not to mention being completely fabulous. My other worry is that they won't get the price I think they deserve on ebay - and of course they won't, because their value to me is much greater due to my emotional involvement. In an ideal world I'd just give them away to someone who will love them as much as I do. But in this world - I need the money.
I wonder whether listing them alongside each item's personal story will increase their selling power, but I know it'll just make me look like a fool. So instead perhaps I'll put the photos up here as well, with their stories. Then I will have a record of them, at least!
Why am I selling them, this all begs the obvious question.
1. Money.
2. Space.
3. Practicality - I will never wear these things again and it's stupid to hold on to them out of sentimentality.
4. I need to move on.
I wonder whether listing them alongside each item's personal story will increase their selling power, but I know it'll just make me look like a fool. So instead perhaps I'll put the photos up here as well, with their stories. Then I will have a record of them, at least!
Why am I selling them, this all begs the obvious question.
1. Money.
2. Space.
3. Practicality - I will never wear these things again and it's stupid to hold on to them out of sentimentality.
4. I need to move on.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
Review: Sherlock Holmes
It's been a while since I felt compelled to write a review of something, so it seems a little odd that the inspiration should have been a disappointment. Speaking of which, those of you who dislike 'the book was so much better' reviews, look away now. Though I hope to remain above such a simplistic analysis.
Guy Ritchie's attempt to capture the excitement, adventure and subtle homoeroticism on Conan Doyle's marvellously dark and deadpan detective has somehow left us with something like an over-risen cupcake. It stretches too far, the top explodes, and by the time you've taken them out of the oven all you're left with is a structurally catastrophic mess with a hole in the middle you could drive a ten-tonne truck through, only edible due to the compulsive quantities of sugar contained therein.
What I really don't understand about adaptations like this (and there are many of them), is that the original material is so good one really wonders where you could possibly go wrong. Yet somehow - perhaps in the assumption that modern audiences lack the sophistication to appreciate the nuances of immaculately constructed dialogue and a watertight storyline - somehow, so many of our classic works of fiction are cinematically short-changed. This adaptation plays somehow like Sherlock Holmes as written by Chuck Palahniuk on a bad day. Robert Downey Jnr, much as I normally enjoy spending two hours admiring his visage, is not only no Holmes (he's American, for goodness sake!) but brings an extremely irritating, almost 'madcap' quality to the detective that grates the whole way through. Almost as excruciating as Johnny Depp's psychotic Willy Wonka. The frisson between him and the also totally miscast Jude Law as Dr Watson, is transformed into some sickeningly teenage 'bromance' as I believe it's termed. Whilst I did notice snippets of original text slipped in at inappropriate junctures - the set piece about the pocket watch, for example, was paraphrased from one of the books - much of the dialogue lacked the arch precision that makes Conan Doyle's stories so enjoyable to read. The action scenes were lengthy, pointless and distracting, verging on the slapstick; Holmes' periods of isolation and despair were played as comedy; and, most disappointing, there was not even a hint of the classic interplay between the two central characters. Not one single raised eyebrow, not one outburst of 'But my dear Holmes! That's incredible! How on earth could you deduce all that from this one tiny piece of evidence!'. I've made this up, but there's a lot of that sort of thing. I believe Watson is famous for such expostulations. Or he was, at any rate.
No. The campness was all there. And here it is, misinterpreted and misplayed, thrown in for kicks but missing the point altogether. What really disappoints me about this sort of thing, though, is not so much that they've made a slightly sub-standard film out of one of the canons of English Literature - it's not even that a generation of kids will thinks that this is what Sherlock Holmes is all about, a bareknuckle underdog with a neurotic demeanour and a tendency to wind up in destructive Indiana Jones-esque brawls. (And I can see how, if you have no prior experience of Holmes and Watson, that it is probably entertaining enough to satisfy.) It's that it could have been a really great film. Wasted potential is the key here. The styling is all right - the brilliant steampunked design, the cinematography, the costumes - Ritchie certainly cracked the look of the thing. And that might fool a lot of people. But not me. Sorry, Guy.
Guy Ritchie's attempt to capture the excitement, adventure and subtle homoeroticism on Conan Doyle's marvellously dark and deadpan detective has somehow left us with something like an over-risen cupcake. It stretches too far, the top explodes, and by the time you've taken them out of the oven all you're left with is a structurally catastrophic mess with a hole in the middle you could drive a ten-tonne truck through, only edible due to the compulsive quantities of sugar contained therein.
