Ramadan Mubarak to anyone observing it or supporting those who are! If you’re fasting, take it easy, be sensible,
A guy I know reckons he’ll have a six-pack by Eid-Al-Fitr. I think not, not if what I understand about the limited time available to eat is correct.
I rashly accepted his ‘challenge’ though. Yeah, I know it sounds frivolous, trivialising the month. No.
Yes. I’m a clockwork idiot; my waistline is heading in ENTIRELY the wrong direction.
A roundup of things I’ve done, observed, experienced, liked, loathed and tolerated during the last week. Some may be reproducible. Feel free to tick/check the vacant boxes I’ve helpfully left next to those events that fit into YOUR life, dear reader.
[ ] Cherry-picked the reports, surveys, etc., that conform to my view of what’s likely to happen before, during and after the UK European Referendum is decided.
[ ] Figured out its pointless arguing the toss with those who would leave Europe on the promise of jam the day after the day after the vote is counted and publicised. (For the day after the referendum it’s obvious; we ALL get jam, cream and scones. And tea. 3 sugars please!)
[ ] Observed the Transatlantic derp grow stronger as Trump’s statements grow yet wilder. We’ve STILL not yet reached Peak Trump, have we.
[ ] Decided that talking Heads are indeed my favourite band after all.
[ ] Failed to persuade the girls to climb the big hill to the northwest of Rochdale.
[ ] Started transforming the back garden into a bona-fide garden. Quite how we’ll manage the drainage on clay soil is anyone’s guess!
[ ] Picked an NFL team to follow. The San Diego Chargers. Sorry Chiefs fans!
[ ] Made lists.
[ ] Ticked/checked boxes.
[ ] Unticked/unchecked boxes.
[ ] Argued the toss with Brexiters.
[ ] Thought about reminding people about the last day to register to vote in the Europe Referendum. June 7. Tomorrow. I think.
[ ] Been unable to find our National Trust Joint membership cards, and figured out we should have Family membership now. Tsk!
[ ] Mmmm… National Trust Apple Crumble Cookies…
Dinner today will be easy: hotdogs, buns to encase them, tomato ketchup. That’s me and the girls accounted for.
I read the cooking instructions on the label. Bad move. Not the act of reading, no, it’s what I read of the ingredients.
Mechanically-separated chicken.
I’m hoping against hope it means something like free-range does for eggs, but that the chickens wear inflatable ‘skirts’ to protect them against farmyard collisions.
Not a post about ‘politics’, no. It’s bodily functions; one in particular. And physics. Acoustics.
Earlier today I discovered one of the resonant frequencies of the gents toilets in work. I say ‘discovered’ as though I know what it is and can replicate the test conditions.
No.
It won’t stop me from trying, though it may be some time before all the variables align as they did earlier…
Stood in cubicle 1 having a pee, and I trumped. Not a crafty squeak, not a planned silent but deadly, no. Though the room didn’t shake, the sound emitted from my bottom took on a 3-dimensional ‘presence’ unlike anything I’ve ever heard before…
And no-one else was there to share the moment.
Perhaps it’s for the best.
Next up, Mussorgsky’s ‘Night On The Bare Mountain’!
I was going to post a thing I had in my head, a lyrical outline for an exercise routine of our times. At least the times upto June 23 2016 - the date of the UK’s Remain-or-Exit European Referendum.
Delicious rhyming and umami-suffused references to massaging statistics, squeezing national identity into too-tight sweatpants, lifting the weights of lies, feeling the burn of misinformation and, of course, rowing machine comedy, bench-pressed pathos and repetitious ill-fitting hats?
Yeah.
No.
A kind of politically-motivated and spin-laden dancercize, aerobicize, pilatescize, er… thing? Set to music?
Maybe.
Yes, of COURSE it was crap; it translated extraordinarily badly to the page - a lyricist I am not! So I’m not going to post it, ever, using just the title. Instead I’ll, hopefully without penalty, post a part of ‘Psycho Killer’, a song by Talking Heads, my all-time favourite band.
But first I must say I’d thought of using ‘Road To Nowhere’, ‘Burning Down The House’, the really rather good ‘(Nothing But) Flowers’ - this last has all in its lyrics. ‘Making Flippy Floppy’ was so close to appearing here.
I bought nearly all their studio stuff, Talking Heads that is, at least once, on cassette tape, CD, digital downloads (iTunes); and the Stop Making Sense DVD - a tour-de-force of concert filmmaking.
Favourite song? None.
‘Once In A Lifetime’ comes close, especially now, especially given the likelihood we’ll get another chance at shaping our country’s future.
Heck, the songs (let alone the name of the band as a metaphor for all the celebrities popping up to take sides, voice opinions) could easily form the basis of a post-apocalypse documentary film soundtrack. It’s worth remembering though that, within reason, any lyric can be shaped to fit any theme, should you wish it.
And so, finally, to ‘Psycho Killer’:
“I can’t seem to face up to the facts, I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax, I can’t sleep ‘cause my bed’s on fire, Don’t touch me I’m a real live wire.
…
You start a conversation, you can’t even finish it. You’re talkin’ a lot, but you’re not sayin’ anything. When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed. Say something once, why say it again?”
(time passes…)
Awesome.
If this resonates because you live in the USA and cannot quite believe it’s still months until Super Tuesday rolls around, you may find it applies to your (coughs) Trump (coughs) epoch-making situation too!
At least here in Europe we do things on the cheap. Hundreds of millions of pounds/dollars raised from well-meaning folks and spent on ads rubbishing the opposition? Barefaced lies? Deeply entrenched views based on arguments utterly devoid of logic? No.
Er… Maybe.
Nevertheless, our politicians also share with us the promise of jam tomorrow. Oh yes.
I’m betting it’ll be rhubarb.
Would you care to bet against me?
Next up, ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ by Joy Division.