Pointilism

Two things:

1. Susan Boyle has covered Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over". On Oprah.
2. Neil Finn and I are officially over.

Today was a bleak, rainy Friday, so my partner and I headed out to Mini-Sweden for some Scandi-style retail therapy (and quite successful we were too; I came away with supplies for a secret project of mine). We also helped ourselves to some pseudo-Scandinavian food and all was right with the world. I like Mini-Sweden. It's clearly an expat-Scandi thing because I never used to be this enthused about heading there. Maybe it is just because I enjoy feeling smug about knowing what the product names mean..

Afterwards D and I swung by a nearby shopping centre to get a few Christmas presents sorted for our Danish family and friends. Whilst caught in retail hell, I decided to try on a few cardigans in preparation for future knitting projects. I'm that glad that I did - and I'm glad that I was yet to get the yarn for a certain crocheted shrug because the shape was really unflattering on me. I have an hourglass figure but cascading fronts + big collar = 'sack of potatoes' figure. D has a great eye for what I should wear (I'd hire him to be my personal stylist but he claims he doesn't want the job) and he had me try on this top instead. Holy moly. I would never have thought I'd look anything but chunky and boxy in that sort of style.. but I looked sexy, stylish and seriously cool. That's a first.

A few links for your perusal: + The first real teaser trailer for Attack of the Herbals. Watch out for the "German" priest - I know that guy! + Something nasty is happening in Malmo, Sweden. Sadly I had thought something like this would happen at some point but I had pegged Denmark as the spot. I'm also concerned that it has taken this long for the news to hit the headlines. Bad show, very bad show. + Don Paterson on Shakespeare's sonnets. I'm not fully sold but I'm intrigued. + Grading the flags of the world. Hilarious stuff and also a bit educational. + The best of the web, fershure: The Ages of English. Super-fabulous look at the development of the English language. Interestingly I can sort-of understand the English spoken circa Viking Settlement. I also like the glimpses into Scots English. + Paulina Porizkova, 80s 'supermodel', on aging. Very much worth a read.

Fingerprints

This will require a bit of back-story, but not much. Alasdair Gray is a Glaswegian writer and artist. I once spent a lot of time looking at how he imagines and uses the Book as a material object. Somewhere in this flat I have a opus magnum which details Gray's use of paratextual elements in constructing and assembling his books (In case you care, his The Book of Prefaces really pushes these ideas to the very edge. I wouldn't call it an interesting read; it's a maddening exercise in finding a text. It's fun.)

In short: I like Alasdair Gray a great deal. In a strange and roundabout way, Gray's work in art and fiction was one of the reasons I moved to Glasgow and probably also one of the reasons why I connected with Glasgow so quickly. When you spend a significant amount of time living with your head inside books that write Glasgow, Glasgow herself becomes familiar.

I was watching BBC's The Culture show tonight. Alex Kapranos was reading a passage from Gray's Lanark whilst sitting in Óran Mór. The inside of my head was splattered across the television screen. To clarify: the frontman whose band's first album was the soundtrack to my life circa 2003-2005; the passage the very one you can find in the sidebar on this website; the novel which spawned a thousand and one things; and my local pub which just so happens to be decorated by Gray himself.

I learned that Alasdair Gray is working on a giant mural for my local underground station, Hillhead. And there is an exhibition in Edinburgh (there are two exhibitions, actually, but I'm mostly interested in the first one).

Life is very odd and very good and very bitter-sweet and very perfect sometimes. I am amazed at where my life has taken me.

Crossing the Line - Redux

Reblogging a post I wrote in 2008:

Yesterday someone I knew roughly fifteen years ago wrote to me via Facebook. She asked me if I were dying because she had noticed my status updates on Facebook (and quite possibly this blog) and was, I quote, sooo worried about me!!!!!!!!!

One thing which absolutely fascinates me about blogging and, by extension, social networking on the web, is the idea that you "know" the blogger or the person you follow on a social website. Where does that idea of "knowledge" comes from?

