apiphile: (not enough fart jokes)
[personal profile] apiphile
there is a specific language for every genre and every audience. there is a specific language for fandom bnf. it was set around 2006 i think, and does not appear to have changed. i'm trying to think what voice and language it is that i like but i read so little fiction now it's hard to pinpoint. bombastic psychogeographical demi-fiction has made up a lot of my reading list for months. cosy, well-edited historical detective fiction, where everything is left hanging between what is said, and yet what is said is very blunt (... makes me think of the moments before a beat drop? weird); and listening very slowly and intermittantly to the emotional torment of inferred vicious mundanity picked apart with classical allusion and poetry in mary renault. i'm perenially concerned that i'm losing the lyricism a teacher once insisted was a hallmark of my prose, but i hanker after the absolute cleanness of pat barker so it's something of a balancing act; i used to "stack" figurative language (three different similes and metaphors, homing in on the precise image or mood) but that feels flatulent now. have become more editor than poet.
apiphile: (did it on purpose)
[personal profile] apiphile
due to transport fail, jess didn't get back from her "stupid youtube people do a talk about things" event until like 3am, and therefore didn't go to work today, which slightly threw off my schedule; all in all i would not really like to repeat any part of today as the whole thing has been a bit shite (bad workout driven by need to spread calorie consumption - shift changeover day - and not consume caffeine in the morning, ditto; rushed pre-work chores and some stuff unfortunately skipped), but i arrived early enough for dance class that i managed to go for a walk, a coffee, and some reading in the weird portentous weather Ophelia has brought to us, which was kind of good.

also dance was better this week; coffee'd, I was more functional, if SORE, and we had the proper instructor who very helpfully actually calls the time and sides, which means I don't have to add "counting" and "thinking about sides" to the list of shit to remember (she did also give general, to the whole class advice/critique which unfortunately was ALWAYS something I was doing because I still SUCK); main problem areas remain the inability to keep my foot level (world's shortest achilles tendon means i point my toes automatically), inability to use the different parts of my arm instead of my arm as a unit (shoulder! elbow! wrist! hand! NO NOT ENTIRE ARM AT ONCE), and posture. she did very helpfully also say that footwork was what to concentrate on and that everything else will follow naturally from that, and unsurprisingly the one thing i asked for clarification on (back-step hip lifts) is now the one thing i have no problem with.

still haven't done my turkish lesson for today due to TOO MUCH so i should probably get on that. have taken calorie baseline up a further 100 a day this week. am trying to head off impulse purchases (he says, currently drinking one) by photographing the thing i want and then coming back to it later.

And now: WORK. Last week of work before my Big Holiday / Book Hell. Got to get my outline edits FINISHED by the 20th because that's when I'm getting my outline booklet printed. Fnrgh.

EDIT: Turkish lesson successfully completed with NO MISTAKES for once. While sitting on the work toilet.
apiphile: (quite enjoying this)
[personal profile] apiphile
guys here are two things i have known about myself for a long time:

1. i respond really well to sunlight
2. being around people who visibly enjoy my company makes me energised and stops my brain from eating itself (until afterwards when it goes into overdrive somewhat); sometimes to the point where i become A Bit Manic and talk far too much and too quickly

for some reason, much like "the day after exercise hurts" and "eating food make stomach pain go away" this continually surprises me.

SATURDAY (remainder): Probably should just accept that sitting on a bus for hours just puts me into a trance in which it's impossible to read or review outlines. At best I just play 2048 obsessively or stare out of the window. I manage a maximum of ten minutes. Saturday, I had absolutely monstrous bus stress (compounded by not reading instructions properly, journey planner being a big liar, Bank being the hell on earth it has always been, and deciding to stop to buy a banana from Starbucks and being stuck behind world's slowest idiot and most conscientious and forgetful barista) and wasted data venting it onto Twitter, but in spite of this AND getting temporarily lost on the very short walk in Rotherhithe - which is very pretty at the moment but unnavigable beyond my ur-bility (that's "innate" but also "urban ability" herf derf) of "find river" (South London is not a real place, the Thames should never be NORTH of one within the city) - I got there slightly early and was almost immediately mistaken by both a M.O.P. and a volunteer for one of the performers. Outfit (& make-up: https://www.instagram.com/p/BaO0gWHhvPa/?taken-by=derekdesanges ) of waistcoat, shirt, (pins: https://www.instagram.com/p/BaO1ucmhBTA/?taken-by=derekdesanges ) and black harem pants standing in for high-waisted wide-leg 30s trousers probably didn't help. Sat with R & C over their dinner and listened to the nightmare that is C's working life (much like J, and indeed H, C's problems stem from imbecilic immediate boss, communication problems, and not having work appreciated fully; I feel oddly alienated as mine basically revolve around my impending obsolescence and complete lack of opportunity for advancement out of this state).

