Monday, August 11, 2008

Rainbow Retention

Right place, right time by Pants

Complaints have been pouring into Winnebago of Pants vis-à-vis the scarcity, bordering on poverty of the Pants pantry of late. I agree the larder falls somewhat short of Epicurean and I would apologise for that but for the fact that at the moment I don’t really give a flying fart about anything, much less the problems of the big bad world. Most of them are caused by stupidity. The discovery of a formula for making people less stupid could spark my interest, in more ways than one. Suffice to say the relationship between thought and bubble has recently hit the skids insofar as the functional fusion culminating in inspiration goes. In short, I have been cluelessly preoccupied with the thorny question of whether or not to bother going on … er… bothering and I didn’t feel inclined to turn my attention to how badly the world was getting along without the benefit of my eternal vigilance.

I may have turned a corner, or at the very least, a figurative leaf. Miraculously my banking problems have temporarily subsided and I have access to some cash. I don’t need a lot but I’m very pleased to have a trickle as personal hygiene was suffering. As I was reaching a new nadir on Wednesday, I chanced to look out the window and saw the rainbow above terminating in the farm’s very own disused well. Well! Despite the slightly mixed symbolism, I thought my luck had to be changing. Are leprechauns large grey things with big long tails and little tiny hands does anyone know? No matter. I think I might have seen one on a coin so that’s a great omen, right?

I used to be so organised in my anxiety once, devoting a day a week to fretting over carefully selected major global concerns. The last year has eroded my confidence in reality quite substantially and that has rather influenced my ability to find a focus for my critical pretensions. I’ve just generally kind of felt bad about almost everything in an overwhelming it can’t be fixed sort of way. Attaining a metaphysical detachment from the world and all its infuriating little administrative imperatives allows me to live in my head more and, much as I loved Hackney, it’s a good deal quieter in there. I think I’ve done fairly well. There are an awful lot of things that could irritate me if I deigned to give them the time of day and I will again once I locate a few of the missing pieces from my deconstructed sensibilities. Perhaps I left them in Madhogarh along with my spare contact lenses. Can you claim missing marbles on travel insurance?

A recent study carried out at the University of Queensland (one’s alma mater) suggests that your preferred type of music could be a key to determining the likelihood that you’ll top yourself. Is this a good time to reveal that I’ve been listening to a lot of Joy Division and Jeff Buckley? This would render me a candidate for suicide watch I shouldn't wonder. A suggested application for the study is yet another obsessive monitoring mechanism for plotting the mental well-being of young people. One day someone will come up with the bright idea of just casually inquiring into their state of mind via a simple question over a coffee. 

I think I might have come up with a flaw in the music as mind map theory and that is that you sometimes just listen to whatever’s there. I would have done almost anything to have been gyrating geriatrically to Dane Bowers’ Testosterone but the farm only has Andrea Bocelli, The Chieftains and a Basque group called Oílarrak (who actually aren’t bad provided you can  consume enough rough red), so I was obliged to borrow whatever CDs I could find. If I could have had Lily Allen’s Smile, I might have achieved self-actualisation, at least for five minutes. So there you go. My music of choice might have been considered quite uplifting. The study also concluded that people who attended parties were more likely to consume drugs. You don’t say. Sometimes I wish I’d never left UQ. What must it be like to be a tenured academic in the era of stupidity?

Back to the rainbow. It’s rare isn’t it that a rainbow landfalls within reach? So consumed was I with capturing this momentous event on the Kodak that it never occurred to me to go down to the end of the garden and a) bathe in its heavenly light and b) check the well for gold deposits. Clearly I still have work to do on defining my life goals. Next week I’ll be heading off to Melbourne. I have prepared myself for this by watching Chopper with the eponymous hero’s commentary accompanying my viewing. I’m confident I could recognise a 410 shotgun if one were suddenly to appear in front of my face but, with my rainbow connections, I think that’s unlikely. I heard today that Sydney and Brisbane (both cities in which I've lived) love themselves but Melbourne has invented a persona in which she feels comfortable. Sounds like my kind of place. Wish me Bluebirds in the Spring, or just a spring would do nicely. Ta…


Andrew said...

Our lounge room floor is ready and made up for you Pants. Please don't mess up our sterile and perfectly arranged environment.

Melbourne is in big danger of being oversold, so I hope it does not disappoint. While Sydney can give instant gratification, it takes time in Melbourne, especially so in the middle of winter. I will be interested to hear your impressions.

Will you be taking tea with RH?

Great pic btw. It must be the rainbow season as I took photos of one yesterday.

That's So Pants said...

HI Andrew

I'm amazed that you're still amenable considering the mess that Barney made of your floor. All things considered, I might just meet you for coffee if you don't mind. I hear Bojangles is kicking. RH could meet us there - we may need the protection.



Brian Hughes said...

"I may have turned a corner, or at the very least, a figurative leaf."

Adam did that with Eve, I've been told, and look a the mess we're all in now.

Caroline said...

Angst so eloquently put. You too eh? Its an epidemic then.

That's So Pants said...

HI Brian

Do you mind? I've only just managed to absolve myself of all the world's ills. I really don't feel like going there all over again.

Hey Caroline

The new me hasn't fooled anyone then. Point taken.



Ann O'Dyne said...

My opinion of music and it's effect on mood is that chirpy pop music is as depressing as hell,
and a damn good slab of blues is absolutely uplifting.

That's So Pants said...

Hi Annie

They call it stormy Monday, but Tuesday's just as bad? That type of thing? Mmm see what you mean.



R.H. said...

I'm sure Miz Panz would do okay looking after herself, she's lived among cockneys long enough.
Tea with RH? Good heavens. Well it's unlikely, but one learns never to doubt the most outrageous prospects; I'm saving my used tea bags.

That's So Pants said...


In my right mind I almost manage.



phil said...

And Australian year 10s who listened to classical music were twice as likely to bugger small furry animals.

If there was any more tripe in that study you could have put it in your temporarily denuded larder.

No wonder the country's going down the tubes.

Ah The Tubes, Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman - now that's my kind of music and you don't want to know what antisocial stuff I get up to.

That's So Pants said...

Hi Phil

Thanks Phil. Money for old dope eh? The Tubes! That takes me back -Don't Touch Me There - say no more.



Wisewebwoman said...

Pants angst, angst Pants. A poetic lean to those words.
Music of our lives: some parts of Beethoven make me feel like dying, knowing all for a fleeting second.
Melbourne will suit you.
Don't stop with the words, dear Pants.
I miss you when you're silent.

That's So Pants said...


More words coming just as soon as I can get out and collect them.