Colonel Catch Up
Been a little busy this last week with a write up of my year's work. Got it finished and handed in yesterday, somewhat underlength. Well, I mean I said everything that needed to be said and then, you know, stopped. Still, a piece of work that's meant to have a maximum of 13 000 words and ends up at roughly 7 500... well. Unless the first words my examiners say at my viva is "this was very efficiently written" I may be in trouble. Sigh.
Not much else to report, I'm afraid. Off home on Tuesday, if I get my act together. OOOH, I move in to my new flat on Monday. That'll be fun. I'll have to introduce you to my flatmate... those of you who don't know him that is. Well, there'll be plenty of time for that.
I mean, I've nearly finished the first year of my PhD. Two years to go and it'll be DR Memehunter.
Accidentally magnetised my ipod. Dammit. Seems to be buggered. What am I to do?
Summer school soon. One of the teachers has pulled out and has been replaced with a medical anthropologist who seems, as far as I can see, to have no sense of humour. Oh dear. Also says in her email to me, and I quote: "I have no interest in Evolutionary Psychology". Alright love, there's no need to be rude.
TIREDTIREDTIRED
I am a big tired badger. Tired tired tired. YAWN.
Been drinking too much also. Why haven't I gone to bed? Strange boy.
Last night my dad and gran came to see me. Went out and got a bit drunk. Well... a lot drunk, acherly, if I'm being honest. Good times. Dad seems well, Gran much the same and on good form. Dad shamelessly flirting with young psychology postgrads. Tsk. Ah well, runs in the family I guess.
Friday night partyparty. LabmateMike came along, which was cool coz he doesn't often come out to play with us all. Then he got drunk, which was funny. He got a bit... aggressive towards then end of the evening, which is strange, I know, and not at all like him. Hmm. Kicked off slightly at some arsehole who was being a tit. Called eachother out for a fight. I actually did that thing when you have to hold your buddy back. "Leave it mate, he's not worth it, just calm down... just leave it" etc... fun fun. LmM, it appears, opted to repay my wingmanish antics by outing me. Actually, that happened before the holding-back, but I only found out yesterday. Bless him.
Not a problem. Not a problem at all, coz it's not like I'm 'in', but the person he told didn't know. Heh, she mentioned it yesterday at drinks. "Oh, you'll never guess what he told me about you..." she said, "and I said
NO, he's NOT" ... pause. "Yeah, he might have a point there" says I. Oh the hilarity.
Anyhue, I reminded him today. Totally mortified. Heh. I look forward to sorry pints at some point.
By the way. BY THE WAY. London is freaking me out. 5 times in the head. Totally innocent. For fuck's sake.
Have a whole LOAD of work to do by Friday. Holy crap. Ho-leee krap.
Jess, those are some loved Chucks. Keep it up.
Poisoned to Dearth
I'm not entirely sure what happened last night.
I have collected some clues which I can spread before you. A collection of odds and ends that point to events, suggest causes. A three-dimensional representation of something larger, and ungraspable. A tesseract of an assemblage, unfolded into a recognisable set of dimensions, the original form lost forever. The thing unfolded, but not the thing itself.
1. This morning my coat pocket contained an empty packet of hoola hoops, a king-size Twix and a jar of marmite.
2. There was a text on my phone telling me that my friend was an arsehole.
3. Also on my phone was a picture of me, slumped in an arm chair in a pub I didn't remember being in.
4. Flashbacks of a huge, empty marquee... crowds of people... faceless barstaff.
Put it together and what have you got?
Bibbetty...
...bobbetty...
The plan, of course, was to go out and get drunk with LabmateMike. Suiting action to thought, we met, at 6, in one of the more expensive drinking establishments this town has to offer. We had dinner. I seemed to be powering pints away. I remember that.
The background shimmers and dissolves and we are in the bar of a small hotel. A man starts to play the bagpipes. And why not? The bar is boiling with golfguys. Another shift, a seemless segue and to a larger, more expensive barish pub (pubbish bar?) around the corner.
