Sunday, 2 August 2009
09:10:39 PM (GMT)
The things I write at three in the morning. I'm currently procrastinating a secret
writing project, but when I was still going strong with it I woke up with these great
ideas that I just HAD to right down you know, and I get it all on paper, I think it's
great, I fall asleep, I wake up again in the morning, reread it...
I'd written it in play format. D'oh! Who does that?
But this is crazier. I was watching Russell Brand last night, he's this great
comedian, and I was inspired to right a Russel Brand style comedy routine. And the
odd thing is, I don't think it's that bad. Here ya go!
For a couple years now, we’ve had these cats, and the problem with cats is that
they get fleas. It’s actually a breed and you can Google it, they’re called
“cat fleas”. And what’s really ridiculous is that anything can get cat
fleas. And there are dog fleas, sure, there are such a thing as dog fleas, but you
know what kind of fleas are most common on dogs? Cats.
I suppose that’s a bit of their revenge, you know, for being all big
and menacing like that, the dogs think “Oh yeah, I’m all big and menacing, I’ll
always come out on top,” but slowly, they’ll come to notice an itching, and it
turns out that when they chased Fluffy up the tree last week, Fluffy gave ‘em their
special, reserved-for-felines fleas. That’s a V.I.P itch you got there sucker, you
are privileged to have that kind of flea which I also gave to a stupid squirrel I met
when you chased me up that bloody tree.
But it’s not just dogs that get cats fleas, it’s rugs. And I remember, at my
fourteenth Birthday party, my friends were all outside, but one of my closest friends
and I snuck in to have some French recreation of a Japanese snack I’d gotten for my
birthday. And we’re sitting on the floor, and I think that’s fine because of all
the flea-toxic-chemical-death sprays we’d been using that was probably going to
give me some mutation when I grew up.
And that’s when a flea has the nerve to hop right up on me, while I’m eating,
and bite me on the leg. And what can you do, really? I was thinking “Ah, how do I
handle this? Do I flick it? Kill it? Wait for it to infect me with the plague and hop
away? I don’t want her to think fleas are a big deal…”
So I pinch the flea, and I stand up with it wriggling between my fingers, and casual
as can be I say “Hang on a moment, I’ve got to go kill this flea.” And I try to
saunter off like it’s nothing, like I didn’t just find a parasite that signifies
filth on my leg.
And my friend gapes at me… And she says “Wait… You can see fleas?”
And it was a bit like I’d just said “Wait here a second while I pop off and
banish this malevolent ghost to the underrealms from whence it came!!”
Turns out that my friend, who is generally really knowledgeable though I know
biology wasn’t her forte, thought fleas were a microscopic organism.
But I was, you remember, being casual about this so I was just like “Oh, yeah, uh
they’re annoying but…” and what I’d forgotten in all this being casual was
that my friends are not normal. So she shouts at me “Well can I… Look at it?”
like it was some sort of privilege to gaze upon the parasites that my cats had spread
onto my rug.
So I carry back in the flea carcass, and I say “Don’t worry, it’s clean, it
just suffered Death by Hand Sanitizer.” And at the time I thought, oh yeah, I’ll
make a joke out of it, sure thing, that’ll make it all seem normal. It was only
later that I realized what she must have been thinking- “Oh my… She’s so used
to these foul beasts infesting her home! How did she know that hand sanitizer was
Only I didn’t think when this first occurred to me, that she said it quite like
that. I’d been watching a lot of Russell Brand before my mind wandered to her
impression of fleas, and when I concentrate on one thing for too long, my who mind
gets infected with that one thing. So I thought of it in terms of a comedy routine,
which I then had to type up, such was the nature of my then comedy focused mind.
It’s annoying, really, when my mind is stuck in one verbal format like that.
It’s okay enough when I think the way Russell Brand speaks, he’s funny.
But I remember, in the eighth grade, we were forced to read this book, this awful,
horrible, depressing book about a girl living in the dust bowl. The book was called
“Out of the Dust”.
Being depressing isn’t what was so awful and horrible about it, on the whole I
rather like depressing things. No, what I hated was that the whole bloody thing was
written in free verse poetry. I hate free verse poetry in general. It’s like you
call yourself a poet, but you couldn’t be bothered to rhyme, or count syllables, or
format the stanzas, or do anything really. It’s more than a bit daft.
And I tried to tell this to my English teacher and she said that, no, a free verse
poem could rhyme, and I said yeah, but only if the poet wanted to discredit his or
her self by not saying “It’s not free verse actually, that right there is a
proper poem that I put time and effort, not to mention my heart and soul into.”
But my teacher didn’t understand why I disliked free verse so much, and said I
should try writing a free verse poem some time. Less then a month later she assigned
us a poetry project. Since then, I had again tried to convince her that free verse is
rubbish, I told her in fact that if you write a paragraph, and you take you all the
words that allow people to know what you’re saying like The and As and so on, then
you remove all the punctuation, then you close your eyes, mess the mouse a lot, click
randomly and hit enter a few times, you’ll end up with a free verse poem.
When we had this conversation she said that wasn’t true.
So on this project… I tried it. I did, I just wrote a paragraph, and I took out all
the useful bits, and I hit enter a lot, and I handed it in.
So pleased was my teacher that I had given free verse a chance at last, and that I
had “written such a wonderful poem, this must have taken you quite awhile to write,
I can tell you put a lot of effort into this…” That she gave me an A. Plus.
But it wasn’t even the fact that it was in freeverse that made me hate reading
“Out of the Dust”. It was that I would come out of English class, after having
spent more then an hour focusing on this book, and I would speak in poetry.
It was bloody awful, but I couldn’t stop until I got all worked into something
That actually happened just a bit earlier, just a few hours before this was written.
I was playing this utterly stupid game in which you have to trap a cat in a circle
that you make. But the cat is in a grid of light green dots, and you’re supposed to
click the dots to turn them dark green with the goal of surrounding the cat. But all
the while you’re doing this, the cat is trying to hop off the grid altogether.
I don’t know how long I was playing that game, I just suddenly realized that I had
been playing for far too long, getting far to engrossed with this game, and I
resolutely hit the X in the corner. And I was just adjusting my laptop and
straightening up from the determined slouch I’d been in whilst battling this cat,
and mid adjustment my mum starts talking to me.
My laptop has these rubber feet thing on the bottom which are meant to save it from
sliding when a table abruptly is at an angle, during an Earthquake or something. And
as soon so I stopped listening to mum I realized that my hands, of their own
volition, had stopped adjusting completly, and were now occupied with trying to
circle round the rubber at the bottom of my computer.
Now I want you all to go find a computer, find this circle that cat game, and not
play it. Good luck!