Andrew Barnett: grumpy old fart

We Give Thanks

Wed, 21 May 2003 12:12:25 GMT

I suppose -- as my brain finally congeals in the manner of a tub of lard left to cool -- I should give thanks that my basic needs, of shelter and sustenance, are so well-catered to that I'm free to self-actualise into this morose state.

Buggrit

Wed, 21 May 2003 11:44:43 GMT

Hell. Nearly a week since the last post. The truth is I have bugger all to say. Not here, not anywhere else either.

Tonight marks 6 weeks since I stopped drinking more than I'm supposed to, 6 weeks of near drought. And I feel awful. Physically, I'm probably better than I've been for a long time, on the days that is when I'm not crippled with a nauseating headache. But mentally... well, forget it. I've mostly stopped writing the countless long emails with which I clog my friends' inboxes. Anything I do write seems to have been produced by the group of monkeys with typewriters I read of recently. Frankly, crapping on the keyboard as they did might well be more artful than any of this shite.

And I'm heading down too: down, down, down; can't seem to pull up. I'm hoping this is just a stage, a necessary phase, and not the beginnings of another long cycle of depression.

Stay tuned.

Or not.

As you please.

Growing Up

Wed, 14 May 2003 12:40:41 GMT

I listened today to some of Neil Young's Live Rust. Oh boy. As the opening notes of Like a Hurricane came through the earphones, I shivered and my hair stood on end. I instantly remembered 20 years' ago when I was 18: long walks, late on wet and cold nights, with that song playing full blast on my Walkman. And I remembered how lonely and mixed up and miserable and wracked with longing I was at that age, not all of which was brought on by the music in the first place.

And how much better do I feel now? I've learned a lot, gained some self assurance and some practised skill in a few things. I have a wonderful family and a small number of true, close friends. But when it comes to actually being me, being comfy in my own head, being able to deal with the reality of relationships, say when people are cross or tired, am I any much different? It didn't feel so today.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I suppose I was just struck with the thought today that as we come into our mid-to-late thirties, it seems the fears, the longing, the uncertainty and all the rest of those things that blighted our self image and our relationships as teenagers, those things we thought we'd finally dealt with as we turned 30, they're coming thundering back. And suddenly we're teenagers again.

Hell, I even went out the other day and bought a couple of Led Zeppelin CDs (and ripped them straight to my notebook). What's going on here?

I tell you, I'm really looking forward to turning 40, when I have all this stuff sorted out again. Oh yes.

I do hope though that there won't be a relapse every 20 years: can you imagine the old fart in the wheelchair, blanket over his knees, a tear in his eye as Comfortably Numb plays at full volume, again and again?

Shiny Happy Blog

Mon, 12 May 2003 12:00:30 GMT

Apropos of the last post, I shall make a goodly effort to spread only light and joy for the next week. Well, mostly only light and joy.

Let the good times um, er, roll.

Not So Sad

Mon, 12 May 2003 11:57:06 GMT

Um. I'm wondering if I may have overdone the grumpy, depressed thing a little in recent days? Reading back over the last few posts, I can see that people might be forgiven for inferring that I live in a very dark and strange place indeed. And that is strictly not so. Yeah, I'm struggling a little with life but, as I wrote (more or less) in a comment on the previous post:

I have a lovely wife, 2 perfect kids, cushy job, etc., etc. I do suffer from moderate levels of depression now and then and, I think, anxiety too, and I've tied myself in emotional knots for 1 or 2 reasons, which'll take years to undo. But I'm ok really.

The only hardship I face is being me. I shouldn't trivialise that -- it has caused me pain and grief for many years -- but, then again, I'm hardly in the same league as Rageboy, for whom, if indeed he suffers as much as he implies, I feel deep empathy.

Remember too, while I have been pretty openly and honestly "me" in this blog, I also reserve the right of all writers, painters, photographers and the rest of them to focus on the detail, to skew the objective and balanced representation, to do that kind of stuff in order to show emotion, rather than try to explain how it is. If I feel black tonight, I want to Paint It Black. Call it therapy if you will. And then I feel a little better and move on. Perhaps there's the danger in this blogging thing, for our words remain behind, long after the emotion that gave them life has gone. This is how I felt then, not for all time.

