A world of wonder and enchantment and adventure and end of year financial statements

This whole idea of books as escapism strikes me as being entirely conventional. What if you were an unimportant and a boring person who managed a box factory who read a Company Accountancy book to escape into a world of wonder and enchantment and adventure and end of year financial statements? They just don't get a look in, do they?

Completely sincere feminist love poem #2

O strong-willed and independent womyn
Whose blood pulse is the pulse of the seasons,
Whose mind is the mind of Gaia,
Who runs with the wolves of the night while the ancients chant hymns by the tribal fire,
Natural, nurturing,
Peaceful, fructiferous,
Yet at the same time fierce and liberated with opinions about equal pay and underwear,
Does the sun say to the moon, "Let us dance"?
Does the seed say to the earth, "Let us sing"?
Does the inevitable hegemonising nature of perception irrevocably alter the supposedly natural social contexts in the space-time dimension?
I guess what I am saying is,
Would you go out with me?

Drinking months of the year

The committed alcoholic will of course already have his days full, but the rest of us may need a little encouragement. To that end, I have drawn up this helpful list of drinking months:

Jagermeister January
VBuary
Schwarz March
Grape April
Mead May
June-and-Tonic
Dry White July
Amber August
Siptember
Hocktober
Merlotvember
Brandycember

I have even devised an extra month to accommodate any accompanying headaches:

Allhungovertober

You're welcome.

Prepare to have your consciousness lifted, kids! It's the social issues karate show!

GET READY

(A demure older woman dressed for work enters a busy inner-city office where all the team are gathered around for a meeting)

OLDER WOMAN: Hello!

BOSS: As I was saying...

OOH YOU'LL BE SCARED

BOSS: So, any suggestions anyone?

OLDER WOMAN: Yes, actually...

BOSS: Good. So, now, moving on....

IT'S OLDER WOMAN NINJA

OLDER WOMAN: How about...

POW!

OLDER WOMAN: Here's an idea!

ZAP! 

OLDER WOMAN: We might like to discuss...

HOW DOES SHE AVOID BEING SEEN BY HER ENEMIES? 

OLDER WOMAN: Or what about...

ANOTHER BRILLIANT VICTORY FOR OLDER WOMAN NINJA

OLDER WOMAN: Oh, that's all right.

APPROXIMATELY 70 PER CENT OF EVIL SUPERVILLAINS ARE FOILED BY OLDER WOMAN NINJAS. 

STAY TUNED, BECAUSE LATER IN THE PROGRAM....

SOOKY LALA: Ooh you're being racist against homophobes by not screening this footage!

POLITICAL BIAS NINJA! THE LEAST INTERESTING NINJA OF THEM ALL!

A completely sincere feminist love poem #1

You're just a boi

I'm just a grrrrrrrrrrl

This is just a big pink box of chocolates with a picture of a puppy on it wrapped in a spotty ribbon with a love-heart-shaped card pasted on to it with with glitter-coated golden stars

Now I must hrrrrrrrrrl.

GET WARMTH AND COMFORT WITH TIM

Passing by a heating store last night in the cold winter night I noticed they mostly seemed to specialise in those silly videos of log fire stoves rather than actual log fire stoves. You know the ones; cheap restaurants occasionally have them, a five or six second image of severally cheerfully blazing stumps of wood, looping back on itself, often levitating incongruously over the top of the room (rather than on the floor, as a good log fire ought to do).

I mean, is that all? If they're selling videos of log fires, what about a video of a generic cat and a generic dog settling down together in a homely and happy manner in front of this blazing log fire? If any old sensation approximating the actual sensation of sitting down in front of a blazing log fire would do, how about a little cabinet charged with dispensing the pleasant odour of wood fire around the room? Maybe even (the luxury service) a specially-employed butler who blows this smell out through a little pipe? And for those not satisfied with just this, perhaps a video of a log fire would not suffice - maybe a video of a house fire, or a modest burning-down of a public monument, would be thought more warming and pleasant (let's call it the Pyromaniac's Package).

Though, I must admit, last night my thoughts went in a more modest direction: a slip of paper with the warming and comforting words 'WARMTH AND COMFORT' warmly and comfortingly printed on it, providing the reader with the same sense of warmth and comfort they would get when sitting in front of an actual log fire, only slightly less.

It is rather cold tonight. I think I might print them out for myself. WARMTH AND COMFORT. Ahhhhhh, that's better.

A winter poem

The blanket heaves and billows

With self-fomented storms.

The smell gets in the pillows,

But at least it warms.

Dissimiles

As sharp as a button.
As flat as a tack.
As clean as a baby's bottom.
As light as a featherweight boxer.
As clever as a sausage.
As happy as Barry.
As quick as clockwork.
As old as a whip.
As regular as a Mallee bull.

