October 30, 2003
Da da da da da
- I know. Da da da da da.
- Da da da da..da da.. duh.
- My number's on the card.
The lovely kurt has, once again, inflicted something terrible on us all. This irresistible piece of loungecore doodling has taken a few days to really get its claws into me, but I can deny it no longer: I'm hooked. Not quite on a par with such old time lounge masterpieces as the immortal Yma Sumac's Malambo #1 -- which must be more than half a century old now -- but pretty fucking fabulous all the same.
Life, at the moment, is unreasonably delineated and constrained by work, and work is, not to put too fine a point on it, totally fucked up. A fair amount of today was spent wrestling with a stupid geometric problem that, frankly, I should have been able to solve unaided. The fact that I couldn't is yet another manifestation of the following facts:
- I'm past it. I mean, in the world of Logan's Run I'd have been recycled long ago. In the world of Soylent Green I'd've been eaten. I should just hang up my laptop and relocate to the nursing home right now.
- Things at work are so horrifically depressing at the moment that the only way to make it through the day is to enter a catatonic state. How can anyone be expected to program while comatose? That's just unreasonable.
In other news, I'm meant to be meeting up with transatlantic celebrity visitor Faustus M.D. this weekend. He's dropping by the cradle of civilisation to see what kind of travesty we make of one of his musicals. Which should be, at the very least, different. As previously documented, I've met a few of my fellow blogizens before, but Faustus will be the first person I've met solely as a consequence of blogging.
Optimistic as ever, I fully expect the meeting to be a triumph.
