Is she really going out with him?

Dogs and Cats, some philosophy and handy hints.

Dogs exist because for thousands of years humans, recognising individually they are incapable of giving unconditional love, and less capable of digesting it, settled for second best.


Cats have been Gods for humans much longer than Jesus has.


Handy Hint;

Your Dog is a pack animal. that sideways glance it gives you while shitting isn't some existential anal catholic residue. If you could face the opposite way and literally, watch its back, then that would be great and that's what it's checking on.


Handy Hint.

If wishing to properly introduce yourself to a cat take scent from under your arm on your fingers and present it. It saves time. Also Cats love earwax.

Ta Wit a Woo

Copenhagen

I had performed 8 shows in a day, I felt hard working and rewarded myself by catching a taxi to my good friend Chris's place.

He was having a housewarming and I decided I would go in a moderating

capacity, knowing full well that everyone else there was going to get

shitfaced.

There were about ten people there when I arrived, there was a table stacked with delicious home made food, everyone else had eaten.

They were sitting in a roundish arrangement talking in groups of 3 or 4.

There were two cases of beer, a litre of 20 year old rum, a large bottle of

blue label vodka, couple of bottles of wine, a tiny bottle of orange juice

and five grams of assorted hash and buds.

I was tired, I was going to take it easy, just a beer and listen to the

chat. I felt together.

Messy old mescal followed by vodka, in dispersed with joints strong enough to simulate a direct meteor hit.

I started to  loosen up, my earlier tiredness and resolve dissolved. 

I opened my mouth and 40 minutes of verbiage emerged.

Storys of nighttime mescal raids, of snowstorms striking tree bound, speed

storys, love storys, philosophic musings, enthusiastic sports quotes.

There was English Chris whose new flat it was, there was American Chris who cooked and prepared the food, salads,curried chicken,lots of guacamole--mashed avocado stuff and beans of sorts. 

Skipper Dave and his Danish main squeeze, a Welsh guy whose name escapes me and his reluctant brooding girlfriend, Nathan, Rick and a carpenter called Danny who had a swollen face from a tooth and his girlfriend and two English friends who no-one else knew who had arrived that day and were staying.

Nathan spearheaded the latter evening. In energy, stamina and in total intake Nathan took the party fearlessly into his own uncharted waters. His curiosity, his capacity to overindulge while remaining conscious, his going where few others would want to, standing, lashed to the wheel of a storm dashed large sailboat  mid ocean, enjoying every moment. That was Nathans condition.

Multiple repetitions "yeah pass it here--you know tequila’s my very favorite drink."

Reaching for the bottle and the thimble like plastic cup.

At one point he talked for an hour, his arms waving, his hands flicking.

Hyper manic happiness and you knew it was real.

Taking time out he rolled everyone a large joint then stood on the spot waving his arms about slowly.

This enthralled us until he fell bumfirst into a green plastic beer crate.

He tried so hard and for so long to extract himself from that crate that we feared for his and our sanity. 

In despair he fell sideways and found that in that position he could simply push the crate away from him.

To us all this was a great victory.

Nathan spent the next  hour standing up, falling the length of the room then getting up  again.

Two am. Half of us remain ,English Chris wisely decides to make coffee,

Nathan with difficulty could hold his cup, but bringing it up  anywhere near his head or specifically near his mouth was impossible.

Chris took his cup and placed it on top of the fridge.

Nathan devised his own dilemma- he could steady himself by hugging the fridge and tilt his mouth towards the cup on the edge. But to tip the cup with the same arm needed to hug the fridge proved after many attempts to be futile, the dramatic ending being an incomphending Nathan lying in a pile of bottles covered in coffee front and back- waving an empty coffee cup.

There were five people hanging off furniture or lying on the wooden floor in the morning.

After waking and coffee and mild investigation it was worked out that the latter part of the party must have taken place in a collective blackout.

Some lost their memories earlier and others could fill them in but no-one could remember going to sleep or anyone else going to sleep.

What did we say to each other, who were we?

 A room full of celebrating people who had literally forgotten who they were.

Three cheers for the brainstem.

almost standup-philosophy

Why You Will Marry the Wrong Person - 

Alain de Botton

Facebook musings

 Facebooks gift/curse is it fluffs by algorhythms everyones self identity
 and makes them unauthentic
 which is a minute to minute choice for an existentialist,
 but gives a constant intermittant reward by virtue of considered commercial walled gardens as represented cynically and digitally, and falsely, as their 'friends'. As such we in some ways are straying from the enlightenment and being driven into a world more Plato's shadows in the cave.

I haven't singlehandedly done much in terms of International Relations, but I have tried.

The Ansac Attitude.

Here's a funny and true story that illustrates the laconic nature of NZ'rs as told to me by my parents last weekend.

After WW2 in 1947 Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery who was at that time Commander-in-Chief of the British Forces visited NZ to inspect the troops and reunite with the former Commander of the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force Lieutenant General Sir Bernard Freyberg .

He mentioned to General Freyberg that he'd noticed that NZ troops rarely saluted when passing higher ranking officers.

General Freyberg agreed that this was indeed the case but did add that in his experience if you smiled at lesser ranking NZ soldiers they would often wave at you.