Posts by Louisa

Right, I can see how that quote might have seemed a little bleak, particularly in light of last Monday’s entry. But really, no. Not bleak. Granted, last week was difficult and depressing and dreary and other words not beginning with D, but my indefatigable cheer is picking up again, dear readers, and I feel confident that it’s all going to work out just fine.

So what’s up with the quote, then? Well, I was pondering this the other day after talking to my mother – bless her, she’s fabulous, but positive thinking is not in her core repertoire. She seems a bit out of sorts when there’s nothing to worry about, and (perversely) most comfortable when there’s the shadow of a catastrophe on the horizon. Give her a glass half full and she’ll visualise how it’ll look after it’s been dropped and broken. Obviously, this is not the healthiest weltanschaung, and I’ve therefore been trying (for years, really) to teach her to at least try not to fixate quite so much on the possibility that everything’s going to go horribly horribly wrong. Sometimes it even seems to be working. And all this time I’ve been more or less running with the unspoken assumption that this is how most people work – looking on the bright side at least most of the time, seeing the happy possibility in things.

Apparently this is not the case. Apparently (so I’m told) I’m borderline Pollyannaish at times – though my ability to beat myself up at the slightest provocation does even things out considerably. And I’ve begun to see that my reaction to my own unhappiness, when it comes along, is odd too. When I’ve got something to work through or turn over and over in my head hoping for a solution to appear, or just something to worry the edges of until I drive myself halfway round the bend, I do a lot of brooding, but I do it in written form (though not often here). And in pictures. And in long walks observing the neighbourhood, which invariably cheer me – if there’s not a delicious-smelling flowering tree, there’s at least a good bit of graffiti somewhere. In fact, I enjoy all of those things. My best writing, almost without exception, has been done when I’m upset about something, and many of my favourite photos were taken on those walks. So, it occurs to me, even when I’m unhappy I’m kind of… well, not exactly happy, obviously, but sort of OK about it anyway. And the Davies quote got me to articulate that, mentally at least, for the first time. Which I thought was pretty cool.

Courtesy of Google:

Happiness is always a by-product. It is probably a matter of temperament, and for anything I know it may be glandular. But it is not something that can be demanded from life, and if you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness.

– Robertson Davies

At long last, something has come along to rival my beloved Savage Love. Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog, yea verily, and he giveth advice as well. Hie thee to thy email client and tell him of thy woes.

I’ve had an evening (wise or not) that I’ll be revisiting for some time, I suspect, and sitting here now this piece came to mind. It wasn’t written for this moment, or even this kind of moment, but there’s a truth to it that I find comforting just now.

how many people
he said
that we see every day
walking down the street
doing their shopping
are just trying to hold it together
because most people
he said
i reckon are trying
to get over one thing or other

10.april 2006

[inspired by mark caswell]

You know those quizzes you get in your inbox that you nine times out of ten ignore completely? Yeah, me too. But I hadn’t seen this particular one before, and it seemed more interesting than most, and I had some procrastinating to do. So I’ll follow Mr. Atrocity‘s lead and post the damned thing.

