IMAGINARY FRIENDS

 Dear Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

I feel devastated. I just learnt that someone, well, a being really, is dead. The New Different Time Zone Bill went to 2041 and saw God's grave.

"Les sanglots longs des violons de l'automne blessent mon cœur d'une langueur monotone. Tout suffocant et blême, quand sonne l'heure, Je me souviens des jours anciens et je pleure; Et je m'en vais au vent mauvais oui m'emporte deçà, delà, pareil à la feuille morte."

What am I to do?

- Robert 

Dear Robert. 

Well, get you Google Boy. I thought you studied Geography and Religious Sycophantry at school, not languages.

Look, grieving is OK - it's normal - up to a point. Grieving over the reported demise of an imaginary being though is akin to those 'trekkie' nutters grieving over a Star Trek character getting wiped out on that abysmal television series.

Get over it, or, better still, go find yourself another imaginary character to idolise.

To imagine is to represent without aiming at things as they actually, presently, and subjectively are. One can use imagination to represent possibilities other than the actual, to represent times other than the present, and to represent perspectives other than one’s own. Unlike perceiving and believing, imagining something does not require one to consider that something to be the case. Unlike desiring or anticipating, imagining something does not require one to wish or expect that something to be the case.

          - Stanford Encyclopaedia

 There are plenty of them out there and while some have lost followers (usually when the follower gets to the age of about six AND GROWS SOME ) most haven't yet had old Friedrich Nietzsche come out and actually declare them dead.

I'd, like your brother, suggest that you check out The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy, and Santa Claus.

I THINK I'M TURNING INTO A PRIEST I THINK I'M TURNING INTO A PRIEST I REALLY THINK SO ..

 

I REALLY THINK SO

Dear Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

I have a confession (not that blessed and sacred sacrament) to make.

On Sundays at Mass, Father (he's not really my dad, I think) asks me to look after the church shop for him. I like that as it's a big responsibility and I know that he trusts me. He also gets me to look after the collection. Recently he asked me to clean the toilets as he knows that I have experience in this. I'm proud to help. Last Sunday Father asked me to do the singing during service. He also wants me to read out the Epistle and the Gospel and hinted that I should write a sermon for next week. I asked him if I could write it and read it out in Latin and he said yes. He's been hinting as to whether I know how to turn bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ.

"Hoc est enim corpus meum .... hic est enim calix sanguinis mei." I said and he replied "You're hired!"

Am I being presumptuous or have I been invited into the fold.

Yours, 

Shav Eling

Dear Shav,

Yes, fill your boots. Take that opportunity in both hands and run with it as Diego Maradona used to say. You've got a great chance of wealth and success there. Take the collection for example. I mean it, take it. Also, that church shop thing sounds like a great rort. The mark-ups on things like medals, holy pictures, pamphlets and bibles must be tremendous. No doubt they are all made in Asian, non-christian countries by child slave labour so the base cost is nothing. Maybe you can create a chain of these stores or, better still, get into mail order.

If the offer of a job comes as substitute priest accept it. Remember, you can never get sacked from that position no matter how useless or drunk you are and the catholic church will always turn a blind eye to your transgressions no matter how horrendous. The accommodation is free and they'll probably give you a housekeeper or two. Labour's easy to get as, in the church there's always some silly sucker that can be cajoled into doing the work ..... oh, sorry, but you know what I mean.

- The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

RICCARDO TERZO

Dear The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

I find myself using words  like 'shit' and 'crap' a lot. I did this in a comment on your previous post using Latin. This embarrasses me but I get pleasure from saying the words.  I translate the words and expressions into, usually, Italian to disguise them but am aware that other people suspect and are probably using Google to translate them back into English.

I also obsess a bit about my toilet regimen and feel compelled to mention what I'm doing in my morning blogs with this taking precedence over other daily routines like making a cup of coffee or throwing the old lady next door's newspaper up into a tree.

Is there something wrong with me?

- Richard (of RBB).

Dear Ricard (snigger - sorry), what you are referring to is a problem and yes, there is something wrong with you. The problem goes by the name of scatology. My dictionary defines this as:

       noun

1. the study of or preoccupation with excrement or obscenity.
2. obscenity, especially words or humour referring to excrement.
3. the study of fossil excrement.

While distasteful, if you were to only stick to this (two horrible puns there) then I can't see there being too much of a problem except for the fact that you will not make any new friends and probably alienate the ones you have, if any.

The broader problem is if you were to develop any deeper (an adjectival pun there) disorders like coprophilia or worse, scatophilia. I'm disinclined to go into detail on these disorders as they are rather horrible and take your scatology into more deviant areas.  You can look this up on the internet but, take care. What you do in the privacy of your own home of course is your business  but let me say this: be glad that you aren't a dog with coprophilia as then you would be eating your own, and strangers', shit.

Have you heard of the 'Dorian Gray effect'? Sociologists and psychologists believe that names produce a Dorian Gray effect, influencing personality, how we're perceived, and even physical appearance. In Oscar Wilde’s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dorian Gray never ages while his portrait in the attic does. 

