| Crisps |
[28 Oct 2003|03:12am] |
I will scan a page with my foresting eyeballs, and pick a single subject to talk about for a minute. Without thinking about it.
Subject: Crisps
Crisps are fried, potato like structures strong of taste and cutting of mouth. They slice past the gum with almost murderous intent, broken shards diggin in and causing ulcers the size of a fucking volcano.
Sod this though, they're great....and open up a yawning divisiong amongst transatlantic people...some say they're chips, some crisps...and they DON'T EVEN have salt and vinegar over there. Cuh. What's life without Salt and Vinegar? Like Big Bird without Mammoth, that's what. Like a tree without horns. Like a burger without a stinking unwanted gherkin. I think we're going off the beaten track here.
Anyway, crisps were first made when somebody fried some potatoes and dropped them on a knife. He was making chips, you see....but when he saw the potato accidentally get sliced, really, really, thinly, er...by a knife...he thought "Make a good snack that". Of course back then the fucking thing was diseased...so he died and told nobody. But they found it chums...they found the potato lying scattered near his hand like an odd looking fan...
And so the crisp was born. We all like crisps, and eat loads of them every day...stopping only when we reach a point where only the crap flavour remains...in my case...Smokey Bacon...i'll choke them down yes...but i won't enjoy it...
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[28 Oct 2003|03:55pm] |
All told, a decent day. I went shopping with Melanie and her mother and brother. I got some nice shirts, and some reasonably tight and respectable jeans, all told the most succesful shopping trip er...ever.
Then on the way down to the Bell, we met Zoe, with daughter Rosie in tow. Rosie was as ever the most sweet and talkative of children, but Zoe's eyes were full of the look that breaks my heart. And there is nothing i can do to help her. Perhaps i should know this fact. We get to talk so little i wouldn't really know anyway. That's all i can say.
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[28 Oct 2003|04:04pm] |
Bollocks. Cannot think so deeply about things that do not concern me. But if i did not, would i become a dessicated unfeeling shell?
Perhaps not. At the very least however, these things do not affect me vicariously anymore. You will see my feelings opened raw on these pages, but believe me they do not cut as deep.
There is a desire in me to do what i can for the people i love, sometimes beyond reason or ability.
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[28 Oct 2003|04:05pm] |
Something i will say is my affection and empathy for Zoe should not be confused with a romantic interest. Yes, i would like nothing more than to meet someone like Zoe. This is the key, someone LIKE Zoe. Not Zoe herself. I talk about her so much only because i see the sadness in her eyes, the delicate grace of her conversation and intelligence and humour, and THIS is why she is a rarity and a most cherished friend. And i would like to develop that friendship, but this is also the frustrating thing, and the reason i mention her so often. She is to me almost losing some part of herself with each passing day trapped in this situation. And i notice, fucking hell i notice. It pisses me off to think someone so bloody brilliantly minded and talented is being reigned back from the world.
She will be at this film tonight, involving her colleague Phoebe. I will not go, for it is going to be horrid sitting there amongst the lies.
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[28 Oct 2003|04:12pm] |
Anyway, enough emotional bluster. Conversations that never happened:
Man 1: Can you phone this number for me?
Man 2: Why?
Man 1: Just do it.
Man 2: Wha....? It's just somebody's voicemail, saying "Howdy Do, King of Poo"
Man 1: HAHAHAHAHHAH!!!
Man 2: What? What's the joke?
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[28 Oct 2003|04:21pm] |
I ought to write a comedy sketch based on family life entitled "Golf balls, Dog cushions, and Casseroles."
I can reveal the inspiration. It was my shopping trip out with the Keelers. I had a wonderful time, it was like being part of a family. Something i am not really that affiliated with normally.
As you know...family trips can be fraught affairs. This was never more apparent when mum and daughter got home and the conversation turned to the evening's meal. What's this?
Mel: I don't want frigging casserole again! Can't i have pie?
Angela: Do you know how long that takes?
LATER:
Angela: So i'll make pie, then.
Mel: Yeah, but i probably won't be home to eat it.
Angela: MEL!
And so on. Logic and understanding do not necessarily penetrate the language of mother/daughter relationships.
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[28 Oct 2003|04:25pm] |
Subject No 2: Peas
Peas are rolling nightmares intent on ruining any relationship. There main esixtence is a cause for concern. Small rotund vegetables bred for no good reason. Like tiny versions of something else. Why grow them when you can grow a veg that doesn't roll off you plate and down the crevice in your jeans? Or whatever you're fucking wearing. What is it, anyway? I don't know. They are terrible buggers to sweep up as well. They just roll away from the broom.
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