Evil Mad Scientist Laboratories are turning me to the dark side. They are the ones that do DIY Cylon Eyes.

The Well Trained Mind. I'm not about to get into it (I have enough on my brain already), but the conversation was fascinating so I'm putting it here so I don't lose the reference.

Regina Holliday and her mural re-the American health care problem and her husband's death. It's a good looking piece of work, I'm hoping she (or someone) will produce a print of the actual mural.

Alexander Calder, kinetic sculpture. Wire sculptures. ArtGuy suggested I look at his stuff. Like this wire stuff especially.

Last week we went to Borders. 10B had a book in mind he was after, and I was keen to get out of the house but not quite up to seeing 'District 9', which I really, really do want to see and on the big screen too please.

Figured that a trip to Borders would be safe, as 10B could buy his book while I had a snack from one of the many tiny establishments nearby and then maybe a tiny browsette which wouldn't be a problem as I've really gotten sensible about books in recent times and no longer feel an overwhelming urge to add to the huge pile of things I've never read and probably never will whenever we are within sniffing range of such places.

Alas, I was wrong. Not only was 10B obliged to sit and wait for me until closing time, but I bought stuff.

Then I came home thinking about books I'd like to have and that have been on my wishlist for a while. So I got more the next day at the secondhand place round the corner, then got onto the online book store of the Brotherhood of St. Laurence and bought more there. Two of there were already on my wishlist but I assure you that all the other ones I purchased would have been on my wishlist if I'd known about them before I saw them.

Of course, buying from Brotherhood Books is totally okay as they are a great organisation. They've a long history of providing excellent services for homeless and low income people of Melbourne and I'm more than happy to throw money at them.

The list:

From Borders-
Cate Kennedy, The World Beneath. Ecks bought me her book of short stories Dark Roots a while back and it helped changed the way I feel both about short stories and about local authors taking inspiration from present day local life. She managed to get past my defensive shell, for which I am grateful.
Nick Hornby, High Fidelity
William S. Burroughs, Jumky
Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality vol. 1
(The last three were all $10 apiece).

From the secondhand place around the corner I got a large book on Indian folk art which is presently out of reach so I can't tell you who it's by but as well as being a good book for the pictures, looks like it has a wealth of information and analysis as well, which doesn't always happen with art books.

Also from the secondhand place: Xin Ran The Good Women Of China. bookgirlwa told me of Xin Ran just a few weeks ago, so this was a lucky coincidence. I can add it to my reasonably large collection of books about the status of women in China.

From Brotherhood Books I have ordered several vintage knitting books. Also Susan Cooper, The Boggart and Ben Grahams, The Intelligent Investor, both have been sitting on the wishlist for some time.

I am _so_ not buying books again for a while.

Oh and I've just started reading For The Term Of His Natural Life by Marcus Clarke.

I am very proud of myself because I just put in a book request to my local library rather than purchase it myself.

It's for a crochet book.

When I gave the librarian my membership number she said "oh you're the knitting woman!"

And then she thanked me because she's a keen knitter and last year I requested they purchase a bunch of knitting books which she heartily enjoyed after I returned them.


Public libraries are a fine and wonderful thing. Nice to know I've spread the knitting love.

It took nine months for my mother to die, and each day except for the last three she was conscious. Conscious that the days were, as they say, numbered, and that the number was not a big one. And the feeling of being robbed of all the things you were going to do in the future, but seeing at the same time that they were not important, it was simply the future itself, a bigger number, that was.

From Stasiland by Anna Funder.

This quote seems like a tangent but the book is about a lot more than its title suggests.

It is about the Stasi of East Germany, and about Funder's experiences doing this research.

I finished a book, hooray!


(Although I totally don't understand what the cover is about. No apparent relevance to the contents whatsoever. Anyone who has read the book and can provide a plausible explanation wins a pony.)



PS: I've had two nights of decent sleep. Double hooray!

A while back I decided I would not buy any more books until I had read five. I did so, and very proud of myself I am too. And I just finished an Agatha Christie, go me.

~~~

Now I have the following books on their way to me:

1.Philip Steadman, Vermeer's Camera: Uncovering the Truth Behind The Masterpieces which is a follow on to me reading David Hockney's book on the same topic.

2. Monica Dux and Zora Simic, The Great Feminist Denial (hattip to shehasathree.

3. Elisabeth Zimmerman, The Knitter's Almanac and Knitting Without Tears which are both about knitting so maybe they don't count.