1. My uncle once: After hearing the latest news on his brother’s hospitalisation, nodded sagely and said, “Yep. My lawn’s goin’ to hell.” He was a strange and singularly tactless man.
2. Never in my life have I: Broken a bone – mine or anyone else’s.
3. The one person who can drive me nuts, but then can always manage to make me smile is: Many of my nearest and dearest. Which is of course why they are so near and dear.
4. School is: A complicated memory.
5. When I’m nervous: I pretend not to be. And talk rubbish. And, formerly, smoke a lot.
6. The last time I cried was: Let’s not talk about that.
7. If I were to get married right now my bridesmaids/groomsmen would be: Wearing whatever the hell they like.
10. When I was 5: I noticed everything.
11. Last Christmas I: Realised Chicago really isn’t home anymore.
12. When I turn my head left, I see: (work) Shrigleys, a pig in a hat, obscene candy, a shot glass with feet, commemorative soap, and several rather disorderly piles of paper. (home) My kitchen.
13. When I turn my head right, I see: (work) My thinking cap. (home) 5 beautiful black and white photographs of Chicago by 2 friends.
14. When I look down I see: (work) My sunglasses, my diary, 4 different colours of post-it notes, a pencil, a water bottle, and assorted input devices. (home) A glass of wine, lip balm, a newsprint sketch pad, assorted desktop detritus.
15. The craziest recent event was: When I went diving with Tom Waits and then we split a bottle of kiwi-strawberry MD 20/20. Or maybe I just dreamt that.
16. If I was a character on Friends I’d be: Throwing someone off the balcony. Probably myself.
17. By this time next year: I will have learned a lot and laughed a lot, and probably cried some too.
18. My favorite Aunt is: Not with us anymore. But trust me, she rocked.
19. I have a hard time understanding: People who aren’t interested in the world around them.
20. One time at a family gathering: My Dad let us eat without taking so many pictures of us around the table with the food on it that it was all cold before our first bite. But only the once.
21. You know I “like” you if: I’m nervous (see above). And I’m smiling an awful lot.
22. If I won an award, the first person I’d thank is: the lovely suggestible fool who gave it to me.
23. Take my advice: When joy comes your way, soak it up like a sponge. It’ll get you through a lot of rainy days. Also: love. Take the chance. No matter what happens, it’s worth it.
24. My ideal breakfast is: A cheese and mushroom omelette, crispy bacon, a mimosa and cafe au lait. Or, alternatively, a Road Rage Bloody Mary and a cuppa joe at the Spoke.
25. If you visit my hometown: You’ll love it, it’s fabulous. And if you call me I’ll give you some good places to go, including my favourite bar. Tell them I say hi.
26. Where do you plan to visit anytime soon: Cornwall, New York and Chicago, the Red Sea, Paris and Aveyron, Thailand and Cambodia.
27. If you spend the night at my house: You’d better not be allergic to kittens. And I’ll lend you my spare dressing gown in the morning.
28. I’d stop my wedding: erm.. yes?
29. The world could do without: Civilian vehicles made by Hummer, and the assholes people who drive them.
30. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: [shudder] This reminds me of a quote from somewhere or other about how extremes are wasted on humans because after a certain level of discomfort or pain (or in this case disgust) we can no longer distinguish between bad and worse.
31. Most recent thing you’ve bought yourself: KITTENS!
32. Most recent thing someone else bought for you: Fabulous, thoughtful, lovely birthday loot and lots of it.
33. My favorite blonde is: God, I don’t know. David Bowie?

34. My favorite brunette is: a terrible film.
35. And by the way: Gotta go with Atrocity on this. Life is beautiful.
36. The last time I was high: I had a long and rambling discussion with a friend over a few bottles of wine and a good dinner, on a farm in France.
37. The animals I would like to see flying besides birds are: Unicorns. Duh.
38. I shouldn’t have: Pretended it was ok.

39. Once, at a bar: I saw a Ron Jeremy lookalike doing the best karaoke impression of Tom Jones I’ve ever seen.
40. Last night: (OK, 2 nights ago really but I think I’ve said enough about kittens) Was a perfect night for a few friends to have a few pints outdoors. So we did.
41. There’s this girl I know who: Makes every room she’s in a little shinier. I know a few of them actually, which makes me a very lucky girl.
42. This guy I know: Always comes through at the most unexpected times.
43. A better name for me would be: No idea. I’m OK with the one I’ve got.
44. If I ever go back to school I’ll: Be a lot better equipped to enjoy it.
45. How many days until my birthday?: Less than 365 but too many to count just now.

The boys have arrived. They are roly-poly and playful and curious and affectionate and fabulous and lovely, and they are beginning the long slow process of killing off the moths who keep destroying all my nice wool and cashmere things. Bless their kitteny little hearts. They are called Rufus and Titus (Rufus Aloysius and Titus Nelson to be exact).

And that’s all I’m going to say about them right now.