What I really don't understand about adaptations like this (and there are many of them), is that the original material is so good one really wonders where you could possibly go wrong. Yet somehow - perhaps in the assumption that modern audiences lack the sophistication to appreciate the nuances of immaculately constructed dialogue and a watertight storyline - somehow, so many of our classic works of fiction are cinematically short-changed. This adaptation plays somehow like Sherlock Holmes as written by Chuck Palahniuk on a bad day. Robert Downey Jnr, much as I normally enjoy spending two hours admiring his visage, is not only no Holmes (he's American, for goodness sake!) but brings an extremely irritating, almost 'madcap' quality to the detective that grates the whole way through. Almost as excruciating as Johnny Depp's psychotic Willy Wonka. The frisson between him and the also totally miscast Jude Law as Dr Watson, is transformed into some sickeningly teenage 'bromance' as I believe it's termed. Whilst I did notice snippets of original text slipped in at inappropriate junctures - the set piece about the pocket watch, for example, was paraphrased from one of the books - much of the dialogue lacked the arch precision that makes Conan Doyle's stories so enjoyable to read. The action scenes were lengthy, pointless and distracting, verging on the slapstick; Holmes' periods of isolation and despair were played as comedy; and, most disappointing, there was not even a hint of the classic interplay between the two central characters. Not one single raised eyebrow, not one outburst of 'But my dear Holmes! That's incredible! How on earth could you deduce all that from this one tiny piece of evidence!'. I've made this up, but there's a lot of that sort of thing. I believe Watson is famous for such expostulations. Or he was, at any rate.
No. The campness was all there. And here it is, misinterpreted and misplayed, thrown in for kicks but missing the point altogether. What really disappoints me about this sort of thing, though, is not so much that they've made a slightly sub-standard film out of one of the canons of English Literature - it's not even that a generation of kids will thinks that this is what Sherlock Holmes is all about, a bareknuckle underdog with a neurotic demeanour and a tendency to wind up in destructive Indiana Jones-esque brawls. (And I can see how, if you have no prior experience of Holmes and Watson, that it is probably entertaining enough to satisfy.) It's that it could have been a really great film. Wasted potential is the key here. The styling is all right - the brilliant steampunked design, the cinematography, the costumes - Ritchie certainly cracked the look of the thing. And that might fool a lot of people. But not me. Sorry, Guy.
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Remember Gaza - Smash EDO
Right, I've done the washing up, removed the cornucopia of rotten bits of food from the fridge and various plastic containers around my house, ordered a compost bin, rung the council about the rats (erk), slotted my cobwebby TV neatly into a cupboard in the corner of the living room, got the dinner on, and eaten the last cupcake (oops). So now I can relax for a minute and write my more comprehensive account of yesterday's march. (Edit: it's now been a week since I started this... apologies for my tardiness.)
I arrived at the meet point (the cafe in the park behind the factory) at about 12.30, expecting to join the crowd, only to find about four other people looking vaguely like they might be hanging around for a demo. After 15 minutes or so I was beginning to feel slightly bemused and concerned - not to mention chilly! - no one else had arrived, and the time advertised was 1pm. Maybe I was just uncharacteristically early, or maybe it was some kind of decoy plan and us mugs were the only few not in on it. The police has certainly got the same memo - they were all over, in cars, on horseback and on foot. An Australian woman I spoke to asked if it was normal! Sadly, yes. What was not normal was the lack of protesters!
Eventually, other people arrived, sneaking out of the woods with props and trickling in from the main road. By 1.30 about 100 people, all dressed in black, had gathered, and we set off towards Home Farm Road. The road was predictably blockaded by several police vans and a double row of coppers. I had no idea of the plan, but as we came to a halt at the bottom of the road, most of the crowd started to move up onto the verge by the side of the road. Someone with a loudspeaker gave the go ahead, and about two-thirds of out number legged it up the hill (no mean feat considering how steep it is) to get around the back of the factory. The cops didn't seem especially interested and we supposed they must have known it was covered. Later someone who went up there told me that they had mounted police and dogs all around the perimeter!
