just another manic monday

far from manic, actually. ploddingly mundane. but its been a streak of bad luck for me recently: the wallet stolen, the heater broke (again, and its snowing outside), innumerable annoyances I'm usually prepared for but haven't been. i'm calling the streak now so nothing worse can happen; name your fears and they wither to nothing in the fresh air. nothing exciting illuminating or even interesting to say tonight, so I'll leave the blogsphere with the random quote of the weekend.

I shall be an autocrat, that's my trade; and the good Lord will forgive me, that's his.
Catherine the Great

dark days

it's the end of februray and i'm sick. sick enough to take afternoons off work, but daytime tv is so horrible it drives one to drink. other than that, things are good. i've recovered my sense of ambition over the past few months and i'm trying to decide on which direction to aim it. cycling is a way of reaching physical exhaustion in the meantime.

there was a wonderfully graphic programme on the texas bat caves tonight on some bbc channel at 8. you can go find it if you want; i watched it for the gorgeous austin scenery, videos of bat colonies flying like sine waves, and computer generated images of bat clouds feeding on moth clouds a mile above the central texas landscape. they used the county lines to give scale. let's give some scale here: travis county is 2,647 km2, and greater london is 1,600 km2. the bat clouds meeting moths clouds covered about 10 counties according to the graphics, and that makes a bit of sense as we're talking about billions of bats here. so in the summer months, a mile above austin, texas, a great feasting of bats on moths occurs over an area larger than wales. no, the programme didn't explain this. i went and looked it up on nationmaster.com

it's not a park, nor is it good for business. What is it?

An honest blurb for a randomly chosen sample of the UK's 1,000 or so business parks would read something like this: "Welcome to Focuspoint Business Park, a soulless office development at the heart of the UK's mediocre west-eastern economy. Focuspoint offers quick access to mile-long tailbacks on the M64 and is just an hour by rail from a siding reserved for broken-down trains near Watford Junction. Relocating to Focuspoint saves you from meeting potential new customers in pubs, restaurants or snack bars. Instead, you can spend your lunch hours eating petrol station sandwiches at your desk while watching squirrels."... Jonathan Guthrie FT (subscription)

dissapointment

i woke to what seemed a rosy dawn; it was only my reading lamp's beige shade, still glowing away. a lump next to me warm under the covers; eco's focault's pendulum, still open to 316.

fighting to keep a chest cold in the chest, and not my head. it'll be an orange juice day. i had profound thoughts while half asleep after reading: head filled with mystics and templars. as usual, they have disappeared into the morning's grey mist.

snow!

the sun is out and it's snowing...big white wet flakes hurtling down in broad daylight. it won't stick of course; the ground's too warm, but it's fun to watch it fall in st john's square from the saftey of my big window and sunglasses. i've been dreaming of skiing all week, now i'm craving it even more.

eating to remember

the smell of lime tequila cilantro onion; blending in a chicken marinade and lingering on my fingertips past the slicing of tomatoes bell peppers and mushrooms. flavors forever stuck in memory, never used here. the smell carries me back to jesse and frank's old apartment, bread rising someone cooking and jesse's stero blasting out to the patio over the trees. limes are 25p each, worth the acid tang for every cent. dont forget to wash your hands after handling the chilis.

at the last minute

i relented, and went out to join the flatmates in kensington
drinks drinks asian food the art cafe and innumerable blondes in boots.
you loose track after a while, with the champagne and steamed windows and def somthing or other on the stereo. jen and i argued about balzac's morality in the cab home after rejection from an unpronounceable french club. we were not a member on or a table's guest list, but then the music or drunken girls emerging did not appeal.
there is questionable morality in the world, and balzac's take on right, wrong, causing death and revenge does not help solve the conundrum. bette should have died of a painful accident, and the father/pedophile was never punished. so be it.

sleep power

nothing like a full 8 hours sleep to make the world look nice again and put a smile on your face. a deep sleep and a long hot bath yesterday evening erased thursday's nightmare of a depressing, foggy cold february day. outside London, the countryside is lying dormant - all dead wet grey. it's a landscape without potential, without expectation. still a month to do before spring, and there's no point rushing things now is there?

all signs are pointing to a freezing windy afternoon tomorrow, but I am determined to head to hillingdon and try my hand at racing on a circuit against other spandex clad beginners. i've been training up for the past few weeks and while the thigh muscles have strengthened I suspect i'll be at the back of the pack, wheezing. here's to masochism.

the violet hour

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest. T.S. Eliot

blame it on the valentines sugar consumption

napping on the afternoon train in from Essex, conked out by 9.30p and up at 2.45a for an early morning kitchen chat with cameron. full comprehension of 'fitful' sleep until 5 with dreams that i don't want to remember and then resignation at a cleaning ironing spree before the pre-dawn cycle ride. elliott's prufrock sailing through my head as the sun rose over putney commons. sunny blue skies today, but cold.

as much as i love a giant bar of green and blacks cooking chocolate in my cakes, too much sugar and chocolate leaves one veering between sugar highs and energy lows. and where did i learn how to separate egg yolk from white? back and forth goes the glossy gooey yellow between the broken shells. my hands act with certaintly and i watch amazed, with no memory of learning. jen cooked up a stunning star-anise pork loin with apple compote, and we laughed at each other all the while.

sunday bloody sunday

IMG_0526
Originally uploaded by wonderwomanyank.

it was warm for a day, warm enough in the sun for a full body sweat face flushed and fingers tingling.

then the temperature dropped. and it started to rain. and my heart sank. februrary is the shortest month of the year, they say.

chinatown was packed.

dec 1981.