Putting the pre into sumptuous

We've covered, or should I say, eaten a lot of subjects here at WillTypeForFood over the years. Are Arnott's Nice biscuits really, as they claim to be, nice? What tastes better: the holes in cinnamon donuts, or the holes in Swiss cheese? And what foods really constitute a 'well rounded diet'?

Now the time has come for us to discuss another topic: just how 'delicious' is lemon delicious pudding really? Could it be that the name 'delicious' is actually misleading, and the pudding is merely quite tasty?

Over the years, I have cooked many lemon 'so-called delicious' puddings. They were, indeed, highly enjoyable. The presence of 'lemon' in the recipe was undeniable; no-one could belie the actuality of their puddingness. But were they truly 'delicious'? Just what is 'delicious', anyway? Who can say, in this subjective world in which all personal judgments as to flavour and taste ought to be highly qualified by the acknowledgment that they come from a person whose observations may be affected by an innumerable variety of environmental causes, what 'delicious' really means*?

It may, indeed, be time for the people who make up the rules about the naming of food stuffs (whoever they may be) to consider a name change:

Lemon all right I guess pudding
Lemon quite pleasing pudding
Lemon tasty if that's your thing pudding
Lemon not entirely inoffensive to an educated palate pudding
Lemon thing that also happens to be a pudding pudding
This blob wot I cooked here
Lemon suspicious pudding
Lemon possibly delicious pudding (or, 'lemon possibly')
Pudding (or, 'this pudding', or, 'this damn pudding').

I'll write to the authors of the dictionary and inform them of my decision shortly.

*That sentence came out almost all at once, and I still have no idea what it means. I'm quite proud of it.

On cup nursing, beard stroking, and other important moments in civilisation

An essential moment in the ritual of service in any cafe, bar, club, or pub is that moment after which the patron has finished their drink and falls to nursing their glass or cup. If they have just consumed a beer, they will lovingly, if absent-mindedly, shift the glass from one part of the table to another. They will angle it to their mouth to consume the last, golden drops. Or they will grasp at it possessively in the midst of a conversation when the figure of a patron looms, ready to whisk the glass away. If they have just had a tea or coffee or hot chocolate, they may run their spoon around the rim, catching the last evanescent, delicious drops of froth. They will clasp the cup to their chest, folding themselves in its warm embrace. This moment, of cup embracing, of glass nursing, is stimulative of all manner of deep philosophical thinkings and artistic inspirations, and is crucial to the survival of civilisation in this changing modern world, and any wretched bar or cafe that ignore the deep significance and importance of the ritual being undertaken by the nurser is not worth the patronage.

Similarly, an essential moment in the ritual of reading any book, magazine, zine, or blog post is that moment after which the reader has finished reading and sits back, stroking their beard, and thoughtfully pronouncing, "Hmm". This moment, too, is stimulative of all manner of deep philosophical thinking and artistic inspiration, and is crucial to the survival of civilisation in the changing modern world, etc, etc, etc. Of course, not all blog readers will have a beard on their own faces, but it will merely suffice for them to find someone else with a beard, which they can then stroke and thoughtfully pronounce "Hmm" at leisure. It is well known that, if they do go to the trouble of stroking someone else's beard, they will have good luck for ten years.

I'll let you all do that now at your leisure.

Wherein I implore our cat to come inside

Of all the futile things in the world, the very definition of futility would seem to be provided by a cat, sitting outside the open back door on a cold winter's night, clearly wanting to be inside, but waiting for the owner, sitting on the other side of the open back door, to proffer her a treat. The owner is cold. The cat is cold. The cat is hungry. The cat biscuits are sitting in a bowl just behind the owner. And yet nobody moves.

Can life get any more futile than this?

Somewhat-badly-timed Sunday essay

For today's edition of the somewhat-badly-timed Sunday essay, I would like to present the thoughts of Sir Winston Anticleugh Carruthers on the difference between men and women. 

The difference between men and women

The more I think about the difference between men and women, the more I realise the truth in the old adage: a man needs a horse like a woman needs a fish on a bicycle. Just what men are doing with horses and women with bicycling fish is quite beside the point, whatever that point may be. Men and women are as different as two peas in a pod, and it is our differences that really make us the same, as differences frequently do.

Men! Women! What are they really? I knew a woman once, but that didn't last. However, in the brief time that we met, I remarked to her that men are about as useful to bulls as a kangaroo loose with a six pack, and she acknowledged the truth of my observation. Alas, the brief time of our attachment soon drew to a close, and she went back to training her fish to ride on a bicycle.