The rest of us stood in the road for about an hour waiting for them to come back, and I felt a bit disheartened at the whole tedious exercise. It was cold and we didn't seem to be achieving much, except providing entertainment for passers-by. Eventually we regrouped and headed off down the road towards town (actually, one of my favourite things about demos is being able to walk down the middle of the road! somehow familiar surroundings seem to appear differently). All along Lewes Rd we were stop-started by the police. They'd start a line, we'd try and dash past them, then they'd move a bit further back and try it again... It's all so pointless. Then they started to get a but more pushy as we reached Brighton uni. On a loudspeaker they announced that there'd been an accident and there was an injured person in the road, which was the only reason they were stopped us. We were totally blocked in at this point, despite several attempts to find a way through the campus. Quite a few people got bored and wandered off here I think - the crowd had swelled quite a lot on the walk, but seemed to thin out considerably once we got moving again. Now, I'm not accusing anyone of anything - but there was not a single ambulance in sight, no sirens were heard, no injured people spotted, no damaged vehicles parked up at the side of the road with drivers being questioned. I'm just saying. I did, however, count 20 - 20! - police vans following the march, on top of the lines of police both mounted and on foot, some in riot gear, and several other cop cars. As one protester on a loudspeaker said - 'ladies and gentlemen of the public, do not panic - we are being kept under control by the people in the yellow jackets'!
Ar the bottom of Elm Grove we were temporarily kettled again, and given an ultimatum - we could go as far as the Level and continue the protest there, or we would be in violation of the Section 14 notice they had failed to issue whilst we were in the park earlier. There was a very amosing moment when the police line was ordered into formation - each one of the officers in the line shouted out the order, and they all fell in step one by one like some little dance routine, closing together with one shoulder back and one forward. I expect they'd been practising that all week. They looked very pleased with themselves. So we were allowed to continue, but naturally ignored the instructions to stay at the Level.
The problem, once we had run off towards town as per the plan, was that there was no plan. We couldn't decide which road to run down next, and as a result became split into several small groups. I was lucky enough to be in the one that decided to squeeze, inexplicably, down Kensington Gardens, where surely enough we were immediately and resolutely kettled for several hours. Lucky I brought snacks. What is baffling about this scenario is their reasoning: 'we are stopping you because you are causing a public disturbance'; and, 'we will let you out providing you agree to disperse'. Now, call me crazy, but isn't this a bit like walking up to someone, standing in front of them and telling them that they're in your way? I'm fairly sure that blocking off one of the main roads in the North Laine with cars, horses and various double-strength police lines is more of a disturbance than a group of 50 or so people walking through town. Of course we all know what it's really about isn't 'protecting' the public (because we are not members of the public, of course), but making sure that anyone foolish enough to protest is criminalised in the eyes of the general populace. Nevertheless, the ridiculousness of it still doesn't fail to astound me. Some of the police seem to actively enjoy it, too - I saw a couple of them in the line giggling at our predicament. The mind boggles.
Two arrests were made while we were standing there - neither with any apparent reason. One man who was directly up against the line of coppers was pulled out after a bit of argy-bargy (I didn't see what happened as there were too many people in front of me) and bodily wrestled to the ground by about 5 police, then had both his ankles and wrists cuffed. I believe he was later de-arrested, but the whole unsavoury proceeding was caught on camera by a sympathetic onlooker from an upstairs window, who announced this to the offending officers once the incident was over. The next one was more unnerving - with no warning suddenly 10 or so police marched into the kettle, shoving us out of the way (and causing injury to at least one person that I know of) and seizing one of the medics.
Eventually we were allowed to leave 'in groups of 5'. Just like a school trip.
I arrived at the meet point (the cafe in the park behind the factory) at about 12.30, expecting to join the crowd, only to find about four other people looking vaguely like they might be hanging around for a demo. After 15 minutes or so I was beginning to feel slightly bemused and concerned - not to mention chilly! - no one else had arrived, and the time advertised was 1pm. Maybe I was just uncharacteristically early, or maybe it was some kind of decoy plan and us mugs were the only few not in on it. The police has certainly got the same memo - they were all over, in cars, on horseback and on foot. An Australian woman I spoke to asked if it was normal! Sadly, yes. What was not normal was the lack of protesters!