Went down THE SHAFT for the singalong after a brief sojourn to the roof for marshmallow toasting. The garden (full of braziers and burning torches, overseen by some stars, dotted with stumps and herbs? Literally perfect. could not have asked for better) is on the roof of a tunnel shaft made - as Tricity informed me later, having just learnt herself and like me always eager to immediately pass on knowledge - by building the whole shaft and then digging under it so that it sank. Never done before Brunel, but ever since it's been the way to make a tunnel shaft? IKB was a big name where I grew up because of the bridges and the GWR (Great Western Railway, which has been resurrected as a business name because of the stank associations of First Great Western) but this I did not know.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BaPIRZThn2J/?taken-by=derekdesanges multi photo set includes my odious mug ;)

Lovely singalong slightly marred by two separate sets of people talking constantly behind us, in two separate bloody acts, but elevated by an audience member who took the opportunity to make her Jazz Kazoo Soloist debut in her magnificent and stylish stride; by the mocktails (pictured above) I stuck to all night being delicious; by the amazing acoustics and the chance to finally test out my vocal range around people who won't COMPLAIN CONSTANTLY BECAUSE I'M SINGING; by getting all my marshmallows toasted *just so*, and a conversation with C about indigenous insular plant cuisine and mallow; and lastly by Tricity being delighted to see me (last time was at the Caravan Club many months ago, when I acted the part of Rico in her Copa Cobana ukulele singalong, if you recall) and introduced me to Matthew Floyd-Jones, also known as Mannish, one half of Frisky & Mannish, whom I've loved since I went to see a night which Maud was stage-managing and Suzy was also visiting, at the Café de Paris about 8 or 9 years ago.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BaPjjArhWYO/?taken-by=derekdesanges (multi image set features tricity & kazooist fern, matthew singing about depression, the garden, and the punters leaving at the end of the night, taken from the top of the shaft)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRAaIIBYgl/?taken-by=derekdesanges video

SUNDAY: Scoured the farmers market after breakfast and being asked directions to the football grounds by a man wielding an appropriately football-attired small child, but as I was sans cash and the only thing I wanted really to buy was coffee (which only takes cash) I had to limit myself to hoovering as many free samples as I could (mainly apple, some of the vegan cakes; "How are we this week?" asked Cute Vegan Cake Man, recalling my admittedly memorable constellation of piercings. "Hungover all to balls," I lied, to avoid conversation).


After a surprisingly productive bus ride and accidental grocery spree (Co-Op is dangerous), I used my "arrived early" time at the Tate to write the first half of this entry, while sitting on the weird carpeted floor carefully just out of the trajectory of the massive shiny swinging wrecking ball that everyone else was lying underneath because NO THE FUCK THANK YOU. Raced Bear Chris and Holly by text nagging; Chris on motorbike, Holly by Tube. Chris won, because Holly forgot where the tube IS in relation to the gallery, which gave Chris time to interrogate me about "A hole in Rotherhithe?" and "YOU'VE BEEN BLOODY QUIET ABOUT THIS ANTHOLOGY" (I'm superstitious, Chris, if I talk about it in public it will be shitcanned and everyone will think I'm a liar).

Waiting for the swings (that we'd come to have a go on) to come free, I climbed up the supporting poles and turned myself upside down because I will literally do this at every vaguely socially-acceptable opportunity and also I was already slightly more highly-caffeinated than I should have been. Indescribably bad plan. After squats my thighs are a wreck and hanging on got quite difficult. Happily Holly didn't manage to sort out her camera in time to capture me turning into an inverted tomato. Also, not only wired on coffe by SERIOUSLY OVERSTIMULATED. There is also a film on Chris's phone of me "being competitive" and "about to kick me in the head" - I've only met the man a handful of times and already he's formed An Opinion and the Opinion is that I'm violent and competitive. I put this to Lindsay just now and his entire response was "yes, that is accurate".

https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRhGuDl3xg/ i was not trying to break it i was merely trying to launch myself into orbit. now. admittedly. i have never seen how high i go before, from this angle. it is. a little alarming.

We also went up to the observation deck of the new wing, 10 floors up in a crowded elevator, which - unlike Monument, St Paul's, the Shard, the Eye, or Oxo Tower, is FREE - and talked architecture, since there was a lot of it around. Not a bad day for it. Amazing views. I haven't uploaded all of them yet but:


Chris fucked off to see the art show he'd meant to go to before when stricken with INTESTINES; Holly and I examined the rest of the gallery - well, some of it, there's a lot:

https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRfbgwBxYl/?taken-by=derekdesanges (video)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRf73OBuM4/?taken-by=derekdesanges (video: word at the end is bengaluru & believe me sitting on beanbags to watch three videos about beijing, beirut, and bengaluru/bangalore and how those cities impacted the specific artists in the videos was a welcome relief from stairs and yelling... also made me realise suddenly i could just like, pin up more fake ivy in my house? somehow that connection was made. only i can't because i can't find my fucking hammer)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRfshVBxXg/?taken-by=derekdesanges (composite)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRf4MEBDqM/?taken-by=derekdesanges (composite)

and uh, i tried on one of the kids' miffy t-shirts (there is a photo but i haven't uploaded it). for ages 7-8? fits like a belly top and i look distressingly swoll. i want it. it's £15, unlike the bike tyre bag they also have which is £140 or their OUR BEES ON THE ROOF OF THIS BUILDING MADE THIS honey, which i feel is probably also idiotically expensive.

