Report on The Evening of Sunday...
I was expecting my HK flatmate tonight to join us this evening, but it seems she's coming in tomorrow from New Zealand says Izzy, who somehow knows this better than I do. Anyway I cooked enough for three - my world famous Cambodian prawn and cucumber yellow curry (with squid)...
You know, I had never dissected a squid before I moved to Singapore. Never dug my nails into it's clear plastic spine (so fake seeming, obviously made in a factory in China somewhere) and pulled the entire inner white components along with the brainless head (all mouth, no thought), the bulbous alien eyes and the (now I have [accidentally] seen a lot of Japanese anime porn) erotic tentacles with a moist gloop onto the benchtop. Never fossicked deep into its velvety cavern with my forefinger, probing for remnants of its last meal... Gloop, gloop, shpluckk... There's some pretty dangerous looking machinery inside those cylindrical little fuckers.
Really glad I never discovered this past-time (cooking) as a teenager, I might have become a chef for all the wrong reasons.
And it's pretty freaking obvious how they turn calamari into rings, ain't it? Well it is NOW!
Anyway, more to the gloop, gloop shpluckking point, I had a Bangkok special edition DVD of David Cronenberg's 1991 masterpiece Naked Lunch, but that bugger won't play on the main DVD player, but YES, it runs fine on the iMac in my room.
That is one gloop, gloop, shplukky movie, I'd forgotten the dribbly, sucky details.
Izzy had never seen it before - like duh, it's probably banned in Singapore, just a little bit heavy on the drugs and kinky sex with animatronic typewriter insects - and she'd never read any of William S Burroughs gloopy gloop books either.
Sometimes, I really think I am corrupting that sweet innocent young thing. [Who may or may not be soon writing a sex column for one of the local magazines it seems.]
So we finished off the curry ourselves (Izzy had two servings!) and then she and I retired to my bedroom for a couple of hours, groaning and moaning and shifting in our seats as one more outrageous act followed the next.
In the movie, dudes, in the freaking movie...
It's a great movie to watch someone watch for the first time! She loved it. You can tell if you are going to get on with your flatmate if they like your taste in movies. That's Dead Man and Naked Lunch as points of agreement from my side, and Secretary and Tristram Shandy from hers.
Early, she had asked the weirdest question.
Do people get happier as they get older?
I proffered some clammy shit about how good parents are those who don't allow their kids to get dissillusioned with life until they're old enough to have had kids of their own, so that the race will perpetuate. That didn't really answer her question of course.
We took the conversation up again over dinner.
But you're happy now, right? she asked. You have money and good job.
Yeah, I'm grumpy on the surface but happy enough deep down. Financially secure. It'd be nice to be healthy.
You're not really grumpy, that's only on your blog. [Some of this conversation may have been
made up extrapolated. E@L]
So I took my empty plate out to the kitchen...
And I called out from the kitchen... I'd be happier if I had a girlfriend. [And everyone on the Internet goes - Tell us something we DON'T know!]
She was there next to me getting seconds, snuck up on me, gave me a freaking heart-attack - the Mouse used to do that. All little people, they move so freaking silently, they should be forced to wear those squeaky shoes, like toddlers, so you can keep track of 'em.
You really think you'd be happier with a girlfriend?
With the right girlfriend.
Yes, with the right girlfriend. Define.
Smart and chirpy and up with my jokes and not a bitch. I don't want a baaaaadd girlfriend. I want nice one. Someone like my last girlfriend. [Some of E@L's old friends go - Yes, and you should have stayed with her!] I've had girls who were hot for me [and the Internet goes - yeah sure] but they weren't right, for me. Maybe policitally, like a right-wingers or something. Or physically - I am attracted to smaller ladies, so sue me. Or maybe just didn't get my jokes, intellectually in the humour sense and that's frustrating. Or they were like, a bit too...
E@L mimics balancing on a tightrope...
When was your last girlfriend? she asked.
We sat in my bedroom. She had brought in a dining chair, I rocked on my swivelly Italian-leather seasoned with 8 years of farty-E@L-bottom desk-chair. With the movie paused I gave her an overview of the three-ring circus that was my last serious relationship.
I think I've described it somewhere else on this blog, so I won't inflict all that melodrama on you again until the novelization comes out in Women's Weepy, suffice to say that I have regrets, that I broke someone's heart, and I still don't know if it was the right thing to do.
All I know (and that ain't much) was that she (the GF not Izzy) was the happiest she'd ever been when we were together, as she'd had a shitload of trouble with her other relationships. She may not have been a perfect person, even though I am, but I really liked her, only not *that* way. Man, did she have some stories to tell - the naked geologist who stole my husband story, the gambler who needed money so he used my checkbooks story, the short person who felt bigger whenever he beat his woman story (what is with short people? I seem to have a thing about them lately - conspiracy or mere interzone coincidence?)...
But you can't maintain a 2000km relationship when the strongest emotion you have is feeling sorry for someone. Well, maybe you can, relationships have been built on less, often on nothing at all. But should you? That is what I asked myself at the time. Should you?
I don't have the answer.
William S Burroughs didn't have the answer either. It wasn't Black Meat or Mugwamp Jism. Hopefully not, not least to avoid the cleaning up afterwards.
Shit I didn't mean to go about all this embarrasing shite. I meant to go to sleep like 2 hours ago. I am not 100% well yet (it's not mumps, like I at first feared).
I'm sorry if I've bored you, if I've ventured from the topic of my report. It's like the computer oozed some destabilising fumes into my brain, took over and wrote this itself.
I knew blogging was dangerous, but I didn't realise the danger was in the machinery.
[The machinery of reminiscence... Once the wheels start turning...]
OTHER MONKEYS SAID
Do you really think you are corrupting Izzy? Or is she allowing you to lead her her down paths of her choosing?
So who is leading who?
Izzy hasn't led me anywhere corrupting yet, unless you call the risible "erotic" poetry readings of AA more baleful than woeful.
I'm almost disgusted with myself ( meaningful comment rather than flippant observation) as I type this but I actually feel moved to provide and answer to Izzy's question.
You don't get happier with age but you do become more content.
I find I stress less over what I don't have and find comfort (whatever) in what I do. I don't compare myself to others anymore as I always failed in comparison to George Clooney, Jimi Hendrix, Larry Carlton etc. In doing this I have found contentment, if not happiness.
Nice answer, Pete. But, again consistent good health would be nice!
And I fail in comparison to anyone who ever had anything published in a real book. But I find a certain measure of contentment in writing this blog!
saw her the other day at raffles city. thought i'd go up and say hi, we've spoken aaaages ago when you were SPG but you won't remember, but more importantly i'm a friend of the flatmate. wasn't sure if that last bit was a positive (she might think of me as the wanker i really am!) so didn't bother.