Eventually, other people arrived, sneaking out of the woods with props and trickling in from the main road. By 1.30 about 100 people, all dressed in black, had gathered, and we set off towards Home Farm Road. The road was predictably blockaded by several police vans and a double row of coppers. I had no idea of the plan, but as we came to a halt at the bottom of the road, most of the crowd started to move up onto the verge by the side of the road. Someone with a loudspeaker gave the go ahead, and about two-thirds of out number legged it up the hill (no mean feat considering how steep it is) to get around the back of the factory. The cops didn't seem especially interested and we supposed they must have known it was covered. Later someone who went up there told me that they had mounted police and dogs all around the perimeter!
The rest of us stood in the road for about an hour waiting for them to come back, and I felt a bit disheartened at the whole tedious exercise. It was cold and we didn't seem to be achieving much, except providing entertainment for passers-by. Eventually we regrouped and headed off down the road towards town (actually, one of my favourite things about demos is being able to walk down the middle of the road! somehow familiar surroundings seem to appear differently). All along Lewes Rd we were stop-started by the police. They'd start a line, we'd try and dash past them, then they'd move a bit further back and try it again... It's all so pointless. Then they started to get a but more pushy as we reached Brighton uni. On a loudspeaker they announced that there'd been an accident and there was an injured person in the road, which was the only reason they were stopped us. We were totally blocked in at this point, despite several attempts to find a way through the campus. Quite a few people got bored and wandered off here I think - the crowd had swelled quite a lot on the walk, but seemed to thin out considerably once we got moving again. Now, I'm not accusing anyone of anything - but there was not a single ambulance in sight, no sirens were heard, no injured people spotted, no damaged vehicles parked up at the side of the road with drivers being questioned. I'm just saying. I did, however, count 20 - 20! - police vans following the march, on top of the lines of police both mounted and on foot, some in riot gear, and several other cop cars. As one protester on a loudspeaker said - 'ladies and gentlemen of the public, do not panic - we are being kept under control by the people in the yellow jackets'!
Ar the bottom of Elm Grove we were temporarily kettled again, and given an ultimatum - we could go as far as the Level and continue the protest there, or we would be in violation of the Section 14 notice they had failed to issue whilst we were in the park earlier. There was a very amosing moment when the police line was ordered into formation - each one of the officers in the line shouted out the order, and they all fell in step one by one like some little dance routine, closing together with one shoulder back and one forward. I expect they'd been practising that all week. They looked very pleased with themselves. So we were allowed to continue, but naturally ignored the instructions to stay at the Level.
The problem, once we had run off towards town as per the plan, was that there was no plan. We couldn't decide which road to run down next, and as a result became split into several small groups. I was lucky enough to be in the one that decided to squeeze, inexplicably, down Kensington Gardens, where surely enough we were immediately and resolutely kettled for several hours. Lucky I brought snacks. What is baffling about this scenario is their reasoning: 'we are stopping you because you are causing a public disturbance'; and, 'we will let you out providing you agree to disperse'. Now, call me crazy, but isn't this a bit like walking up to someone, standing in front of them and telling them that they're in your way? I'm fairly sure that blocking off one of the main roads in the North Laine with cars, horses and various double-strength police lines is more of a disturbance than a group of 50 or so people walking through town. Of course we all know what it's really about isn't 'protecting' the public (because we are not members of the public, of course), but making sure that anyone foolish enough to protest is criminalised in the eyes of the general populace. Nevertheless, the ridiculousness of it still doesn't fail to astound me. Some of the police seem to actively enjoy it, too - I saw a couple of them in the line giggling at our predicament. The mind boggles.
Two arrests were made while we were standing there - neither with any apparent reason. One man who was directly up against the line of coppers was pulled out after a bit of argy-bargy (I didn't see what happened as there were too many people in front of me) and bodily wrestled to the ground by about 5 police, then had both his ankles and wrists cuffed. I believe he was later de-arrested, but the whole unsavoury proceeding was caught on camera by a sympathetic onlooker from an upstairs window, who announced this to the offending officers once the incident was over. The next one was more unnerving - with no warning suddenly 10 or so police marched into the kettle, shoving us out of the way (and causing injury to at least one person that I know of) and seizing one of the medics.
Eventually we were allowed to leave 'in groups of 5'. Just like a school trip.
In which I achieve something most people learn when they're about 10...
