Category: Self-ish

Not amongst the bon mots common to our merry band of youthful chums, but nonetheless known to us from the chatter of older types, was the phrase, “pipe dream”, in such usage as this example: “don’t endear yourself to the splendid plans you’ve heard for the new playing area; these plans, I’m afraid, are something of a pipe dream”.
Naturally I presumed that there was a metaphorical pipe, through which one’s projects must progress before achieving completion. By reference to this metaphorical pipe, and invoking the word ‘dream’ one could create the suggestion that something much desired would, in fact, not exist at all, but be something merely wished or “dreamed” to be in the pipe – and of course, wishing is not sufficient to award existence, and by this same rule, a “pipe dream” would be a project that would never come to fruition. Properly, it belongs in the same general category as the (perhaps apocryphal) hallucinatory oasis.
This interpretation of course gained much greater credence when our school studies of philosophy led to long discussions of Cartesian dualism, and the trenchant response of Gilbert Ryles and his derisive coinage, “the ghost in the machine”; indeed many happy hours were spent lingering after school caught up in vigorous argument, taking up one position or another in this engaging problem.
And to this day, while long since disabused of my youthful misconception, I retain a certain fondness for my interpretation; for I’m sure you’ll agree, all projects and assignments do progress in a fashion akin to matter along a pipe; and all that matters is the type of pipe it may be!
Ah, the naivete of youth!

When designing things that beep occasionally when they’re running low on batteries, don’t.
Because wandering fruitlessly around the house at 2am searching for the source of the beep that’s keeping you awake is an example of not good usability.
Next week: how not to label remote control buttons

I bought my stereo in… 1997? Something like that. Disregarding d3vo’s advice to invest in a multiple component system, I bought a Sony GR10-AV. It came with surround sound capability – two rear speakers and a centre speaker for dialogue.
After more than a decade, I have finally set up the surround sound. Verdict: neat.
(Note: I couldn’t make it work. Cal made it work. Respect where it’s due.)
Now if only I can figure out where the remote for it is…

And while I’m on the subject of me:
* a few minutes ago I finished the first bout of marking for the first-year tutoring I’m doing. I do enjoy marking, except for the fact that it takes almost forever to do it well.
* finger is back in a splint. This time it was custom made for me (Splints While-U-Wait!) so should do a much better job of sorting out this finger. The hand therapist took some measurements – it’s the first joint on my left ring finger, and I can’t bend it down further than about 60 degrees or bring it up any straighter than about 30 degrees. I probably won’t ever get the full 0-90 range of movement back but she was optimistic about getting pretty close. Sounds good to me.
* LJ readers will already know this, but for those in the UK who don’t read there: I’m coming over your way to attend the wedding of Leon, King, God and one of my oldest friends, to his Lady God. I’ll be in London the week of the 11th August, and in Edinburgh the week of the 18th August, except for the days when I’m in Winchester or wherever the heck else.
* I really should go to sleep now.

As a wee chap, it was commonplace in our schoolyard for one lad to deride another’s claim or opinion with the phrase, “Get off the grass!”
Naturally I presumed that there was a metaphorical lawn, upon which one’s pronouncements were apt to be exaggerated if not outright falsehoods, or in the case of statements of opinion, extreme and poorly considered.
By reference to this metaphorical lawn, and exhorting the speaker to depart from it, one could indicate one’s poor opinion of the veracity of the speaker’s claims, or of the value of their opinion.
Rather a useful piece of garden topiary, I’m sure you’ll agree!
Ah, the naivete of youth!

Malcolm departed today. He is off to the land of Oz, and then further afield still on his road back to Edinburgh. Farvell, as the viking says on the sign by the little town of Norsewood.
And some new arrivals deserving of welcome – baby boys to Chuck (of Sidonia) and Sally, and to Gino (of Death From Above) and Viv. If I have my timing right, both of them have a birthday of April 2, which is in my eyes a most auspicious date.
The birthday wisdom is accumulating in the comments to the previous post. They fill me with such glee. Politics, Yeats, Bon Jovi, BrainDead, the Wire, even a shocking true tale of the emergency room told in two quotes. Check them out – and if you haven’t already, add one for me!

I turn 32 around midday today, in about a dozen hours. What kind of age is that, 32? It seems a meaningless age to be. (I sincerely hope it is.)
As is traditional here at From the Morgue, I ask my readers to add a quotation of some kind to the comments as a birthday gift.
It can be a quote from a song or a poem or a movie or a conversation or an advertising brochure or a blog or a speech or a legal opinion or a sports commentary or a magazine article or a comic book or a novel or a motivational poster or the website you have open on the other browser tab. Give me a quote that means something to you, or a quote that means nothing to you, or a quote that couldn’t mean anything to anybody even if they tried.
Every year, this collection of random bits of the world makes me happy, and I like to be happy on my birthday. C’mon and indulge me.
Previous Birthday Wisdoms: 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007

Wellingtonians:
Wednesday is my birthday. Yet again. Someone oughta do something about how quickly those things roll around. Since finger-injury is still ruling out the netball basketball fun, I’m gonna be at Malty Media instead. Malty Media is this:
It’s the first Wednesday of the month, time again for another free mid-week chill out session… Your hosts Jet Jaguar & Aquaboogie mix up their own compositions & improv jams with bonkers selections from 50s pop through contemporary classical to 80s soundtrack themes. Oh, and mangled field recordings.
So come to Malty Media and say hi. It’s free, at Katipo Cafe on Willis St, from 7-9pm, Wednesday April 2nd.
(Weds is also Malcolm’s last night in NZ. If you missed the gathering on Saturday then pop along to this.)

Received my first rejection slip for Ron the Body the other day.
(Some of you might have pieced together I’m still writing the third draft. How can I get rejected when it ain’t done? Simply because I fired off a pitch to an agent when I hid the quarter-mark; you only need the first few chapters and a synopsis. I figured, correctly, it would motivate me to get the rest of draft 3 written but fast.)
It’s not the first rejection notice I’ve received – I’ve been shopping around in move and Fell Legacy for a while, with no success. But both of those books are tough sells – a publisher has every right to second guess whether they could bring them to market. They’re both pitched a bit askew from easy genre fit. (in move sits somewhere between contemporary, popular and young adult lit; Fell Legacy is a fantasy novel treated as horror movie/character study.) Plus, they’re far from perfect works of fiction – I’m still finding a voice in in move and in Fell Legacy I never really mastered the prose style I tried. So rejections for those have been easy to understand. Heck, sometimes I’ve received actual responses rather than form rejections, which have been invariably positive in the process of saying no.
It is, however, the first time I’ve tried to get interest for Ron the Body, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about getting a no. The reasons for my sanguine response to previous rejections don’t really apply here. Ron fits clearly into the subgenre of contemporary lit that uses a fantastical element to explore its ideas (c.f. The Time-Traveller’s Wife and The Fortress of Solitude). And my craft has improved out of sight. Ron is good to go. More than anything else I’ve produced, it could hold its own on a bookstore’s shelves.
But you know what? I’m actually surprisingly cool with getting bounced back. (If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be blogging this, for one thing.) The old thing about needing to rack up a whole bunch of rejections seems to have been taken to heart somewhere along the line. I don’t bear any ire towards the agency that said no, and I don’t feel discouraged about the potential of the book. There’s any number of reasons they could have said no, including that they thought it was terrible, and I’m cool with all of them. It’s all part of the game, right?
So, then. This post marks the beginning of the rest. Onwards.

The splint didn’t work.
I await fracture clinic, part 2.