~~~

But a couple of days ago I was sitting around contemplating acquisitiveness for its own sake and pondering the times ahead. Given how little I read, I buy way too many books. Although my bibliophilia predates the trouble with reading caused by the ME/CFS, it's even more pointless now. It's really just the thrill of buying and the sense of ownership. And potential: maybe I *could* read them and learn so much... one of these days.

Point being, I decided that these would be my last purchases for a while.

~~~

Unfortunately, today I completely forgot. Worse, this happened while I was at the Gardening Australia Expo, in a little bookstall with a small but startlngly broad collection of books about all things plant related. So _today's_ purchases will be the last for a while.

Margaret Mee's Amazon.

Richard Aitken, Botanical Riches. Stories of Botanical Exploration Only the cover on mine is different and way sexy. And OMG mmmm high production values mmmmmm.

Anna Pavord, The Naming Of Names. This is about the history of plant classification from antiquity to now. I bought this very cheaply, which is good since although the topic fascinates me I have misgivings about the author: I can't find any detail about her except that she's a 'gardening writer'. I mean, it's a pretty weighty historical tome - her qualifications and training are relevant, surely?


What kills me is that after deciding I won't buy books for a while, when I've lapsed I've bought two of the most opulent and luxurious looking books I can find, plus one history book that will make my head explode. Rather than oooh say, a stack of cheap but cheerful paperbacks that will help me sleep at nighttime. But yes, it's that lovely sense of potential, worlds as yet unexplored, right over there on the shelf.

And while I was browsing and buying, I was congratulating myself on being sensible and not buying any how-to books on gardening as I have a truckload of those already and no longer do any hands-on gardening anyway. Instead I shall be expanding my miiiiind.

Of course, I bought plants too.

Oh and I have things to say about asparagus, maybe tomorrow.

Oh oh oh and Big Sister was rude to a Famous And Highly Admired Gardening Celebrity by mistake. Hehehehheheheh.


Tomorrow.

~~~~

Now I am going to go to sleep while composing a list of all the things I want to learn about.

I have decided to be sensible and stay away from purchasing yarn until I've finished at least three things. Stop laughing, you bastards. I am actually starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by the amount I own. It's not like I'm a fast knitter so really, having enough yarn for the next three projects is more than adequate. Having enough for the next seven projects, plus the speculative stuff and leftovers - that's getting silly.

Besides, if I buy too much more yarn, I won't have space for the interesting fleeces I will want to bring home now that I'm learning to spin. Okay you can laugh now.

~~~

Some time ago I resolved that I would not buy any more books until I had finished reading five. They didn't have to be books I owned, library books were fine, but the point was, I actually had to get through some and stop accumulating books for the sake of accumulating books.

Well. I have now read five. They were The Subtle Knife (audio) by Philip Pullman, Secret Knowledge by David Hockney, CFS: You Don't Have To Live With It, An 8 Step Protocol by Martha Kilcoyne, Making Money by Terry Pratchett, and The Sum Of Our Days by Isabel Allende.

It might seem lame, but given how difficult reading was for a long time there (and still is a lot of the time), I'm really pleased.

Admittedly I broke my resolution and bought two books during this time, and that's not counting the art books I bought the day I went a bit crazy at the Sidney Nolan retrospective (it was a special day so they don't count). Mind you, one of those two books was an art reference book and reference books don't count and I reckon it's questionable as to whether art books count too as you don't actually read art books, you just browse them occasionally. (I'm not rationalising, this really is rational, okay?)

So really, I only botched up once. Go me.

I'm now reading A Year In Provence as bedtime reading although it's annoying me a bit for some reason. Gene Wolfe's Soldier of Arete/Iatro In the Mist kind of fell off the pile as did Brooks' People Of The Book, but both are about to be reinstated. I am keen to read Eaglehawk by that bloke from Footscray *grin*, and am starting to ogle a book about the history and politics of gardening in Australia which I suspect I'll really enjoy but have to keep to myself because everyone else will consider it boring beyond belief.

Happily, only one of the above will need to be borrowed or purchased, the rest are on the shelf. Even more happily, I've realised we do have a stack of interesting books in this house anyway so I don't actually feel a huge urge to race out and buy more. This is good.

Which is not to say I won't - I've still got my wishlist and two secondhand bookstores within cooee and there's always the wonderful world of online shopping - but I'm not feeling discontented with what's already here.

