Category: Random Life Stuff

I didn’t sleep last night. My sisters were visiting and I doubt they did either. I love city living, but sometimes it takes it’s toll.

“Dirty cat, dirty cat,” some chick sang at the top of her voice. CRASH! BANG!!! And a few minutes later it happened again. And again. And again. What was going on?

Half asleep I ignored it, but as it got louder and louder, and the voice sounded more frantic and the bangs got more violent, I ventured down the stairs to check it out through a set of squinty eyes. On my way I noticed what looked like McDonald’s buns thrown across the entrance. Weird.

As it turned out it wasn’t my neighbour who was screaming, it was a very frustrated British chick who was very very drunk, and very annoyed at the dude living a few stories below me.

“I don’t have my keys,” she said, scrambling through her bag. She was a mess. “My head is bleeding and he won’t let me in. I fell over. And then he grabbed me by my head and dragged me.”

“Ummm….” I was stunned. Do I invite her into my place? I really didn’t want to and my sisters were still trying to sleep. Should I call the cops? Her hair was wet, but it was also raining outside. It didn’t look like blood. And besides being drunk he girl looked fine. “Where are your keys?” I asked.

“Inside there,” she replied, pointing at my neighbour’s door. “Well I think they are. I left my makeup bag in there. I think. And it has my pay cheque in it. But the asshole won’t let me in to get it.”

“Ummm…” I really didn’t know what to say. “Are you sure it’s in there?”

“Yes.” Pause. “Actually no. But I need to look and see.”

“Do you know you have kept the whole building up for the last few hours?” I asked, I’m not sure what good I thought that would do. I knocked on the door. “Excuse me…” I said meekly. No answer. I shrugged at the girl. About to give up, the dude came out of his apartment. He looked normal and relaxed.

“Look you just gotta go home.” he told the girl. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” he said to me, “she’s really very drunk.”

“Are her keys inside your place?” I asked, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

“No.” he said, turning to her, “If you had anything in there, I’d have given them to you already.” He shook his head. “Go home. You’re going to get me evicted.” Turning to me he appologised once again, and then vacated the premises. She called after him and I escaped back to my bed. Surely she would go home now. But no.

“Dirty cat, dirty cat,” the loud obnoxious singing started again.

All this commotion on a Tuesday night! My sisters will be turned off city living forever!!!

A while later there were a few more shouts and bangs, and then nothing.

What happened? I don’t know. Hopefully she’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. I guess she went home. I hope…

What’s even more discomforting about this situation is that I seemed to be the only one in the building to go see what the commotion was about. And it probably took a good hour or so of noise before I made a move.

How much screaming does it take for us to step out of our warm beds to see what is going on?

Living in apartment blocks we live so close to complete strangers and you have to wonder whether anyone would notice if someone was in serious trouble… that’s really not a nice thought.

Yesterday EVERYTHING seemed tangled up in knots. Even my washing. Ahhhhh! I screamed.

I had been trying to write journal articles and my mind seemed to mix up the concepts and ideas. I had been trying to edit my book but it seemed muddled up as well. I don’t even know what genre it fits. And let’s not mention my love life. All in all I felt as if my brain was tied in knots. And there it was, in my washing too. After five minutes of trying to untangle it I didn’t have the patience to continue.

But this morning things are clearer.

I don’t know how I managed it, but woke up at 10am. That’s almost eleven hours sleep! I can’t remember the last time I did that. I knew I was tired, but… wow.

Oh that’s it – my brain was in knots because I needed sleep. Well, it could be at least part of the problem.

I had been treating sleep as an overrated nuisance. Six hours would do the job. I guess eventually a lack of sleep will catch up.

Hopefully today I’ll do some untangling of my article and book, and I suppose of that darn washing.

In sum, the lesson of the day is that sleep is as necessary as food and water. From now on I’m going to try to catch a few more winks.

Ok, so you’ve seen True Blood right? If not you should…

From wikipedia (I’m too lazy to write today):

True Blood is based on The Southern Vampire Mysteries (informally known as The Sookie Stackhouse Novels / Chronicles and retronymed the True Blood Series) is a series of books written by The New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris.