We slowly made out way to the Diwali celebrations in Trafalgar Square via South Bank, please just imagine my NON STOP TALKING (including a brief belly dancing demonstration and Holly revealing that she'd tried teaching herself with a downloaded video while at Uni). The celebrations were as they usually are: loud, crowded, impossible to get to anything, I didn't have cash so couldn't buy the intriguing Spice Essence Oils - you're meant to eat them - or any chai, no chance to get into any of the remaining workshops (too late for bhangra or learning to tie a sari or learning anything about the meaning of Diwali), too hard to get into the comedy tent (overheard: "[something about a woman in the corner], that's my mother actually. Disapproving of my life choices.") although we did get to meet some Hanuman actors with gold tops and blue faces who decided Holly's hair and my piercings were wildly entertaining (Holly has a photo of herself with them in which she is pulling an appalling face). Holly took the whole madness and crowdedness rather better than Jess took Matsuri, which was positively sparse and calm in comparison (I mean, I could make a generalisation about cultural differences as well between India and Japan but eh).

https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRx9KHhFLE/?taken-by=derekdesanges (holly informed me a former colleague had told her she would suit a sari, but holly feels like if she ever wears one DOOM WILL COME; i am like 9000000000000 sure a sari is Just Clothes and that it's only Specific Saris that have important cultural context but also that she's right to fear tone-deaf shouty tumblr).

We walked up to... well, initially to go to Boba Jam but got waylaid; first there was a premiere again (with a protest from BECTU members outside about a living wage, still; signs saying "£80m profits but we can't pay our rent"), and then by See Woo, where an accidental grocery spree happened but like, on the plus side, I have cheap enoki and tofu and goddamn TARO CAKES. THEN to Bobajam. I heroically resisted buying a dessert but had the chai I'd been deprived of earlier and ate some of Holly's cornflakes:

https://www.instagram.com/p/BaRxw9bhYrR/?taken-by=derekdesanges (i'm going back there on my birthday wandering though and i'm going to have something stupid).

Language trivia, since Duolingo has taken me through food recently: not only is "pasta" CAKE in Turkish ("makarna" is pasta) but, slightly more helpfully, çay is "tea" (ç is a "ch" noise), and "bira" (unaccented "i" is always equivalent to the "ee" in "beer", so) is beer...

Conclusion from at least one barracking, circular conversation that took in ... a lot of topics ... was "everyone who wants to be a Revolutionary should read, among other things, Lawrence's account of trying to hold and operate Damascus during the Arab Revolt and perhaps realise that small progress within a stable system in which the system is continually revised and improved upon is preferable to the ETCH A SKETCH END OF WORLD approach even if the latter feels more satisfying when you're emotionally aroused".
apiphile: (not enough fart jokes)
[personal profile] apiphile
Taking the same bus four times in one day is some kind of new and special kind of masochism hell. (Okay on one of those four occasions it was actually a slightly different route but mostly the 67 and the 243 go roughly the same way). When that bus is also the first of your two buses to work it descends into farce.

Nevertheless, I successfully got my hair cut ("I'm not allowed to agree with you while I'm at work, and you've just described about 30% of our clients," quoth she, as I cheerfully described what I meant by Pronoun Hair, "but I do."), then with an alarmingly quick turnaround necessitated by living my entire fucking life on buses at the moment (this will teach me not to make work mistakes), went back out and arrived slightly early at Maud's to watch Clue projected on her wall.

Overate somewhat (to the point of feeling like I had appendicitis as my body isn't used to eating that much food with that much sugar in it in such a short space of time) but didn't drink-drink so I'm calling it a win. Having not seen Clue since about 2002 when I first watched it, it held up very well, was a lot funnier in more company, and the people who hadn't seen it really enjoyed it as well. Suzy's buggering off to ... somewhere warm - oh right, Malaysia - two days before the actual Halloween party and Rosie & her boyfriend will be at the Anarchist Bookfair doing facepainting all night so it was kind of a good chance to see them as well; was waxed lyrical at about the joys of bulk-buying (guys I love you but at least two of you know how small my flat is and why that categorically will not work), interrogated about my reasons for learning Turkish ("well, it's better than anime fans determined to learn Japanese, you're more likely to meet a Turkish-speaker in your area --" yeah and they're more likely to consume Japanese-language media, don't diss them) and joined in mulling over wtf is wrong with teachers who sleep with their students, a subject which comes up with all my teacher friends in exactly those terms at least once per session of socialising, because they're so dumbfounded by it ("have you MET teenagers? they're oily and smelly and clumsy and sometimes their figuring-out-their-sexuality stage might vaguely be endearing but it is NOT attractive oh my god gross"); and Maud and I explained to everyone else about the thing where our taste in movies is almost - but not quite - two entirely separate circles on a Venn diagram. "If Derek likes it I won't and if he likes I won't." // "We both like Withnail --" // "And Clue," Fred pointed out.