~~~

Not the world's most rivetting update, but if I told you about the antics of the cat you'd never believe me.

doushkasmum came over yesterday, pulled all my fiction of the shelves and put it into alphabetical order!

It hasn't been that way for about ten years, I'd long since given up any hope of doing it myself, and long since given up any hope of finding anything ever again - it really had got to that point.

I am heartily enjoying the results. I can find stuff! Also, when you stare at the same things all day every day, it's easy to forget what those things actually are. Now that books have been shuffled and rearranged, I'm noticing them again (even the still jumbled non-fiction, which will be sorted at a later date).

There's some stuff there I'd really quite like to read.

But needless to say, we need more bookshelf space.

The urge is to go out and spend money on yarn.

I don't *need* to, I just *want* to.

I do, in fact, have plenty to be going on with and suspect that my sense that nothing I *could* go on with is worth doing is probably more about wanting to shop and spend money than anything else.

Last night it was books. There are a few books I'd love to have right now - this business of the use of optics by assorted Old Masters still has my brain buzzing. I'm also aware that David Hockney has a way of talking about painting that really works for me, and has me appreciating and noticing things I'd not been able to grasp before, so I'm now lusting after his book of conversations about art.

I overcame that urge by moving away from Amazon and its oh-so-browseable database and looking for stuff through other channels. Still want the books in question, but going to the trouble of comparing prices and looking for local sources has the curious effect of making one sensible and less impulsive. MMmmm. Amazon definitely have got something right.

Oh and let's not forget my commitment to reading five books before I bought any more. I'm still working on my fourth. And I did buy one more book anyway, but it doesn't count because really, it's a reference book and everyone should have a good collection of reference books.

(It'sA History Of Art by H.W.Janson, if you must know. Definitely not a book for sitting down and reading, something you occasionally use to look stuff up in and I really mean that, this from a woman who occasionally reads random pages in the dictionary.)

~~~

The urge to spend has arisen because I've been thinking about how we really ought to be a bit more frugal and wouldn't it be nice to be saving money and all that.

Backfires every time.

It's not so much the saving money, as not spending it on stuff we don't actually care about. Which gets me thinking about things I'd like to have around the place.

Especially irrational is that there's a couple of things I decided to buy, quite a while ago now, that I've not actually bought because of my fear of spending all that money all at once. These are things that we have agreed they are good and sensible purchases that will make life more comfy, but as it involves parting with a chunk of cash all at once I keep putting it off and getting nervous. Yet it would only take a couple of impulse sessions like the two I have just resisted to spend the same amount of money.

Which is not to say the two impulsive spending sessions I just avoided are for things that I won't buy eventually, it's just about making sure I don't also buy a bundle of extras I don't want (but it's oh-so-easy to throw them in) and that I get them at a good price and that I do get what I actually want. And that I get things when I will use them, not two years in advance with the possibility that between now and then my interests will have changed.


~~~

I was recently asked where I would travel if I could and I'd just like to say it's proven to be a jolly question to think about, even if I never actually post the answer.

~~~

My brain is absolute porridge at the moment, has been for a while now and I've given up expecting it to be any different in the near future. In fact, shopping is out of the question because I couldn't think my way out of a paper bag at the moment, much less make decisions while standing in a public place. No idea of how I'm going to get out of this mess - I suspect I can't. The illness will wax and wane as it so chooses.

In retrospect, I should have stayed in bed. I feel absolutely ghastly. And the Crohn's has gone kablooey again.

But for some reason I can't explain, I've kept moving. Come to think of it, I think it's the fear that if I stop I'll never be able to get started again.

I'll stop in a moment, just after the next few things.

~~~

I have been intending to sort out my filing cabinet for ages now, and have now had two successful goes at it. The job is nowhere near complete but a few critical areas have been addressed. Current household/financial files are now sorted. The system for medical correspondence is now properly set up. (I can't believe it took me this long to realise the best filing system for this is by doctor). I've even set up a few research folders, which is a huge relief given that with research in particular, I'm forever looking vaguely at the filing cabinet thinking "I know it's in there somewhere.."

Much has been culled.

And rather pleasingly, it no longer looks like I'll need to fill up another archive box and then try and find somewhere to put it. In fact, if I can keep culling, I might even be able to empty an archives box back into the filing cabinet. (Okay maybe not quite, but a girl can dream can't she?)

