Tuesday Thinking

It's hard to believe
There's nobody out there
It's hard to believe that I'm all alone
At least I have her love
The city she loves me
- RHCP, Under The Bridge

Sitting in front of the PC, with RHCP's Under The Bridge playing on iTunes (I know, I don't have an Ipod yet, but one can dream, and it's a darn better jukebox software than WMP) and a 75-page "leaked" report of sorts to browse through (and maybe memorise) before tomorrow morning's interview with the assessment board one's mind tends to wander. There are a lot of things to be done (especially considering the 10th anniversary of the faculty and its preparations which seem to be in limbo) and in between the reading, thinking, digesting and scratching of arse cheeks I can't help but feel a little melancholy setting in.

Bastard of a feeling, that one.

It's been a while since I've felt like this, and I can't say I wasn't expecting it. Yesterday I peeked in on the last minute beatification (I'd prefer the use of the term coverup, seriously) of the faculty buildings proper and I couldn't help thinking of an old prostitute circa Jack The Ripper's era putting a touch of rouge to her wrinkled cheeks and maybe a dash or two of powder and perfume even as her insides rot from her chronic alcoholism as she prepares to do one last walk, one last trick that may yet turn her fortunes around.

Funny way to think of one's workplace, innit?

Pretty white-washed lies,
endless alibis
and reasons that need cleaning every night
Half a world away
You can't wash away the stain of the deceiving
And the things that you cannot believe
- Counting Crows, She Don't Want Nobody Near

Of course, when you've seen enough of what happens and passes for acceptable behaviour round here you'd be able to think just about anything. There's a brand new fountain in front that used to leak until yesterday, we've got flags merrily flapping about in the greyish haze that calls itself the sky and deep inside everyone knows, it's like a whisper going about the corridors and the uneven steps of the staircases, taunting us that there's nothing really in here and that it's all a great big fake. What's new, anyway when you're a no one crawling up the lowly pay and research ladder, not quite in but not quite out either and after awhile the fake smiles, laughs and that reassuring tone I've got down pat begin to grate on my own nerves, and I just want to tell someone something.

Screw you
I didn't like your taste
Anyway I chose you
And that's all gone to waste
- Robbie Williams, Sexed Up

Well, I guess it's back to the grind again, at least till I can get this thing out of my face (or Law and Order starts, whichever comes first) and God knows there'll be at least one person thankful for October this year.

Oh, and today's geeky link: what would happen if a samurai warrior fought in mortal combat with a medieval European knight (or is it knigget?) . The Association for the Renaissance Martial Arts has a well thought and read essay on just such a possibility.

Have a good one, folks.