Requiem for a Quiche

More astute readers will have noticed that I haven’t been blogging. A lot of things have changed since my last post in October 2008.

Let’s sidestep the ones which currently feel most important! Gosh, don’t you love hearing that.

I’ve moved from high school to university; from a shared house with a travel agent and a bunch of Chinese in Adelaide’s leafy south-east to living alone in a flat in a suburb of Italians and retirement fortresses – a suburb all but unique in not being scorned by Adelaide Metro.

Well, I had approximately 6 months here without internet at home. I’m going to over-simplify matters by saying “yes, that is exactly as hard as you think.”

I hadn’t blogged for some time before that, and not for some time since. That is because blogging is really not important to me. Blogging often seems like pissing into the wind.

Successful blogs require dedication – and do I even want a succesful blog? Probably not. I certainly do not want to be a “dedicated blogger”.

I do not even think I have anything that special to say. There are more good blogs than could be read, and they are just the tip of an iceberg composed largely of utter rubbish. If we narrow the pool of blogs to a group so small as those made by people I know personally – there are blogs with more interesting things to say than me (fig 1, fig 2), more interesting ways to say them (fig 3, fig 4), or both. Does that mean I follow them? No. I talk to these people.
If I say that any distillation of their views is less wholesome than those people themselves, I hope they take it as a compliment.

I’m still listening to a lot of music! My music profile is still here, and while you can see from the charts what I’ve listened to most between now and October 2006, I’m going to recommend to you the bands I’ve gotten into much more recently. And don’t go thinking they are an accurate representation of my listening habits at large.
Eluveitie are not pronounced the way they are spelt. It’s “Elveyte”, I am told. They are Swiss, sing in a local dialect of Celtic (extinct, of course), and use bagpipes convincingly – it’s not a gimmick. I suggest you Youtube their song Inis Mona, and also Uis Elveti if you’re at all interested in Folk Metal.
The Cinematic Orchestra is, hm, chill-out jazz with electronic elements. Check out To Build A Home, it’s my favourite of theirs. You’ll probably recognise it from a Schweppes advert.
Kronos Quartet. So the elementally themed “Ghost Opera” freaked you out with the moaning and shrieking and splashing that accompanied the oriental tunes? You were scared away by Act III: Dialogue with ‘Little Cabbage’? Suck it up, go out and get their latest album Floodplain, a musical exploration of the middle east. Here is a serious review on the BBC website. It gushes compliments. And rightly so.
Yoshida Brothers are instrumental Japanese folk rock on traditional instruments, and remind me more of Altan Urag and Apocalyptica than Bond or Twelve Girls Band (which means they are actually good).
David Garrett is a classically trained violinist. Lots of people are taking violin in new poppy directions, he is one of them. He does it well, and owns obscenely expensive violins. That doesn’t bear any relation to how good he is, as proponents of the “Andre Rieu is a talentless Belgian” theory will tell you. You’re best off looking up his cover of Smooth Criminal, which I am keen on.
Globus – I didn’t think of this at first. I’ve had it so long, but I’ve ignored this blog longer. It’s cinematic music, as used in dramatic trailers. It may seem cheesy because vocals are almost always in English (rather than the Latin favoured by this genre), but if you approach this from a pop music angle, it’ll blow you away. It doesn’t feel contrived like E.S. Posthumus, and it doesn’t grow immediately old like the prolific X-Ray Dog. I have positive things to say about Corner Stone Cues, but I don’t know about their lasting power, as I’ve only had the album Requiem for a Tower for a month.
Andrew Lloyd Webber is a bit of a hack. I don’t have any pretentions of being able to compose music, but I find his work overly simplistic (not the same as minimalist) and over-emotional (not the same as melodramatic). Get your hands on Requiems by Giuseppe Verdi, Gabriel Fauré, and Johannes Brahms, in addition to Mozart’s which you doubtless already have.
I have recently banished Академический ансамбль песни и пляски Российской (known to the proletariat as the Red Army Choir) from my media player of choice because I have grown tired of them. Just so you know.
Tenochtitlan is a Russian-language band from Russia. They are Aztec-themed ethnic doom metal (if I were more of a hat, I’d call them ambient and progressive too). They were rather better than I expected from such a description. I expect novelty concepts to be something of a joke, but this is done really well. If the description doesn’t appeal to you, then you probably shouldn’t be getting it.
Gogol Bordello is gypsy punk. Sounds like a novelty, is likewise good – I’ve had this band for a long time, too. You should get it whether the description appeals or not. Be safe and YouTube Not A Crime or Zina-Marina.