Slightly later we accidentally somehow got into - oh that was it
re Clue: "I just feel like everyone in that film is having SUCH A GOOD TIME with it."
Fred: I think the cast of Superman and so on might have been having fun too
Me: Different kind of fun
Maud: Not fun, no one can have fun on those films. Ever. Not just on the film. It sucks the fun out of the rest of your life too.
Me: It retroactively erases all previous fun from their lives. Watching it certainly does that.
Fred: See, you both hate Zak Snyder too!
Maud: That's...
Me: Yes but that's not really indicative of anything
Maud: Yeah
Me: Wow, we both hate DROWNING IN SHIT! WE have so much in common.
Maud: I can't believe so many people hate drowning in shit! It's a unifying experience!
Me: I bet even Donald Trump hates drowning in shit! Are we really so different, you and I?

And then I put my ass on the bus before anyone else had left because the way home is loooooooong.

Admittedly I stopped in Akdeniz to buy fresh dates because I've always wanted to try them fresh and since I was already in calorie dumptruck territory I thought I might as well. I did. They taste almost exclusively of sugar and fibre, although slightly dry somehow? Probably the fibre. Anyway, they're great, and paired with a plum - as I had them this morning - perfect.

Today's workout was physically pretty easy (I got very distracted trying to free up enough memory on my phone to download an app with which I can monitor my fruit and veg intake because apparently stats is all I care about now) but logistically difficult as some penis hid the fucking kettle bells in the cupboard at the 24 HOUR GYM and then when I went to get the dumb bells instead one of the PTs nicked the spot I'd marked with my bottle and towel for his client. So that could have gone better.

Remainder of today is going to be spent a) on three buses and b) down a hole (possibly on a roof? Instructions are unclear got my dick caught in the ceiling fan), listening to ukulele caberet with Ruthi, which will be nice ("down a hole" here means at the Brunel Museum, a charmingly dinky museum in Rotherhithe; I am doing my utmost to support any and all events which combine Retro Party - or indeed modern rave - with education or educational locations, much as I wanted to - but never quite managed to barring once with Emma - support "Laughter in Strange Places", aka non-theatre-based stand-up comedy. I am all for busting things out of their normal locations. I liked the purity of the early flashmobs - pillow fight club in particular - and grew up on open air theatre. More unexpected cool shit and off-brand use of space please. Please.

(also last night:

Rosei & Fred are talking about how they never take buses any more because they cycle everywhere)
Derek: I'd like to cycle to work but I have to work up the strength in the gym first because it's kind of a long way
Rosie: How far?
Derek: uh, about 16km each way
Rosie: EACH WAY?
Fred: So 32 overall.
Derek: Kilometers though, not miles
Suzy: What's that in miles?
Derek: About... eleven? Each way.
Rosie: God no, that's too far.
Maud: Yeah it's only one and a half to work from here and I'm frequently like, eh, fuck it
[i'd literally just walk if it was that close]
*some discussion arises around speed of cycling*
Rosie: I mean that's going to take hours
Maud: Yeah you're averaging what, 8 mph.
Me: No? I'm definitely faster than that.
Rosie: Well about 11, max.
Me: I usually average about 25kmph
Me: *looks this up on the unit converter* No that's ... fifteen and a half, in miles an hour.
Maud: No wonder you don't have the strength, you can't go that fast!
Rosie's boyfriend: YOU AVERAGE WHAT
Me: At the gym, on the spinner.
RB: Oh, right.
Fred: It's a question of getting a nice straight cycle. There's very few chances for that.
Me: It's downhill most of the way.
Suzy: Yeah, and then uphill on the way back.
Me: Only a slight incline.
Fred: It's twenty-two miles.)
apiphile: (quite enjoying this)
[personal profile] apiphile
My sleep is BROKEN which should explain the following things:

1. Why I had a dream that was 100% a dream Jess should have been having given that it was about getting stoned with her YouTuber nerds, which combines two things I don't fucking enjoy or care about.
2. I was figuring out the vacuum sealer so I could sous vide frozen fish fillets at like, 7am.
3. A howlingly bad workout and accompanying filthy fucking mood - I thought I'd compensated with Serious Caffeine but apparently not enough, and also the breakfast I THOUGHT was "bigger" was actually "smaller" calorie-wise.

got back from the gym in a Mood ™ and rage-made myself a bento box: https://www.instagram.com/p/BaJv0jqBYb5/?taken-by=derekdesanges

Then dragged my miserable complaining ass through the park to the Japanese deli to hastily buy more seaweed snacks then fucking MARCHED all the way to the stop for the bus that goes a different route to the 29 because I am fucking fed up with the 29; spent about five minutes on the bus photographing notes for the book and fiddling vaguely with the outline before slumping down to watch Caledonian Road go past and fantasise about writing emails for dyslexic executives whose gratitude would lead them to staggering heights of generosity, champagne, and a fucking living wage.

Went to get some fruit from Co-Op and narrowly missed - as did the girl behind me, from the other side - being hit in the face by a falling strip light.