Bleah

Thu, 08 May 2003 12:03:08 GMT

Vomit. Regurgitate. Puke. Throw up. Chunder. Barf. Technicolour yawn. Driving the porcelain bus.

Did I miss any?

It came over me early afternoon yesterday though, in hindsight, had been slowly brewing all day. I felt sick. Nauseated. Not "nauseous": please consult a dictionary if you don't know the difference. I'm sitting at my desk, feeling worse by the minute, having increasing difficulty reading. Eventually I give up and just sit there, eyes shut, breathing slowly and deeply. But it gets worse. I try a small amount of chocolate -- for the sugar -- and a cup of sweet, warm water, both to no avail. I'm sweating and beginning to shake. I'd go home but the next train isn't for another 45 minutes. So I sweat it out.

Time to go, and I wobble off slowly and unsteadily to the station. I make it to the train, seek out a seat right next to the toilet, and spend the next 10 minutes trying valiantly not to throw up. Two stops into the journey I admit defeat and retreat to the toilet. Do y'all want the details of what happened next? Let's just say it was protracted, painful, noisy and miserable. And then the hardest bit: emerging from the toilet into view, fully aware that the entire carriage has probably been trying its collective hardest not to listen to the apparent garrotting within. I slumped, soaked in sweat and drained, into a seat and hoped I didn't have stray bits of recycled lunch in my nose, beard or clothes. No one paid me any attention, for which I was profoundly grateful. There's something surreal about feeling that ill in public but simultaneously trying to look normal so as not to be embarrassed.

The subsequent evening and night were unpleasant. Thankfully, my body seemed to achieve some kind of tactical victory over the invaders sometime near dawn. Today I'm shaky and tired -- slept 2 hours after lunch -- and not eating much.

My wife tells me that the higher brain functions are the first thing to go with a viral infection like this. That would probably explain why today seemed to pass by in few minutes, leaving barely an imprint on my consciousness or memory. Oh well, it was relaxing if nothing else. Hopefully, my brain will be back online in a day or two.

Did it!

Mon, 05 May 2003 11:34:34 GMT

A while back I wrote "An open letter to Peter Gabriel" about how my dear wife had bought me a Peter Gabriel CD which flat refused to play on any computer CD drive, thus rendering it completely useless to me.

Well, I persisted, and today, afer the inspired application of a small piece of sticky note on the periphery of the disc, just so, I got it. Yay! Ripped it straight to AAC using iTunes 4. Now I can actually listen to the music I paid for.

Stay Outa My Way

Fri, 02 May 2003 11:33:37 GMT

Bad karma day, the almost-inevitable result of a week filled with news of at least 3 family tragedies for friends and colleagues. I'm demotivated, miserable and grumpy as all hell. By some miracle I managed to restrain myself from smacking around the head any of the fat-arsed dunderheads who GOT IN MY WAY, the guy who pushed the lift (elevator) button with an oh-so-smart, little flourish WHEN IT WAS ALREADY PUSHED, myriad smokers puffing clouds of their stink ALL OVER ME... Anyone else?

Take no prisoners.

15 Minutes

Tue, 29 Apr 2003 12:26:57 GMT

The little Site Meter thingy tells me that my traffic is up to unheard-of heights for about the 3rd day in the last week. Intrigued, I checked the referrals report, which hopefully shows where my visitors came from. Now this really spun me out: they're mostly arriving -- hello y'all -- by way of Google searches on "andrew barnett". That's me!

So I did the Google thing too. And guess what? I am the ~~number 2~~ second-top result. Today, at least, I am the second-most-famous Andrew Barnett on the whole Web. Woo hoo!

So, this is my 15 minutes of fame, huh? And the money, booze and women are where exactly?

It Hurts

Mon, 28 Apr 2003 12:34:32 GMT

Aye! The heachache is back. I think it's because I'm stiff and sore after yesterday's effort in the garden. My head, neck and shoulders are painfully stiff. I've tried stretching, a couple of ibuprofen and standing in the shower with my head under the water for 10 minutes, all to minimal effect. I'd take a couple of Mersyndol, which are painkillers with a relaxant, but I need to be up at 6am and I'm doubtful whether I'd make it. I'm also trying to give my liver a chance and I figure a whack of drugs might be no better for it than red wine, the lack of which has probably partly caused the headache.