At this point, the beers begin to bite. The asp of alcohol sinks its fangs into the Cleopatra of my cortex. I begin to sink.
Others arrive, now we are four. Mr X and J(Me') are clear of work. This puts the time at roughly 10.30. Another small hotel bar, but we sit outside this time and LmM and I spend no small amount of time tearing J's discipline apart. Frankly, though, she's had that coming ever since she called Biological Anthropology the "bastard child of sociocultural studies". Frown. At some point after this, I get very, very drunk and stop recording information. I have some flashes. I think I bumped in to someone else I knew, I think I lost LbM for a bit and worried the bouncers by looking for him repeatedly... then there's the bit with the marquee.
Then comes the part called "being in the Vic" of which I have no memory. Well... not much. Bits and pieces. It is during this time that LmM kicks off.
X has filled in some gaps for me. Turns out J didn't take well to being called a moronic fascist. "Everything you've said or done tonight has been moronic, from the very first thing you said to that moronic smile on your face right now".
I'm told that I remained silent through most of the tirade. Apparently only reacting at all to stop X from wandering in to the firing line. He complimented me on being aware of social space even if every other sensory experience was bouncing off me. J stormed out.
My memory starts to resurface after this point.
LmM went off to find someone to punch. X and I wandered homewards. It seems I visited the All Night Garage (see clue 1). X bought me chips (and haggis, it seems... and, at my insistence, a "random sausage"). I decided that the double vision was going to get in the way of watching a film and went to bed.
X tells me when he came upstairs, I had kicked off my duvet and was lying, spreadeagled, on the bed. Given that I had woken up naked, this purturbed me. It seems, however, that at this point I was actually wearing pants. Pants that, he tells me, I removed (whilst still asleep) about 10 minutes later.
Excellent.
Dignity, Memehunter, always dignity.
Act without doing...
Oh, oh, I remembered what I was going to say.
Quicksilver is changing my life. Cheers to Andy for drawing my attention to it. if only some similar interface existed for life, I would be a hive of efficiency.
A hive, I tell you.
Macs rock. It's official.
There's nothing worse than being drunk and disproven.
The man in Woolworths had a cloak on today.
That's all l have to say on that subject.
Instead of doing any work today, I read
The Rules of Attraction by Brett Easton Ellis.
Now, I read American Psycho a few years ago and hated it. I mean physically loathed it. It disturbed me profoundly. I was repulsed. Sort of avoided Ellis ever since. Picked up Rules on a whim... and am now a convert. So much so that I may have to read Psycho again. Not least because there are character crossovers that I now need to explore. Ah well.
Anyway, cut a long story shorter... read Rules of Attraction. It's really good.
There was something else I was gonna say, but can't for the life of me remember.
Nope. 'gone.
Ah well. Night.
Bah, humbug...
Wow, after a plug in
Jess' blog, my stats have gone through the roof. That's pleasing.
Guess I'd better start being interesting.
The summer school that I teach in every year is gearing up again... thinking about it, one of my first posts here talks about it. Guess that means this blog's about a year old. Guess THAT means I'm nearly done with the first year of my PhD. Oh, Sweet Spaghetti Monster.
Anyway, I'd better start putting thought in to what I'm gonna teach the l'il bastards.
I took a frisbee to the face on Friday. Surprisingly painful, right across the bridge of my nose. Ehhh. Got a bit of a bruise and a cut. Look slightly as if I've been fighting. Grr. Inspired, I got a friend to take clippers to my hair and cut me a mowhawk.
It's received mixed reviews, but I (at least) am very entertained.
Oh unspeakable joy, oh rapture, oh the profundity of my excitment, the next Harry Potter comes out at midnight. Woo, yey. Woop.
Er.
Yey.
No, it's no good, I can't care. I try, I really do.
Sigh. At least people have got used to the books existing now. Means I am no longer bombarded with commands to read them. "omg, you HAVE to read them" No, madam/sir, I do not. I choose not to. Thanks though.
