Hungarian Folk Freak
As you are doubtless aware ... every day is a good day when you have a balloon.
Unless you have to go shopping that is.
Those of you who have, for some utterly unfathomable reason, been reading my ramblings for any length of time will be aware that I have something of an aversion to shopping.
I don’t mean in the traditional sense of the Man/Shopping/Misery cliché … I’ll happily spend absolutely forever shopping.
In fact, I was once so keen to go shopping for some new music that I left friends/family at Madame Tussaud’s, walked to the Stables Market in Camden,
popped into Cyberdog (which was the only place remotely likely to have anything approaching what I liked),
listened to five compilation CDs, dithered and couldn’t make my mind up, listened to them again, dithered again, listened to them a third time, dithered but finally decided that I could live without one of them, listened to the other four again, decided I wouldn’t be heartbroken if I never got to hear that one track again (it wasn’t worth buying a whole album for), listened to the remaining three for a fifth time, dithered for absolutely aaaaaaaages, not making my mind up, listened to one of them a sixth time and finally decided that, on balance, I did like all three sufficiently to spend the money, bought them, walked back to Madame Tussaud’s and found that I‘d been shopping for fifty minutes!
Okay, so, forty of those minutes were spent walking to/from Cyberdog,
But I still spent long enough shopping to listen to five albums six times (give or take) and faff around, unable to make my mind up about them, for at least half that time — ten minutes is a long time to decide whether you like some music or not … more than enough … and it’s only because I’m picky (some might even say anal) about it that I took that long.
So, it’s not that I don’t like shopping.
No, it’s the whole needlessly shopping for stuff that is a waste of time that I object to — it’s just depressing.
In fact, I long ago worked out that the solution to the whole sordid rigmarole of ‘conceive of, purchase, pack, transport, unpack, prepare, cook, eat, wash up, clean up, repeat until you can’t bear the mundanity any longer and slit your wrists just to relieve the tedium of being alive’ was to simply stock up once … fill the fridge, freezer and cupboards … and then never eat any of it so that you never had to suffer through the whole wretched experience again.
Rather than do that kind of shopping, I’ll eat horseraddish sauce sandwiches, mustard by the spoonful, I’ll even try frying porridge with herbs and spices before finally giving in and submitting to the starvation-driven need to go to the supermarket.
And I’ve done some dubious things with various types of beans (some of which I’m sure are made up names¹ ) and frozen cauliflower.
[SINGS]
“While we’re in the mood … cold chicken with custard!”
Recently, it’s got so bad that I’ve found myself eyeing up the porridge and wondering how bad it would taste if I made it with just water ² — because making it with milk would mean going shopping … for milk.
Only eyeing it up, mind you … not actually making it — fortunately, I found a half jar of sliced jalapeños that I’d forgotten about eight months previously … so that was that evening’s dinner sorted out (close shave there!)
I hadn’t eaten the green beans though.
Those green beans have been there how long ... two years ... three?
And I still hadn’t eaten them.
I’ll eat mustard by the spoonful rather than green beans … eye up the porridge despite the trauma of fifteen years ago that I still haven’t recovered from …
I've been shopping how many times in the last two or three years?
You're not desperate not to go shopping until you'll eat the green beans, my lad!
Well ... I ate the green beans.
On their own — green beans without even any mustard!
That’s how desperate I am not to go shopping.
(Still haven't eaten the porridge though — no milk).
Thinking about it now, I wouldn’t be altogether surprised to learn it weren’t unrelated to a certain aversion to housework.
(I’d see someone about it, but I’m a psychologist … so I don’t trust psychoanalysts.)
But, if I reflect upon that period of my life spent creeping around in the dark … (curtains permanently closed, lights always off, the only illumination coming from the laptop screen) … not making a sound (only flushing the toilet/using the shower, between 10:00/10 a.m. and 16:00/4 p.m., when the neighbours were at work) … never answering the phone (never mind the door) … only venturing out to the supermarket at 04:00/4 a.m. and only buying food I could nuke ³ … because I was afraid to go into the kitchen ⁴ … at the end of which period, Dave Redacted and (to my great surprise/delight) Dave Not-Dave came to visit me … (because they were greatly worried about me for some reason possibly not unrelated to the fact that I had spent the last nine months creeping around in the dark, afraid to go into the kitchen) … opened the curtains, fixed the kitchen, took me shopping (during the hours of daylight) and, basically, saved me from myself before I ended up turning strange ⁶ …
… then, yeah, I can see how there might be a link — a bit tangential, perhaps, but a link nevertheless.
Anyway …
I don’t like shopping, but I’ve got no food (not even jalapeños) and the hunger has been driving me to distraction.
How distracted?
“I ate the green beans“ distracted … that’s how distracted!
So, I need something even more distracting to distract me from how distracted I am by hunger — I’d rather starve to death and be found by the police when they break into the property when, six months from now, the neighbours notice a strange smell seeping through the walls … that’s how much I don’t want to go shopping.
So … as you may be aware, I was recently gifted a technological solution to an annoyance.
Thanks to the Wifi repeater ... repeater ... repeater ... repeater ... repeater ...
Ooh ... let's try that again!
Is there an echo ... echo ... echo ... echo ...?
CChheecckk YYoouurr DDuupplleexx SSwwiittcchh ...
Where was I?
Oh, yes, that’s right … I was going to watch Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses and then luxuriate in extended WiFi goodness, reading my RSS feeds in the bath.
If you don’t know Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses, it’s the second film/movie in Aki Kaurismäki’s Leningrad Cowboys trilogy — kinda the Blues Brothers as directed by Jim Jarmusch.
You’re going to tell me you’ve never heard of Jim Jarmusch either, aren’t you?
<sigh>
I think it was Ray Bradbury who was so upset by some remark made during a radio interview in France, about some science fiction under discussion, that he blew his stack and told all of France that it didn’t deserve Jules Verne and stormed off.
Well … in much the same vein … for pretty much the same reasons … you don’t deserve to have eyes with which to see nor ears with which to hear!
But, as you do, you undeserving wretch(es), do yourselves a favour and watch some — I recommend you start with Stranger Than Paradise, Down By Law, Mystery Train and Night On Earth … and then, if you aren’t a complete philistine, you can progress onto Dead Man and Ghost Dog.
After that, you might … I say might … be ready to appreciate Leningrad Cowboys Go America.
After which, you will be ready for Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses and … finally … for the unspeakably awesome majesty of the Total Balalaika Show (it’s alright, you can prostrate yourselves before me afterwards … just remember who it is who enlightened you).
Right.
I may not have a balloon.
Maybe the good Lord didn’t bless me with the bounty of a family of possum — kind of disappointing as I did go to the trouble of investing in a new shovel too ⁸.
But, one way and another, today was still a good day.
Oh, by the way … re the title of this piece … you don’t deserve this either, but, if you are bothering to get yourself an education …
Mongolian Barbecue!
—
¹ Come o…oon … no beans are called ‘borlotti’ beans …
² I f^cking hate porridge … how does it get into my home … where does it come from — is it clowns … are clowns leaving porridge in my cupboards, for some disturbing reason?
³ Although that’s quite a broad definition in my book.
⁴ No, really, I was utterly terrified of going in there because then I wouldn’t
be able to pretend to myself that it wasn’t as bad as I‘d feared — although, technically, that was true … it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared ⁵.
⁵ It was much … much … worse than even I had feared.
⁶ As it happens, Dave might come and visit me again this coming Monday ⁷.
⁷ $hit — I’d better clean the kitchen!
⁸ That reference is so obscure even I’ve forgotten what it is — but it involves roadkill. And a new shovel.
