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Mar. 21st, 2012
a serious cramp on my movies
Mar. 21st, 2012 09:50 amI recorded two promising movies last night, but, again, nothing showed up on the DVR this morning. I was hoping to give the "Chuck" DVDs a rest; I've already gone through the "Shield" DVDs.
At first, I was feeling angry at Pop, thinking he must be screwing with my movies. This has been a regular thing for the past couple of weeks or so.
However, when I looked up the timers, I see that my movies were not recorded because of the lack of a signal. And then I remember that we have been having a problem getting our satellite connection for this same period of time.
We have not called anyone, since it has not been a very intrusive problem, but it is obviously putting a serious cramp on my movies.
At first, I was feeling angry at Pop, thinking he must be screwing with my movies. This has been a regular thing for the past couple of weeks or so.
However, when I looked up the timers, I see that my movies were not recorded because of the lack of a signal. And then I remember that we have been having a problem getting our satellite connection for this same period of time.
We have not called anyone, since it has not been a very intrusive problem, but it is obviously putting a serious cramp on my movies.
1984 (2,7) When His Father Disappeared
Mar. 21st, 2012 11:47 amWinston’s dream vividly calls to mind that rabid time of his childhood amidst war and privations and the falling of the iron curtain.
_ _ _
His father had disappeared some time earlier, how much earlier he could not remember. He remembered better the rackety, uneasy circumstances of the time: the periodical panics about air-raids and the sheltering in Tube stations, the piles of rubble everywhere, the unintelligible proclamations posted at street corners, the gangs of youths in shirts all the same colour, the enormous queues outside the bakeries, the intermittent machine-gun fire in the distance -- above all, the fact that there was never enough to eat. He remembered long afternoons spent with other boys in scrounging round dustbins and rubbish heaps, picking out the ribs of cabbage leaves, potato peelings, sometimes even scraps of stale breadcrust from which they carefully scraped away the cinders; and also in waiting for the passing of trucks which travelled over a certain route and were known to carry cattle feed, and which, when they jolted over the bad patches in the road, sometimes spilt a few fragments of oil-cake.
When his father disappeared, his mother did not show any surprise or any violent grief, but a sudden change came over her. She seemed to have become completely spiritless. It was evident even to Winston that she was waiting for something that she knew must happen. She did everything that was needed -- cooked, washed, mended, made the bed, swept the floor, dusted the mantelpiece -- always very slowly and with a curious lack of superfluous motion, like an artist's lay-figure moving of its own accord. Her large shapely body seemed to relapse naturally into stillness. For hours at a time she would sit almost immobile on the bed, nursing his young sister, a tiny, ailing, very silent child of two or three, with a face made simian by thinness. Very occasionally she would take Winston in her arms and press him against her for a long time without saying anything. He was aware, in spite of his youthfulness and selfishness, that this was somehow connected with the never-mentioned thing that was about to happen.
-- 1984
_ _ _
His father had disappeared some time earlier, how much earlier he could not remember. He remembered better the rackety, uneasy circumstances of the time: the periodical panics about air-raids and the sheltering in Tube stations, the piles of rubble everywhere, the unintelligible proclamations posted at street corners, the gangs of youths in shirts all the same colour, the enormous queues outside the bakeries, the intermittent machine-gun fire in the distance -- above all, the fact that there was never enough to eat. He remembered long afternoons spent with other boys in scrounging round dustbins and rubbish heaps, picking out the ribs of cabbage leaves, potato peelings, sometimes even scraps of stale breadcrust from which they carefully scraped away the cinders; and also in waiting for the passing of trucks which travelled over a certain route and were known to carry cattle feed, and which, when they jolted over the bad patches in the road, sometimes spilt a few fragments of oil-cake.
When his father disappeared, his mother did not show any surprise or any violent grief, but a sudden change came over her. She seemed to have become completely spiritless. It was evident even to Winston that she was waiting for something that she knew must happen. She did everything that was needed -- cooked, washed, mended, made the bed, swept the floor, dusted the mantelpiece -- always very slowly and with a curious lack of superfluous motion, like an artist's lay-figure moving of its own accord. Her large shapely body seemed to relapse naturally into stillness. For hours at a time she would sit almost immobile on the bed, nursing his young sister, a tiny, ailing, very silent child of two or three, with a face made simian by thinness. Very occasionally she would take Winston in her arms and press him against her for a long time without saying anything. He was aware, in spite of his youthfulness and selfishness, that this was somehow connected with the never-mentioned thing that was about to happen.
-- 1984
February 16, 1991
Mar. 21st, 2012 05:42 pmI recall from last night a couple of dreams that could have been custom-made for me by my fair Dulcinea.
I was back in school, and I was acknowledged by myself and others that I am not “dumb”. The dream was so sweet as to suggest that ‘dumbness’ is attributable solely to acts of hatred.
Even more fantastically, I recognized that I have as strong a claim as anyone to being good-looking. I thought to myself, “All that is left to me is to believe in myself.”
In the other dream, William and I are involved in a set of wild circumstances. Legal liability is possible. He gets burned and I seem to receive the benefit of the doubt.
Moreover, my intellect shines. I try to explain to the police a statement of Williams’ alluding to MacBeth’s tragedy. Though they didn’t want to be intimidated, I told them that one argument holds that tragedy can befall only a great man, while “fools only rush to their folly.”
===============
March 21, 2012
I wish I related more details from the dreams, because I recall nothing of them. The first one sounds absolutely precious. With respect to the dream about William, when I say that he got burned, I hope I meant that he was the one who got in trouble with the law, and not literally burned. Burned, as in by fire. As in my setting him on fire.
William is the Singaporean with whom I left Prather Dormitory for apartment living. It did not turn out to be a pretty story. I could have meant that I set him on fire, but I doubt it. I just wish I spelled out a little what those wild circumstances were. It sounds like fun, and I know that there really was not any of that in our real life together, no picking up chicks on Sixth Street and coming back to our apartment and switching lovers in the middle of the night to freshen the sex, nothing like that.
I was back in school, and I was acknowledged by myself and others that I am not “dumb”. The dream was so sweet as to suggest that ‘dumbness’ is attributable solely to acts of hatred.
Even more fantastically, I recognized that I have as strong a claim as anyone to being good-looking. I thought to myself, “All that is left to me is to believe in myself.”
In the other dream, William and I are involved in a set of wild circumstances. Legal liability is possible. He gets burned and I seem to receive the benefit of the doubt.
Moreover, my intellect shines. I try to explain to the police a statement of Williams’ alluding to MacBeth’s tragedy. Though they didn’t want to be intimidated, I told them that one argument holds that tragedy can befall only a great man, while “fools only rush to their folly.”
===============
March 21, 2012
I wish I related more details from the dreams, because I recall nothing of them. The first one sounds absolutely precious. With respect to the dream about William, when I say that he got burned, I hope I meant that he was the one who got in trouble with the law, and not literally burned. Burned, as in by fire. As in my setting him on fire.
William is the Singaporean with whom I left Prather Dormitory for apartment living. It did not turn out to be a pretty story. I could have meant that I set him on fire, but I doubt it. I just wish I spelled out a little what those wild circumstances were. It sounds like fun, and I know that there really was not any of that in our real life together, no picking up chicks on Sixth Street and coming back to our apartment and switching lovers in the middle of the night to freshen the sex, nothing like that.