Ah well, I'm happy for the Potter fans. I'm pleased you're all pleased. I shall grin at your excitment and pretend I understand.
GRIN.
Fantastic
Oh yes, oh YES.
May the Noodly Apendage encircle us all in joy.
Garrr.
F&MO
Before I go any further I have to tell you this:
the source of the foul and mysterious odour haunting my room over the last couple of days, which caused me no small embarassment, was due not to evil lurking in my clothespile, but rather to the shoes of the gentleman currently sleeping on my floor.
Nice.
Nonproductive
It's no good.
I was meant to end today with at least 2000 words of my project written. What have I got so far?
381 words of w a n k.
Ah well.
I'm just not feeling the urgency here. Have to come up with at least 10 000 words by the end of the month. Ah well. If I head to the lab tomorrow morning, at least I can write up the stats section and the methodology. I've got 3000 words of an introduction that needs to be tinkered with. So by monday (hopefully) will have ... er... somewhere around 5000 words, I guess. Leaving 5000 words of discussion? Hmm. What's to discuss? It works. End of.
Sigh.
Chatting to various pg types yesterday. One who thinks that academia is not for her at all. She spoke about academia as if it were something she'd be involved in later. Hmm. She said she'd rather own a travel company and a coffee shop. Fair enough I guess. The other phd stude there said she loved the research but hated what she kept referring to as "the politics". They both went on about it. On and on and on.
Now. First off, show me a career path that does not involve "politics". Show me, in fact, any way of grouping humans together that does not require them to behave politically. It's a game, yes, and among academics it's a strange one because you are dealing with MASSIVE egos and people who are not entirely *normal*, but you have to play. Even choosing not to play is a strategy.
This is the thing: you cannot help but play.
She kept saying how she didn't want to kiss arse... how she didn't want to have to tell people she loved their work when they thought it was rubbish. Personally, I don't see the need to do that. If someone is renowned for something, you treat them with respect. This involves being polite and attempting not to wade in with "your theory SUCKS". I mean, that's just rude.
At the end of the day, people need people. We're social beasts. You have to play.
Sigh.
It annoys me when people say they refuse to play games they are manifestly playing.
So the world of academia turns out to be a world of networks and nepotism... are we surprised? What world isn't?
Hmm.
So I ordered a new phone on Friday.
Should be here on Monday, hoorah! Strange story: went to Orange shop in Dundee, was told I could get £50 off the phone I wanted if I took an 18 month contract, but couldn't upgrade till next week. Then was in London and was told that no, honey, they couldn't do that. Then was back here and phoned Orange and said I wanted the phone but could we bring the price down?
"yes," she said, "you can have that for free"
I mean...
... what?
London III
Strange day.
Having discovered that everyone I could think of was safe and sound back home I was left at something of a loss. I couldn't sit at my computer without staring at the BBC news website or listening to the radio. The mounting panic before my friends and family confirmed as not exploded had left me feeling a bit odd. At a loss, or something. Then me labmate asked if I fancied a pint. Somehow that seemed logical.
Got a bit drunk.
Faint feeling of sickness lingered as the news rolled on on the screen in the corner.
It was a strange feeling; feeling relieved at not being in the city when it all kicked off and somehow wanting to be back home more than ever.
Haven't really sorted out what I think about it all really which might place the vitriol of the last post in context.
Not London's first brush with bombs by any means. Not by a long shot. It takes more than that to shake the city properly as well. Londoners seem quite resilient. Looks as if the explosions are done with and, if the Spanish bombs are anything to go by, we are not facing a campaign.
I suppose I'm worried about what the reaction's gonna be. ID cards become the least of our worries. More new powers for the police? Probably. Another attempt to give judicial power to the Home Secretary? Who knows?
*** a pause there while a VERY drunk housemate came to talk to me. Bless. **
Anyway, I think I'm done here. I should go to bed or something. No idea what I was trying to say, except that some bombs exploded in my city today and it's shaken me up.