Walking home this evening I had the feeling that it was very late - like walking home after a party. The sky wasn't quite dark and a few lone birds were singing in the trees. But, of course, the reason for this was that it was only 9pm. The late-night feeling was caused by my tiredness and wiredness - that post-action feeling where you're exhausted but somehow hyper-aware.
I'd been on the Smash Edo demo. It was a funeral march to remember the people killed in Gaza a year ago, during a siege in which bombs, whose components were manufactured in Brighton, were used to murder 1417 Palestinians. It's unfortunate to admit that as demos go it was pretty unspectacular, and little seemed to be achieved (thanks, as usual, to the over zealous efforts of out boys in blue - or fluorescent yellow, as it seems to be these days - but we'll get to that in a minute). But by the end of the day I felt like I'd had some personal kind of revelation; or at least joined up a few more dots. I attended the demo alone - though I briefly saw one or two acquaintances on the march - a first for me, and something I'd never have considered before. And despite my semi-isolation faced with a huge police presence, I didn't have the same tremulous fear as on previous demos. Perhaps it was just because I felt a bit more prepared, knowing what to expect now.
After being released from a ridiculous kettle on North Street (about 30 of us, stuck in an area not much bigger than a pedestrian crossing), I headed to the Cowley Club for food, warmth and, most importantly, a toilet. Having fed and relaxed for half an hour I went to help my... non-boyfriend, for want of a better word, in the kitchen, washing up and bringing out the orders. It's not a great leap or anything and I've waitressed (albeit badly) in many a pub, but somehow I've always been a little timid about working at the Cowley. Maybe it's the volunteer aspect, maybe it's the anarcho aspect, either way there has always been a sense that I don't really belong there and I'll get it all wrong - but in the light of my dashing about playing cat and mouse with riot police, perhaps it was put into perspective! And made me feel a bit more hardcore... Whatever it was, by the time I made that walk home, I had a sense of being strong and able, in a way I haven't really before. I hope this experience bodes well for my imminent steps off the cliff into self-unemployment.
I'll write some more about the demo itself - but now it really is extraordinarily late, and I might finally be unwired enough to sleep. (This, no doubt, will prove untrue - I'll turn the light out and spend the next hour composing my follow-up blog post in my head.)
I'd been on the Smash Edo demo. It was a funeral march to remember the people killed in Gaza a year ago, during a siege in which bombs, whose components were manufactured in Brighton, were used to murder 1417 Palestinians. It's unfortunate to admit that as demos go it was pretty unspectacular, and little seemed to be achieved (thanks, as usual, to the over zealous efforts of out boys in blue - or fluorescent yellow, as it seems to be these days - but we'll get to that in a minute). But by the end of the day I felt like I'd had some personal kind of revelation; or at least joined up a few more dots. I attended the demo alone - though I briefly saw one or two acquaintances on the march - a first for me, and something I'd never have considered before. And despite my semi-isolation faced with a huge police presence, I didn't have the same tremulous fear as on previous demos. Perhaps it was just because I felt a bit more prepared, knowing what to expect now.
After being released from a ridiculous kettle on North Street (about 30 of us, stuck in an area not much bigger than a pedestrian crossing), I headed to the Cowley Club for food, warmth and, most importantly, a toilet. Having fed and relaxed for half an hour I went to help my... non-boyfriend, for want of a better word, in the kitchen, washing up and bringing out the orders. It's not a great leap or anything and I've waitressed (albeit badly) in many a pub, but somehow I've always been a little timid about working at the Cowley. Maybe it's the volunteer aspect, maybe it's the anarcho aspect, either way there has always been a sense that I don't really belong there and I'll get it all wrong - but in the light of my dashing about playing cat and mouse with riot police, perhaps it was put into perspective! And made me feel a bit more hardcore... Whatever it was, by the time I made that walk home, I had a sense of being strong and able, in a way I haven't really before. I hope this experience bodes well for my imminent steps off the cliff into self-unemployment.
I'll write some more about the demo itself - but now it really is extraordinarily late, and I might finally be unwired enough to sleep. (This, no doubt, will prove untrue - I'll turn the light out and spend the next hour composing my follow-up blog post in my head.)
Saturday, 19 September 2009
Listmania...