Next is a few more files of path tests and such, health insurance, and assessing old household/financial files. Then I need to make a few further decisions about how to arrange research and personal files.

After that it's the sentimental stuff: old essays and tute papers, conference papers, photocopied journal articles and chapters from books.

So I am now no longer so frightened of one drawer of my filing cabinet. Am especially pleased that my medical stuff is now easily retrievable and I'm finally getting the hang of filing things according to what you'll need them for in the future and how you'll remember them in the future. It's taken a remarkably long time for that lesson to sink in.

~~~

I have started reading People Of The Book by Geraldine Brooks.

~~~

I seem to recall deciding I was not to buy any more books until I've read five. Or maybe seven, on account of buying all those art books the day I made it to the Nolan exhibition, but I can't find any reference to that so let's say five. It would be bad if I got all overwhelmed.

Okay, well.

1. I finished The Subtle Knife(audio) by Phillip Pullman and it's definitely not as good as Northern Lights. Mind you, it was a hard act to follow. Oh, and as an audio book it managed to do all the things that make me dislike audio books. Full-cast recordings drive me nuts - they give me too much of each character, I prefer one narrator who only makes discreet changes for the different characters (allowing me to hear them how I wish to). And in this one, a particular bunch of characters (the witches) were grossly overacted (as permanently breathless women who probably like reading poetry aloud while wandering around British country houses in diaphanous gowns circa 1924).

The story itself doesn't really have any start or finish. It just goes and then it stops. The world gets more elaborate, but thus far I don't know why it needs to. Stuff from the first book is left hanging.

I now need to read the third one in the hopes that it will all make sense then.

As far as a non-Christian response to C.S. Lewis...I dunno. Cooper's The Dark Is Rising is a pretty seriously exciting fantasy that puts forward some pretty wild(in a good way) ideas about non-human power and sustains the excitement for an entire series. Pullman certainly doesn't outrank Cooper.

2. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome: You Don't Have To Live With It. An Eight Step Protocol, by Martha Kilcoyne. It hasn't changed my life, but it would have been a very handy book many years ago. And it was good to once again be reminded of the importance of a few things that I know to be important but regularly overlook. I read this just prior to starting the online self help course that a bunch of us are doing and it was good for getting me into the right mindset.

So that's two down.

I'm still only half way through Whores in History, Prostitution In Western Society by Nickie Roberts. It was published in 1992 and you can tell - there are many points she feels compelled to make which I don't think she'd need to make today. Of course that might depend on her audience. (Let's face it, unless you are like me and prefer to hide under a rock, you have to state the bleeding obvious on a regular basis). I'm also a bit doubtful about some of her interpretations but I haven't teased my ideas out yet.

The next book I'm itching to read is by David Hockney. Secret Knowledge: Rediscovering the Lost Techniques Of The Old Masters is something I glanced at months ago and have been hoping to get back to but it's been out on loan and I only just got my grubby mitts on it again the other day. My first browsing reminded me that art critics rarely write about art in a way that means much to me, but some artists can. (And Hockney in particular is very readable). Art in it's historical context, yes fine. But the art itself? It makes a lot more sense when someone who is themself competent takes the time to describe the whys and hows. As for the subject, it sounds interesting and worth finding out more.

Book number five will be either Gene Wolfe's Soldier of Arete which is currently sitting beside the bed, another book on Etruscans (there are two in the library pile, although the whopping tome I started over Easter was unavailable), or that one I've got somewhere on the shelf about the Rape of Nanjing. Or maybe one of a zillion others.

Yep, those are my plans.

Next post: Gardens! More books! Travel! Advice! Yay!

I think I just got fobbed off. Mind you, the librarian in question was probably about to leave for the day.

I'm after some books either as inter-library loans or purchase requests if the library decides they're worth purchasing. At the moment, a trip to the library is not on the menu. But I figured if I could get the ball rolling then once they arrived I'd have a window of a few days to either pick them up myself if I could, or failing that to see if 10B could get them for me.

My local library says that you have to come in in person to do inter-library loan requests. I rang up and explained that disability makes this a bit of a challenge and asked if I could do it over the phone.

Yes no problem.

But then after all that, when it had been determined that the items weren't in the collection (I'd already checked online but I do understand they need to double check), and some of these items were in fact put in as purchase requests, I was told that it was all okay, and now I'd just need to come in now and fill out the interlibrary loan forms, and it would be fine because it only takes a couple of minutes to do that...