More than I expected.
London II
Beginning to work out what I'm feeling now, as the political rhetoric starts flooding in, as Blair starts up the old 'US AND THEM' fun.
We fucking had this coming, that's what I'm feeling, and if I can see that, then the politicians sure as hell could.
We were waiting for this. And here it is.
London
Ok.
So, have now established that none of my family or friends in London have been hurt, so that's ok.
Blimey.
The thing I'm finding strange is that work is very much carrying on as normal around me, while I'm here glued to the news, texting everyone I can think of back home because the mobiles all went down. Trying to work out whether I'd be doing the same if it were another UK city.
Last time I remember this feeling was back in, er, 2000? 2001? can't recall exactly. It was the nail bomb attacks in London. Bars and clubs in the West End of London were being attacked with nail bombs. Nasty business. I remember though that everyone from London in my uni town looked the same, all slightly bemused and a little distracted, generally clutching a newspaper. This one's different though. That was some homophobic madman blowing stuff up, effected Londoners alone really. This one... well, I don't know. This could be bigger.
Well, anyway, it's going to stir things up a bit, to put it mildly. Scary.
Strasbourg has already held a minute's silence in solidarity.
I feel as if I should do something, but I don't know what it is.
Shit.
Fridgemagnet.
Wow. Is it wrong to want a fridge this much?
Seriously, I think I could cope with anything life could throw at me, I'd be stronger, faster... fitter.
With that fridge...
With that fridge, I could conquer the World.
Keeping you posted.
It is, however, very nice to back in touch with old friends. Well, old friend, to be precise, there only being one of him at the moment. All praise the internet... and were it not for his
blog, how would I know what he's been up to for the past 2.5 years?
Banging around my head.
The question of the day is: how long ago does something have to be before it can make you nostalgic?
I am beset on three sides by images.
The first two are photographs:
1. I'm standing with three other people, wearing a towel around my waist. Behind my shoulders; the horizon, the sea, the wave, the surf, the beach make horizontal lines, lineup style. We are measured against eachother by the backdrop. We look pleased. We look proud. A few moments ago, we were swimming, and the sea forced air out of our lungs. Now we hold/wear/hold/clutch towels to ourselves. Shortly we will realise how cold we are, but for now we stand and smile. No one is behind the camera. It is later than we imagine, but the sun still shines. The sea was cold. We are exhillarated. Andy, me, Helena, Rachel. It is three weeks ago.
2. More lines, but closed in this time. Blackboard, counter, two levels of bar, the light is different. This time I'm kneeling, although again in a group of four. Another man kneels next to me, his name is Pete. Behind him is Greg. Behind me, Heather. Around us, there is a bar, pints dot the scene. It is two and a half years ago. I have more hair and have sideburns but no beard. We are smiling. Our shop closed so we got drunk. There are cocktails and liqueur coffee available. There are crisps three levels behind my shoulder. Heather needs a drink. I have no idea who took this photograph, but I remember the occasion.
The third is a dream:
3. A dark haired man who represents everyone I know whose name is Simon. A classroom. Ancient insecurities surface and an old headmaster makes his presence felt. My mind screams prepschool at me, and I have no idea why. You don't know these people and I cannot name them. Time is meaningless.
Three images (or sets of images) from my past.
How long ago do things have to be before you can become nostalgic?
Rephrased: does anyone else find themselves missing their recent past more than their distant history?
Fancy that
My birthday is 99, 211 decimal places in to
pi. Which is nice to know, I guess.
Saw Batman Returns today. You know, I think I liked it.
Quite the cast it's got there.
And didn't Michael Cane do well? Who'd have thunk it.
Of course I did go to the cinema by myself... but then, sometimes I think it's nice to spend a day mooching about toute seule. Kind of enjoyed meself anyway. Bought some hair clippers, which is enough to show for any day, really.
Helping Michael move house tomorrow. Must remember to buy housewarming wine. Or something.
