Flotsam

Sunday ended up being horrible. Although nothing happened. Because nothing happened? Suddenly this vague haze of general unpleasantness descended and that was that. I went to sleep knowing that all I had to do was somehow plow through into unconsciousness and have a brand new perspective delivered to my bed come morning. Instead, I got mired in various would- and neverhavebeens, reliving stuff best left decomposed. Finally, in order to clear my mind a bit, I started examining the best and easiest ways of ending one's tenure on this mortal coil (I know that might sound kind of creepy and disturbing, but it's an old, tested, and purely intellectual exercise). However, even that backfired - I started out with a relatively zen sneaking-out-into-a-blizzard scenario, which fit in nicely with trying to get some goddamned sleep, but as I started drifting off and thus lost my focus, my mind took it into hardcore frostbite, getting rescued, having my limbs amputated, and looking for a way to lunge myself jugular-first towards something sharp.

Yeah.

And so, here I am, reading the Internet at 4am. Apparently, all is well with the world.

Collected writings

I had to give up my not-so-leisurely strolls because I'm old now, and crippled (i.e. flat footed), and my joints decided they aren't putting up with them anymore. But you can finally taste fall in the air, and I started really missing my evening ritual, so I figured I'd just get myself those really fancy, personalized orthopedic insoles, and all will be well. The whole process started out very high-tech, with a special sensor mat, and computer imaging, but I think i failed at walking on it correctly, or standing on one foot steadily, or something... Either way, the technician seemed more and more annoyed, until finally he told me to just stand on a sheet of paper and off-handedly traced my foot with a very regular and not at all impressive pen. The final result looked like the work of a very accomplished kindergartener.

In my defense, I had a hard time keeping my balance because I could barely stop myself from laughing: in an apparent bid to add a little bit of oompf to the inherently unsexy ambiance of an orthopedic workshop, someone decided to hang a big, glossy male nude on one of the walls. But in keeping with the overall theme, the dude was draped over a wheelchair. No joke.

Anyway, my cyberfeet will be ready by the end of October. And then - pavements beware.

Religion

Anyone know what the dogmatic reason behind the Catholic NO CONDOMS obssession is? Is it the sanctity of life aspect, or that sperm is da bomb and thou shallt not spill it or subject it to latex?

I actually think it's about time for a change of the guard. For our society to lay down a bunch of rules to confound and incite the people of 4000AD ("What do you mean You shall not download Internet porn. The Internet IS porn.") We got a good start with Scientology, but that let's face it, that thing's already preposterous, so it's probably gonna age in dog years. I predict a major schism in 2020. You read it here first.

And on a related note: cool service.

Harder

A while ago ao gave me a version of The Taming of the Shrew that was part of a BBC mini-series called ShakespeaRe-Told (cringeworthy name, I know). I finally watched it last night, and it is absolutely brilliant. In fact, it was so good I'm totally getting it on DVD for Christmas. I'm posting the same scene ao tempted me with, because it simply has to be seen. And trust me, both Shirley Henderson and Rufus Sewell are spectacular throughout:

For the past 15 minutes I've been trying to come up with a way of expressing how incredibly sexy I find the 3:15-3:20 bit that would make it very clear it's not about violence at all, but as you can see I've had little success. The thing is: granted that an occasional Sunday armstice is observed, a perpetual tug of war really does seem like a dream romantic scenario to me. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that it's a lot more difficult to meet someone in a metaphorical dungeon.

Australia

Mom sent me this tonight. I love it. Been trying to find an mp3 version, but no luck so far. If anyone's able to overcome the whole transcription issue and actually locate it - I'll be very grateful.

I've been to another themed party recently - this time it was the 60s. I had so much fun at the noir event that I decided I wasn't above spending a little dough to piece together the right look. It kind of paid off, in that almost everyone turned up in costume, so I fit right in. The party itself was pretty stellar - we convened at the birthday boy's apartment, had a bit of various spirits to grease the gears, and then spilled out into the streets of Warsaw, glass in hand, to shock and awe - or as was mostly the case: bewilder and preplex - the uncouth masses. Then we were picked up by a private tram, which drove us across the city to a river-adjacent hotel... I'd write "riverside", but even though the street name has the word "embankment" in it, Vistula was nowhere to be seen. Which might have actually been a good thing.

I hardly knew anyone there, except for the hosts, a couple of very fresh or very distant acquaintances, and a guy I had seen once before - over a year ago, and even that in passing - whom I nonetheless remembered quite well. The guy turned out to be spoken for, and I lost my favorite, and at this point irreplacable, hoodie. That collectively put a bit of a damper on things, so I went home early. It took me a day to live down the dissolution of the shade of a sketch of a prospect, but I'm still bummed out about the hoodie.