Over the past few days, I keep seeing random articles of clothing strewn in the road wherever I go. Is this one of the less-publicized rites of spring that I missed out on during my time in the states? Or is it the season of intensely acrimonious breakups, where people keep throwing one another’s clothes out of windows? I know I should be photographing this, but yesterday (woman’s slinky little nightie/ underthing, child’s striped long sleeve top) I was on my way to pick up the kittens and today (one pair black socks, some sort of looks-like-denim-but-isn’t trousers with too many pockets) I wasn’t fully awake yet, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. What I’m wondering is, is anyone else seeing more clothing in the roads than usual, or is it just me?

I’ve also been reading the new(ish) David Foster Wallace collection, Consider the Lobster. I can’t quite seem to push myself through all 1088 pages of Infinite Jest, but I devour his essays like delicious brain candy. The thing about Wallace is that he’s not just clever (though he is really quite incredibly clever) and funny and vicious in a just-on-the-outside-edge-of-playful way, but he somehow manages to be all of these things without being a condescending bastard, which I find truly remarkable. So when I read his stuff and I’m thinking, jesus, why haven’t I been reading more about this, why haven’t I been doing those little etymological explorations I used to do, why haven’t I been writing more, I’m not getting the sinking horrible guilty feeling I sometimes get when reading more pedantic smart people. Wallace makes you (or at least me) want to call him up and go down to the pub and have a nice long drunken argument and then go home and write until you pass out. I love that. Go get you some of that. Me, I’m going to curl up on the sofa with the boys and watch me some Simpsons.

So I was flipping through my Google Reader, which I haven’t had time to do all that often lately and am therefore more prone to reading the entries that seem amusing than those that might prove, oh, useful. Anyway, a link from plasticbag sent me to this Flickr set. I looked at it for about a minute and then called over a colleague for a second opinion.

me: Is it just me or is this very very wrong?
he: [grimaces] I don’t like the internet anymore.

gah.

A couple of months back, a friend of mine was working on one of the upcoming 9/11 films. He found himself really uncomfortable with it and asked to work on something else instead. We talked about it, but not for long – I still don’t entirely trust myself to be reasonable on the subject. Earlier this week, I got an email from a production company that’s worked on a few 9/11 films, inviting me to an event where they will be discussed. And now I’m feeling this creeping dread about September in the cinemas. As I said to my friend, “Ah yes. It’s the 5th anniversary of a major tragedy – I know what let’s do! Let’s tastelessly sensationalise it! Hey, if we’re really lucky maybe there will be another raft of race- and religion- related hate crimes!”

Then, this morning, the following email arrived (from another friend):

I got home last night to find my flat cordoned off in a murder investigation scene. The convenience shop a few doors up from my flat got fire bombed. Luckily no customers were in the shop but of the staff – one is dead, another critically ill and three injured. More disturbingly the attack was race hate – purely because they were muslim. :0(

The clapham road has been closed all night and the fire crews have been trying to make safe the building which is completely gutted.

I’m having to be escorted to and from my flat by the police as it’s inside the cordoned off area.

So so sad… And they were such friendly people that worked in there. :0(

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/4953276.stm

So really, we don’t need any help with the whole hate thing. Which makes me even more nervous about what autumn will bring.

See, I’m the first to agree that 9/11 was a horrible horrible thing, and I think it’s right to remember it, but not as an excuse to take out your aggressions on people you don’t know, either physically or verbally. And not as support for a radical political agenda. And also not in a horribly sensationalist form masquerading as some sort of über-realism. I’m still not going to jump into the political debate over why the attack happened, but I do stand prepared to speak up against tastelessness, especially when it engenders a dangerous environment for me, my friends and our neighbours.

not so gah.

So I’ve given up smoking. I keep feeling weird when I type that or say it; I never thought I’d be a nonsmoker. OK, that didn’t sound right either. What I mean is that I don’t want to be confused with those militant nonsmoking assholes who do that desperately irritating fake coughing thing when you’re standing beside them waiting outside a gig venue. But yeah, I also want some new shoes and I’m never going to be able to afford them with this £5-a-packet thing, so there you have it.

