Friday, October 01, 2004
Boy I need a haircut...
However, haircuts are very expensive over here. Nineteen euros, so that's like... 38 dollars! That's just for the cheapo, standard men's cut.
So, I'm going to cut my hair myself. I've already successfully trimmed my hair once, a month and a half ago, and now it's in need of more drastic "guidance". I plan to do it this afternoon. Except, the only sharp implements I have are my razor, a pair of tiny aluminium sewing scissors which can't even cut cotton thread (I really should throw those away) and some nail clippers... I'm sure I can work something out.
Having done a fair bit of reading online today, I am feeling very frustrated. I want to write, but I can't because I don't have enough access to a computer. How dumb is that? I am dependant on technology. Writing on paper is just too slow! Also, my brain feels like mud. And, because I can't just delete stuff and rewrite it, I end up writing lots of awful stuff and not being able to edit it. So what's the point? Frustration. But you can't improve unless you practice, huh? This is stupid. I am going to go and sit in a French parc and write a poem. After I've finished here, that is.
Speaking of France, yesterday I explored le Chateau de Monbazillac and did some wine tasting! It was awesome! Wine is actually nice! Did anyone already know that? I was pretty astonished, myself. The only other time I've actually enjoyed wine was at Dave's 21st - but then, when something has been kept in a genuinely subterranean cellar, lovingly selected and presented to you by a passionate connoiseur (who you are also slightly frightened of), you enjoy it. Dad got a bit red in the face and started making bad jokes (ie. worse than usual and more frequent), which is a sure sign of the wines', um, quality. The Monbazillac wine is a famous super-sweet wine for drinking as an aperitif. It's good with bitter chocolate or strong cheese, but not with dessert (danger of hyperglycemia, I expect).
And soon I'm off; like old milk, like a good cheese, like a bride's nightey (that one's Dad's). Greece beckons. My itinerary may change, and will certainly become more detailed, so I'll just give the bare bones here. Paris-Athens-Naxos ... Turkey ... Athens ... Rome ... Nimes-Paris-London; home. I've had emails from Ara and Pascale today, and everything is all set as far as Naxos. Accommodation is relatively cheap now that the main tourist season is over, and for food I can dine à la dustbin, so I am hopeful that by the time I reach Paris I will still have plenty of funds to splash around. And in London, too. And then I can return home to my virtually empty bank accounts and the prospect of having to find a job, again, like every summer. If anyone knows of anything... Maybe I could get a job in Geoffrey Conway's café, that would be ideal!
Anyway, perhaps my head will be more firmly connected, more surely wired and swept and dusted by tomorrow, and I can say something that is *actually* worth publishing for you to read. It is my belief that too many wasteful, poorly chosen words are like junk food, for the writer and for the reader; they fill you up temporarily, offer little nutritional value and quickly leave you feeling hungry again. And yet still I indulge... Oh, and they make you flabby round the edges.
*And hastily he left in a tempest of furious torpor*
So, I'm going to cut my hair myself. I've already successfully trimmed my hair once, a month and a half ago, and now it's in need of more drastic "guidance". I plan to do it this afternoon. Except, the only sharp implements I have are my razor, a pair of tiny aluminium sewing scissors which can't even cut cotton thread (I really should throw those away) and some nail clippers... I'm sure I can work something out.
Having done a fair bit of reading online today, I am feeling very frustrated. I want to write, but I can't because I don't have enough access to a computer. How dumb is that? I am dependant on technology. Writing on paper is just too slow! Also, my brain feels like mud. And, because I can't just delete stuff and rewrite it, I end up writing lots of awful stuff and not being able to edit it. So what's the point? Frustration. But you can't improve unless you practice, huh? This is stupid. I am going to go and sit in a French parc and write a poem. After I've finished here, that is.
Speaking of France, yesterday I explored le Chateau de Monbazillac and did some wine tasting! It was awesome! Wine is actually nice! Did anyone already know that? I was pretty astonished, myself. The only other time I've actually enjoyed wine was at Dave's 21st - but then, when something has been kept in a genuinely subterranean cellar, lovingly selected and presented to you by a passionate connoiseur (who you are also slightly frightened of), you enjoy it. Dad got a bit red in the face and started making bad jokes (ie. worse than usual and more frequent), which is a sure sign of the wines', um, quality. The Monbazillac wine is a famous super-sweet wine for drinking as an aperitif. It's good with bitter chocolate or strong cheese, but not with dessert (danger of hyperglycemia, I expect).
And soon I'm off; like old milk, like a good cheese, like a bride's nightey (that one's Dad's). Greece beckons. My itinerary may change, and will certainly become more detailed, so I'll just give the bare bones here. Paris-Athens-Naxos ... Turkey ... Athens ... Rome ... Nimes-Paris-London; home. I've had emails from Ara and Pascale today, and everything is all set as far as Naxos. Accommodation is relatively cheap now that the main tourist season is over, and for food I can dine à la dustbin, so I am hopeful that by the time I reach Paris I will still have plenty of funds to splash around. And in London, too. And then I can return home to my virtually empty bank accounts and the prospect of having to find a job, again, like every summer. If anyone knows of anything... Maybe I could get a job in Geoffrey Conway's café, that would be ideal!
Anyway, perhaps my head will be more firmly connected, more surely wired and swept and dusted by tomorrow, and I can say something that is *actually* worth publishing for you to read. It is my belief that too many wasteful, poorly chosen words are like junk food, for the writer and for the reader; they fill you up temporarily, offer little nutritional value and quickly leave you feeling hungry again. And yet still I indulge... Oh, and they make you flabby round the edges.
*And hastily he left in a tempest of furious torpor*
# posted by Doug @ 12:58 