Here is a list of awesome goodies than are vegan (and yes, I know that so far my readership is entirely vegan and therefore this is entirely pointless, but I'm trying to get back to the original purpose of this blog, ie. proving that vegans aren't weird uber-skinny people who sit in dark rooms eating raw carrots and baked beans out of the tins whilst defaming their family for eating stuff they don't, and that it isn't impossible to feed this strange race of creatures):
Tomatoes. Nuff said.
Ok, no, not enough - sundried tomatoes.
Mushrooms.
Olives.
Olive oil.
Chocolate (vegan chocolate is way way better than the poor quality sugary milk-filled rubbish that most places sell)
Raw chocolate. Yes, it needed a separate point.
Bananas.
Raisins.
Figs.
Prunes.
Any kind of dried fruit.
In fact any kind of fruit.
Mangoes.
Tamari soy sauce.
Balsamic vinegar.
Apple cider vinegar.
Red wine vinegar.
Etc.
Chillies!
Chilli sauce...
Spices. The root of all deliciousness.
Ginger. I know it's covered, but it's special.
Fresh basil, rosemary, sage, coriander... and so on.
Coconuts, coconut milk, coconut cream, dessicated coconut...
Cashew nuts.
Hazlenuts.
Pine nuts.
See where I'm going with this?
Walnuts.
Ok, I'll stop.
Molasses.
Date syrup.
Agave, the sweetener of champions.
Jam.
Chickpeas. Oh wondrous little legume, bringer of nutrients and yum!
Tahini. See above comments.
Garlic.
Lots of garlic.
(I really want to list tofu, because I love it, but that is too 'vegan'. If only more people realised the wonder of it!)
Baked beans!
Most bread.
Hummus. Was there ever a better excuse to eat copious quantities of this.
Avocadoes. I think I may have a slight avocado problem, actually.
I think that'll do for now.
Tomatoes. Nuff said.
Ok, no, not enough - sundried tomatoes.
Mushrooms.
Olives.
Olive oil.
Chocolate (vegan chocolate is way way better than the poor quality sugary milk-filled rubbish that most places sell)
Raw chocolate. Yes, it needed a separate point.
Bananas.
Raisins.
Figs.
Prunes.
Any kind of dried fruit.
In fact any kind of fruit.
Mangoes.
Tamari soy sauce.
Balsamic vinegar.
Apple cider vinegar.
Red wine vinegar.
Etc.
Chillies!
Chilli sauce...
Spices. The root of all deliciousness.
Ginger. I know it's covered, but it's special.
Fresh basil, rosemary, sage, coriander... and so on.
Coconuts, coconut milk, coconut cream, dessicated coconut...
Cashew nuts.
Hazlenuts.
Pine nuts.
See where I'm going with this?
Walnuts.
Ok, I'll stop.
Molasses.
Date syrup.
Agave, the sweetener of champions.
Jam.
Chickpeas. Oh wondrous little legume, bringer of nutrients and yum!
Tahini. See above comments.
Garlic.
Lots of garlic.
(I really want to list tofu, because I love it, but that is too 'vegan'. If only more people realised the wonder of it!)
Baked beans!
Most bread.
Hummus. Was there ever a better excuse to eat copious quantities of this.
Avocadoes. I think I may have a slight avocado problem, actually.
I think that'll do for now.
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Found article: 'Nihilism, restlessness and existential musings'
Clearing out my room in preparation my big move next week I found this little scribbling from what must have been February or March, judging by content. On reading it back I cringed a bit, but it's interesting to remember how I was feeling not so long go. I'd forgotten. Here it is.
I am struck with the Restlessness.
It happens from time to time but it feels big this time. I have to do something, make a change, make my life different and less dependent and squalid.
I'm coming to realise that the things I do when I feel like this are just temporary solutions, basically big displacement activity. I break up with someone or find a new person to enliven myself, get a new job, move house, move cities, cut my hair, clear my wardrobe, and so on. But these things are just a superficial cycle. I need to do something more permanent, in myself - my circumstances are just a symptom or an excuse or distraction. There's always been some project to occupy me - university, a wayward boyfriend, a play, heartbreak or family crisis. Seems a bit like the equivalent of the needlework or music lessons of girls of old - just something to occupy them and make them appear less useless to the outside world.
I remember being stuck in a kind of stupor, aged about 16, a general feeling that I wasn't really in the world, or experiencing anything - like my ears were blocked and I couldn't pop them. I was rehearsing for some play or other and decided I had to snap out of it, force myself into action - so I ran outside into the alleyway next to the theatre and started jumping and running up and down to jolt myself awake. I think it worked, or perhaps it was just a change in my mentality that I wanted to get out of it.
