Now I know why they're called "pounds"

Welcome to today's installment of Postponing Another Paper. Actually I'm not procrastinating, just warming up my writing muscles. (See? I really can justify anything.)

OK, it's been a long week so let's get on with a completely random assortment of issues and observations. I've divided them up into sections for you, so they're more easily digestible and it should give you ample time to get more coffee or make room for more, all without missing a single thrilling detail:

Who knew that the accessory I'd miss most is... sunglasses?!? Yes, you read that right, the freakishly beautiful weather continues. Oh, it rained last night -- at about 11:30 or so -- but it was gone again by the time I woke up today.

Understand this is not a complaint. It's just... I almost said unnatural, which is oxymoronic (or maybe just moronic). No, what I mean is it's so thoroughly... unexpected.

* * *

I have ten pounds in my pants and it's making quite the noticeable bulge. That's not a boast, it's a simple statement of fact. I am referring, of course, to the coinage sitting in my right front pocket. (That's my handkerchief in my left front pants pocket. What were you thinking, you cheeky monkey?) That's not a complaint either. I mean, I like money. A lot. (I like money, and I like a lot of it.) But these coins of the realm are awfully heavy, and I'm sure it's part of a conspiracy to keep British tailors in gainful employment by forcing people to keep getting their pockets repaired. I hope to lighten the load by dropping a few at the nearby cinema in Harrow, where -- provided I'm a good boy and actually get some work done today -- I intend to see Borat.

* * *

It appears our flat is going for a record number of "You've got a filthy corridor/kitchen" letters from hall management. This is the second we've had in as many weeks.

Now some of you no doubt already know my tolerance level for uncleanliness and disorganisation, which is to say nil. So you already know that I'm about to go off on one, but let me just get it out of the way and we can continue as we began, with more lighthearted fare.

Mark Twain said, "Never confuse learning with education," and nowhere is this more evident than in a university, where people can be highly educated but remain stupid as a bag of hammers. Clearly some people can't even read the many signs posted all around the kitchen, some of which are the aforementioned official variety while some are notes from their long-suffering flatmates. They have not read or understood their leases, which clearly state who is (and who is not) responsible for cleaning up. Or they choose to ignore them, preferring to believe that their mothers, hired hands or the good washing-up fairies are doing their dirty work for them.

Hear this, people: IF YOU DON'T HAVE TIME TO CLEAN UP, YOU PROBABLY DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO EAT EITHER. Others should not have to pay for your time management incompetence.

People -- and I use that term loosely -- simply refuse to take responsibility for something as simple as washing up. It's always someone else's responsibility, isn't it? No wonder the world is fucked up.

[We now return to our regularly scheduled happy happy joy joy programming.]

* * *

A big up to Ian for the book (a copy of Simon Reynolds's Rip It UP And Start Again: Post-punk 1978-84), and props to Colin for the loan of the accompanying CD. Ian is Irish and Colin is a Scot. I don't know what that has to do with anything, other than they sure do have good taste.

* * *

OK, one more whinge: the moron across the hall has a cell phone that won't quit. Literally. Several times now he has left the flat for a day or more and left his phone on, despite repeated notes shoved under his door and visits from the hall security staff. Either he has very persistent friends and/or no e-mail, or he sets and alarm and forgets to turn it off, but it has rung insistently every 10 minutes or so all day and all night on each occasion. Needless to say it makes concentration very difficult and sleep next to impossible. I believe he is congenitally stupid, or perhaps willfully annoying. In either case, if someone completely lost it and went medieval on his toffee-nosed, white-boy English ass on account of the Chinese water-torture effect, would that constitute justifiable homicide? Just wondering.

* * *

In a previous post I deliberately misquoted Ian on the Mick Jagger/Performance thingy, in the vain hope that I too might get an e-mail from a celebrity correcting me, just like my friend Postmodern Sass did. She got such a note from Neil Gaiman, whom I've heard much about but never actually read until now (except maybe his blog, which is linked from Ms. Sass's). So damn you both, Sass and Gaiman, for adding to my ever-growing pile of must-reads... like I don't have enough reading material piling up on every bare surface of this room. Or like I don't already spend enough collecting books, particularly with Mrs. Clean-Air System as my enabler, who is arguably a greater addict than I.

Oh and by the way Mr. Gaiman, being accessible, friendly,nice and charming and is a very clever marketing ploy.

* * *

As my colleague Rocketgirl said, I don't have much luck going out in London. First there was night Alex and I took 2 hours to get to Chris's party in Chiswick via tube, only to have to down two quick beers and run back (literally) to catch the last tube home. I neglected to post that a couple of weeks ago the Kilburn Station closed "due to a police action" (whatever that means) as I was on my way to catch God Is An Astronaut at the Luminaire. I was stranded at Willesden Green without my A-Z Guide (even with which I'm directionally challenged at the best of times anyway), and no one seemed to know the best way to get to where I was going, In fact several Londoners approached to ask if I knew an alternate route to Kilburn, which would have been a classic case of the blind leading the blind. Rocketgirl didn't get my urgent text until the next day due to first-day-with-a-new-phone syndrome, so she couldn't help me out.

I took it as a sign that I should be back in the flat concentrating on my homework, so I turned right around and came back, stopping for some comforting ooey-gooey dessert on the way.

* * *

Best metaphor of the month award goes to Maureen O'Dowd of the New York Times who recently described the American neo-con hard-on for Iraq as taking "a baseball bat to a beehive."

And speaking of the NYT I don't mean to say I told you so, but I will anyway:

Democrats Push to Counter G.O.P. in Turnout Race
By ADAM NAGOURNEY, Published: October 29, 2006
Democrats have invested heavily in catching up with the
Republicans' get-out-the-vote operation.

* * *

Here's a shot of London at night, taken from the hillside at Alexandra Palace on the night of the Guy Fawkes celebrations:

And here's some pictures that I took on a walkabout in Harrow-on-the-Hill last weekend, while taking a much-needed break from paper-writing:


Harrow-on-the-Hill is home to the famed Harrow School, where Byron studied. Kids still wear the old straw boaters and suits. In the churchyard at St. Mary's -- which was consecrated in 1092! -- is a plaque bearing some of Byron's words. Apparently he used to love sitting in the church yard and just observing his surroundings, which I can certainly understand:

That's all I have time for today. Must get some work done! Can't believe there's only 4 more weeks and then the first time is over. Wow. (And only 1 more week until Mercury goes direct... whew.) In case I don't post before this time next week, have a good one.