Jane Thomson's Blog: But I'm Beootiful!, page 24

Game of Souls

At the beginning of the Game….

All players receive a quota of souls with which to play.

The total number of souls available to the game is fixed.  However, not all souls are equal.  Like coins, some are copper, some silver, some gold.  The players do not care if a coin is good or bad: they care only for its value in the game, and that is not determined by any notion of ethics.  The players have no ethics.  They have only Rules.

Some players spend their quota early and gain no more: they must leave the game and watch from the sidelines.

Some become wealthy, their soul-jars heavy with the weight of human spirits.  Of course it is better to collect gold than silver, better silver than copper, and so some souls are sought after and highly prized, while others can be spent more or less at will.

Towards the end of a game, few players remain, and they are powerful and cunning.  They make their moves carefully.  There are not many souls left now, relatively speaking, and the competition for them is fierce.

Who will win?  What will happen when the game is finished?

And who is playing with whom?

To find out…you’ll have to wait for my next novel.  Meanwhile, if you’re feeling overwhelmed by harsh reality, you could hop over to Cameron’s blog, where the Inner Optimist cheers up the Inner Cynic, one day at a time.  OR you could visit The Kindness Blog, which demonstrates that problems involving prams don’t necessarily end when your children go to school.   OR you could reveal to the Accidental Cootchie Mama (what IS cootchie?) the place you absolutely have to see before you die.  Personally I will be annoyed if I die before I get to see the Aurora Borealis (but I could always watch it on a supersize TV screen I guess).

The Temple of Tidy

Do you remember your parents’ bedroom?

Mine was my mother’s, really.  My dad just slept in it.  During the day and the evening, it was the tidiest room in the house.  The bed was perfectly made, with its olive-and-cream embroidered bedspread and polished cedar bedposts.  Beside it, antique bedside tables, with mum’s ancient analogue clock and a couple of cream lace doilies.  Then the dressing table, with a mirror that I loved to look into as a teenager, because in it I looked vaguely like an emergent supermodel.  On the dressing table – mahogany I think, though I could be wrong – mum’s Things – a heart shaped expensive-pottery lidded box, more doilies, a comb or two…I don’t remember.  Everything just as it should be.  Pristine.

You weren’t allowed in Mum and Dad’s Room.  Even posing in front of the mirror, I felt justly guilty – this was Forbidden Territory.  I remember once as a small kid snatching something from the dressing table – a purse, I’ve been told – and rushing off with it.  I was caught halfway down the front path, my mum laughing too hard to really do the whole crime and punishment thing.  Later, Mum kept Christmas presents in the bottom drawer of her big wooden clothes chest.  Sometimes I sneaked in when they weren’t home to get a preview – I was always disappointed.  All I ever found was lavender bags, Big Undies and carefully folded long johns.

At night, it was different.  The bed was messed up by the presence of Mum and Dad – Mum neatly curled on the right side of the bed, Dad snoring through lean, hairy nostrils on the left side.  Once I dreamed that rabid people with hydrophobia were pursuing me through our quiet suburb, mouths a-slaver – so I crawled into bed with Mum and slept the rest of the night cuddled against her comfortably plump, motherly frame.  Dad snored on.

Later, the door was sometimes shut.  You knew not to open it.  Especially on a weekend afternoon, when Mum and Dad for some reason had abandoned the kitchen and the toolshed, respectively, and disappeared into a quiet space of their own.  You knew why, preferred not to think about it, but liked the thought that even now, they enjoyed one another.

MY bedroom – on the other hand.  As my kids grew up they took turns sleeping on the ‘other’ side of the bed.  Sometimes the losing kid would have a bad dream and I’d find myself sandwiched in the middle of the damn thing.  Now instead of a kid, a ratlike Pomeranian occupies the ‘other’ pillow, while a corgi cross perfumes the air with his own special brand of night-time fragrance.  I’m woken each morning by two bright eyes peering at me over the cover, or (on odd days) a loud thrumming noise as the cat makes early morning love to my ear.  My teenagers pop in to ‘borrow’ my deodorant and socks.  Less a temple, more a mall.  Oh well (I kinda like it though).

