2015 — 11 August: Tuesday
I've been a driver for nearly eight years now. Having just bought my first-ever new1 car I thought "what the heck?" and decided to treat it to a proper spare tyre and jack kit rather than relying on the new-fangled nonsense of a can of plastic foam with which to "repair" and "inflate" after a simple puncture. Am I turning into a petrol-head? (A question I first asked myself a while ago). I suspect not.
Actually, my feelings...
... about tyres (after several punctures over the years) are pretty much the same as those I already have about disk drives (spinning rust and [sadly] SSD alike). Much as the vastly entertaining tosh that is "Game of Thrones" teaches us "All men must die" — actually, I already knew that, George! — so, too, must all tyres, and all disks. Not usually at a good time, either. Though not generally (in the case of disks, at least) after having been stuck with the pointy bit of some Valyrian steel by the delightful Arya Stark.
Keyboards, too, seem to wear out with depressing frequency. I'm currently (not) enjoying watching some of the "laser-etched for a lifetime of typing" keytops on my new "das" already showing signs of wear. So, again, I thought "what the heck?" and decided at long last to treat myself to a "proper" old-school mechanical monster modeled on the wondrous IBM2 Model M. Researching the sourcing of a USB and UK-keys variant of that was quite a fun exercise last night.
Not that I minded. After all, by then I'd given up on the "Cazalets" in the face of the unwatchably appalling (though beautifully acted) UK middle-class behaviour and attitudes on display. (Based, said Ms Howard, on her own family experiences.) In fact, I resumed watching the Lena Dunham series "Girls" which is equally appalling, though in so many entirely different ways. And manages to be a lot funnier.
I neglected...
... a few bits and bobs of supplies yesterday, so that's another item on the mythical "To do" list later this morning. Better clear the decks of the Yaris, too. It's being taken away for its annual service and MOT tomorrow morning. Only after that will I feel happy about handing it over to Junior. (It's called "being a parent", I guess.)
Lurking in...
... this piece on literary inspiration is a brilliant short poem called "Pig" by Henri Cole. It went down very well among the inmates of San Quentin, it seems. A good read. (Link.)
Who would ever have thought...
... the UK could end up having a "clueless foreign secretary"? I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked. (Link.)
A book...
... I'd not heard of, by a chap (James Hollis) I'd not heard of, sounds like a useful read. Source and snippet:
In this respect, at least, earlier humans had things easier, Hollis argues, echoing Jung: myth and religion and ritual connected them more directly to the realm of psyche.
These days we try to just ignore this deeper level. But when suppressed, it always surfaces somewhere eventually, as depression or insomnia or bad dreams. "When we are off track, psyche protests," Hollis writes.
"Noisy demonstrations are held in the amphitheatre of the body; streets are blocked in the brain by rebels from the cane fields; dreams are invaded by spectral disturbances; affects riot and tear down the work of
years."
Plus he (Hollis) quotes Christa's favourite poet, Rilke.
Five years ago...
... as I awaited the official NHS "assessment" of dear Mama's mental capability I was waxing non-lyrical on issues of health care for the EMI set:
... throw out any significant neural capability and mix in a modicum of eleven other core areas of concern from the Decision Tool-driven assessment process, and you could well find the State stepping in (not that you'd ever be aware of it) with fully paid support to house you and keep you alive in blissful ignorance of what's going on around you ... But when the higher cortical processing capability has gone, exactly who or what is left to be expensively kept alive, I ask?
Have matters improved in the five years since then?
Although I never...
... bought "District 9" I did enjoy it, so I'm trying "Chappie" with, as it were, fingers crossed:
The other two titles are equally new to me. It will be fascinating to see how Peter Bogdanovich has changed since (for example) "What's Up, Doc?" back in 1972! Speaking of titles... three years ago I noted, bought, and rather enjoyed a book looking at the 4,000-year history of attempts to regulate sexual activity. It was written by Eric Berkowitz. He (I assume it's the same chap) has just written another one, on similar lines. The regulating of sexual activity is obviously a fun job — if the number of right-thinking, civic-minded, unjudgemental (just mental?) people who have so enthusiastically stepped forward over the years to declare what's right and fitting, and what's wrong and (presumably) ill-fitting, is any guide.
"Chappie" plays like a cross between "Short Circuit" and "RoboCop" with a touch of "Terminator" thrown into the mix. Only moderately cringe-inducing, but not exactly profound.