It's not quite the same now, but I still have that feeling that I'm missing the point, things are passing me by and I'm not sure what to do about it. Except that now my brain is full and constantly buzzing with the noise of all these things, what I can or should do, what the hell is the point of it all, and soundbites of things people have said that may or may not be useful.
Action one: I am giving up caffeine. It's a pretty tall order but it's a major habit and forms a large part of my lifestyle - and it's something I've never considered before. I will also stop smoking, but one thing at a time.
Action two: Relax. I used to sped a lot of time daydreaming and just letting my mind wander, but I don't do that any more and I find it more and more difficult to deal with the things flapping about in my head, the everyday stresses and the not knowing what I should be doing. I need to spend some more time alone to fit things together.
Action three: Write more. It's the one thing I've always been good at, and enjoyed doing. I forget for long periods, but it's cathartic and creative. If I can just do a bit once a week for example, I might find what it is I'm after.
I just want not to be shit, not be useless, or wasteful, when I know there's so much more I could be doing.
I'd forgotten completely that I'd decided I wanted to give up smoking - I stopped very shortly after this due to a health issue, cold turkey the minute I walked out of the doctors, sooner than scheduled I expect. I still don't drink caffeine so that worked out pretty well. I write a lot more now too - Exhibit A. Not so sure about the relaxing, but I certainly feel more focused. The restless feeling I have now is due to not being able to do the things I want as soon as I'd hoped, rather than boredom and lack of direction. Things have certainly taken some interesting turns since I wrote this though!
I am struck with the Restlessness.
It happens from time to time but it feels big this time. I have to do something, make a change, make my life different and less dependent and squalid.
I'm coming to realise that the things I do when I feel like this are just temporary solutions, basically big displacement activity. I break up with someone or find a new person to enliven myself, get a new job, move house, move cities, cut my hair, clear my wardrobe, and so on. But these things are just a superficial cycle. I need to do something more permanent, in myself - my circumstances are just a symptom or an excuse or distraction. There's always been some project to occupy me - university, a wayward boyfriend, a play, heartbreak or family crisis. Seems a bit like the equivalent of the needlework or music lessons of girls of old - just something to occupy them and make them appear less useless to the outside world.
I remember being stuck in a kind of stupor, aged about 16, a general feeling that I wasn't really in the world, or experiencing anything - like my ears were blocked and I couldn't pop them. I was rehearsing for some play or other and decided I had to snap out of it, force myself into action - so I ran outside into the alleyway next to the theatre and started jumping and running up and down to jolt myself awake. I think it worked, or perhaps it was just a change in my mentality that I wanted to get out of it.
It's not quite the same now, but I still have that feeling that I'm missing the point, things are passing me by and I'm not sure what to do about it. Except that now my brain is full and constantly buzzing with the noise of all these things, what I can or should do, what the hell is the point of it all, and soundbites of things people have said that may or may not be useful.
Action one: I am giving up caffeine. It's a pretty tall order but it's a major habit and forms a large part of my lifestyle - and it's something I've never considered before. I will also stop smoking, but one thing at a time.
Action two: Relax. I used to sped a lot of time daydreaming and just letting my mind wander, but I don't do that any more and I find it more and more difficult to deal with the things flapping about in my head, the everyday stresses and the not knowing what I should be doing. I need to spend some more time alone to fit things together.
Action three: Write more. It's the one thing I've always been good at, and enjoyed doing. I forget for long periods, but it's cathartic and creative. If I can just do a bit once a week for example, I might find what it is I'm after.
I just want not to be shit, not be useless, or wasteful, when I know there's so much more I could be doing.
I'd forgotten completely that I'd decided I wanted to give up smoking - I stopped very shortly after this due to a health issue, cold turkey the minute I walked out of the doctors, sooner than scheduled I expect. I still don't drink caffeine so that worked out pretty well. I write a lot more now too - Exhibit A. Not so sure about the relaxing, but I certainly feel more focused. The restless feeling I have now is due to not being able to do the things I want as soon as I'd hoped, rather than boredom and lack of direction. Things have certainly taken some interesting turns since I wrote this though!
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