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Mis- October 24, 2008

Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
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Hope none of you went with that recipe. Worst indigestion I’ve ever had.

Darlings, I’m all about the getting-things-wrong these days. Naturally I assume this is just the next stage of my irreversible dementia and living mislingually. Still, every experience is a good one, apart from, perhaps, being held against your will and tortured, or talking backwards, or eating upside-down, so I’m thinking even the misexperiences are to be enjoyed and, as surely as night follows day, written down for my own and, selfless old thing that I am, your appreciation. Perhaps even marvel.

These are hard times – mind you, a gent I chatted to the other day in a bar told me there’s no crisis and it’s all just bollocks, which is surely bollocks, isn’t it? Still, he had excellent teeth so I thought he had the moral authority and I had to go and seek out an all-night glazier to reglaze the window of the bank which I’d just smashed in – so making positives out of negatives is to be encouraged. Brain going down the pan? No! It’s just the next stage in your brain’s (mis)development. The world going down the tubes? Not a bit of it. Just an opportunity for us to realign to less nasty habits and make our own entertainment. Worried about your future and thinking employers will start giving you less work? Very easy. Just charge double!

See. Life is good, even when you get things wrong.

I’ve been tapping away fairly furiously of late, trying to scrabble enough pfennigs together to put a Würstchen or two on our humble table. By the time the taxman’s had his wicked old way with my money, there’s not much left for luxuries like food, booze, fast men and fast public transport. Yet it goes without saying that this is yet more cause for rejoicing. Giving is good. How could you not feel warm and fuzzy to think you were probably single-handedly providing schools with science labs, hospitals with vital and state-of-the-art equipment, godforsaken provinces with roads and electricity and civilisation and the people from the 100%-long-term-unemployment-house across the road with fags? But the tapping’s caused short-circuitry. Shatteringly vivid incidents of misinterpretation, mishearing, miswriting and misseeing.

Loving my fellow humans as I do and hoping that one of these mishappenings might lead to a eureka moment and be of some great benefit for mankind – wasn’t penicillin invented when some drunk person put his kebab down next to a moulding pizza-box as he went to check his e-mail having rolled in drunk at 4am? – I am careful to follow my mistakes diligently. But the results have only been disturbing or pathetic.

Favourite typo. Should have written ‘bacteriostatic’ which, as anyone with even half a day at school behind him can tell, is something boring and scientific. My mistype came out as ‘bacteriotastic’ which paints bacteria in a much jollier light. Singing and dancing germs. I wrote to the authorities to see if there could be any use for the word – even went as far as e-mailing the Académie Française, with a subject line of ‘bactériotastique’ as I’m happy to sell my soul to the French for fifteen minutes of linguistic fame – but no-one was interested.

I tossed and turned in bed all night and had dreams which magnified the extent of my failings. I argued with the Russian that the socks had been mispaired but he laughed maniacally, dangling miscoloured, mismatched garments in my face and said, in perfect English, “Don’t start an argument your colour-blind ass can’t win.” Terrifying. When did he learn English? Had he been misspeaking to me all this time? Had I misinterpreted all along? Had I misbothered speaking Russian?

But the real, waking Russian got bored of my missleeping. As my dreams about my misdeeds and misachievements got ever more misbegotten, my tossing and turning – so I’m told – got ever more mismanageable and misignorable. The Russian began to contort in such a way that, with minimum effort, he might push me as far across the bed as possible to be less misturbed. I awoke with a shudder, the terrifying visions of the unconscious disappearing as quickly as a student whose round it is, only to be met with misvisions of arms and legs flailing with the rest of some body concealed under a blanket. It looked exactly like an octopus in chainmail.

I’d very much like my brain never to misbehave again.

Comments»

1. wyndham - October 24, 2008

My antie was one of Fleming’s guinea pigs in his orginal penicillin test. Me, I’m allergic to it – the wonder drug of the century. Oh, the irony.

Excuse, typing. Pissed.

2. BiB - October 25, 2008

Wynders, pissed comments are often the best ones so any mistyping has been magnanimously overlooked.

Is this the auntie that now networks socially? Is there no end to noteworthy moments in her life-story?

3. d.z. bodenberg - October 26, 2008

I haven’t tried that recipe yet, but have been considering it. Should I now seriously drop that consideration 100%? I’d been looking forward to a syrnik at some time in the near future.

4. BiB - October 26, 2008

d.z., no, just joshing. They’re as safe as houses. As long as you don’t use ancient eggs. I’d offer to make you one, but it would mean you having to come for breakfast and, I don’t know about you, but I never leave the house until it’s dark. Or we could arrange to drink a lot and you could stay the night here. I haven’t drunk a lot since yesterday.

5. ThePenguin - October 26, 2008

BiB, you’re back! I was getting somewhat concerned until I spied the odd comment from you otherblogwards.

(Which reminds me, need any free furnishings’n’household stuff to tide you through the coming global financial apocalypse or whatever the news people are wittering on about this week?)

6. William Thirteen - October 27, 2008

‘bactériotastique’ – a splendid, albeit exceedingly diminutive, ballet – being performed on surfaces all around you.

7. BiB - October 27, 2008

William, that’s rather nice, isn’t it? Bacteria really do need an image make-over. Mind you, I’ve got a new white keyboard and if bacteria and dirt are close cousins, as I expect they probably are, they will soon lose my favour.

Pengers, I’m not sure we do need any stuff. I’ll consult him indoors and get back to you though I did mention the DVD player and he went all ascetic on me. BUT, and William, listen up too, there IS a Stammtisch this week, which of course I’m not sure I can attend. Though let me know if that’s the only time that suits you and I could try to be heroic in reshuffling other arrangements.

8. marshaklein - October 28, 2008

Wyndham, me too. I’m also (apparently) what they call a “non-responder” – I don’t make antibodies to vaccinations. So when the bio-terrorists attack, I’ll be among the first to go.

Re: “bacteriotastic” – did you try contacting the makers of Domestos (kills 99% of all known germs)? I’m sure they would have a use for a word like that.

Re: brain misbehaviour/disturbed sleep. Once, while pregnant, I passed a very hot and sultry night in the summer of ’95, agitating about the fact that, had the fourth and fifth letters of his name been reversed, Damon Albarn, would have been known as Damon Albran. I was roused from this torment by a cry of “Nevermore” from a passing raven, whereupon I decided it was raining and that I needed to rescue my washing which was still hanging on the line. Which is how I came to be in the (dry) garden, in my pyjamas at some ungodly hour of the morning.
I hope for my children’s sake that madness isn’t hereditary.

9. BiB - October 28, 2008

Marshypops, I’m sorry to say it, but I had to laugh at your asleep and pregnant story. I did. Out loud. How excellent to worry about Damon Albarn’s surname in your sleep.

Bloody hell. Good idea, though. Better get onto Domestos. Though can one own a word? Or even just a noise, as I don’t think bacteriotastic’s coinage is yet official?


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