Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love

Valentine’s Day is a wonderful day where we can all come together and realise just how bitter and lonely we really are, and reconfirm our hatred of everyone who isn’t. Some spend the day waiting at the mailbox, hoping for the mailman to finally arrive and deliver their massive box of lubricious chocolates which they had sent – self-addressed – several days before. Others make hurried calculations to determine how many cats they can possibly spend the rest of their life with before the risk of a vicious cat uprising outweigh the benefits of a life where being mauled by Mrs. Tinkles marks the end of a sordid feline existence. I still don’t have a cat, so I’m spending the day updating a blog that’s frequented less often than O’Malley’s Bar. (Yes. Nick Cave references, everywhere).

Now, I have nothing against the score of lurid romantics. I enjoy nothing more than a good story involving romantic, but tragically inclined nightingales (niche market, but Wilde delivers). I’ve got nothing against the flurry of half-price sales on February 15, where people as romantically moribund as myself can drown themselves in an orgy of sad chocolate. I think the annual influx of love-heart toting bears and anatomically incorrect balloons might be an elaborate cover for an ursine invasion; or simply a little hackneyed, but that’s just me.

If you’re lucky enough to have someone today, make the most of the holiday. It might be a corporatized, meaningless holiday as abjectly romantic as a gun-slinging polar bear with the words ‘I wuv woo’ emblazoned on its blood-stained chest; but it comes only once per year, and you should enjoy it. Try to spare a thought for the hapless souls who aren’t as fortunate.

We will be, and we hate you for it as well. :)

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't feel amorous
I knew you'd misconstrue.

Plaster Powder

It’s been a while since I last posted a blog.

It’s also been a while since I last gained weight. The bathroom scales have begun to mock my belated attempt at gluttony by displaying acridly encouraging messages that yes, once again, I’ve lost 100g. Most people would be thrilled by this; I’m considering sticking my head in a bucket of lard, with the hope that the failure would go away. With my luck, not only would I consume the entire sordid mass without gaining a single skerrick of fat, I’d also lose a kilo from the vigorous exercise.

I could make a healthy living by shilling out fad diet books; making television appearances, and assiduously avoiding placed palm trees out of fear that I’d disappear from sight completely. They could make it a recurring segment entitled ‘Talking with Cameron’, where the regular viewers would primarily include pelagic cetaceans able to discern bass mutterings, and wondering just how they can strip away a few unsightly tonnes from their dorsal posterior. The market segment for whale viewership has been positively untapped.

I’ve developed a strong and vehement distaste for Sustagen, a diet supplement which would have had far more success as a makeshift substitute for walling plaster. The noxious goop has become a perennial fixture of my waking nightmares, overriding the normal human instinct which prevents innocuous food substitutes from becoming part of a continued vendetta. I’ve had fantasies consisting entirely of the powder’s graphic, and unnecessarily excessive demise. I would stretch it out on a train track, and laugh while it burned.

A week's worth of Sustagen. Finished.

The only upside I’ve found in making relatively svelte stick-insects look surprisingly rotund has been in sour cream. Sour cream improves any meal, without exception. There comes a time every day when I ask myself ‘Should I have a little sour cream with this?’ The answer comes back, quite clearly: ‘No. I should have a lot of sour cream on this.’ This is the high point of my day.

I’m aiming to gain weight considerably by the end of the year. Until then I’ll need to be content in making diffraction patterns every time I pass by a series of doors.  Goodnight.

Yes, I exhibit wave/particle duality.