Relocation

Sporadica

Hello again to you, readers of Eisegesubrations and Sporadica. This is a notice for the impending url change that I alluded to in my previous post. We will be making the change tomorrow at 7pm to this new address, as chosen by Ngiammy: http://www.reuleauxs.blogspot.com/

Please don't forget to favourite us when the switch is made. Your continued returns to the blog are very much appreciated.

So onto today's Sporadica. First up is a video that my friend Chloe linked me a couple of days ago. A humourous take on a modern YouTube phenomenon, watch it to the end and enjoy it. Multiple times. After that comes a brief statement on aesthetics. Finally, there is Part 2 of my short story. I hope to have at least one more part written before Semester 2 of uni starts next week so fingers crossed that will work out.

Video:



Brief Statement:

When we have two chocolates and a cyanide pill, it is aesthetically optimal to consume one chocolate, then the cyanide pill, then the second chocolate. When there are two political documentaries and a soap opera, it is aesthetically optimal to watch one political documentary, then the soap opera whilst mashing your brains out with a sledgehammer, then the second political documentary. When you have a choice of watching Nyan Thornberry, a dance video and Nyan Thornberry, it is aesthetically optimal to watch Nyan Thornberry, then Nyan Thornberry, then finally Nyan Thornberry. The key is alternation. Is the key alternation? The key is alternation. Is the key alternation? The key is alternation. Just a thought.

Story:

2

Katherine hated fish. In the fifteen months I had known her, she had never once touched seafood, citing a complete propensity against any cuisine of that sort. I found this out in what was our very first argument two weeks after I met her. Although she hated the label, and would never have acknowledged it herself, we had been in a relationship. At the very least, the decision to meet one another again was a mutual decision. The story of how we met is a very non-eventful one, and not one I intend to bore the reader with at this point. Compared to all the stories of romance, fate, destiny and love at first sight that permeate modern culture, our origins were far more humble – although as you may discover in the chapters ahead, it was what came after that held far more significance.

The aforementioned argument was one that arose from my attempt to surprise her on an outing –she equally would not have approved of the word ‘date’. It was our fourth, I believe, but as it will become far more easily justifiable later on, please do accept my apologies for my indistinct memories of these early stages. What I can say for sure was that I had planned a stroll away from the metropolis and its stench of infertility and immorality. This was not as much planned as a romantic gesture, for Katherine also had predilections against granting the existence of this too, but rather a way of escaping the monotony of the urban environment. It was a change intended to be as refreshing as it was comforting, one that could vouch for a strengthening bond between two individuals with exposure to variety and a smorgasbord of experiences. We started from her apartment and took the subway five stops to the east - this was necessary to take us to the outskirts and at this point I had not revealed my intention to her and so actually served to keep up pretenses, albeit where they did not need to be kept up. When we got off, we ambled in the direction of the beach.

It was a cloudy day, around 4 in the afternoon, and just two days earlier, four surfers had been torn apart by two wayward sharks resulting in a swimming ban imposed across the length of the beach. As a result, it was almost deserted when the two of us got there, traversing a specially laid path that winded throughout the patches of sand, silt and dirt. At one end was the inlet through which we entered, at the other was a single rustic shack near the edge of a cliff face. Or at least it had been for many decades. It used to house spare beach equipment – flags, ropes, buoys and the like – but a more convenient location closer to the shoreline was built and it had been abandoned since. Two years ago, a retired businessman who had spearheaded many lucrative companies purchased the shack. In the space of a month, the metamorphosis was complete. It had been transformed into what became the most famous fish and chips store in the state. It had the fiscal foundation, credentialed chefs and most importantly the amazing view to thank for its overnight success. It was to this critically acclaimed hideaway I was intending for our saunter to culminate.

A surprise did eventuate, but not the one I desired. I was undone by distant flashing lights and the crisp, and to me tantalizing, aromas emanating from the eatery’s kitchen. As soon as Katherine detected the scent, her entire body became tense. Her expression was no longer carefree and happy – I could almost detect a trace of hostility in her delicate features. She managed to construct an excuse on the spot.

“I’m cold. Can we please go back and eat somewhere warm?” I had promised her a special dinner she would never forget. Well, she wouldn’t forget this all right.

“Come on, Katherine, they will have heaters. And we’re almost there. Getting some food in front of you will warm you right up.” She had also insisted that I never abbreviate her name – none of that Kat or Kathy business.

“No, I want to go back right now. I don’t think I would enjoy eating there. I’m leaving now, it’s up to you whether you want to follow me or not.”

I followed her. We went to an Italian restaurant, shared a Hawaiian pizza, ravioli and a tiramisu. We finished, the bill came and we paid, without any post-meal conversation. That night she did not invite me back to her place. She said she was feeling a little under the weather and that she would be fine with a good night’s rest. It wasn’t until four days later when she called me at 2am in the morning and tearfully apologized. We talked until sunrise. Finally hanging up because both of us had to prepare ourselves for work, I emerged from that conversation tired yet relieved and with a newfound appreciation for Katherine’s dietary habits.

There is more to be said about the events of that day, but I don’t want the reader to lose track of why I brought this up in the first place. That night I arrived at Katherine’s an hour later than I had promised because of an incident at work. I was between full-time jobs so I accepted a friend’s request to help him out at his school for driving instruction. I was proficient enough, having never lost any points of my licence and it didn’t seem like the kind of occupation where I would be required to exert much effort – physically at least. I got along with most of my students – they were overeager and enthusiastic but generally receptive to criticism and not altogether reckless. It was the last student of the day - a tall, geeky 19 year old having his first lesson ever - who made me late for dinner with Katherine.

It started off normally enough. I told him to get into the driver’s seat of the specially fitted azure Corolla I was assigned by the school for first-timers. As I got into the passenger seat beside him, I began my usual spiel about the components of the car and the company safety policy. He looked at me attentively throughout my rehearsed speech yet remained silent throughout all my pauses and prompts for processing and questions. When I gestured for him to turn the keys and start the engine, he finally spoke up.

“Mr. Hadrian, before I do that, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Why is it that people drive?”
“Excuse me?”

Till next we sporadic,
Cynic