It all goes to show, it's a long way to Rome that bodes no good in a month of Sundays.

I just wrote a thing

I just wrote a thing and here it is you are most welcome there you go. 

Interbreeding amongst the early homonyms

Long ago, on the primal grammatical plain, where verbs nouned and syntax garbled adjectives verbish, roamed the original homonyms. Who were the primal homonyms really? We cannot know; we only can guess from fossils, remains, philological specimens.

We know their largest predator: the thesaurus. This fierce, gigantic, omnivorous beast liked to munch on homonyms for breakfast, seasoned with synonyms for a delicious, moreish, tasty, toothsome, delightful, nice treat. We know that, late at night, the homonyms would pass their time by singing homophonies to one another, or maybe, sometimes, argue philosophy with their local homologician. And sometimes - they bred.

Speculation about breeding amongst homonyms has often been muted, prompting criticism of homophobia in many quarters. However, homotextuality was rife in the prehistoric world, and once two or more homonyms homogenised, their offspring could go on to achieve great things.

It seems clear, now, that scholars who have criticised these acts were merely indulging in ad homonym attacks.

Just how did interbreeding between the homonyms occur? Various popular etymologies have been published by eminences such as Hugh Hefner and Larry Flint, but these can safely be discredited. Scientists have attempted to simulate interbreeding amongst homonyms in laboratory conditions by rubbing two dictionaries together, but the results have been inconclusive. Scientists have speculated that perhaps the success or otherwise of homonym interbreeding relies on dictionary size; other scientists have objected that it is not the size of the dictionary that counts, it is how you use it.

The basics of homonym interbreeding are as follows: after a short courtship dance through some intervening sentences, the homonyms join together. A fricative is applied. The labials extend, and various syllables expand and contract responsively. The colons blush red, and the vowels open. There is a short sharp series of plosives, following which homogeneity occurs.

However, beyond this, it is all mere speculation, and so now it is time to place a full stop.

Health party!

The Baron is off in an alternative dimension for a few days, so in the meantime I've been throwing myself a bit of a Health Party, to throw some much needed Health back into my life. All those lentils have been really bad for my vibes, man.

Here's what a Health Party consists of:

1) Butter. Butter is incredibly important for your health, because it appeared on the cover of Time magazine - just like Stalin, who, as we all know, is also incredibly important for your health. Acceptable substitute: cream.

2) Biscuits. Biscuits are super vital for your health, because they contain sugar, and as we all know, sugar helps restore your body's crucial..... sugar.... levels. So far I've made two lots of biscuits - oatcakes yesterday, and Anzac's today. So I'm double healthy!

3) Booze. I'm still working on why booze is healthy for you but I'm sure it is.

(Oh all right, all right, I was hungry just then and wanted dessert so I tipped a bunch of Anzac biscuits into a bowl, poured some cream over the top, and then sloshed some sherry over the top of that, and this is my paltry justification. Happy now, pedants?)

Mythopathetic

King Midas of Old's poo turned to gold

Before it had dropped down

And all preferred the royal turd

To their own humdrum brown.

Flounces and flounds

I may have mentioned before the mysterious nature of the 'snicker', the 'snirtle', and the 'smirk' - has anyone actually heard anyone else snicker or snirtle? Or seen someone properly smirk? All excellent descriptive words that have been put to fine use in literature, but do they have any separate existence in reality?

Another word like these is 'flounce'. It starts with 'f' and rhymes with 'pounce' - or 'bounce'. In novels, people occasionally 'flounce off' (another mystery - if people can 'flounce off', can they 'flounce on', too?) But I realised last night that I had no idea what a flounce looked like. I turned the matter over with the Baron and said I wasn't quite sure really how to flounce. The Baron did an imitation flounce for me, cocking her snook in the air and marching off, and it really did look like something that might be described as a 'flounce'. But how could I be sure, really, if this was the only flounce I had ever seen in real life? The Baron admitted she could not remember anyone ever flouncing off from her. She denied flouncing off herself.

I tried a flounce myself at the tram station. It was so unconvincing that I even failed to convince myself. Perhaps I had to get the attitude right, really be in the heat of the moment, as it were.

The etymology of 'flounce ' confounds me as well. Is it a portmanteau word - a combination of 'flail' and 'bounce', for instance, or 'floppy' and 'pounce'? Or maybe it is a type of measurement for a human activity: a 'flustered ounce', with the next measurement up being a 'flippant pound'. 'Flounces' and 'flounds', anyone?

'Snickers' and 'smirks' and 'flounces' and 'confounds' and 'confused' are all fine words for Spoonerising, by the by. 'Snounces' and 'consmirkled', for instance. Or 'confluskers' and 'smirouncickles' and 'flirks'. Whether these have any separate existence in actual, er, actuality can be left to the metaphysicians to sort out.