Now for something REALLY funny – Press Button for Drama (although, some people I know are just permanently on).  And for something challenging, how about Page of the Future.  What will your About Page look like in ten years?  What would you want it to look like?  Will it feature you riding a flying skateboard?  If I still have an About Page in ten years, I might as well title it Pathetic No-Life Nerd, but still….

Oh, and a short poem.

MY WEEK!!!!

Swum lake in bra to rescue dog.

Dog rescued self.

Fed cave-boy carnivore, wiped grease off house.

And left -  $250 in the ATM!!

Rushed back to find

The cash long gone.

A whispered motto on the air.

Carpe diem.

Fantastic New Business Opportunity No 68

Don’t ask where the other 67 went.

Anyway.  Here’s the idea.  Don’t steal it.

People LOVE exclusivity.  They also LOVE fashion.  So Ms M and I have a plan.  We’re going to set up a clothes store SO exclusive that hardly anybody is ever allowed past the door.

It will stock amazing clothes – clothes you can’t get anywhere else.

The Body Con Boxers.  Like ordinary boxers, but with more nitroglycerine.

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The Picasso Bra.  Why SHOULD both boobs point in the same direction?

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The Distressed Dress.  Less a dress, more a hole with threads hanging off it.

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There will obviously be a rush of fashionistas and fashionistos (the male version) wanting to buy these items.  But wait – our store will have the most fearsome door bitch since Andy Warhol was turned away from Annabel’s for wearing a fluoro tie.

“You want to come in here wearing…THAT?  Don’t – make – me – laugh!”

“We don’t take your sort in here.  Got a problem?  Have a cry.  Have two!’

“Don’t bother. We don’t have anything that’d fit you.  You’re size zero?  Get a trainer.  We only stock minus sizes now.”

If you do manage to get in, by dint of bribery or waving the kind of credit card that only has three users on the planet, there’ll be dressing rooms designed to mirror (ha) the clandestine thrill of those sites on Facebook where people put up selfies and get other people to ‘rate’ their attractiveness.  Each room will be equipped with a two-way glass, one on each wall.  One will allow the person in the next cubicle to see you and make disparaging comments.

“Whoa.  Thunder-thighs.  Do those make a NOISE when they rub together?”

Through the other, YOU can insult the person in the cubicle next to you.

“Hey, micro-guy – nice muscles. Pity you can’t lift with your dick, huh.”

People are just going to be storming our shop JUST to get stylishly rejected.

“What did you do on the weekend, Paris?”

“Funny you ask, Nicole – well of course I took a limo to R&M’s, you should have heard what the door-bitch said to me!  I’ve never been so insulted in all my life!”

“Oh wow Paris…I wish I could get insulted like that.  But you have to be at least a B lister..”

I think it’ll fly.

And talking about things that fly, Misha Burnett’s recently launched the sequel to Catskinner’s Book (NOT about a man who skins cats – would I read that?).  Cannibal Hearts continues the story of James Ozryck, a likeable, amusing sort of guy who killed his entire family as a child but is not entirely responsible.  Now his nemesis is re-furbishing a half-sunk river steamer as an upmarket casino..but why?  Why???  Misha’s prose is imaginative, fast and readable, and you’ll finish Cannibal Hearts just itching to read the next one.

Or if you’re more in the mood for an unusual blog, Not So Fancy Nancy posted something the other week that much surprised me.  I had no idea that Nancy had such an interesting and at times painful history, but I do know what it feels like to want to pack your bags and run away.  If you feel like giving Nancy some virtual support, head over.

Cupid and Psyche

She wondered if she’d imagined him.

He came by the light of the street lamps on the patio, when only the night creatures skittered about.  Her eyes ached to see him, in vain.  He was a shadow, a blur, a mist.

He lay beside her, warm as animal breath, and loved her with his voice alone.  She couldn’t define what it was about that voice – perhaps it was just in her head.  He sang to her, his words were poetry, drug-deep, earth-heavy, moon-glistening.   What he sang, she never remembered when the morning came, and she woke alone.  Only this.

Don’t try to see me.

He made love to her like the wind to dry grass.  Her silvered skin swayed to his touch.  He penetrated her as a virus penetrates a cell, infecting her, replicating her, becoming her.  She felt him with her, inside and out.  Yet still she slept, and dreamed.