I dithered and re-explained that this was difficult and that's why I was ringing. She then said something I couldn't really follow about how things sit in folders for a couple of weeks and then get thrown out. And then she thought for a moment and suddenly brightened up and suggested maybe I should send an email explaining my situation and listing the books I was after. But that that should be my idea and not hers (uh...what?).

~~~

It's possibly that I made the fatal mistake of saying that *sometimes* I can get into the library (but that it's difficult - and two trips, to fill in forms and later to pick up books, is a big effort). Better to simply say 'disabled', no ifs or buts, no compromise positions - no attempts to meet people halfway. No 'if I can order these, my husband can pick them up...or maybe I can if I've got a window of a few days.' The moment you acknowledge that you aren't completely helpless you risk losing any help at all.

The problem, I think, is that people don't get that when I say "I can come in sometimes, but it's difficult" I'm essentially trying to meet them halfway and trying very hard not to be a nuisance. What they hear is simply "I can come in sometimes..."

But you don't win brownie points for trying to do your share and request as little help as possible. It's frustrating, but that's how it is.

~~~

I have no freaking idea.

I got up. I got myself together. Assessed how I felt and figured it wouldn't be a total disaster. I dithered briefly, wondered which bits were worrying me the most and worked out what I'd do about them. I made a phone call, called a taxi, went to the mobility centre and climbed into a scooter. I went to the Art Gallery, which is right nearby. I saw the Sydney Nolan retrospective. His later work impressed me far more than it ever has before. I found his Kelly series traumatic to look at, quite distressing in a way that they never were before. I pondered this for a bit, and then I moved on.


His antarctic paintings are breathtaking, and I'd never really looked at the stuff he did with - was it acetate? Where he rubs the paint off. And the Riverbend paintings were astonishing. I had never seen them before. His spray paintings were fucking brilliant, I'd never realised that before either. Maybe I was just still too caught up in painterly brushstrokes back then. Or something.

And what hit me at the end was that he was not afraid. He really was not afraid. Took his work as far as he could, pushed his skills and vision hard. He didn't stop and he didn't hold back. With an end result of work of amazing delicacy and beauty and power.

~~~~

I bought too many books, I returned the scooter, I decided I could walk to the tramstop and catch a tram home because it wasn't yet peak hour. I <3 the mobility centre.

The tram ride was okay becauase although I was exhausted, my sensory overload problem seemed to be fairly okay today. Normally, the problem is that the more exhausted you get, the worse the sensory overload gets, which is one of a few reasons why I don't do trams. Or for that matter, anything much at all.

I am now feeling a bit stunned.

And it is catching up now.

~~~~

But before I fuck up completely, here's what I bought.

Pearce, BarrySidney Nolan, from the Art Gallery of NSW. The catalogue, of course. Hardcover and extensive.

Culture Warriors, National Indigenous Art Triennial '07 National Gallery of Australia. Which I never would have had a chance at seeing, but wish I had.

Morphy, Howard, Becoming Art: Exploring Cross Cultural Categories UNSW Press, 2008. Looked interesting, something I mull over in my own very vague and limited way, so why not have a book to do it with, I figure. It might help me resolve some of my own puzzles about the stuff I got taught as Art History and how it fits with all the other stuff I've read and learnt about and where it all goes next. My own personal attempt to find common ground with different fields I've studied and...okay I'll stop now. (Unlike Sir Sidney, I am afraid, which is why I'll never be great).

Dew, Christine, Uncommissioned Art. An A-Z of Australian Graffiti Meigunyah Press, 2008.
How could I not?


Plus random greeting cars and postcards, some for me, some for the greeting card stash.

They very kindly didn't charge me for the bag. :-)

In retrospect, if I'd joined the National Gallery society, the membership wouldn't have cost much at all because it would have included entry to the exhibition and given me a discount on the books, but would only pay for itself if I go back again once or twice over the next year. At this point, part of me is saying yes, yes, yes - fuck I'll be back on Monday - but I wasn't entirely sure I was being realistic, so I didn't.

~~~~~

Braiins...? Huh............

~~~~~

If today doesn't kill me, I will try for the Medeival Manuscripts exhibition next. I believe it's on for about another month...hopefully I'll have recovered by then.