Met up with Wen, and wandered around the top floor of the National Portrait Gallery for about an hour/hour and a half, mocking portraits, blurting facts, listening to Wen's blurted facts, and playing the AND THIS ONE WAS GAY game a lot. https://www.instagram.com/p/BaJ93j0hj_Q/?taken-by=derekdesanges (highlights, with placcards. Multi-image set)

We quit after Wen was forced to lie down on a bench for a while and started visibly wincing at every step (Wen has EDS among other things and had lost about 4-5 inches of height from their Notional Actual Height due to spine compression already). Fortunately while the café couldn't promise raisin-free carrot cake for my companion (dried fruit fine; sulphates used to preserve most dried fruit explicitly not fine) but did manage to find seats with a back and some popcorn for myself; we spent a while in the basement therefore chewing over People We Both Know Who Unsurprisingly Turned Out To Be Colossal Bastards, weirdnesses with university admissions and lost chances, and Why It's Very Annoying To Have People Assume You're A Hippy When You're Actually Just Incredibly Ill.

Found this fellow in the basement: https://www.instagram.com/p/BaJv_kihFjN/?taken-by=derekdesanges

A poster lied to us and told us room 32 had gays in it. We went off in search. Room 32 was impossible to fucking find because WHAT IS SIGNPOSTING, but this did allow us to make fun of more portraits ("WG Grace has a touch of the Brian Blesseds," Wen observed. "It's not just the beard. It's the total madness in the eyes." / "He looks like he'd be a fun ride", I agreed, already mentally sizing up the famous historical cricketer for a Quick Go On The Ride A Bear). Eventually we found "room" 32, which was not a room. There were no gays in it.

Slowly deposited Wen at a suitable station, and marched off to the Japan Centre. Some sort of premiere about to happen. Don't care. Nearly flaked out and bought a muffin but had a stern word with myself about why the fuck did I even want to do that. Bought a bit of mackerel sashimi and a Calpico stick instead. (They're also doing a Rainbow of different latte types - but not yet - and Nori cups for making tiny sushi cupcakes - but expensive and I've already spent too much on food crap).

Spent approximately a million billion years on the bus reading about vegetables on my phone next to a woman with no concept of the appropriate time to move to another seat - ie, as soon as one became available next to her goddamn friend. Returned home to this: https://www.instagram.com/p/BaKISuYBepB/?taken-by=derekdesanges and this https://www.instagram.com/p/BaKKplLBK-B/?taken-by=derekdesanges.

Made a Google Doc of Places Where You Can Buy Specific Things, Lindsay. Probably ought to type up my notes etc but won't until tomorrow, which is rest day for Mr T-Rex Arms (despite stretching in all sorts of useful ways today they've still ended up hurting).

(Successfully managed a big enough carb deficit to eat the tiny single-serving christmas pudding bought a few days ago on an angry whim. RESULT. Savoured every fucking mouthful.)

(no subject)

Oct. 11th, 2017 20:01
apiphile: tom hardy as billy prior (ha bloody fucking ha)
[personal profile] apiphile
Ripped from an email to a friend, who happened to ask:

PERSONALLY I'm in a foul mood because the talk I really wanted to go to was at a different museum to the one I thought it was going to be at and by the time it occurred to me to make sure I was right by checking my calendar (which I'd meant to do earlier but my entire household were getting in my way as usual) it was too late to even get there in decent time on the bus never mind get there early to actually get in (first come, first served Gresham Lectures boooo) and then I had an argument with my boyfriend via text because he was trying to encourage me to do a tube dash there because HE doesn't have to watch every fucking penny he spends unlike some of our "well below London Living Wage" asses. But I'm home now and I have TEA.

Preceding this: Spent too much money on skincare fucking products, felt horribly frazzled and tired and cold and very very very sore thank you DOMS, all damn day. Managed to do long-awaited harness sewing; failed to do any research reading or much in the way of outline-bashing on the long long long bus journey into (the wrong part of) town, because I kept passing out. Micro sleeps or faints? Who can say. Either way I wasn't in a fit state to do very much. Managed to wake self up listening to First We Take Manhattan (nice synthy marching beat with your "Jewish revenge fantasy" to stop you from drifting off completely) though, and successfully purchased the Correct Socks after being fucking overpowered by Primark (also got free can of coke and voucher for another, and actually bothered to pick up the other in Boots while buying bean snacks and face wipes).

Oxford Street has sprouted new buildings in the gaps it made, but still looks weird. I continue to not feel great. Squeezed? Spread thin? Even in the sunshine my eyes hurt and I'm tired; the rest of the day it was gloomy and a nasty yellow-grey (then rained) which leeches life out of you. Fortunately was at least warm due to wearing approximately all my clothes at the same time. Looking a bit like a wan goth laundry pile. Might have explained why people kept staring.

Spent a while in Costa somewhere in the Fitzrovia area trying manfully to either do research (not productive in terms of mass but in terms of useful reference points was okay) or bash outline a bit more (mostly just moving things around so it'll be easier to work through, although some additions and edits). But again, just became massively fatigued.

Was basically strong-armed into donating at the BM (where I thought the talk was) at security. It's voluntary? They don't tell you that. You get sent to one of four donation points and aggressively asked if you want to make a donation to the museum. I asked if there was any specific amount. SCOWL. No amount. Okay well then you're getting a quid because I'm broke (tbh I didn't want to give them anything but they're literally seated ABOVE you the whole thing is set up to look as intimidating and official as possible? You know what they have in the NHM? Fun games where a little crocodile does a jig if you feed him a penny or something. SOMEWHAT. LESS. AWFUL). SCOWL SCOWL.