She knew that he loved her, although he never said the words.  She was a droplet and he an ocean.   He surrounded her – and then at dawn the tide went out, and she was left like a rock pool beyond the weed line.  She itched, day by day.  It grew worse.

He slept.  She reached up and brought the scorching dawn early into the room where they lay entwined.  His eyes met hers, for the first time, with sadness and understanding.

It wasn’t enough, was it?

She never saw him again.

Living the Wombat Dream

Cavegirl MBA (the first neanderthal woman ever to land a job as CEO of a Fortune 500 company, I understand, and good on her!) has very kindly given me the Liebster Award.  With this Award comes Responsibilities.  I must answer ten questions about myself (easy for an egocentric cow like moi) and nominate ten other bloggers to  pass the award on to (also easy, as there’s so much talent to choose from).  Ps, just kidding, Cavegirl.

First, the Questions.

What was your dream job when you were a kid?  When I was a kid, my dream was to live in a burrow underground, a bit like a wombat burrow but bigger, eat woodland fruits (whatever they are), and learn to talk to animals.  Does that count as a job?  I still kinda like the idea…
What does it say on your business card now? How far is that from your dream job?  It says Useless P……no it actually says Policy Officer. When I’m trying to bignote myself, I say I’m Policy MANAGER..but what the hell, it’s still a long way from that burrow.  The way I visualise it is this, my job is to help make things better for people.  Kinda like fetching a cup of tea and a biscuit, only with much more red tape.
How would you explain interest rates to a four-year old?  Wanna know why mummy’s not going to buy you that Super Dooper electric tricycle?
Would you rather choose ten weeks of holiday or a ten-percent increase in net salary?  I already did.  Choose the holiday.  And that’s the OTHER reason why mummy’s not going to buy you that (substitute Super Dooper Iphone, now they’re teenagers).
Is there any company you really admire, but whose products you still do not buy?
And is there any company you really detest, but whose products you still buy?  I don’t buy spotty organic veges and I don’t go to the Farmers’ Markets – but I’m so glad somebody does!  As for the latter, I sometimes buy stuff from cosmetics giants – but I still wish they would all die in hell, because they’re so mean to rabbits.
How would you define the limit between corporate gifts and bribery? Is it monetary value only?  I don’t know.  I put a sign out on my desk saying ‘Bribes Welcome’ but so far nothing’s come in.  Maybe I should change it to ‘Corporate Gifts Accepted Gladly!’?
Suit & tie or business casual? Or bikini? Or…?  Fur coat (that’s my name for a coat with dog hair all over it), tracksuit pants and a low cut top…cause you never know!
What was the coolest thing you ever bought? Why?  My Orgasmatron!  I’ve lost it now, but it’s this thing you put on your head and it sends shivers right through your body.  It’s…orgasmic!
What was the most expensive thing you ever bought? How long did it take until you got used to having it?  My new (used) four wheel drive Monster Truck.  And I still haven’t got used to having it.  I’m expecting to be pulled over any minute by a cop saying  ‘Ma’am, I’d like you step away from the vehicle please, NOW!  You do understand that it’s illegal to drive this vehicle unless you’re a Big Hairy Singleted Male, don’t you?”
Please complete the following sentence: Money is….., and success is ……  Money is that stuff I see for several milliseconds in my account on payday, before it races out to greet its new owners.  Success is Feeling Niiiice! (imagine jazz accent with that one).

And the Awardees?

FrankAngle.  He has these snippets out of the Onion and various other amusing publications. When I read his blog, I find myself doing dumb stuff, like giggling and snorting.  Sometimes I need tissues!

Misha Burnett.  Misha and I don’t always agree on how we see the world, BUT, and I mean this, Misha’s novels are up there with Michael Crichton (well, better than old MC, actually): they are superbly written, original, surprising, and page-turning.  Oh and Misha is himself a person of great worth and likeability.  Check out his new one, Cannibal Hearts.  Even the cover is awesome.

Rumpydog.  Rumpy’s owners works tirelessly to rescue animals in need, on very little income.  He also highlights issues of animal exploitation and cruelty.  Rumpy helps, when he can.  Here is a picture of the noble hound.  Go Rumpy, you’re my hero!!!