Have you, dear reader, seen the glorious flounce manifested in nature, as God intended it to be? What does it look like?

List of important things on sheets of paper Beatrice the cat has teared chunks out of to get our attention

I was going to write a list of important things on sheets of paper Beatrice the cat has teared chunks out of to get our attention, but then I realised your important thing on a sheet of paper is probably one of the things Beatrice the cat has teared chunks out of to get our attention, so now I'm not. Yes. You know the important thing I'm talking about. 

Minutes and meetings

For some reason I wrote a poem about meetings.

Poem I wrote for some reason about meetings

Meetings and minutes, minuted meetings,
I've been to many more than bear repeating,
Quorums and motions, agendas, agendas,
As long as your arm an as high as September.

Minutes and meetings, meetings being minuted
Could stretch to the heavens high, meetings unlimited
Of quibbles and tittles and hyphens and jots
Of indented spaces, of dashes and dots.

Meetings in meetings in meetings and more
Clubs, working groups, and committees galore,
There's President (Vice) and Honourable (Right)
And Sub-Deputy-Branch-Chair for Wednesday Night.

Minute of meeting: committees at war
Over a clause of a clause in a sub-point of law,
Load hyphens with colons and hide behind brackets
While dot points roll through in vain hopes to crack it.

Minutely minuted minutes of meetings,
Repeating.... repeating... repeating... repeating...
A vortex, a black hole that goes on forever.
I... don't... think... that... this... meeting... will... ever...

END

Smogging

As an addendum to the previous blog post about the joys of cold and wet and grey, I offer the following poem, in which romantic poet William Turdsworth, personified for some reason as a cloud of smog, goes somewhere, sees something, and comes to the grand conclusion of I'm not sure. 

I wandered lonely as a smog

I wandered lonely as a smog
That floats on high o’er city streets
And came across a rancid bog
Behind a wall of grey concrete,
A dirty cankered swamp of spew,
Of toxic waste and foetid muck;
And bubbles from the putrid brew
Burst with a stench as rank as fuck.

But through the sickly slough of cess
Moss-matted ferals waded out
And – “Save our Bog!” “Say YES to MESS!”
The crowd would somehow vomit-shout.
“It’s dirty, but it’s all we’ve got!”
One hacked (and coughed a gob of drool);
Another wheezed midst gales of snot
“Once all this land was palsied pool.”

And oft, when in pensive mood I lie,
I call to mind that sewer pit,
And thinking of that swamp, I sigh -
“But geeze that fucking bog was shit!”

Things I like to have on toast and the order in which I like to have them

Normally when I am drinking my morning coffee I like to have something sweet with it, toast with jam perhaps, or toast with honey. But sometimes I like to change things around and have a little toast with Vegemite as well, with the bitterness of the Vegemite complementing the bitterness of the coffee brilliantly.

There is no real point to this observation, though it is pleasant to talk about pleasant things, which is the point to my lack of point, at any rate.

On that point, the general order in which I have things on toast is highly important, I find. Whether to have toast with jam before or after toast with honey is one thing: I used to quite like to conclude affairs with toast with jam, since I consider jam to have a more satisfying complexity than honey: there's fruity sourness and bitterness in there as well as a rich sweetness. On the other hand, I've really begun to appreciate honey a lot more since keeping bees; its golden smoothness seeming to be emblematic of good fortune and luxury. No other condiment melds so well with melted butter, sinking right down into the pores of the toast. But then again, the plum jam we have at the moment is pretty ace.

I still like to have golden syrup on toast sometimes, but whether I have it before or after another slice of toast, it is often slightly disappointing: not quite enough sweetness to stand out against the saltiness in the bread. (Occasionally I even try treacle on toast; treacle really is pretty fantastic, rich and black and viscous, like the Thing from Outer Space. On your toast. And edible. It tastes pretty strange, though in a nice way.) Golden syrup, though, is fantastic on crumpets. It's best for store bought crumpets, although it's good on home made crumpets as well, although I find the very best thing for home made crumpets is honey.

Of course, all these condiments have to go with butter; there's no question about that. A little butter, spread on the fresh toast, straight from the toaster, and then left for a minute or two to melt and sink down into the toast and leave a glistening surface on which the condiment can be spread. The question of butter is another delicious subject which I will enter into sometime at tedious length, if you'd like, or even if you wouldn't like. Though of course there is always honey and cream. (Have you tried honey and cream? It's fantastic.)

Having continued to make my lack of a point for several pointless paragraphs, I have now got to the point where I will stop.