Nomadic Tribe Soup

"You'd make an awful nurse!" I have been told twice. Not that I harbor some sweet affection, deep understanding or an overflowing nurturing capacity that's yet to be unearthed. I am grumpy and impatient. Some like it hot-headed. In December 2009, when Robin was frail, transparent and wheezing in the bed he would soon die, I was spraying fake saliva into his mouth and missing the point, I was fixing his pillows to the most uncomfortable position his bones could ever bear. Of Robin, nothing was left but bones. Robin had a T-shirt with Alfred Hitchcock's head in a glass bell jar or an astronaut's helmet that sat perfectly atop his jolly good and mighty belly, giving Hitchcock a 3D quality somehow. That was when Robin used to cook lamb shanks, we'd drink quite a few bottles of wine each, there'd be some singing or somber discussion on the state of academia, he would at some point cheer up, recite dialogues from movies I'd never heard of. As Robin melte...

I should have been in bed by now but I didn't get my daily dose of silly things. Some people take a glass of milk before they go to bed, I wouldn't mind a glass of wine or just a few absurdities will do.  Here is Zeynep's puppet. As much I love the mess I generate myself, I'm particularly fond of her messy desk. Now I can get some sleep.

I don't let myself write blog posts because I am behind with some monolithic, oppressive and pending-like-a-pendulum writing. I self-impose sanctions sometimes, imagining one day I can discipline myself and become a productive tennis ball machine pumping out only meaningful words, worthy observations and downright brilliance. But most of my self-education goes awry and the rest goes haywire. Things I forbid myself from doing return before even they are repressed. The Heir of Ossington, who no longer lives on Ossington explains that it's 'the eroticism of transgression', sort of George Bataille for people with a hangover. 'The self imposed limits are too delicious not to trespass', he says or something like that because one can never quote HoO exactly the way he talks. What tickles my fancy now is Yahoo News, the sort of news headlines that chain J Lo's low cut jeans to torn clothing containing corpses in the rubble of an earthquake. Yahoo Canada provokes m...