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Texthistory.  I probably nominated her before but whatever. Thing is, you always learn something you didn’t know from Barb.  I can’t count the times I’ve enlivened dull parties by quoting something from Barb’s amazing fund of historical and pop culture knowledge  (at least, I would have, if I had her fabulous memory!).  For instance, did you know that at a certain point in history, women couldn’t be hanged because you might see up their skirts?  This wasn’t entirely a blessing in disguise…you’ll have to check out the post to see why.

A Blumes with a View.  You have to see his iconic Candy Kournikova and other variations on the theme of Bizarro Corn.

Damantigui’s Blog.  I love the advice meted out to a maverick priest by his superior:  ‘David defeated Goliath with a sling and a stone, never “fucked” him.  We do not refer to Judas as “fucking bastard scumbag.”  Do not call the Pope “The Godfather.”’ Hey, why not!

Joel of Inner Organs. He’s about to publish a book, intriguingly titled Without Due Care (sounds like a summary of the way I live my life, especially the romantic bits of it!).  Here’s a bit out of it.  “It’s best to start out honest. That’s what I used to think, anyway, even if my life might suggest otherwise. So I might as well be honest now. I’ve done some bad things, and there’s not a lot of point in pretending otherwise. It’ll all come out one way or another.  But the thing is, I didn’t set out to do any damage. No one was supposed to get hurt.”  Incredible!  Is this guy writing my biography or WHAT!

The New Word Mechanic.  There’s a great youtube clip with these geeky looking guys singing about science to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody.  Go there!

And yes, I know that’s not ten, but it’s as much as I’m going to make this time!  Yahoo keeps dying on me so I’m going to quit while the going’s good!

Apocalypse…later

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The end really is nigh.

It began as a dim light in the winter sky.  And now, scientists have announced that on 15 July, Comet Grijalva is on track to strike the earth and obliterate all life.  The comet is named after the PhD student who discovered it, Katherine Grijalva.  And what is Karen doing now?  Out getting drunk, or laid, or both…

What are you going to do between now and the end of the world?  Better make it good, it’s the LAST CHANCE YOU’LL EVER HAVE!!!

Or maybe it isn’t.

Misha Burnett and a group of talented authors from around the world will soon be releasing a book of short stories around the theme of the Fauxapocalypse – the End that was expected to come but then, just didn’t – familiar enough territory to some whacky sects but in reality, full of ramifications and oddities.  Here’s a taster..

“July 16th, 2015, the day that wasn’t going to happen, dawned on a world that was still, pretty much, all there.  Seven billion people suddenly realized that, despite everything, tomorrow came after all.  Now what?”

(Misha)

“Tomorrow my life will end.

Hold up, I’m not talking about suicide or anything. Nothing that dramatic. No, I’m talking about the end of the world.”

(Kate, she of the witty and interesting blog which you all should check out, http://themagicviolinist.blogspot.com.au/2013/09/im-getting-published-d.html)

“….Bindi felt really sick.

Well that was because, for the last three days, she’d been living on nothing but cheese and onion chips. Well, pretty much.  That, and iced vovoes, and pringles, and bacon balls, and coke -oh yeah, a shitload of coke.

Why not?  It’s not like there’s gonna be weight limits for getting into heaven, she reminded herself.  Like, Biggest Loser, End of the World special?  If there was, Aunty Sandy sure wouldn’t make it in there, all hundred fifty kilos of her, and that’s not counting the beads.  Bindi Abrahams loosened the elastic waistband of her trackie daks and stuffed another biscuit into her mouth.  Then she chucked.“

(Rose, yes, I know I snuck in there)

“ … especially as I’d stopped paying the rent months ago; didn’t seem to be any point what with the end of the world and all. Except that was yesterday… and the world was still here, and all I was left with was an opinionated kitty, watermelons and vodka.”

(Debbie)

“Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he started his morning ritual of picking straw from his hair. There were not enough beds for everyone, and it made sense for the less able to get those there were, but calling a giant sack of straw a mattress did not make it any cleaner or more comfortable.”

(David)

“Look!” someone shouted. A hand pointed at the sky, at a shooting star passing over the Earth. A shimmering trail of grey followed, imbued with tiny specks. The comet, not on a collision course. Shouts around me said the same, a notion, knowledge that it had passed us, pieces deteriorating before my very eyes.”