TBH everyone I encountered at the BM was bordering on the hostile. I know I looked like I was on drugs and have felt like I ought to be all day (getting out of bed was a monumental effort) but really. Fuck off. Be nice for thirty seconds.

Anyway I went home via HMart and "treated" myself to spinach. I know how to party. Then I managed to read a little bit on the bus about... phytonutrients. Nothing to do with book. Also passed out a little while but not as much as on the way in.

Tl;DR I was so fucked off with the BM that I've changed my date with Wen from there to the National Portrait Gallery and they can fuck an entire plate full of worms.
apiphile: (quite enjoying this)
[personal profile] apiphile
OKAY so today didn't go as originally planned but I don't think that's hugely detrimental.


Dragged myself to the gym, had an (expected) lousy go at the first day of Boring But Big, did a sharp turnaround and got on a bus to go to bellydance, which I arrived too early for; went to the Gower St Waterstones with the intention of wasting money on coffee, was thwarted by a massive queue of students and wandered around the basement art gallery looking at soothingly bland art.

Belly dance itself was ... well, they didn't really ease into it especially and everyone else (more or less) is fitter, better coordinated, clearly more experienced at dance in general, and on average 5-15 years younger than me. BUT. I am the only dude! Which means that my jerkiness, inability to keep time, atrocious posture, scowling attempts to remember what to do with every part of my self, and the fact that I can't hips, is BECAUSE I'M A MAN so ... I will cling to that. In order of hardest thing to easiest thing, which needed no correction: snake arms (can do with right arm but not left and requires so much concentration), double hip slide, single hip slide (this is the basic fucking move why is it hard), travelling step, omi & shimmy (omi is a circling movement with your hips generated by knee movements and hip tilts, shimmy is what it sounds like but generated from the knees not the shoulders; both of those were fine). I have: bad posture, no idea how to engage my lower abs - like literally I understand the words but I don't understand how to make my muscles DO THAT - no sense of rhythm whatsoever even if i count, and can either get my arms right or my legs but not both. The only feedback on how to improve that was felt necessary for me personally was that I need to stop overcompensating and remember to keep my feet under my hips rather than wider apart.

By the end of the class: exhausted, sweaty, red-faced, very painful foot vamps. "Why am I feeling like this I cannot be this unfit I just did hard cardio for 6 weeks," Derek moaned to himself, "It's only," he looked up online, "... 354 calories oh."

Yeah it turns out the amount of muscle control you're using on generating all those little movements burns a lot of.

Got the bleeding train, went to Five Guys in Wood Green, drank multiple successive cups of disgusting mix and match calorie-free powerade flavours because that's still a novelty to me, then went to see Blade Runner 2049 with Lindsay, and I won't review it, I'll just say it was visually very arresting and that someone both really liked and really didn't understand the first movie. I complained at Lindsay most of the way home, then we went to get some groceries and witnessed a near-fight and spent the remainder of the journey making fun of the men causing a fight by trying to haggle (in Turkish and in the most pathetically dick-swingingly aggro way) over a bottle of Courvoisieur at like 10 past midnight on a Monday. What a wannabe gangster thing to do and to drink.

I'd previously texted J asking if we were still on for Oxford the following day; having had no reply by the time the movie started at 9 I told Lindsay if he didn't answer me by the time we got out I'd assume it was a no. Texted him to say, "Assume this means no, nvm, see you in November hopefully"; got a reply of "Only just saw this text, probably for the best I am dying of flu rn" which is the most fake goddamn thing I have ever heard and also dude just SAY NO NEXT TIME. For all you know I'd already bought the stupid bus tickets.

TODAY: Petulantly overslept. More gym difficulties (massive strength loss in 6 weeks of cardio I guess to be expected but somewhat humiliating and such and boy am I stiff now). Warned all and sundry of my terrible mood, wrapped a sock in gaffer tape for the purpose of making a shoe pattern (long, weird story which will amount to nothing no doubt), masking-taped and spray painted some costume goggles (didn't go well? the paint keeps rolling off. Jess says I need to sand the bits I'm spraying but we don't have sandpaper); then went to station cafe to see Jess / try to work on book outline (unsuccessful largely, managed about two pages) and be fed cake i didn't want and which will now make me anxious and angry but if I bring this up Jess will be like "well you didn't have to eat it"; ... you bought it, you said you saved it for me, and implied it would be wasted if I didn't eat it.

ANYWAY after one or two faceplants on the table to express my overall feelings about the world and at least three fights (I SAID: NOT IN A GOOD MOOD, PROBABLY LET'S DON't HANG OUT. THIS MORNING.)

Have now browbeaten 1 week's worth of emails. Dinner, hair dye, typing up of notes, and possible art await. Tomorrow I have a first-come-first-served talk about the history of pain to try to get into, and a rest day from the gym, and NO COMPANY IN MY HOUSE.

My ego is very sore at the moment :|
apiphile: (quite enjoying this)
[personal profile] apiphile
This is how we talk to each other.