On Sunday I'm going to another birthday party. This one's completely prospect-free, so there's a chance my wardrobe will escape intact.

The best part

What's up, you ask? A few things, actually. I will not become institutionally distracted starting this fall, because apparently they've moved the recruitment phase since I last checked, but i'm still seriously thinking of dipping my toe back into academia for a moment. We'll see how I feel about that come June.

I also had a random chat with Asia recently and we came up with what in hindsight seems like a glaringly obvious idea, which for once I would really like to pursue all the way to its inevitable demise at the hands of reality. We're in the very, very early development stages, but we seem to have at least a couple of things going for us, so... damn, I at least want to be able to say I've tried. Sorry about the vagueness, but I already dread people asking me about that thing I meant to do and me having to explain how it all went to hell.

I went out with the three A's tonight, vaguely aware that at some point dancing might be involved (that's: went out dancing, in adjustedspeak). I made every preparation - tried to get wasted with my companions at home beforehand, tarted myself up a wee bit, hummed Kylie in my head... alas, the first place we landed at offered us a thumping beat and not much else (the highlight was a pretty bad remix of a very boring La Roux song). I would have tried at least going through the motions for the sake of the people who invited us there... had I any motions to go through. Unfortunately, that is not the case, so we moved to Kulturalna, where the music was equally thumpy, but with a funky twist. After downing some more vodkas and focusing hard on "having some fun" I managed to enjoy about a number and a half, but then shit got electro, the music left me, and I decided to vacate the premises.

The moral of the story is: I seem to have temporarily misplaced the ability to get drunk socially. I only feel the benefits once I detach, and am suddenly able to languish in the heightened/distorted impact of my own music, and the city pulsing around me in the night. Which, incidentally, often makes the walk home the most enjoyable part of the evening.

Meanwhile, tomorrow could make for a nice and vivid memory, or become an unmitigated disaster. Right now I'm totally not feeling having to prance around a huge shopping mall in full-on 60s picnic garb, but there seems to be no way around it. Then again, hey...

Nope. I got nothing.

Mutant update

Kylie Minogue - Too Far

Some terrible remix. And it really is a pretty good song when you're in the mood for something breathy, frantic, and somewhat unsettling.

The Ol 97s - The New Kid

Live. Which is to say: not that good.

The Fall

Shall I go on?

The case for/against BB

Some time ago I happened upon this song with a rather killer (if somewhat rockchick) intro that got me giddy from the first note. And then the chorus happened. And giddy was a thing of the past, buried under layers of soulcrushing blandness. I was so disapointed I actually shared the story with several people. The song was Another White Dash, the artist - Butterfly Boucher.

Well I recently listened to her 2nd record, and it turns out it's just what she does. Builds up your expectations with something full of promise only to crush them with the most generic chorus you could imagine.

Exhibit A



Exhibit B

I know it's all subjective, de gustibus blah blah blah, but in my case it's literally fusing an instant hit with an instant miss. Sad panda.

Position locked

A while ago I caught wind of two apartments for rent, both cheaper than my current one. For some time now I have been a bit worried about how quickly I seem to burn through cash, so I decided to check them out. The cheaper of the two was on Smocza, so in my current district, even closer to my parents' place, and deep within my comfort zone (across the street from my kindergarten, actually). Unfortunately it was somewhat cramped, hot, and I was warned about psychotic neighbors, all too eager to call the cops on you whenever they don't like the noise level.

The 2nd one was on Narbutta, a quiet, lovely street in Mokotow, the "Holy Grail District" for most Varsovians. By the time I got to see it, I really hoped it would be a dingy little shithole, because the more I thought about it, the more nightmarish the perspective of getting uprooted again seemed. Unfortunately, it was not. It kind of reminded me of Paris. Which I've never ever been to, but it did. Don't make me explain. It was tiny, but very cozy, overlooking a quiet courtyard, and stuff. And my friends live just down the street. The only downsides were the shower (kind of icky, to be honest), and the windows which were supposedly less than hermetic. Oh, and you had to take the rent in cash down to some guy at the French Institute (hey, maybe that's where the Paris part came from).

I spent 2 days agonizing over the issue and trying to make up my mind, before finally deciding to stay at my current place. My reasoning was, obviously, multi-layered and complex, but it all boils down to the fact that I've just grown too attached to it. Once I let the girl from Narbutta know I wouldn't be taking the apartment, I went into the kitchen to make myself some tea, and suddenly felt such a surge of joy and relief... I know it's just a simple psychological mechanism put in place by our alien overlords to make us content with our decisions, but nonetheless I think it was some sort of turning point. I like this place. I like the space, I like the clean bathroom, I like the giant kitchen table, and the crazy couch. I like my queen-sized bed, and my plum-coloured, bulletproof drapes. I don't like the fucking armchair, but at least I can bury it under my clothes, much like I used to when I lived with my parents.