(Alexandrina)

I’ll post more excerpts as they come up, but for now…what WOULD you do if you had that ‘year to live’ thingy?  Me, I would eat junk (or nothing), let my pets run around on the golf course, lie out in the garden nude except for my duvet, and catch up on all the napping I wished I’d done earlier (but was too busy living, more fool me).

Well hello darlings!

As Dame Edna Everage would say, and who am I to contradict her?

You wouldn’t believe what an awful month I’ve had!

Anchoring the petite yacht (that’s what I’m calling our outboard motor boat) off deserted white-sand beaches in Corfu…

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Trying to decide what to eat in Trogir, Croatia……mmm, perhaps pancakes with chocolate and walnut sauce?

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And nice to see that torture is still in fashion in the modern medieval city (in this case Sibenik)!

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Checking out the Erotic Museum in Kezthely, Hungary.  (Likely conversation of museum entry office “But she doesn’t LOOK 18..”, “Yes, but her mother is with her.  It must be alright..”)

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And lounging glamorously among lily pads in Heviz’s bath-temperature thermal lake…it’s easy to feel glamorous when all your competition is over 70.

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Yep, I’ve had a month’s holiday in Europe, I’m finally back, and what’s more amazing, Ms M is back too.  I did seriously yearn to leave her at the train station sometimes, tapping away on the ever-present BLOODY IPOD!  But no, mother love won out, and we’re both back, and it’s time to find out what everybody is up to!  I see that Tess has AGAIN copped the Curse of the Slippers, White Lady’s reminiscing fondly about nearly getting blown up, the Hook is mumbling something about being sleepy and loving vampires, Hollyanne’s poem about going to the supermarket as a pumpkin ALMOST rhymes..in short, life goes on without me.  Although, thank you to everyone who visited while I was away – I will recompense you richly, soon (ish)

And finally, I’ve begun..well sort of begun…to write my new book.  It WILL be a bestseller.  I know because I’ve been reading a ton of the damn things and I think I’ve got a handle on how they go now.  Shades of Grey, Twilight, White Princess…you name it, I’ve ploughed through it (ok, I may have missed out a few. Hundred).  Anyway soon to come…the first back stories of Rose’s liver-crunching, breath-holding, down-there wrenching trilogy about the end of life as we know it….

What ARE the essential elements of a bestseller….?

See youse later…

A month later, in fact – in October.  Cause me and Ms M are catching a plane on Sunday and heading off to see Europe (for me, again, for her – the first time).  This time I promise I will take more interesting photos – hairy Turkish guys, Greek lotharios, funny looking fat kids, cats OBVIOUSLY!

So may your blogs prosper, your inner beings glow with health and your pets discover they really like cheap eats…

See youse in October!

xxx

Rose

And finally…Istanbul!

You know how sometimes you’ve got this one place, this one city, that you’ve always dreamt of seeing, one fine day.

Timbuktu has a kind of proverbial allure, if you haven’t seen Paris your boyfriend really should stump up – but Istanbul.. Constantinople..Byzantium.. – that’s my Jerusalem.  And as it happens, that’s the last place I’ll be writing about before me and Ms M head out again to see if the rest of the world’s still there!

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My hotel’s in the old city, where old men wheel barrows full of fresh bread and olives down the narrow every-which-way streets.  The houses and shops look like they’ve been built by kids out of scrap and might topple over each other at any minute.  They don’t (not today anyway).

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Getting lost is easy but luckily there are lots of Turkish waiters eager to point the way – they’re the most helpful of people.  You can see they HOPE you’ll order lunch – but even if you don’t they mill sweetly about consulting their iphones and recalling long lost relatives in Sydney.

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The Bosporus is a short stroll away, dividing the Occident from the Orient.  Today it’s blue and choppy.  I think about the darkly delicious Lord Byron swimming across it, possibly in a wet tee-shirt – it looks doable.  People actually do swim in it – I see one deeply tanned Turkish gorilla (yum!) hauling himself out.  Another guy is feeding fish scraps to cats and kittens.  There are lots of strays here.

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If Selcuk was noisy, Istanbul is deafening.  A train runs past my window on the half hour, and of course there’s the call to prayer – again – howled out this time by not one but ten muezzins with megaphones five time a day from 5 am onwards.  So I get up and go and see Topkapi Palace, the lair of the Ottoman Sultans.  You wouldn’t believe what they have there.  I didn’t.  The Walking Stick of Moses!  The saucepan of Abraham!  The Sword of the Prophet!  Next to that, the fingerbone of Saint Cecilia looks piss weak.