Too bad; this is unpleasant and Nat reckons the drugs will induce different enzymes from the wine, so I'll try the Mersyndol.

Bah!

Fri, 25 Apr 2003 14:19:07 GMT

Hell, I wish I had the talent and guts to write like Rageboy, or Stavros on one of his rants, or Halley at full throttle, instead of this insipid, nicey nicey stuff. This is not me! Well, except that it is me conforming to social niceties and not knowing how to break out in the wider context of a public space: easy to do in email to a friend; harder to do when family and colleagues might be reading. Should I trash this blog and start up somewhere else under another name?

Andrew Not Function Well, Wine Without

Fri, 25 Apr 2003 13:52:26 GMT

I wrote a little while back that this self-enforced dry spell has left me utterly underwhelmed: not only do I miss my red wine, but I haven't felt any net improvement in myself.

Well, maybe I am starting to notice a difference in the last couple of days. I won't say I feel any better physically -- quite the opposite if anything, and there's the lack of energy and motivation -- but I am feeling a little happier, a little more relaxed. Big problems don't seem quite so big. I've melllowed out slightly, tuned out perhaps.

OK, I'm also on holidays which could well explain all of that.

So, we'll see. Next week it's back to work, back to school and child care. Nat is starting a new job, which means an extra day in care for the kids too. And the whole routine on those days is stress and effort all the way. I'm interested to see how I'll react.

Off the Wagon

Mon, 21 Apr 2003 12:37:39 GMT

Yesterday, I enjoyed 2 or 3 small glasses of wine at a family Easter lunch. I felt a little snoozy afterwards but, having gone to bed after midnight and subsequently been woken at 5:40am by excited children bearing chocolate eggs, perhaps this wasn't out of order.

I did have a strong desire to open a bottle in the evening but decided not to.

I suppose I'm still disappointed by how different I don't feel when I drink or don't. If it's so bad for me, why don't I feel better without it?

Dry today, and likely the rest of the week; I continue the experiment.

Off the Wagon

Sat, 19 Apr 2003 12:41:35 GMT

Non-drinkers can skip this one; you won't understand and I don't want your thoughts, however well-meant.

I've never hidden the fact that I drink a bit more than the medical establishment considers right'n'proper. Not huge amounts more, certainly some way short of what they describe as "very heavy consumption" or similar; not enough, I was told, to have any short-term health consequences. But still more than I should. And AFDs (Alcohol-Free Days) are more likely to be 2 per year than the approved 2 per week.

All this is by way of setting the context for the following:

Tonight marks my tenth straight day without a drink. Ta da!

It started off last Thursday night. I'd been a little lavish in my consumption the night before -- you know the ones when you wake up the next morning and your brain is insistently trying to force its way out of an eye socket. Anyhow, I'd run out of my cheapish, Monday-to-Friday, guzzling plonk. I'd packed all the good stuff in boxes and taped them up, not to be touched for a couple of years or so. Normally in this situation I'd just buy a couple of bottles on the way home to see me through to the weekend -- when I go to the discount wine retailers and spend big. But this time I didn't buy anything; I decided I'd give myself a decent chance to go without for a night. And it worked; it was either go without or find a good reason to explain opening the decent bottle of fizz in the fridge: I went without

So, the next night was Friday. And somehow I found it easy to get through again. It was somewhat harder on the Saturday as we spent much of the day picking chardonnay on a family vineyard, followed by a long lunch with plenty of wine. But I made it through. And now it's another Saturday night. Some nights have been easy, some particularly hard. I probably would have had a drink tonight were there a bottle lying around.

I'm not really sure how long I'll keep this up, probably because I'm not really sure why I'm doing it. I suppose I have a vague desire to let my body recover from what I've done to it over the last few years. Also, the sad truth is that, as I get older, drinking of an evening -- in the early part of the evening at least -- isn't so compatible with attention-hungry children and family life in general. It's too hard, too much effort every night to keep going when all I want to do is lie down and have a little sleep, to enjoy the wine but all the time remembering not to go too far, too fast, enjoy it too much.

