back to the narrator

It’s been a while since I mentioned poets and narrators on the blog, but Google has prompted me to return to this hobby horse of mine as it seems that the ad selector is just as likely as the novice reader to confuse the writer with the narrator of a poem.

I’ve been looking through some old emails and found one a friend sent me a while back with a poem in it for me to comment on. The poem contained the phrase “slipped disc”.

size matters

When I got to the writers’ group last night I put my mobile on the table. (The bar where we meet is usually noisy and no way would I hear it ringing from inside my bag.) The phone is a chunky old flip-open model, reminiscent of the communicaters in Star Trek, and wouldn’t impress anyone. It joined a couple of other phones on the table, of varying ages, but all fairly standard.

Then José arrived. His phone is much slimmer, with a complete querty keyboard, and I swear I felt a tremor of envy run through the group. Looking around the table at all these phones of differing shapes and sizes, I was reminded of the business card scene from American Psycho.

pedigree moon?

No, not pedigree, but perigee, apparently.

Last night’s full moon was the biggest of 2009 – or, to put it another way, the moon passed closest to the earth yesterday on its eliptical orbit, making the full moon appear bigger than it will again during the year ahead.

Nasa have waxed poetic on the subject -

don’t make me raise my voice!

For years there have been jokes about whether computers are male or female. (There are many variations on the theme, this link shows just one.) But has anyone ever actually tested a computer’s response to the different kinds of violencia de género (gender violence) as the Spanish insist on calling domestic violence?

Yes, computers are delicate mechanisms, and, if you physically mistreat one, it will no doubt break down eventually. But what about verbal abuse?

At last we have a – partial – answer:

You have been warned: don’t shout at your computer (or at least, don’t shout at your disk drive).

Fortunately, I think it’s still all right to make snide remarks.

lavender-scented worries

I’ll admit it: I’m terrified of the dentist. Not any particular dentist. All dentists. And of all dental procedures, including simple check ups. The only time I’ve had hysterics was in the dentist’s chair.

Trying to make the dental practice more appealing?

Looking back, I’d say it was worth it, as I now have some personal knowledge of hyperventilating, of the pins and needles effect in the limbs – or “tingling in the extremities”, as I think it’s called in the textbooks – and of the complete inability to stop sobbing long enough to explain that I was fully aware of how silly I was being.

Surely this sort of experience has to be beneficial for someone who wants to be able to write from different points of view?