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Also, jewel-encrusted everything.  The Sultan never so much as went to the toilet without his ruby-covered bidet plunger, emerald-armoured toilet-roll holder and gold soap-stick with diamond pile-cutting attachment in hand.

Next, off to the Blue Mosque.  Like the Sistine Chapel, but with curly gold Arabic writing all over everything instead of pictures.  Inside there’s a Turkish tour guide explaining what a rip-off religion is to his flock.  Good to see secularism flourishing!

Then the wondrous Ayia Sofia.  This ancient church is so huge, and so lovely, that I want to weep.  Outside, the faces of ancient icons, long eyes, arched eyebrows.  Byzantine features in living Turks, hurrying about the big square.  There’s also a fat little boy dressed as a sultan in gold robes, posing for photos with his black-clad mum.  Even MORE ways to exploit children – note to self, for when I get home.  Maybe can dress up own kids as gum trees?

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In the evening, people are very kind.  Someone invites me to a party, and we chat about cats.  A waiter leaps out to kidnap me for his restaurant.  “Good morning!” he says brightly.  “It’s night, though,” I point out.  “Is it?” he says, grinning.  Another restaurant has a sign on its door.  “Sorry, we’re not closed.”  Oh, good.

In the Grand Bazaar I sit and drink apple tea and watch the tourists.  They look weary and dispirited.  They don’t know how to deal with the constant invitations to buy, so they say “No, go away”, and “Get lost!” and get angrier and angrier.  I just smile and shake my head – it works, everyone stays happy.  In the Spice Bazaar, there are great trays of yellow and red and brown spices, which you can buy by the bag, plus every kind of tea you can imagine – rose, peppermint, cardamom – and all kinds of coffee.  I get a yen for a jewelled Turkish teapot – but then I think, nah.  You wouldn’t use it, really!  I’m still regretting that decision.

I get a Night Tour of Istanbul.  This consists of nearly getting blown off the Great Bosphorus Bridge, and then sitting in heavy traffic for a couple hours.  Police car sirens wail uselessly – I don’t know why they bother, nobody takes the slightest bit of notice.  Let’s hope it wasn’t urgent.

Before my flight I just HAVE to have a Turkish bath.  A guy I met on a Bosporus cruise goes in too.  He comes out shocked.  “They, you know, want to get really intimate!”.  In the ladies’ section of the hammam, you lie naked on a succession of marble slabs and get rose-flavoured bubbles poured over you.  I’m oiled up and fragrant.  By the time it ends, you feel like a treasured odalisque of the hareem, being primped for the sultan.  Except that I have a feeling concubines of that era had every body hair pulled out individually with tweezers – so thank god time has moved on!

Fantastic New Business Opportunity No 67

REALLY DANGEROUS TOURS!!!

Depressed?  Sick?  Old?  Want to opt out?

Don’t take a drug overdose.  Put that shotgun away.  Enough with the sleeping pills!  You don’t have to throw your life away…

at least, not without getting some fun out of it!

Sign up instead with REALLY DANGEROUS TOURS!!! and we’ll take you where no man has been before and lived!

Try Swimming with Polar Bears at the North Pole.

Too cold?  How about Lava Surfing in Hawaii?  Or…

Cotton-Reel Bungee Jumping at the Grand Canyon! (your life will hang by a thread)

Space-Ballooning (see the earth dwindle below you.  Become space debris.  Total a satellite! Maybe a Russian one, who knows!)

Night-Climbing on Mt Everest (it’s never been done before, unlike the other kind)

or, if you don’t want to leave the comfort of your own home town, you can always take advantage of one of our Simulated Adventures, such as;

Raiders of the Lost Ark (where that rolling boulder really does squash you)

Die Hard (where you do), or

Lord of the Rings (pick your own Balrog, but don’t expect any eagles)

(Yeah I know, suicide is a serious topic.  But this isn’t about suicide.   Just what I like to call ‘Thrill-Seeking with Predictably Fatal Results’.  Ms M and I are investigating alternative money-making opportunities, as our cash is fast running out.  If you have any ideas for us, we’d LOVE to hear them!