So I guess I'm here to stay.

Southern Comfort

...but with a whimper

I'm back in Warsaw and have no idea what to do with myself with no people or deadlines to meet, no movies to miss, and no food to binge on.

I also happen to be exhausted and couldn't be more thankful for this long-overdue implosion.

My name is Calypso and I have lived alone

On Monday night, most of the Kropka people went out to party. I tagged along, and it was cheek-muscles-cramping-from-smiling amazing. There was singing, and dancing (the first time I saw Rafal and Piotr, aka the Beauty and the Beast dance - both were quite spectacular, if for different reasons), and drinking, and general merriment. And on Tuesday morning I packed my stuff up and went back to Warsaw to see Suzanne Vega live - still undecided whether I would come back to Wroclaw afterwards, despite the previous night's events.

I went to the concert with filmmix and - unexpectedly - Irmina, who got her ticket as part of some despicable corporate tie-in. I spent the first two songs mildly anxious about how bored she would probably be by the experience - Suzanne isn't exactly the most flash-boom-bang type of performer. The gig itself was a bit uneven - I found myself drifting off at times. The middle part was the strongest, with a killer arrangement of Tombstone (which I had never heard live), My Favourite Plum, and of course Left of Center, which I find to be absolutely enchanting live (it's just vocals, bass, and - as is usually the case with Vega - pretty compelling lyrics). She did, however, play Some Journey, which I love, and then came the encores - 4 songs: Calypso (with a killer, spatially nautical electric guitar background), Rosemary, Pornographer's Dream and In Liverpool. It's not even that much of an exaggeration to say they're my 4 favorite songs. Or at least they represent the absolute pinnacles of achievement in the 4 major emotional realms of her music. I was over the moon.

And it turned out Irmina really enjoyed herself, so things were good.

I eventually decided to go back to Wroclaw for the remainder of the festival - mostly because the appartment was in desperate need of cleaning, and I was in desperate need of not having to wash any dishes and/or vacuum anything. I think it was a good idea. I've developed some sort of laid-back rapport with the Kropka managment, so most of the time I just end up lounging at their Wroclaw HQ, translating odds and ends, and enjoying the general ambience.

Last night we went out drinking again, and I finally got to talk to the girl with whom I had clashed during the run-up to the festival. It's a good thing I did, because while we were completely unable to resolve our differences, I at least learned that I'm an incompetent emotional cripple with personal issues, which is in turn a very good thing to know when you're having second thoughts about how you handled a particular situation. I love the sizzling sound guilt makes as it dissolves in a pool of vitriol.

And today marked ao and Irmina's arrival. We went out to dinner, ate some ridiculously delicious stuff (seriously, Wroclaw rocks cuisine-wise, it makes bulimia seem really appealing), and got shitfaced on Sangria. Right now I'm chilling in my hotel room, riding out the last of my buzz, about to pour myself a bath, and get ready for a night out with fun, intelligent, cheerful people... Those Somalian kids have it a bit worse, right?

p.s. part of a short text message from Asia. In Polish, deal with it : "uslyszalam po drodze goscia, ktory spiewal: 'a ja wole moja mame, bo ma oczy jak twoja stara'

Ballpark

- So, what's the story behind your t-shirt?
- Actually this is one of the very few I own that doesn't have one...

...but I do have this one with two unicorns fucking under a rainbow, which would save us both a great deal of time.

Naturally, I didn't say that outloud.

The least you can do
Is be flattered
By affections squandered

Working at the milk farm

They serve breakfast until 10 a.m. but after getting up at 8:45 for 2 consecutive days I was at the end of my rope, decided I won't be terrorized anymore, and slept in. It was glorious.

Then a bubble bath with Anansi Boys (which are better than I thought they'd be), a short hike downtown, a big mocha, and 4 pieces of mozarella & tomato toast. I'm ready to begin work.

3 peons in the gold mine, 3 peons gathering lumber, and a turret up. Bring it on.

Edit: Ok, a kitten just sauntered in, made its way onto the table next to mine, and lied down on it, preparing for a nap. I feel like I'm in the Eastern Bloc's answer to Ithaca.

Edit2: a random dude just picked the cat up apparently only to peer inquisitively at its genitals, and then tossed it back onto the table. My mellow was somewhat harshed.