Lindsay: Faugh
Derek: Not happy?
Lindsay: We'll be at work in a minute, you want me to revel in the joys of industry?
Derek: We're not there yet. We have a few more seconds of freedom.
Lindsay: Exactly. It's the last minutes of walk to the [executioner's] block. All is lost.
Derek: Nonsense. The last few seconds of life and the proximity of death throw the sweetness of existence into sharp contrast. Hey look, that statue's a massive owl.
Lindsay: What if the presence of imminent death just holds a mirror up to the mediocrity of life?
Derek: Well, the whole human interaction grind and struggle element of life isn't the totality of living. You've petted literally hundreds of dogs. I've fallen over in the Pacific Ocean. That's pretty cool.
[We have a brief digression onto all the oceans either of us have seen and the furthest south we've been, and what landmarks we've flown over; an interjection about working towards non-competitive masculinity derived from a conversation earlier and how having the most money or writing the best book or whatever is overrated]
Derek: OH! I flew over the Gobi Desert, that was hardcore brilliant.
Lindsay: The first time I flew to Canada we must have gone over the North Pole, and Baffin Island and all that, and I could hardly process what I was seeing. It was BRIGHT ORANGE.
Derek: Exactly. I mean, I've seen the whole of the galaxy laid out above my head. More than once.
Lindsay: But did it make you happy?
Derek: No, Lindsay, it made me filled with awe and wonder and it swept aside the smallness and meanness of self and left me naked in contemplation of the infinite depths of space and I think that's a lot better.
Lindsay: Mh.
Derek: Can't tell me you've never been curled up also with someone - or thing, dog - that you love and not been fully and entirely content?
Lindsay: Well no, of course not.
Derek: Then what's the problem with this.

EDIT: I have successfully completed FOUR five minute sections of Turkish basics on duolingo and figured out ALL BY MYSELF that Turkish is a Subject Object Verb language (also the verb changes depending on the subject). Anyone want to ask me why the fuck I decided I'm learning Turkish? None of my reasons are good.

"The alphabet reform cannot be attributed to ease of reading and writing. That was the motive of Enver Pasha. For us, the big impact and the benefit of alphabet reform was that it eased the way to cultural reform. We inevitably lost our connection with Arabic culture." - İsmet İnönü
apiphile: (henry scott tuke)
[personal profile] apiphile
OKAY I meant to update but. Stuff. Happened.


I asked people to help me stop having horrible painful spots on my jawline and this is everything they told me, collectively, about skincare:
Read more... )

Honestly I'm overwhelmed this is so much advice someone please tell me what the cheap, low-effort thing is to do here? My brain is low on thinks. I didn't bother reading today on the way to work (I just went to sleep) and spent too long in my darkened bedroom playing "what glows under UV light".

Currently on FB we are discussing how to create non-toxic masculinity. My boss informs me that I am £90 down this month due to my aforementioned fuck-up, which is honestly less bad than I feared but given my apparent hand-to-mouth existence and Lindsay needing to spend £250 (better than original estimate of £500) on his teeth I feel like I need to panhandle. {Simultaneously, I begin drawing up a shopping list for a care package for homesick, bedridden Jewish friend stranded far from any Jewish food because I'm an idiot who can't budget}.

GYM BORE FILTER: Apparently the secret to HIIT is "don't do it for three days", and also "pace yourself". I feel moderately okay, which means I've probably done something wrong somewhere, but I don't care because I have ONE! MORE! LIGHT! CARDIO! SESSION! and then I get to start Big But Boring and the slow, slow process of hoisting myself up from borderline-starvation calories (if not always rigorously maintained) into Bulking Yourself The Fuck Up.

Here is a bonus picture of my progress, my ugly bathroom mirror that needs cleaning badly, and my bum.

Also I ate half a chicken and avocado wrap on top of my usual rations so I'm a fat shit but I'm not like. Dead.
apiphile: (i hate that thing you love)
[personal profile] apiphile
1. Didn't have time to even get to the gym so didn't go. Got a long bus ride in the sun to Euston, walked to KCX - https://www.instagram.com/p/BZ30hZxhW74/?taken-by=derekdesanges - got a selection of free samples at the food market at the station; favourite was the beaming Frenchman who was having a conversation on the phone the entire time he spread pate on bread and still managed a YOU'RE *VERY* WELCOME when I thanked him.
2. Froze my ass off waiting for Amanda (my ex, stuck in traffic) at King's Cross. Managed once again to knock over my coffee (had PS syrup in. Shouldn't have been drinking it). I knock over at least one drink a day if not more. Have since CLEANED OUT my Starbucks card and need to put more money on it. Wah. [Does... anyone... want to top it up for me] https://www.instagram.com/p/BZ30m8ShU2A/?taken-by=derekdesanges
3. She is looking well. Like she has grown into herself. I suppose we both have.
4. It was too late for Dishoom so we went to the Parcel Yard, which is surprisingly nice, and spent just under an hour shouting at each other about foreign policy and Nazis. This is pretty much how our relationship went for four years too, minus sex and fandom.
5. Put Amanda on a train to Edinburgh and walked to Old Street to get the appropriate bus through the gathering dusk. Would have been very nice had it not been so fucking unbelievably cold. And had I not been stupid and kept spending money https://www.instagram.com/p/BZ4DvS9Bl6Z/?taken-by=derekdesanges
6. Their pre-closing discounts will be the end of me: https://www.instagram.com/p/BZ4QfVGhuAH/?taken-by=derekdesanges
7. I need to renew my tax arrangement with the IRS but need my tax code which is on my epayslips which I cannot fucking access. WHOOP. Cannot believe I have to go through so much rigmarole to hand over a THIRD of my PITIFUL Kindle earnings to a foreign government.
8. Got distracted by the existence of a BILTONG SUBSCRIPTION
9. Obsessively designing very small apartments
10. Doing nothing productive.
apiphile: (quite enjoying this)
[personal profile] apiphile
Gymfail: I tried to do HIIT and got down to do mountain climbers and my knee caps said: sure. Go ahead. But don't expect to be able to walk afterwards.

