This afternoom I have an exam. It’s not an exam I can prooperly revise for as it’s more of a logica test to see if I can do a particular job. Nethertheless I’m sure I could make some attempt at preparation for it. Instead I choose to gently procrastinate.
I think if there is any knack to procrastination, it is to place yourself in a position where you COULD potentially do work, say for example a library, and then tell yourself that X amount of hours in the library equates with X amount of hours work. You have to tell yourself that merely by being there, you are absorbing knowledge. It may look like you’ve spent the last half an hour playing solitaire but really your unconscious mind has been working over time cogitating some problem. In addition to this, the aftermentioned unconscious mind will check in with you when it has solved said problem, so in fact you need do nothing. This type of procrastination is common amongst students and low paid workers alike. I should know
An odd thought occured to me today at work:
When you think about it, the light responsible for making a photograph has travelled roughly 93 million miles from the sun before bouncing around the landscape like a pinball and then entering you camera lens. That photograph of the loved one you carry around in your wallet is really the memory of something that started 94 million miles away and is made out of the Sun’s fire.
Well I thought it was interesting. It’s a common phenomena amongst adults to remove cause from effect and odd little thoughts like that help me to remember that the causal factor of a state of affairs is often something far removed from the effect but still significant. Sorry if that’s a bit pseudo intellectual but I’ve had a lot of time on my hands today.
Whilst watching GhostBusters 2 last night I realized that one line from the film must have penetrated my mind as a child and stayed with me to the present day. It’s the point at which Bill Murray’s character surveys his bachelor pad and announces "There’s not just clean and dirty clothing, there are subtle grades of freshness".
He’s right you know. Currently distributed in an uneven horseshoe around my room are: 1 slighty musty jumper, several freshly cleaned socks, a dressing gown (cleanliness undetermined, as I only wear it for twenty minutes a day). three pairs of underwear (clean), a slightly crumpled shirt (worn once – febreeze fresh). I think the "subtle grades of cleanliness" theory helps go a long way to dispelling the myth of the binary states of cleanliness oligarch that dominates modern society. I apologise if my girlfriend is reading this.
I apologise once more for lateness of this blog, but this is the first time I’ve been near a computer for a while.
On Good Friday I trekked over to Manchester with Katie and James (people from Church) for the Manchester passion. After some inital confusion we found the right square in Manchester. The idea behind this particular passion play was to combine music from the Manchester scene with the story of Christ’s death and resurrection. Since worship of an invisible deity and a love of indie music both feature heavily in my lifestyle, this sounded like a very good idea and for the most part it worked very well. Jesus ate his last supper of a chip butty (or kebab I couldn’t tell) from a takeaway van accompanied by Joy Division’s "Love will tear us apart", Judas betrayed him to Morrisey’s "Heaven knows I’m miserable now" as he accepted his thirty pieces of silver. I think Mary got the worst songs – "Search for a hero" by M People and bizarrely considering he is from Stoke, Robbie Williams’ "Angels" (probably for the mums in the crowd).
The audience were encouraged to participate in the proceedings by shouting out for Barabass to be freed and Jesus to be crucifed (both led by an auto-cue which also supplied the lyrics to the songs), and a giant glowing cross was led by a procession through the crowd. One thing that did irk me slightly was the roving reporter interviewing people in the cross procession about what Good Friday meant for them. I was actually quite pleased that they interviewed a range of people (including a Muslim and an agostic (I think)) but the reporter always cut them off rather rapidy if they sounded like they had anything insightful to say – although this was probably due to time constraints.
It’s nearly a year now since I went to Thailand. There’s a kind of restlessness gnawing at me now that I’ve realised that. Also next month I turn 25. It’s nearly time for my Gen X mid-twenties crisis. Hmm, think I’ll write a novel to express my inner angst. Actually if you’re really that angsty, why bother? Surely the only people capable of writing angsty novels are the ones together enough to knuckle down and get on with it whilst also being comfortable enough with their feeling to put them into print. Ergo, seemingly angsty writers really aren’t at all. You were lying all along JD Salinger, whilst you raked in teenagers hard earned cash. How could you sleep at night?
Speaking of novels, I am currently half way through Neal Stephensons "The Baroque cycle" and it’s starting to hurt my head. It’s a whole series of novels about the origins of the stock market and the origins of science. It’s simultaneously the dullest and most interesting thing I’ve read all year. It’s like The Lord of the Rings in its ceaseless arcana.