There are things I MUST do this fine Saturday such as sweep my front veranda, and do the laundry. There are also things I MIGHT do this weekend, such as kill off a few brain cells. These are the boring ways in which I might do this:
1. Have a glass of wine. To be honest, I probably won't. I am doing an evening medication run and won't be home until after 7.00pm, and I like my glass of wine at about 5.00pm. As mentioned, I will be administering medication at that time, and it is not a good look to be drinking wine whilst giving an aged person their meds. I'm guessing it is also sackable on my part.
2. Read the news 'Fifty Shades' book, which is apparently from the perspective of Grey. Hey, I like to look at well known stories from another character's point of view; as a writer it is very interesting to see what develops. This technique was employed to masterful effect in 'Trainspotting', with different chapters presented from different characters' view points. When I'm teaching creative writing, as I have done occasionally, one of the exercises I give my fledgling Hemingways is to take a well known fairy tale and rewrite it from another character's point of view. I am dreading what the knot-tying fuck-up is going to be saying in what I understand will again be first person narrative. Perhaps it will be something like 'I am going to go to Bunnings to buy rope, so I can tie up this boring whiny prat who's always biting her lip, before I fuck her. Thank God my controlling parents insisted I go to Boy Scouts where I was taught to tie unloosenable knots by the scout master who also buggered me one night at camp'. Goddamn, I swear I killed off a few brain cells just writing that.
3. Watch the film clip of the 1980 Gibson Brothers song 'Que Sera Mi Vida (If You Should Go)'. Actually, I already have. I only got through about two minutes of it. It's one of those things I shouldn't like, and I'm not sure I really do, but it drew me in with its tractor beam of sheer kitsch godawfulness. It's just too grotesque, yet so compelling. They are an African-Amercan band dressed in glittering space-age all-in-one lurex jumpsuits; they look like a cross between the Commodores and the Jetsons. I was viewing the clip with my hands over my eyes, and then I'd slowly part my fingers like the opening of a Venetian blind, and peep through. And shudder. And keep watching. And then my shoulders would twitch and my feet would want to dance. So I turned it off before I could be sucked into this vortex of Musical Malevolence and be brainwashed.
But as mentioned, I must do the washing and sweep my front veranda. Oh, and continue the edit of my manuscript, which will hopefully by next year be available as my fourth novel. Editing will not be fun today, since both my boys will have friends around for play date (my youngest), and to hang out (my oldest).
Ciao for now.
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