If that's why you came, go away.
Please.
Okay, so I opined about it. All I can add is the hope I'm far from alone in finding ironic the calendar proximity between the "free world, etc." vote & that other disturbing nuisance: Halloween.
Both are good for bad trade, wicked masks and scary movies.
Is that your thing?
Skip me, go to BC and bits of blogosphere where they're already jumping through hoops.
I'm a time-warp. Here's another coinage of my year:
"I'll share anything with my friends and loves except betrayal. In my world, that's the only mortal sin."
You're in luck. Twice I'm about to come close, being a perfidious hack for whom little you say is off the record. First, someone with grace enough to leave this log's suicide bid in peace wrote:
"Granted, you pissed me off as well, each time you wrote some snarky something and included my name (usually it was something you pulled from my PRIVATE email to you.) I couldn't decide whether I should tell you to go jump in a river or if I was really just amused by what you wrote. Again, it doesn't make a difference (and I write this knowing full well that you can easily slap this up on your blog.)"
Voilà, c'est fait.
Here's another mint "taliegram", mainly to politicians:
"Bow usually to blackmail without fuss. When people blackmail you, forget police and principles if you can blackmail them back. This wastes neither lies nor lives."
I applied this when someone told me me that if I failed to disclose what the Project is, (s)he would do it -- "via [my] comments box". Since I won't shut down your place to insult me and disagree in public, I dusted a skeleton in that person's cupboard.
You'll have noticed how in movies and occasionally in life, men provoke smirks with some patronising variation on: "Lord, I love it when she gets so mad!"
Women waste no time on such tactics, but I have artistic and professional reasons to make some angry.
It being Sunday and me a hack, I join today's yellow tabloids and newsprint paving stones plus glossy supplements in competing for attention with a "weekend exclusive".
Here's another bit of "PRIVATE e-mail". "Exclusive" since it came from ... ah, my poor heart:
"we will definitely get together after the american election has calmed down.
glad you're working feverishly on [It]. we're just counting down the months tilll youre famous!"
Never mind the ungodily spelling -- her unasked middle name may be that of Mercury's winged consort.
Two sentences wickedly beg five questions.
I've heard countless excuses and know how "definitely" can mean the opposite, but since when has an "american election" been an acceptable way to avoid me? It's scarcely force majeure.
I've seen less lame excuses on Web-Tricheur, which French kids mine for reasons to skip class. I may be a hack, she may do similar things, we all need the money. But hell, I don't even want to know about World War III until it's over.
Secondly, what does "calmed down" mean? Does this open her road to steer clear of mine through the chill months until we're sure who's in the White House and which ghastly "advisors" they've picked?
If so, that's not on.
Next comes the worst: who is "we"? Am I to take this oh-so-innocent pronoun, casually dropped in, as a promise -- or a threat? Is it a little "we" or a Big "We"?
"the months"? I'll let her get away with that, since my excitement about the Project may to be blame for her timeframe.
But what about the "tilll youre famous"? What grounds does she have for assuming that (a) I'm not already and (b) I ever shall be?
I've two points to make to Factory friends and others based on a few words from she who accuses me of thinking too much.
The first I discovered from doing this log. Denholm told me yesterday he'd learned it in a different way: properly "famous" and gifted people are usually sufficiently self-assured to do without insecurity, tantrums and bodyguards.
Denholm told me about a famous opera singer from the Met who readily gave him an interview on staggering off a plane to Beijing* after a flight which lasted 18 hours. The most renowned people I've blogged are very often the swiftest, most modest and helpful when it comes to answering e-mails.
The Second Lesson (it's still Sunday) fills out the explanation I gave Sarah of why I stopped listening to BBC Radio 4 months ago.
I usually find my waking-up process -- from wild, wonderful, wet or bad dreams to the bouncing far and wide of my Neuron -- more constructive nowadays than any blah-blah I thought I used to enjoy absorbing.
What I left out was why and how.
I'd normally never publish her e-mail, but the Exclusive teaches us how much cunning, ambiguity, possible deceit and revealing nothing a clever and luscious member of the very unfair sex can pack into two rapidly typed lines.
You'd better believe it.
I'm on to you women and take her advice to "Stop Thinking". She's right. The Neuron works of its own volition. Should you see a sexist remark coming, it's yours, not mine.
My morning Neuron tells me how they work their minds. By all saints and souls, they're good at it!
In a recent anniversary edition, a science and medical magazine should have have left out its editorial full of apologies for claiming decades earlier, on the strength of what experts knew then, that women rarely think and when they do, it's not like men.
Scientists knew all along: women don't.
They're usually much smarter than mere thinkers.
Once a man's put that in his pipe and puffed on it, the smokescreen of the millennia dissipates. Such understanding means we men might have a future after all.
Here's a warning to women. Forget the excuses. Drop the dreary nonsense about a vote and how much worse or better its outcome might be for the world during the next four years. It could be nasty, true. So was the Roman empire sometimes.
Now that I've sussed it -- and most especially you, love -- the Project has a new subsidiary theme to add to its puzzle.
You could bet your butts that I'm not the first bloke to have noticed this and I won't be the last, since "the truth is (already) out there."
Really, What election?
I'm down to four hours sleep a night, decent weather or foul like today. There's no time to misspend if I'm to do the Factory stuff, make love to you lot and let the Neuron work when it comes to my idea of what's out there.
What's today's reel, before digital and binary come to rule?
I'll give 'Thelma and Louise' back to Dominique at the store downstairs. While I won't purchase Ridley Scott's 1991 vision for keeps, I bought much of what's in it.
Ridley's shown over and over how he borrowed Radio 4's maxim: inform, enlighten -- and entertain! He's got a good perspective on issues I'm teasing about here.
The end of this splendid road movie, which I ignored on release, is great as it is, though Scott made an alternative. He and his team are so smart that the considerable fun on the way must have been planned.
Unlike 'Starship Troopers'. Heavens below, this ... film? ... is awful.
It's so dreadful, so unintentionally funny that discovering this year has brought a sequel (IMDb) might be better news than World War III.
Or a vote result I care about but would rather not know any time soon, just as long as the quick e-mailer doesn't go on making excuses.
What if the poll goes ... don't think about it.
There are no fewer than four women in the Project. I've only just begun to understand them.
There's no woman in that race across the Pond, is there?
If we're to be bushwhacked again, I'll finish up like Thelma and Louise in my own time, thank you.
When the time comes to shove, nobody wants to be pushed.
_____
*Beijing, not Tokyo (Nov 2: thanks, WDB)
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