Making your own attempts at sense out of it all

In Absurdlandia, coffee, Current reading, Food, Games, Hautvoir, Local projects, news coverage, proto drafts on February 24, 2016 at 10:02 am

Well, I’ve been munching on my piece of toast, drinking my coffee and staring at the screen. Not for want of things to do, things to read, things to write, things to ponder. People to meet, moussaka to put together for a meal at the neighbors’ this evening. People knocking at my door, holding letters with the same exquisite bits of administrative nonsense in them as the last time. As if a huge fan hovered above administrative offices, stirring up sheaves of paper. The fan sometimes set on low speed, sometimes on medium and sometimes on Total Turmoil.

Meanwhile, the local services for this specific bit of kerfuffle: closed for the week. The website: well, yes, undergoing maintenance.

But, after all, this being vacation time for me, I stocked up on a variety of reading materials yesterday, including a “woman’s magazine”. Female bodies photoshopped to the current local standards of beauty suggesting twenty-five brands of anti-aging serum; modeling five thousand euros-worth of consumer goods; and even dropping into the Calais “Jungle” for a two-page spread on the horror and shame of “our” treatment of refugees. (“Our”? What is this? The Confessional moment? Who is this “Our”? The person modeling her current wardrobe on page seventy-four?The one touching up the glamor shots? Writing the advertising copy?)

We move on to advice from stylish women on how to look stylish, from age 27 to 94. From this last, I cull the closing comment by the ninety-four year old: “You know, not everyone has to be elegant. There are so many more important things in life… It’s better to be happy than to be well-dressed.”

No doubt. (Here, the Ironist starts stretching up toward sarcasm, so I let the matter rest for now. I like nice things as much as the next person but this is like an unrelenting diet of non-fattening chocolate truffles).

In a totally different vein: received and started to read Julian Barnes’ The Noise of Time. Wrote. Pondered. Stacked up empty plastic bottles for a run to the recycling bins. One of the resident inner characters piped up about how nicely trained we were; buying even the most basic supplies in tons of unwanted packaging, then sorting out the garbage by category, and come rain or shine, making our way to the bins as conscientious consumers must.


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