In my time without internet, I read a lot of books. I’m still reading now. I re-read C.S. Forrester’s Hornblower novels, which are as always terrific. I re-read The Dice Man, which is the single book I have forced onto the most people. It was gratifying to see that a book I enjoyed so much when I was 15 is genuinely brilliant.
Raymond E. Feist’s Riftwar series is excellent, and so is the Empire series he wrote in collaboration with Janny Wurtis.  I insist you find and read Feist’s Magician, and you will probably hunt down the rest of the books based on that. It is one of those books which you finish in a surprisingly short time and cannot think of how to improve. I read Feist’s later (and much longer) revision, though. I think it is called “preferred version” or something, much in the way of a directors’ cut.

So far, this talk of books has been one-dimensional. Those were the best.
Well, A. A. Attanasio’s The Last Legends of Earth is presumably an okay book, but he seems to have no idea what he is doing when he manhandles a large clichéd soft sci-fi vocabulary around. I only picked it up because of the emphatic reviews on the back from such plausible sources as Locus, the L.A. Times and Silverberg. Why do people think being compared to Olaf Stapledon’s Last and First Men is a good thing? Just because something is a milestone work in a major genre of literature doesn’t mean it is actually good.

Richard Howard’s works must be burned at every opportunity. I speak of Bonaparte’s Sons and Bonaparte’s Invaders. This omnibus was dirt-cheap for a reason.
The style is reminiscent of the “chapter books” we read in junior primary, at age seven.
[Dialogue] [character] said, chuckling.
[character] looked [emotion]
It was evidently written by a congenital idiot (who enjoys period films) in consultation with the list of words which can be used place of “said”, which he has pinned to his wall.

I found a nice English-German bilingual school dictionary (Cassell’s, Great Britain) from before the war, in which all the German is set in Fraktur, the blackletter typeface long favoured by the Germans, which you will recognise from the side of the Hindenburg.

Since I’ve been talking about books for a while, I’ll just repeat that China Miéville’s Perdido Street Station is brilliant. I must have said that in a previous blog.

I also have a tumblr. I’m certain it has been called “picture blogging for idiots” at some point. For exactly the same reasons, it is much more accessible and maintainable than a traditional blog. Q: Is mine safe for work? A: Maybe.

It is perhaps the knowledge that my ramblings go on for so long that keeps me from blogging.

My sleep cycle is about seven hours out, which means I’m jet-lagged from Istanbul, without actually leaving Adelaide. That means I should probably be making towards bed.

So; good night, internet~

Like puzzle pieces from the clay

Last night I watched A Better Tomorrow II, or 英雄本色 2 in Hong Kong. (Wikipedia/IMDb) and it was great.
It tended to be a bit hard to follow – it started with ballroom dancing and beards, grew into police infiltration of crime organisations, flew over to New York for some hilarious “EAT THE FUCKING RICE, GUILAO” (I’m paraphrasing ruthlessly) at gunpoint (in response to a protection racket) and then had some mind-losing.

But don’t worry, it turns into a bloodbath.  Really.  It’s like the Matrix Lobby Scene with more blood and Asians.
So, shotguns are awesome, Asians are awesome, rice is awesome.  Oh, and this is where The Matrix got the Trinity-sliding-down-stairs-shooting sequence.

There’s money-printing, force-feeding, dancing, badly dubbed white people, and Chow Yun Fat.

I think we should all see it.  I liked it a lot, it was great fun.  I wouldn’t say it was my favourite film, or anything near it.
“You no like my rice” is hilarious. There are other funny bits too, naturally.
But it reminds us that one of the few good things to come from the 80s (in addition to Tetris, Rick Astley, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) is action films where cars explode like that.
*clicks fingers illustratively*

The other night we had Burritos.  Eventually, the resident Chinese homestays Matthew and Timber (yes, like ‘wood’) loaded the tortillas with rice.  Tim quite likes drenching everything in tomato sauce.
Anyway, rice.