I did not go ahead. I alternated 1 minute skipping and 10 push-ups x 8 and then I went home angrily, and my brain carefully picked up "a leaf is a time object" and walked me to "kill yourself" because why not? I am so very physically tired and mentally. Dead. Already. I went and got a coffee. My card was declined but the barista at the cafe just ignored that and gave me my coffee anyway.

Made myself multiple complex and exciting dishes and fucked my macros up and then forgot my protein correction item (tuna). https://www.instagram.com/p/BZ1ZRWjB6Iw/?taken-by=derekdesanges the pancakes were nice though I'll be making those again (egg white, raspberry protein powder, gluten, skim milk, quark rammed between levels).


Well i sure just got sent on a lengthy magical fucking mystery tour around north east London, thanks Tottenham police

Also thanks tfl for literally no information during the entire hour long detour that was great

Some people who might currently be having serious anxiety problems anyway might consider this stressful or the arbitrary robbing of the all important hopper fare a bit difficult financially given other factors but personally I love being dragged along the north circular with no warning when I'm trying to get to work on time

10/10 sexy sexy experience would recommend for anyone into other no control no information situations with a sharp deadline, such as brexit

Bonus: I now get to arrive slightly too late to pick up coffee

Mainly because the connecting bus operates on an entirely different version of time to the rest of us

Currently a daring and avant garde interpretation of "every five to ten minutes"

Managed to get coffee BUT in retaliation I also have a BAG FULL OF MUSHROOM SOUP

::: I also managed to spend a while staring gormlessly at a man's arms. And also to bribe myself into coming to work tomorrow by stocking up on protein haus discount things and putting them in the work fridge. And just now? I am fucking my diet slightly in the face in order to eat a chicken wrap. YEAH BOY.


1. Rental kitchens. Constantly being cleaned obviously. You book a block of hours. Go in and make your lovely food with lovely equipment. Take it home and refrigerate or freeze it for later use.
2. Conveyor Belt App Restaurant where, as with a greasy spoon or canteen, you pay up front, with the order (via either phone app or touch screen on the table by tapping your card). Food is sent out on the conveyor belt and you're alerted. Leave when done. No human interaction necessary whatsoever.

Friend who asked for crowdfunding to help her get a deposit on a flat so she can move out of a horrible situation is rewarding big donors with a tour around her specialist subject; I'm wondering if "structural analysis of different genres of book for writing purposes" is too nice to Paetron.

... astonishingly eating an entire 400 calories more than I usually do has made me stop feeling cold and doomy and in pain. *narrows eyes*
apiphile: (maurice)
[personal profile] apiphile
According to the shame bracelet I scraped about 5 hours in between constant waking-up and horrible dreams and bladder woe, so that's the last fucking time I try to rely on "being exhausted" to carry me through shift changeover. Via bargaining and coaxing I dragged myself through the requisite 16km bike ride and smugly staggered off to spend too much money on stupid groceries.

TBH today has mostly... just consisted of sitting on a bus a lot, and then getting to work and being flagrantly annoyed that having felt better for most of the day I now feel ill again. The Christmas stuff is in Waitrose. I bought a tiny Christmas pudding in the hopes of being able to eat it piecemeal over the course of a few days, soon. Cannot wait for this week (week 6 of cardio and cutting) to be over so I can eat like a human and not have to do alternating days of FUCKING HIIT. Doubtless I will soon be lamenting my weightlifting schedule, and I probably shouldn't be wishing away valuable research and outline-reviewing (and test writing?) time.

Next week I'm already pledging away my time (this week has barely started and all): Monday I have lifting, bellydance inaugural, and a late screening of Blade Runner 2049 with Linds. Tuesday I'm theoretically going to Oxford to see an Evelyn Waugh exhibition with Jack and go clubbing (this will... end well). At some point I'm supposed to be going to the Tate Modern with Bear Friend. Also at some stage soon I'm allegedly being published so I need to... actually write a blog post for that.

I TRIED to call the fucking pub. I tried to email the fucking pub. They haven't asked for their deposit and I'm worried if I don't get them to assign me my fucking spot I won't get anything.

(Title from some melancholia on the bus; reading about someone else's straight affair and having a moment of "I am tired of heterosexual love being considered valid" and then a moment of "I'm tired of everything I do and experience feeling fake and less important"; Other People do not appear to be constantly smothering their every desire. Other People "have dreams" and "care about stuff").

September 2011

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