Anyway. Yesterday I was cranky. Very very cranky. So cranky, in fact, that I only just restrained myself from biting my boss’ head clean off his body in a meeting (not good – see, normally we get along just fine), and that most of my team were sort of alternating between uncomfortable laughing and keeping outside kicking distance for much of the day. But today? Today I am not cranky. Not yet at least. Today I think a cigarette might be a pleasant thing but I also find myself able to read a whole entire document without drifting off halfway through the second paragraph and staring into the middle distance for five minutes. Today I only have a teeny little headache, and only for a few minutes at a time. In short, I feel much better. The experts say that within another 3 days or so I’ll feel mostly back to normal, and in another ten I’ll be fully cured. They say the worst is over. Let’s just hope they’re right.

and more gah.

Remember the cats I adopted? Adorable but still half feral, hoping in time they’d be tame? It’s not working out. After six weeks, I still can’t trust them not to pee on my pillows (ew ew EW!) and one of the two shows no interest in interacting with me. So I’m giving up. Maybe this is a shortcoming, but I think I’ve overestimated my tolerance for this sort of thing. I have discovered that no matter how good my intentions, I can’t have two creatures in my house that I care for but that I can’t really touch. It’s depressing and it’s sad, but there it is. So there’s my little confession on that.

but more good stuff too…

I haven’t given up on pets, though. It occurs to me that a similar thing happened when I got Akasha all those years ago – I took in a stray cat who stayed with me for a week or so and then made it clear he wanted to go (let’s not get into how); a few weeks later I met Akasha and her brothers and sisters, she fell asleep in the hollow of my collarbone, and I decided to bring her home with me. So I’m doing more or less the same thing now: on Sunday afternoon I’m going to meet some kittens to see how we get on. If all goes well I’ll be bringing them home in a couple of weeks.

If you made only the slightest change to those last couple of sentences it would sound like I’m going on a blind date, wouldn’t it? Well, let’s hope this goes better than my last few of those.

One of the things that you don’t think about when you’ve got friends all over the place, friends you love all over the place, and family across an ocean, is that when you go on holiday you’re more concerned about seeing the people you love than you are about what holidays are supposed to be about. Which is not to say that holidays aren’t about seeing the people you love, but…

I have had such a good holiday.

Last night I sat here, 56 minutes left til the official end of my birthday (I survived my Jesus year, hooray!)(although now that I’ve googled “April 17 birthday” I see that apparently not only was this my Jesus year, but it ended on Jesus’ real birthday), surrounded by kittens and on the phone with one of my favouritest people, with not the slightest intention of unpacking, and thought I am so lucky.

The precursor: I spent a week in Cannes at a conference. It’s a rare treat to be a buyer, and moreover a small entity in the buying machine – you get to watch what’s going on, see what people are thinking about and developing, with little or no pressure. You get to drink with interesting people. You see and hear what’s really going on, pitches and PR aside. You get to talk about what’s important to you, to your work, with people who both get it and care. And if you get lucky, you find a really nice hotel for the weekend afterward.

And then I drove to Aveyron. I didn’t have any idea how much beauty there would be. After a half hour of winding mountain pass, the Millau viaduct is extraordinary, a spaceship construct across a startlingly beautiful land. Afterward, the rolling countryside reminds you that there’s a colour called green that you’d almost forgotten, with yellow dandelions and snapdragons flooding the fields and the castle just on the ridge. Just so. Even in the cold, even with a cold, it was gorgeous.

I’m putting this here as a placeholder for more. When I surface from the remainder of the birthdaying, there will be more. I promise.

It’s always good to see a hometown band make it all big in the scene. Well, except when that means you can’t get in to see them. This happened a couple of months back when OK Go played the Metro here on London. Who knew that they had so many (and such hot) groupies? Really? Oh. It’s just me, then.

Shortly after that gig (I did get in for the end, including the encore which consisted of a weird choreographed number on the drum riser while their latest single was played on CD), I was pointed at this video (see the previous parenthesis), and I gotta tell you: when you’re having a bad day, it’ll keep you going.

And tonight, while digging up a link for download of the aforementioned video for a friend, I discovered that Damian was arrested in Orlando. Apparently, he was arrested for being slightly too popular. Well, that’ll teach you.

Teach you to RAWK, one hopes.

See you on the 30th, boys…