So yeah, the truth is that, lately, drinking has been causing me more annoyance and pain than it has provided pleasure. And for as long as my family needs me -- about another 20 years -- I don't want it to be that way. That's why I've stopped for a little: I've hopped off the merry-go-round for a while because it's spinning too fast and I'm dizzy. When the world stops spinning, I'll feel OK to take hop back on and take a ride, but not for as long, not as fast as before. I think that'll happen in a few days from now.

I had expected to feel better than I do. You know, if one habitually drinks enough to give most people a nasty hangover, surely one has to feel a l-o-t better if one stops? OK, not immediately, but perhaps within a few days? Well, I don't. My severe and chronic allergies are partly to blame but still, it's not what I'd hoped for. For the first few days, I suffered a sore neck, that grew into a tension headache fit to kill a cow, that then grew into more stiffness and soreness in my shoulders, back, and even my chest.

I'm tired too. Really tired. I find it hard to wake up in the mornings. I wrote a post on alcohol substituting for sleep, but I wasn't joking; I can go for extended periods on short sleep if I drink a lot. And the stupid thing is that I'm so wound up of an evening now I can't get to sleep, tired or not.

I'm also drinking more tea and coffee which, I concede, may partly explain my inability to get to sleep.

And yes, I'm grumpy too. I've always considered a decent glass or three of red to be my just reward for wading through the crap-filled sewers of modern existence, so being denied it -- even by myself -- doesn't sit well at all.

But the worst thing of all is that I've lost all my drive, motivation, creativity, mental acuity -- all of that. I can't write much and, when I do write, it's in short, awkward sentences; I have little conversation to offer, even with close friends I don't know what to say; I can't read anything too complex. In short, while I might feel a little clearer of head in some ways, I basically feel as though I've been lobotomised. It's horrible. I think -- not sure here -- the above is because I'm stuck with my stresses and anxieties all my waking hours; I can't magic them away for a few hours. So, maybe I'll just have to start dealing with them.

Just as soon as I can think again.

Smelly Happy

Sun, 16 Mar 2003 12:05:15 GMT

From Boing Boing:

Boy-sweat makes women happy. Research shows that male sweat puts women in a good mood.
In a study to be published in the journal Biology of Reproduction, researchers collected samples from the underarms of men who refrained from using deodorant for four weeks. The extracts were then blended and applied to the upper lips of 18 women, aged 25 to 45.
The women rated their moods on a fixed scale for a period of six hours. The findings suggested something in the perspiration brightened their moods and helped them feel less tense.
Blood analyses also showed a rise in levels of the reproductive luteinizing hormone that typically surge before ovulation.

Yup, I can competely relate to that one. How many times have the various women in my life happily said things like, "You should use deodorant; you stink!"

So now of course I don't dare get dressed without rolling on. Except for Friday: I was in a hurry and I forgot. In a desperate panic that I'd be the subject of oprobrium and ridicule all day, I stopped at a convenience store on the way to work. The store had 2 brands on offer: the first is the subject of a TV advert that sees the young chap wearing it seduced in the lift (US - elevator). I figured this would only give my friends at work greater ammunition to bring me down for their amusement. I bought the other brand. And it stank (stunk?). Ugh! It was cloying and sweet; I spent the better part of the day nauseated by my own armpits. And to top it all, my dear wife said, "But the other brand smells really nice." Bah!

Fine. I shall buy that brand, and then I shall spend the day riding up and down in the lift. We shall see.

Sigh

Sat, 15 Mar 2003 14:16:39 GMT

Something I've had to learn to accept about myself is that, well, not to put to fine a point on it, I'm a twit. Really. I offend a small number of people on my journey through life, but I cause most people to either laugh or shake their heads in wonder

I don't forget things; I just do profoundly, bizarrely silly things. They have no lasting consequence, beyond causing in me a kind of sadness because I'll have to live with this for the rest of my life.