I was going to blag about other things; being introduced to awesome and shockingly close places by Brendan and the state my bike is in.
Also, moats, lilies, haze and such.

I haven’t been blagging much, actually. I never really feel the urge to – I only do it when it’s just there.
You’ll notice from my growing Blagroll that more and more of my friends are succumbing.

Peace, I’m out (segues are for losers).
Time for sleep.  I love sleep.

Whoever shouts the loudest gets the most attention

I’m faster than a Chihuahua – one decided to chase me as I rode home. It gave up. I was not on a white stallion but a mountain bike, should you be imagining me in a heroic light.

I’m living up my last teenage years, today I met Antho at the library. I returned those books on the Boer War, and took out some on Surrealism.

I’m breaking the habit of putting images at the very end of posts.  Mixing it up.  Because I’m exciting.

This Apple & Kiwi Fruit juice is very good, but is unattractive. It’s opaque and khaki. Like the shirts in the dress uniforms on M*A*S*H, or what you get when you mix all your paint together while washing it down the drain.
When I’m buying a drink, I want to be reminded of American courts martial in the early nineteen-fifties. Surgeons being tried for obscene behaviour make me thirsty, as does Alan Alda. I don’t have to explain why tipping acrylic paints down the drain is appetising.

Do not distress, the long drought of Peach Ice Tea has been remedied.

Today was slightly too warm. The supermarket in Unley has user-operated checkouts now, with a tall guy to watch over them.

Everything is painted woodland grey, except for the trimmings which are a strong green. The floorboards are real, but an unwelcoming dull stain. It’s all modern and clean, but it is neither coloured like a medical research centre or a trendy apartment building.

Bow-ties suit my personality too well for me to wear them. They would take me into the extreme. I should be tempered by my clothing.

I slept well last night.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired

Some things make me feel crushed or hollow, other things make me feel wonderful.  In life, right now.

I live in a meaningless void with people I love.

N’aww.

I woke up at 2 AM, it’s 5 PM now, don’t expect me to be coherent.  Crushing stuff is school-based, wonderful stuff is people based.

Also, Sarah Palin is disgusting.  She is a repulsive right-wing extremist, and I am offended that there are people excited “because she is a young woman”.  That’s so patronising, and I am truly disappointed that it seems to be working on some people.

No, I don’t even use segues when I’m awake.

I accidentally downloaded Windows Genuine Advantage, which is facepalm -inducing.  The weather is great.  I’m so tired, I will sleep as soon as I get these boots off.

I’m not sure what drives me to blog when I do.  I’m not apparently waiting for something interesting to say, and I don’t do it regularly.

Mmmm.

I’ve officially had too much of the Boer War.

Currently, my favourite typeface is Trebuchet MS.  Though, I did download a lot of novelty fonts a week or two back.  So I now have a veritable panoply of medieval and variously retro types.  Wow, I must be tired, I must be tiresome.

Why do I do this to you?

Chapter of Obeisance Before Giving Breath to the Inert One in the Presence of the Crescent Shaped Baked Goods

So, one of the things that happened today is that I bought some croissants.  These were from a supermarket bakery, apparently.  Such things have been known to be good, in the past.  Not this time.

Oh, yes.  The croissant is named for its crescent shape.  How very astute of you.  It does, however, have some other characteristics.  Their attempt was slightly too sweet, and very dense.  These are probably better as far as gaining sustenance is concerned, but they weren’t actually nice.  I threw away the one I started, gave another away, and have two left.  We shall see what happens.

I love Lindt Coffee Intense Dark Chocolate, so much.

I had a Modern History exam today.  The sources analysis was easy enough, though the last was “using all of the sources, evaluate the statement that France underwent dramatic change after the war”.  It wasn’t “statement”, it was something that started with p, and is completely interchangeable in this context.

I wrapped that page up with “the sources indicate that France underwent some social changes after World War II, which may be considered dramatic” … I mean, really.  Two of the six sources were about the size of the average family unit growing significantly from 1930 to 1960, the high incidence of unplanned pregnancies, and the changing criteria for choosing a life partner.  The rest did not acknowledge any change or any drama – two exhibited humanist photography (public displays of affection in Paris in 1950, a miner being washed by his wife), and the other defined humanist photography.  Sources analysis was fine in itself.