I don't know about you, but I moderate my online persona and I have done so ever since I first started blogging almost eight years ago. I used to be almost obsessively private about my identity, but when one of my blog readers began stalking me obsessively in my then-hometown, I realised that anybody would be able to find out who I was no matter how hard I tried to mask my identity. It was just a matter of how net-savvy you were. These days I link my real name to this blog and use a somewhat transparent web 'handle'. I continue to be very aware what I share online.

Do you know me if you read this blog? Of course not, although you will have a good idea of what to expect if we were to have a conversation offline. Can you deduce anything significant from my Facebook-updates? Quite apart from my having a semi-severe PathWords obsession, no.

I'm slightly amazed that anybody would consider asking me about dying via a casual Facebook message or think I would disclose terminal illness via one-sentence updates on a silly social networking site. I think this proves the divide between illusory 'knowledge' generated by virtual interaction and actual knowledge of the person writing all of this.

And two years later I'm reblogging this because I'm yet again baffled by how tactless, intrusive and self-obsessed people can be.

And how some people never learn.

Snapshot

I love autumn in Scotland. You get intense skies, beautiful colours and so much unexpected depth. As a young student I remember poring over John Keats' 'To Autumn' with its Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.. It took a move across to the North sea to fully appreciate those words. Anyway, David took that photo walking home from a grocery shopping expedition in the busy West End. We live in outskirts of the West End and isn't it just beautiful here..?

Knitting post tomorrow. It'll be a tale of woe and joy.

Attack of the .. WHAT?

Last night I discovered that my wonderful father-in-common-law (aka D's Dad) will be starring in a low-budget spatter film set in Aberdeenshire. Ah, The Geekiness It Runneth in The Family.

I uncovered a few videos and found this one to be the most interesting - not because D's Dad is it (he is not in this video, actually) but rather because it is filmed where I spend most of my holidays. OK, so it is not incredibly interesting but I thought a few of my Danish pals might want to take a look. Please note that normally the village only houses a handful of zombies and that the video features some colourful language.

Unrelated: is this the greatest headline ever? It's a contender, I reckon.

Some knitting content to follow, I swear. It has been a long time coming, but my knitting mojo has returned.

Geeky Thursday

I could not resist. In case you cannot read what it says on the cover: A New Zealand sheep farm .. espionage .. and death.

It does not get better than that - except it does: one of the main (human) protagonists is called .. wait for it .. Flossie.

I know I said I was going to read David Mitchell's latest next, but that was before I came across this gem. I actually do not think it will as bad as it looks. Ngaio Marsh was an acclaimed female crime writer of the same ilk as Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers. Just don't ask me how to pronounce her first name as I had been reliably informed by a New Zealand friend it was "Nyree" but the internet claims it is "Nie-oh". Huh.

The Nobel Prize in Literature is due to be announced today. Nobody really knows what to expect and I am so far out of the literary buzz loop these days that I won't even offer an opinion. I'm just mildly amused by the number of journalist clinging to whichever name they actually recognise out of the many names bandied about.

In other news, this week I made it to the top of the Glasgow Necropolis for the first time in three years. This is a personal triumph for a number of reasons - but realistically I think I could have done it ages ago. The climb through Mugdock Park was steeper and longer and I managed that without problems. I do not know what held me back from 'scaling' the Necropolis because the ascent is really just a gentle slope. Some things just linger in my head as "insurmountable challenges". Silly, silly Karie.

Finally, if you want to feel stupid, have a go at BBC's Only Connect quiz. It is a Monday night staple here at Casa Bookish and thankfully(?) there is an online version so you can try the 'connecting wall' yourself.

The idea is simple: you get a wall of sixteen clues which you need to sort into four distinct groups. The execution is far less simple because you need to think in all sorts of directions at the same time; clues which may look as though they belong together are simply red herrings. The actual TV quiz is entertaining too and often attracts people quite well-known in their fields. This week saw Geoff Ryman appear (to my Other Half's geeky delight) with Doctor Who writer Paul Cornell (to Stuart's geeky delight).

Enjoy the quiz and do not blame me if you suddenly feel significantly less smart.