What do I mean? Here's a sample:

3 days' back, I bit my lip right through eating a piece of melon; my teeth met in the middle.
Last week, I bit my own finger while eating my morning toast.
Most weeks, I bite my own mouth, lips, even the webby bit under my tongue, while chewing gum
Last year, I skewered my lip while eating a satay stick; my lip bled profusely after I pulled the skewer out.
Last year, a candle caught fire at home and instead of smothering it, I picked it up with oven gloves and ran to the kitchen. It burned my hands through the gloves and I threw it towards the kitchen. I took me 2 hours' scrubbing to get the burnt wax off the floor, the cupboards... The carpet was wrecked.
A couple of years' back, I sawed my arm with a bush saw while pruning a tree.
3 years back, I was pushing my son's little wheelbarrow when it hit a rut, stopped dead, and I went right over the top and landed in a heap.
5 years' back, I dropped a hand-held electric blender in a sink full of water. I reached in to pick it up, without first turning it off. It hurt.
5 years' back, I turned on the washing machine. The top panel is off the machine to let it fit under the laundry bench, which our builders made too low. My fingers went over the edge, inside the machine, and made contact with the power terminals on the switch. I shrieked, my arm went numb and hung uselessly by my side. My wife looked on in bafflement and concern.
16 years' back, I tried to light a fire in the walkers' day hut at Cradle Mountain in Tasmania. Frustrated with the wet wood, I resorted to the bottle of methylated spirits, which promptly caught fire and spilled, burning, over a large area of floor. I did manage to put it out.
19 years' back, riding my motorcycle home, and having just spent an hour fixing a puncture, I stopped at a set of lights. The people in the car next to me asked for directions. "Just follow me.", I said, then roared off, tipped it into the corner -- having completely forgotten about all the soap over the tyre from when I changed it, not to mention the tyre still being cold -- and promptly dropped the bike. No damage, except to my pride.

I could go on, but I think you get the flavour. There's more, lots more, and I haven't even started on the social and personal gaffes that cause me to cry out loud when I randomly recall them.

It's not easy being me.

A Challenge

Sat, 15 Mar 2003 13:41:21 GMT

So, you think you're spacially talented? Can navigate by map without needing to turn it upside down to match the direction you're travelling? No problems. Fine. Here's a test: take one cheap, crappy, plastic child's toy in the form of a coiled spring -- the thing I'd call a Slinky if that wasn't trademarked, the thing that goes end-over-end down stairs or at least would if it wasn't a cheap, crappy plastic copy -- and give it to an 8-yo boy for 1 hour. Then, have him toss it back to you, saying casually, "I tangled it Dad." Then, untangle it. If you can.

Reasons I Hate Cats and Dogs #483

Tue, 04 Mar 2003 12:41:12 GMT

I just hate them. OK?

A small win for Apple

Wed, 26 Feb 2003 12:59:46 GMT

After the previous post, I must add this. I bought the Nora Jones CD the morning after the Grammy awards. Got back to the office and saw the copy-protection notice to the effect that it would play on certain versions of Windows PCs but couldn't be digitally copied. Oh no! Anyway, put the CD into my work machine -- an ancient WinNT4 notebook -- whereupon it asked me if it might install some files. I said yes, and the next thing it pops up its own little media player, based I think on MS Media Player. Hey, at least I can listen to it.

Then I put the CD into the PowerBook. Tee hee: what copy protection? Windows executables aren't Mac excutables. The PowerBook ignored all that crap and presented me with a normal audio CD. Yes!

So, of course I ripped it to MP3 using iTunes. Hell, do I want to carry 100 CDs with me everywhere I go?

An open letter to Peter Gabriel

Wed, 26 Feb 2003 12:50:23 GMT

Peter,

late last year my dear wife bought me a remastered copy of UP. She knew I'd wanted it for a long time, particularly for Don't Give Up. I happily inserted the CD into my Apple PowerBook. It hummed and fussed and hesitated for a minute or more, but no music. It couldn't even read the CD. I tried it on my Windows PC with the same result. Bugger.

Oh sure, it plays just fine on my DVD player -- when no one is watching TV, when I'm actually in that room and not in the bedroom or study or at work or on the train or anywhere else. Effectively, it's damn-near useless; I can't listen to it.