We had some very heavy rain today, some of which was during my exam, the rest was while I frantically pieced together a significant maths assignment.  I need more sleep, again.  Sure, I had plenty on that five-day weekend.  Five day weekends will never be productive.  Ever.

Also, the computers in the ISEC room are painfully slow – they suffer hardware lag about as bad as my phone.  Also, Excel can’t natively do boxplots.  This is shocking.

Back to the rain.  I am once again pleased that I put a plastic bag over my bicycle seat.  You will find that almost all seats are made of a dense sponge/foam (as found in upholstered seats), and most have some sort of faux leather as a cover.  My seat is like that, except that the synthetic leather is replaced with something very much like a black stocking.  This is completely ineffectual, as far as water resistance is concerned.  I am not going to leave what is quite literally a sponge in the rain, when I know I am going to be sitting on it later in the day.

I see that I was writing a blog here, about an hour ago? This is it, but I was apparently distracted…

I have recently been having ideas in bed, while awaiting sleep – sometimes they are very satisfying.  By this, I mean they seem profound, or excessively pleasant, or both.  I wrote one down the other night, and it may become a ramble here, one day.  I probably won’t tell you which one it is.  I haven’t done anything with the one I wrote down a month ago, if that is any indication.

The goose in the night

See how complex this is? Let’s pretend every reference – especially the obscure ones – is intentional.
Adding to the convolution is the fact that I begin this post with something that happened before the contents of the previous post.  Oh my.

On the subject of the disjointed nature of my posts, I realise that they are just microblogs, arbitrarily grouped by when I write them.  And yes, conversations with me are actually like this, to a degree.  It depends on whether the other participants moderate or amplify the rambling nature of the discussion.  With the people I choose to associate with most, they tend to make it stranger.

So, down to the goose.

On Sunday night, I got three hours of sleep, because of last-minute summative essay writing for Modern History.  I leave the Russian Revolutions to the last moment, just like Lenin.  “Summative” is a word invented by the people responsible for our state’s high school diploma thing.  It means “for assessment”, rather than formative.
There is still no coffee in this house.  I had already had my weekly cup, that morning, but it’s not like it effects me strongly.  So I finished my nutella (I will assume that this is available everywhere in the world), and drank a lot of cordial, which I do not actually like.  I was really peppy the next day, and the assignment was done.  Screw it – Nutella is a chocolate hazelnut spread, which I keep in my drawer and eat with a spoon.

When I got home, I did what I normally did for a few hours – squandered my time on the internet.  Then I took a “nap” for four hours.  This was followed by a very conveniently much delayed dinner, after which I returned to the internet.  At 2 AM, I decided to sleep.

Yes, I turn my computer at the PSU – because there is a blue LED under the on button which would otherwise stay on all night, keeping me awake.  I must sleep in complete darkness and silence.

Naturally, I could not sleep.  Those missing hours, I do not think I reclaimed.  I guess I did not need them.

Just before 3:00, this rhythmic hissing started.  Of course, I assumed it was a goose outside my window, the type of red-faced white goose that headbangs when angry and sounds like a bicycle pump.  The type my parents have or had, depending on whether they reproduced.  I think they are down to two ducks and five chickens, actually.

The throaty hacking continued, and I would occasionally, from my bed, reach behind the blind to tap on the window to make it shut up.  “STFU, goose”, was the message a tapped.  It later occurred to me that it was a cat coughing up hairballs, because cats are quite common in the city.

The end.  Oh, I bet you were expecting a punch line.  It went away at some point, and I got a few hours of sleep.  It has not returned on any night since, which is something I hope continues.

On unrelated matters, I made $20 earlier today for dicking about in a tricky bastard of a real estate program.  Once I have got my head around how fiddly it is, it will be “data entry” and not a “learning session”.  Property valuers have quite a workload.  The information is confidential, and I am technically not doing it, so there is no tax.

I’m liking the sound of this.  Also, this is really near where I live.

And I am totally getting my kicks from writing self-referential posts.  I’m the Ouroboros of the blagosphere.

Oh, those black men are fighting the system.