From quatrefoil.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open it to page 161.
3. Find the fifth sentence.,
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find. Use what's actually next to you. (Does this include catalogues?)

If I do leave, I'll have to leave everything - Committee, house, furniture, the employees - behind at loose ends.

Rabe, John The Good German of Nanking, The Diaries of John Rabe, edited by Erwin Wickert.

Presently being visited by the OWFUCK!fairy, who grants anti-wishes mostly involving what a hospital procedure information sheet would describe as discomfort. Her wings make an irritating noise, too. I think it's deliberate.

Stupid flying cow.

Menopause. Bring it on, I say!

~~~~

I just realised I have a small mountain of books due back at the library today. Including that tome on the Etruscans. And I'm not even half way through it yet, I'm only just up to their livers. Damn this complicated life that I lead.

~~~~

Codeine is kicking in.

Mmmmm.

Sweet, sweet codeine.

We have had some real, proper rain.

My mentality has changed so much. Rain is now luxuriant. Hot, sunny dry weather is oppressive, bleak and depressing. When it's sunny I feel afraid for our future, dry and exposed.

Of course I never liked the north wind much anyway, but now I love clouds and showers and wet more than I ever thought possible.

~~~

I am still fascinated by knitting and becoming convinced it's doing good things for the brain.

~~~

I've just finished reading Northern Lights, which is the first of Pullman's His Dark Materials and the basis of the film The Golden Compass which I've not yet seen. Enjoyed it heartily once I passed the first few chapters and my customary reticence to give over and enter another reality. (I wish I knew what that reticence is about.) Enjoyed it enough that I'm reluctant to read the second book as it might overwhelm me (there it goes again) or worse, might disappoint me.

He does some good unexpected twists, definitely not in the mould of C.S. Lewis.

I've just begun a tome on the Etruscans called (wait for it) The Etruscans, by Keller, first published English in 1975... I'm taking notes on cards, just like I did back at uni, to help me remember and process information, rather than allow myself to glaze over and get foggy. Also, I'm doing my reading in very small chunks, alternating with knitting, staring at things and desultory conversation when available.

Doing stuff on cards is also an attempt to pull myself away from Dave more, lovely though he is, because I feel that sitting in front of Dave has just become too automatic and my default way of being. That and I seem to have forgotten how to write. You know, with a pen.

~~~

Language learning is on the back burner - I've loaded both Chinese and French stuff onto Dave but now feel like I've got enough other stuff on my brain-plate for a while.

~~~

These days I seem to feel very quiet a lot of the time. Not distressed, quite comfy and content a lot of the time. But quiet.

~~~

( Medical. )

I have just finished reading The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver.

I am stunned.



I strongly recommend it.

I feel absolutely ghastly but this is probably a good thing.

No really! You see, I had been having a splendiforous few days (as readers of recent posts may have surmised), but tomorrow is the day I have my braaaiiin scanned for the second time. It's the 'challenge' day, when they want to see how the grey matter works under pressure. And yesterday I was pootling round feeling surprisingly robust and wondering if this meant that the scan would be relatively okay, which would be kind of useless - we want to know what I'm like normally, not what I'm like during a really good spell.

So to this end, yesterday evening I shovelled three barrowloads of mulch onto a garden bed, walked to the post office, staked up a tomato plant, then spent the rest of the evening being jolly with friends.

Seems to have done the trick.

~~~

And here's some of the stuff I've been looking at lately:

1. Season 4 of Blake's Seven. I'm surprised at how much I'm enjoying this because since my impressionable teenage years, I have always said it wasn't the same without the Zen, the Liberator, and Jenna. Oh and Blake too I suppose, and Cally, but mostly Zen, the spaceship - and Jenna (it's a thing). I so wanted to be like Jenna, but not being a tall, glamourous and beautiful smuggler I figured I could only aspire to being good old Cally so I spent a lot of time trying to kid myself into believing that telepathy wins over sheer hotness, and reminding myself that Avon seemed to like Cally best anyway (carefully ignoring his obsession with Blake).

2. Trainspotting. Yes I'm finally catching up with the 90's. ( A few thoughts about Alison. )

3. Head On. See. I wasn't kidding when I said I was catching up with the 90's.

I got all excited because a friend of mine was an extra in this.
*waves to Kat* (I'd have noticed you even if I hadn't known in advance!)