1921, 1933, 1945, 1957, 1969, 1981, 1993, 2005

People born in the Year of the Rooster are deep thinkers, capable, and talented. They like to be busy and are devoted beyond their capabilities and are deeply disappointed if they fail. People born in the Rooster Year are often a bit eccentric, and often have rather difficult relationship with others. They always think they are right and usually are! They frequently are loners and though they give the outward impression of being adventurous, they are timid. Rooster people's emotions like their fortunes, swing very high to very low. They can be selfish and too outspoken, but are always interesting and can be extremely brave. They are most compatible with Ox, Snake, and Dragon.

you are just more aware of the noise.

cotu nails my favorite vice. "How much of our day do we spend intradialoging about the past or potential future? What a fruitless waist of energy." oh but it's so much fun to escape from the screen in front of you by explaining to your other halves your past and daydreams for the future. my brain is very noisy, la contessa can verify.

hump day

working, cycling late, chats with old friends,
la contessa's reminiscing about 31st street; i'm stuck in west campus this week. bombay boys, germans and late night sessions so i'm napping through the afternoons feigning a headache. austin returns, along with that sensation of living with friends who care about when you get home and what you eat b/c you damn well be eating with them. of living alongside your friends, not just visiting.

tomorrow and friday will be late work nights, boss back in and my worklog catching up with me. climate change events at the royal institue of british architecture and how the fucking hell did I end up in this world of architects and regeneration theorists, of chatting with new zeland urban designers and lectures on placemaking in the thames gateway?

yesterday i had the afternoon off, running errands here and there in a sunny but cold februrary afternoon. stopped for five minutes at the chemist, looking out over tottenham court road rooting myself to the spot. literally and psychologically; striving to live the now in a focault sense. what the hell i'm not just visiting but creating a life and network and pattern here. the jogging to work has lost its glamour but i still do it in case i might run into old friends, and becasue i've come to love the bricks and pavement stones at every turn.

surprise surprise

got the visa in the mail today!!! the passports back - i'm no longer a prisioner!

cameron's hosting an english tradition tonight - pancake night. i didn't believe he was serious but apparently the english use up all their eggs and sugar before lent by cooking pancakes on shrove tuesday. he has the chicken pox as well.

the walk

IMG_0477
Originally uploaded by wonderwomanyank.

cherish the mundane

teaching myself to respect the daily grind and the casual no-i'm-not-going-anywhere-fun weekends. intimate drinks with friends, flatmate's stupendeous cooking, long hours finishing balzac, mandatory cycle - rowers on the thames this early saturday, french rugby and a cleaning spree.

thibault pulled a whole roasted chicken and killer salad out of his french background this afternoon. from the ecole boy who lives on pasta and ketchup (yes, not sauce) a full three course meal bowled jen and i over. we've promised at late valentines (15th) dinner and dessert in return. and we did the dishes.

dust creeps in slowly, insidiously. once a fortnight or so i launch a retailatory strike, destroying the enemies forces in one blow of polish, dettoil and elbow grease. the kitchen shines and the hallways - with some vaccuuming - will be presentable.

teaching myself the intricacies of bicycle mechanics slowly through trial and error- screws don't always need tightening just because they're loose! i now know how to fix my derailuer and tighten the gear wires. kinda. bicycle grease comes off best with the eucalyptus soap i get from central market in austin. i've decided i'm the worst mix of zen and cycle maintenance -not deliberate enough for trial and error, but relaxed enough to play with any little gadget. things often end up worse than they began. i should probably take this as some sort of lesson for life.

off for a walk before dark.

nice to be home again

back from the Uk gov's 'sustainable communities summit'. i've been in heels from 8 to midnight and talking for three days, and i'm exhausted.

blair showed up and gave a speech at the opening, off the cuff and still not only intelligent but accurate. there's a reason he's still pm; a good speaker and leader, you feel proud and confident with him in charge. most of the cabinet wandered through at some point or another, and everyone from amarta sen to milwalkee's ex mayor had their 10 minutes of verbal spouting on urban develoment in the uk.

manchester's a pretty good city, gorgeous old buildings, people friendly streets and squares - they've spent some money making it all look nice. although a seriously deserted early morning jog reminded me that nobody actually lives in the centre. it was fun playing with the street furniture - obstacle courses of fountains benches stairs and trees but sometimes you want other people to show off to.