Within the fictional universe vampires have “come out of the coffin” (a term coined as a play on “coming out of the closet”), when scientists in Japan invent a synthetic form of blood called “Tru Blood.” No longer relying on human blood to survive, vampires are able to integrate themselves into human society (or “mainstream”).

How cool is this opening sequence!!!

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxINMuOgAu8[/youtube]

Also from wikipedia:

Conceptually, Digital Kitchen elected to construct the sequence around the idea of “the whore in the house of prayer”^[15] by intermingling contradictory images of sex, violence and religion and displaying them from the point of view of “a supernatural, predatory creature observing human beings from the shadows …”^[14]Digital Kitchen also wished to explore ideas of redemption and forgiveness, and thus arranged for the sequence to progress from morning to night and to culminate in a baptism.^[15]

In editing the opening, Digital Kitchen wanted to express how “religious fanaticism” and “sexual energy” could corrupt humans and make them animalistic. Accordingly, several frames of some shots were cut to give movements a jittery feel, while other shots were simply played back very slowly. Individual frames were also splattered with drops of blood.^[15] The sequence’s transitions were constructed differently, though; they were made with a Polaroid transfer technique. The last frame of one shot and the first frame of another were taken as a single Polaroid photo, which was then divided between emulsion and backing. The emulsion was then filmed being further separated by chemicals and those shots of this separation were placed back into the final edit.^[14]

The best thing about it is the metaphors and parallels to things happening in our world today. More about that next time.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLlAOICIyZg[/youtube]

The first two series are out and the third is on it’s way. So… check it out!!!

So the other day I’m in a bar and I run into a student from a Pilates class I used to teach. We have a nice catchup and he asks for my number. Without much thought I give it to him – not cause I want to see him again unless it’s at a pilates class – I guess I was just being polite. Exactly one week later I get a mysterious call from a private number. No-one says anything so after a few ‘hello?’ … ‘hellooo???’ s I hang up. The next morning my phone rings and it’s a private number again.
‘Hello?’ I ask
‘Hello’ says a young sounding Japanese voice. ‘Who is this?’
‘Ah, who is this??’ I reply.
‘It’s Mika.’
‘I think you have the wrong number,’ Not knowing a Mika. ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Ah, Isabelle?’
‘Sorry, you have the wrong number.’ I say. And I hang up.
A few hours later the private number appears for third time.
‘Hello…’ I answer.
‘Hello. I called before.’
‘Yes…’
‘I’m actually wondering what your relationship is with Chris?’ she says, in a gentle yet slightly accusingly tone of voice.
‘Ah, Chris who?’ I ask.
‘Chris Keats.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know a Chris Keats.’ I say honestly.
‘You didn’t meet him on Thursday night?’
Trying to remember what happened on Thursday I say, ‘Ah, no, I don’t think so. What was Thursday night?’
‘I have messages from you on his phone.’
‘Chris Michaels?’ I ask, that’s the only Chris I know. Then it dawns on me. Last Thursday night I was at the bar in Manly.
‘Oh I know, I think you are talking about the Chris I teach Pilates to.’
‘Teach Pilates to?’
‘Well, I used to. Then I went overseas. I ran into Chris in Wharf Bar last Thursday.’ Suddenly I remember our texts.
Realising what was going on – why this chick was calling me, I continue, ‘He asked if I wanted to have dinner with him but I said no.’ Then softly, I ask, ‘Are you his girlfriend?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s shit! Guys are fucked.’ I really hit the fan. ‘I’m really sorry. Nothing happened on the night, we just talked. And I don’t want to see him or anything. But that’s really shit that he did that to you.’
‘It’s ok, I’m going to leave him anyway. I just wanted to know.’
‘Well I hope things work out for you.’ And with that I hang up.

Like the equator monument in Ecuador that was built a few hundred meters off the equator, men (and women) like this get a big thumbs down.

Note: this story came from my random writings from 2009 and names have been changed.