This was an eye-opener of a film. It's very weird realising you have grown up in the same world as a bunch of people, but not the same universe. Not even close. I think I learnt a lot.

4. End of the Century:The History of the Ramones. Way better than your average rock doco.

5. I've just finished reading Changing Planes by Ursula le Guin. It's a great bedtime book and a great book for people with ME/CFS, on account of it being a series of short vignettes, rather than complex stories. But being Ursula le Guin, even one page of text contains a hell of a big picture.

6. I'm nearly done with The Jewel In The Crown. Jeebers but I'm crap at big heavy books. I've reached a point where I feel like I know enough and don't need to keep reading, but that assumption puts me on the road to the hell of ignorance, surely. So I pick it up every now and again and read a few more pages. Having said that, it is an excellent book. I'm very fond - very, very fond - of books that give you a variety of viewpoints rather than one narrator. It's just that it's heavy going for people who have lost the capacity for getting stuck into things.


Looks like we're about to get seriously stuck into Deadwood. And I (being totally unwilling to learn from experience) am about to start reading The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver.

I also have a hankering to rewatch Sergio Leone's Once Upon A Time In America and tackle a Frederick Forsyth. Mind you, the former is three hours long and the latter is an author I can only tackle with a notebook, a fair whack of brainpower, and a willingness to ask 10B to fill me in on the plot points I manage to miss.

I have finally finished reading The Red Peony by Lin YuTang. I was hindered by the fact that the main protagonist really got on my nerves and it took something of an effort of will to step back and consider the options available to this woman and how that might effect her behaviour. It was a bit cloyingly romantic.

It's a very romantic book in all senses of the the word and of course, like most male writers until Terry Pratchett, he had assumptions about women that I find most peculiar. But of course, it's Lin Yutang and he does vivid description really well. At least I think he does, early twentieth century China is not a place I'll ever be able to visit, alas, so I'll never be able to compare. The book was published in 1961 and I do see something of a nostalgic longing in his description that brings out the cynic in me even while I hunt down more of his books because I like his descriptions of people and places so much. He was very keen to share his world and keen to show its differences to people from elsewhere, I suppose. I suppose quite aware of the possibilities (and risks) that were arising in the twentieth century for cross cultural experiences and aware of the need to communicate stuff from his world in a form people like me could comprehend. All supposition of course, I don't really know.

And I do love that the main character has a romance that gets ramped up with discussions of neo-Confucian philosophy.

Ironic that it's a Chinese writer presenting a vision of China that I find to be such a romantic one - all that stuff about the Other. But then Lin spent a lot of his career translating Chinese literature into English and wrote several works about Chinese culture and if you're doing that and living in the USA, you've got to accept a degree of 'otherness' about your home even while you're working to remove it.

( And this is where she just mutters to herself. )

It was fun being part of an international cultural phenomenon.

Not something I've ever done a lot of really.

Damn but I am a SulkyNoodle today.

It's yum cha day.

And yesterday I was sitting round feeling really pleased about the fact that I was confident I would be at yum cha today. (I hope you can see the reason for being pleased about feeling confident). And to take it one step further before I tell you the rest of it (which you've probably already guessed), I was even thinking that this could be one of those days where maybe afterwards we could do something spontaneous like go for a little saunter through Chinatown and renew my quest for the honking great Chinese dictionary of my dreams.

*assumes you've guessed the blindingly obvious*

Still, at least it's not the ME so I needn't feel unconfident in that respect. I'm fending off a freaking migraine.

It's the second one in about 10 days, actually.

Given I've been mostly headache free this last year and entirely migraine free(thankyou metoprolol), this is quite odd. I'm blaming shoudler tension from too much knitting, although my left eye is a bit weird too, so if this continues I should probably see EyeGuy to check for episcleritis and stuff. Mind you, my prior experience of eye inflammation is that it's like your eyeball is giving birth to a set of skewers, so it's probably just good old fashioned headache.

And it's not that anything is so bad that I'm in a dark room with the lights out (obviously). In fact, in migraine terms it's probably a 3/10. But the nausea is bad and I strongly suspect that if anyone waves a stewed chicken foot at me I won't be a happy noodle at all.

So I'm drinking ginger tea and I've taken some panadeine and I'm aware that I shouldn't do anything to aggravate it and maybe I should lie down and listen to some relaxing music with one of those lavender scented eye-pillows over my stupid eyes but frankly I'd rather eat ear wax.

Bah humbug!