19 Jan 2012

Money for nothing, chicks for free

Two years now since my contemporaries started regaling me with tales of the indescribable joy of being a home-owner. That moment you sign on the dotted line, they said. That first "honey, I'm home". Love on living room furniture.

Yesterday, I took my own tentative first step up the property ladder. Not an actual piece of land of course, not even a studio. That would be too permanent, too real. I refer to a little oyster named the world wide web, virtual estate, if you will. I bought my first computer.

Yes, my first computer. In this day and age, you mutter. Fucking hippie, you shake your head. I'm familiar with them things of course, I didn't just crawl out from under the metaphorical rock. I just happen to have lived all my adult life in 24/7 cities with 24/7 internet cafes. Chennai, then Glasgow, then London (where this blog was concieved), back to Glasgow, now Singapore. Or my flatmate had one.

I can't honestly say it was a concious decision not to own one, but I know I felt a certain pride at the disbelief in people's voices when they found out about it. The few times I've had a computer lying around at home -a girlfriend's say, or a mate's- it just meant I was more in touch with people I didn't particularly want to hear from. I mean listening to voicemails freaks me out.

Why now then? Because I've hit rock bottom, mostly. I counted, and counted again, and came to the conclusion that I have a total of about 2 real friends. One of them is my ex, so that's only going to last so long. I figure I'm too old to spend birthdays and new year's eves by my lonesome, or worse, with other equally lonely souls.

Oh, I realize emails and facebook are not going to save me from myself. No, the plan is to do stuff. And since I cannot be arsed to scale peaks or save lives -as these good folks do so well, by the way- I decided to do the only thing I really enjoy. I'm going to sit down and finish that novel. And I'm going to send umpteen unsolicited emails to publishers and print out all the rejection letters and build a life-size papier-mache cast of my cock - bit like this lovely lady here. I'll just have to recycle most of them, really.

Anyway, I didn't want to buy a PC though they're much nicer to type on. I just can't get over the 'Personal Computer' oxymoron. They're machines, for God's sakes. Someday they're all going to come alive and eat our babies. They're not personal. That's as bad as dressing up your microwave for dinner. 'Laptops' on the other hand are too literal. Yes, you mostly use them while they're perched atop your lap. Where's the imagination in that? I can't write on something that boringly-named.

So, sentimentalist that I am, I bought this thing named -endearingly- 'Notebook'. Which is nothing like a notebook of course. And the keyboard was clearly designed with the next evolutionary cycle in mind. They certainly don't accomodate human fingers. But 'Notebook', neverthless. My mate says they're a few things short of being a superior thing which means it's much slower and much less efficient than other superior thing-fitted computers. A bit like my social skills.

I leave you with this (slightly modified) quote from Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides:

"From an early age they knew what little value the world placed in books, and so didn't waste their time with them. Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able catch the rainbow of conciousness in a jar. The only trust fund I have is this story, and unlike a prudent immigrant, I'm dipping into principal, spending it all..."

                                     Money for nothing - Dire Straits



red dirt girl said...

Welcome to the world of computer ownership. They are necessary evils, and yes, might one day eat my babies (the dogs I'm thinking). Love that quote from Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides.

Personally, I don't write my poems on the computer. I still write in graph-papered notebooks, folding the pages like complicated origami as I revise, revise, revise. It only goes onto the computer as a back-up plan should I ever lose the notebooks.

Love, love, love the cock casting lady! It reminds me of the Great Wall of Vagina here.

As a romantic, I still long for the days of nibbed fountain pens and handmade paper .... oh and definitely with the wax seal :)


icyhighs said...

Holy vajazzle! That's a fantastic piece of social commentary, lady's certainly got a point. It scares me how casual and normal its become to 'enhance' one's appearance through surgery. Even from a purely selfish point of view: if I wanted all women to look the same -the same nose, the same tits- I'd just stay with the same goddamn woman all my life. (Not that I'd mind, I'm just saying.) And the men are at it too, of course, so many Chinese folk here in Singapore getting blepharoplasty done. The whole world's going to end up looking like Michael Jackson.

Still can't access your 'comments' by the way. But I couldn't on the 'How a poem happens' blog either, so I'm wondering if its something to do with my settings. Blown away by the '54 Chevy reference. You should just run away with me. I'll let you drive.

red dirt girl said...

Ok. I've changed the comment format at red dirt girl to full page.

I went to How a Poem Happens and had the same trouble you are having - you hit comments and then get a white page that loads indefinitely? If you double click back (maybe triple), for some reason it clears up and you land on the comments page. Definitely a glitch in 'Blogger' with their new threaded comments format.

Asians and blepharoplasty! I wonder if they bring in photographs of their favorite Caucasian eyes and say, "This! This is what I want to look like ..."??? In my world, labioplasty is the up and coming thing ... who sets the gold standard for the perfect vagina?

So you, too, lust for a '54 Chevy... what are we running away from?


icyhighs said...

No Red, no! Chinese, not 'Asians'. Mongoloids, I think, is the pervasive term. Other Asians, like Indians for example, probably wouldn't share their interest in blepharoplasty. I'm particularly proud of me ol' bedroom eyes!

The perfect vagina is of course a whole other debate. I may actually have a few candidates in mind, skewed in favour of the pornography-watching community. Little did we know at the time that those gorgeous orifices were merely setting us up for a lifetime of disillusionment. Not that I condone cosmetic work or societal pressure to adhere to a common standard, just that I wish porn for little boys were more accurately representative of reality. Or that they at least came with a disclaimer.

As for running away: I have a feeling if you get to know me any better, you might just run me over with that Chevy.

red dirt girl said...

Arrrrgggghhh! Sorry about the Asian reference. I forget India etc. etc. are all part of the sub-continent ... my bad.

I'm all for the disclaimer on porn - for both boys AND girls ;)

Ummm ... if you think I might run you over with my '54 Chevy, I think you are beginning to know me too well!! Ahhh - where's my mystery ???