It cost AU$25, of which I imagine you'll get about 10%, and Kate Bush maybe 1%. So, you have your money, and the retailer and Virgin have theirs. But I can't listen to it. And nowhere on the CD does it tell me that it won't play on my computer. It's faulty, defective, and I feel I've been shafted.

It would seem that the recording industry is almost alone -- apart from Victoria's public-transport operators -- in regarding customers as the enemy, to be fought at every turn. I don't get it. The way I see it, that kind of attitude only comes from having to desperately defend an untenable, monopolistic position.

Enjoy your AU$2.50 Peter. I'm making an effort to be a generous fellow, to spread some joy and wealth where I can. But I won't buy any more of your music if I can't be sure that I can actually listen to it.

Happy Birthday

Wed, 19 Feb 2003 23:22:00 GMT

to me. It's my birthday. I'm 38 years' old, and I use the word "old" advisedly.

I have to say, though, I'm feeling somewhat better about it than I have in recent years. 2 years' back, I was so determinedly grumpy that Nat didn't dare mention it and merely left an unwrapped bottle of wine on the kitchen table for me, hoping I wouldn't shout a lot. My son, Sam, didn't know it was my birthday, and didn't believe me when I told him.

Last year, my mood was improved some and I had decided to enjoy the day. However, I was suffering a protracted run of illness -- I'd been sick more or less continually since the day after Christmas. I was just too tired and washed out to bother with anything.

So, how do I feel today? As I said, somewhat better. Life is picking up. I haven't been seriously ill for 5 months or more now. I generally get enough sleep. The long depression I've sufffered for a couple of years or more has near-enough lifted, as have most of its effects: for example, food and wine now taste normal again; they didn't for a long time. I still have what I term a numbness, both physical and emotional. I feel most things in a muted, veiled, unsatisfying way. It's frustrating. I read of a conditon called anhedona which described quite well how I am. BUT there are increasingly common moments of sharpness and clarity. Life's looking up.

On the down side, the fat tummy I finally managed to lose has partially reappeared. Enough for people to comment. Bugger. So, for a while we'll skip the raisin toast mid morning, we'll endeavour to eat katsu don a little less frequently than we have. And, as the weather cools, we'll get back out into the garden and attack the landscaping with renewed drive. I'm slightly cautious about shedding too much weight as I spent 8 months' straight suffering one horrible illness after another, and the weight gain has coincided with a stretch of good health.

I suppose too, this has been the year where I've finally felt older than many of the people I work with. I'm no longer of the same generation, don't share the same experience. I have an increasing number of grey hairs, my face is showing more "character"; I try not to look in the mirror much. The young ladies aren't even going to notice me any more because I look like their dad. Sigh. I probably wouldn't mind that one if they'd noticed me when I was their age, but I was too shy, conservative, and quite the opposite of trendy.

Younger friends ask why any of this bothers me. I tell them to wait until they're this age and then tell me they don't mind it either.

I plan to have a modest lunch today with Nat and Emma -- my 2 favourite ladies in the whole world, a decent bottle of red tonight. Yesterday, I had lunch with my best friend; tomorrow I'll celebrate with my friends at work. Life ain't so bad.

Bored and miserable

Mon, 17 Feb 2003 12:13:44 GMT

Another slow day today. I have work to do, but it's ill-defined, tedious, of doubtful value in my estimation, and no one really seems to care quite when I do it. So, I sit there, slowly doing a little work. I break it up with a little reading, email, trips to the tea room. Everyone else is too busy to chat or not responding to email and phone messages. All the while my mood becomes lower and lower.

Then an email arrives from my brother, Sean. He says, in part:

...the world has gone crazy - thousands of people sitting at their desks wishing they were elsewhere, not having anything to do that holds their interest or belief that they should be doing

Funny he should say that. Irony.

How much could I have achieved in the last few years if it were something that did engage my passion, and if I were working with like-minded souls? And here's the worst bit: it seems more acceptable to do nothing than something, anything, meaningful but unsactioned. Better to while away the day, sinking into something not far short of misery and depression, losing all energy and motivation. We can't risk being caught working hard on, say, some groovy and useful trend-analysis system that would save people time in their daily work, because that's not a priority right now.

Bah!