Today I picked up Flanimals by Ricky Gervais. I read it on the bus while travelling home. It is full of such wonderfully fecund language, running along the lines of, "The globberblubbulus enjoys the spleem of baby flooderbrot as it snerps along." (Run that through the spell checker.) The pictures are what make it so successful because while inventing this sentence the Jaberwocky started chiming loudly in my head. It's also a fair nod to the imagination of Douglas Adams too. Let's stop nodding now or we will never stop.
It is a child-like book though, I found myself luxuriating in the experience. The world on the other side of the windows was full of extra bright colours for me. It was probably just the diadem of creativity shining through everything that I was enjoying at last. At work today I did create though, I created a spreadsheet. I do like work, especially the way everyone else does things. I don't mean that exactly like it sounds - I actually have no idea if anyone else does anything, but I stay positive and things work out pretty well. The day was extra long though with large industrial heaters everywhere trying to dry out the wet carpet but mostly promulgating the fetid aroma that it had produced.
I am getting into all things Ricky Gervais at the moment. I listened to all the free podcasts on ITunes and they are pretty funny, even if they are only a Seinfeld script laced with vulgarity. Man Stroke Woman on the ABC is still mostly doing it for me. The regular characters are not yet too predictable and it is surreally satisfying.
Like that, I tend to get really into things until they bore me. This makes me a somewhat faddish purchaser. Tintin comics, the songs of Woody Guthrie, James Bond movies, the music of Oscar Peterson and Haruki Murakami novels are a few of the things I briefly obsessed over in the past couple of years. I read the complete works of Haruki Murakami in about a month before deciding I didn't like his style. Every book was thematically identical. Art should be about stepping outside yourself on the way in, not scratching the days on the dungeon wall.
Oscar Peterson has to be the most energetic jazz piano player I know, being the only one I am familiar with precisely. Anyone can appreciate the Oscar Peterson Trio doing West Side Story. This homage to Bernstein is seriously cool.
Woodie Guthrie struck me as just amazing in every which way. A troubadour tripping the stage of eternity. He was a monk, a drunken crazy monk. The original Dharma Bum who made it to the other side.
Tintin. What would happen if Aled Jones became a superhero I suppose.
James Bond. English tailoring. Enough said.
Meditation tonight was exactly like floating in the light of the universal playground.
Writing this was akin to trying to count the clouds.