Centrifugal force of white noise
I attract white noise. In fact, if the white noise I attracted could be harnassed into some kind of viable energy source, I could resolve the world's energy crisis. By white noise, I mean the psychological definition, or more succinctly, lunatics.
Lunatics are drawn to me like a moth to the flame. In the same way that ambulance sirens attract a crowd of curious onlookers, I attract lunatics. Ipso facto. For example I once had a neighbour steal my front lawn in the dead of night. He dug it up and planted it three feet across the drive way on his front lawn. So, when I woke to discover I had no front lawn, but my neighbour, who previously had a barren patch of earth, was now sporting a lush green oasis of lawn I was absolutely flummoxed. Obviously this was an unsolvable mystery! I once had an email penpal who after several weeks of general email chit chat wrote to me telling me that he read me emails out to his bible group and they were praying for my salvation.
To be fair, I'm not talking about certifiable lunactics, but the far more insidious insane - the insane walking amongst us passing themselves off as normal right until that moment of disclosure to me!
Seriously, the tell for insanity with me is that lunatics confess stuff to me that simply should not be confessed. I have no idea why they choose to disclose to me, as I'm not compassionate, and invariably tell everyone I know while wetting myself with laughter! In Syros, a few people staying in the pensione with us joined us for dinner one night and one literally stopped the small talk convo by saying that the last time he was in Mexico he had been to see a stage show where a woman had sex with a horse. As we sat there digesting this unsolicited piece of info, and as the awkward silence descended, I was fascinated. I desperately wanted to ask "what kind of horse? I mean, are we talking about an Arab, or a shetland pony?", "was it shod?", "did she buy the horse a drink first?"... so many questions. None asked, because I got that look of "don't say anything" from one of my band of four.
Seriously, if you can lead a horse to water but can't make it drink, what kind of cyclist steriods are needed to get a horse prepared for the evening show, I put it to you.
This background is by way of a segue to today's posting. I apologise for the skipping between past and present in my blogs, but just think of it as a post modern view of time - a veritable Pulp Fiction of blogging.
When I left Sydney, on that cold and dark morning in June (it was actually an afternoon flight, but am creating atmosphere), one friend had kindly put a clock on me to see how long it would be before I had either created some kind of civil war, or an international source of white noise had sought me out. 72 hours was the median time. And I think that included the 23 hours of flight!
So, am currently in Lisbon, having caught the train here from Porto on 6 September. Arrived in Lisbon, did usual wander to vaguely centro-ish and started looking for a place to stay. Place found, pack down, all going swimmingly so far. This morning, after coming back from the tourist office equipped with free town maps and bus schedules I was walking past a cafe when a guy roughly pushed past me, pushing me to the cobble stones around Praca Figueira. So as I did my "oww, oww... hey" while I was scrambling to my feet fully bringing myself to my awe inspiring 5'4" I noticed that said man and 3 others had crash tackled some other guy (literally crash tackled) to the ground and were hand cuffing him. The guy was whimpering like a girl and all I wanted to do was find my camera! They eventually dragged him off to a car looking suspisciously like a holden barina and left. I looked around at the small crowd gathered and they simply dispersed and moved on, leaving me hanging with no reason, no background and generally a lot of unanswered questions.
Then only 2 hours ago my siesta was interrupted by the sound of two women screaming at each other in the street and generally going at it hammer and tongs. Needless to say, I pulled on my shoes and headed towards the commotion as I wanted to know... but by the time I arrived one woman was limping off in the distance and the other was beating her chest and laughing. So, I think it is fair to say that my white noise hiatus has been lifted and well... game on!
On more local matters, I see from smh on line www.smh.com.au that doctors have asked Jessica Simpson to stop singing. Quite frankly, I could add a few lawyers, accountants and journalists to that list, so where do we sign?!
Lunatics are drawn to me like a moth to the flame. In the same way that ambulance sirens attract a crowd of curious onlookers, I attract lunatics. Ipso facto. For example I once had a neighbour steal my front lawn in the dead of night. He dug it up and planted it three feet across the drive way on his front lawn. So, when I woke to discover I had no front lawn, but my neighbour, who previously had a barren patch of earth, was now sporting a lush green oasis of lawn I was absolutely flummoxed. Obviously this was an unsolvable mystery! I once had an email penpal who after several weeks of general email chit chat wrote to me telling me that he read me emails out to his bible group and they were praying for my salvation.
To be fair, I'm not talking about certifiable lunactics, but the far more insidious insane - the insane walking amongst us passing themselves off as normal right until that moment of disclosure to me!
Seriously, the tell for insanity with me is that lunatics confess stuff to me that simply should not be confessed. I have no idea why they choose to disclose to me, as I'm not compassionate, and invariably tell everyone I know while wetting myself with laughter! In Syros, a few people staying in the pensione with us joined us for dinner one night and one literally stopped the small talk convo by saying that the last time he was in Mexico he had been to see a stage show where a woman had sex with a horse. As we sat there digesting this unsolicited piece of info, and as the awkward silence descended, I was fascinated. I desperately wanted to ask "what kind of horse? I mean, are we talking about an Arab, or a shetland pony?", "was it shod?", "did she buy the horse a drink first?"... so many questions. None asked, because I got that look of "don't say anything" from one of my band of four.
Seriously, if you can lead a horse to water but can't make it drink, what kind of cyclist steriods are needed to get a horse prepared for the evening show, I put it to you.
This background is by way of a segue to today's posting. I apologise for the skipping between past and present in my blogs, but just think of it as a post modern view of time - a veritable Pulp Fiction of blogging.
When I left Sydney, on that cold and dark morning in June (it was actually an afternoon flight, but am creating atmosphere), one friend had kindly put a clock on me to see how long it would be before I had either created some kind of civil war, or an international source of white noise had sought me out. 72 hours was the median time. And I think that included the 23 hours of flight!
So, am currently in Lisbon, having caught the train here from Porto on 6 September. Arrived in Lisbon, did usual wander to vaguely centro-ish and started looking for a place to stay. Place found, pack down, all going swimmingly so far. This morning, after coming back from the tourist office equipped with free town maps and bus schedules I was walking past a cafe when a guy roughly pushed past me, pushing me to the cobble stones around Praca Figueira. So as I did my "oww, oww... hey" while I was scrambling to my feet fully bringing myself to my awe inspiring 5'4" I noticed that said man and 3 others had crash tackled some other guy (literally crash tackled) to the ground and were hand cuffing him. The guy was whimpering like a girl and all I wanted to do was find my camera! They eventually dragged him off to a car looking suspisciously like a holden barina and left. I looked around at the small crowd gathered and they simply dispersed and moved on, leaving me hanging with no reason, no background and generally a lot of unanswered questions.
Then only 2 hours ago my siesta was interrupted by the sound of two women screaming at each other in the street and generally going at it hammer and tongs. Needless to say, I pulled on my shoes and headed towards the commotion as I wanted to know... but by the time I arrived one woman was limping off in the distance and the other was beating her chest and laughing. So, I think it is fair to say that my white noise hiatus has been lifted and well... game on!
On more local matters, I see from smh on line www.smh.com.au that doctors have asked Jessica Simpson to stop singing. Quite frankly, I could add a few lawyers, accountants and journalists to that list, so where do we sign?!