Some names have stronger effects than others. With yours, unfortunately, your parents did not do enough due diligence and so were (hopefully) unaware that the name  'Richard' has a scatological connection. Have you heard of the cockney rhyming slang 'Richard The Third'? This rhymes with turd and lower classes of people refer to someone doing a 'Richard The Third' or, in its shortened form, doing a 'Richard'. 

Richard; faeces. Not the most flattering way to remember Richard the Third. "Look out for the Richard on the sidewalk".

No doubt somewhere in your past you have become aware of this either directly or subliminally and it forms the basis of your now emerging obsession. This is unfortunate but, there you go. Get over it.

YO, CHRIST!

 Dear The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

For some time now I have an overwhelming urge to consume human flesh.

The craving generally starts later in the week, about Thursday and builds up alarmingly until, by Saturday evening I'm going out of my mind with lust and hunger and am desperate for Sunday morning to come around. On Sunday mornings I'm able to satisfy the craving and the clawing, crawling sensations in my stomach disappear until the following week. I feel fulfilled for a while and can calm down and communicate generally well with others (at least for a few days).

More recently, in addition to this impure and unnatural craving I find that my mind is being taken over by another being - one that talks in another tongue. At first I learned this tongue, which turned out to be a dead language once used extensively a couple of millennia ago, in order to understand what the being was telling me. Now I find that this language is taking over my communication and I use it when among others much to their consternation.

Am I going crazy?

 - Catherine O'Lick.

Dear Cath

Yes, you're nuts. Get a life.

- The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

SATAN

 Dear Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

Recently over the last few years well, all my life really I've used alter egos when interfacing with other people. I've gone by names like Lucifer, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Samael, Azazal, Diablo, Old Nick, Robert, Abaddon, Prince of Darkness, Dybbuk and Baal along with many others. This is all very well and adds to my mysteriousness but sometimes I get confused and run the risk of either repeating myself and losing connection with the very people I wish to influence, or forgetting which character I am at any particular moment. Can you help me?

- Satan.

Dear Satan

Get over yourself for fuck's sake

An alter ego simply means an alternative self, which is believed to be distinct from a person's normal or true original personality. That old fraud Freud (note the closeness of his name to his nature) tried to peddle the idea of dual consciousness to support his thesis of the unconscious. He considered that “We may most aptly describe them as cases of a splitting of the mental activities into two groups, and say that the same consciousness turns to one or the other of these groups alternately”. To my mind the old charlatan was just trying to get away with charging his naive patients double or more for their 'treatment'.

I think that you've been reading too many comics and have been going to see too many of those silly Marvel-type action hero films like Superman, Batman, The Incredible Hulk and Spiderman and others. You'd be better off watching Fight Club and then hitting yourself, repeatedly, in the face.

Why don't you watch proper films like Five Easy Pieces, The Conformist, Last Tango In Paris, The Searchers, Diva, Metro, Lawrence of Arabia and other quality cinema.

You know you remind me of another confused old guy - this one a retired schoolteacher who forgets himself and communicates as different (made up) people.

It's just as well that you don't really exist.

- The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

P.J. GUY

 

Dear The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

A few years ago I started to wear pyjamas in bed. My current pyjamas consist of a trendy top and shorts. These are nice and comfortable but I find sometimes that when I get up I forget that I'm wearing them and don't change into day clothes. This morning I was halfway to the shops before I noticed. What's that about?

- P.J. Guy

Dear P.J. 

Jung described your behavior as the manifestation of metaphysical essentialism deriving from the collective unconscious. Broadly this means that deep down you are yearning for simplicity in your life and wish that complications like change of clothing and daily routines didn't exist - (change your underwear frequently though). Perhaps just wearing a simple overall or boiler suit might be the solution. A while ago, one of my contributors invented the 'boiler suit wardrobe' which could give you some ideas. See: HERE

Either that or you are just getting a bit doolally with age. I suggest that you get your wife to sew your name and address into those pyjamas - just in case.

- The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

Dear The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

I love you.

Why can't everyone love everybody?

- Rob from the dark ages

Well Rob, what an idea eh?

Imagine that. Everyone hugging each other and saying "I love you Mr Policeman" or "I love you cute girl next door". Wouldn't that be nice?

But ...

What about the guy who mugs the old lady as she's getting her pension from the post office?

What about the pedaphile who has children tied up in his or her basement?

What about the landlord who decorated a leaky shipping container and fobbed it off as a flat to immigrants?

What about  the security guard who kicked you in the bollocks just because you asked why you can't come into the pub?

What about the dodgy manufacturer who cut corners in production of baby strollers which snapped closed and suffocated children?

What about the guy who lurks in public parks and attacks and rapes young females?

What about ....?   You see where I'm going here don't you?

- The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

A FEMINIST MODERNIST STUDY

Dear The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

I'm confused, really confused.

My parish priest, Father Manly Withadresson told me, via a sermon (I don't actually talk to anyone in church except for the Virgin Mary) that feminism and modernism are not mutually exclusive.

How could I be a feminist and a modernist?

I don't like women and I mistrust anything modern.

Women are scary and getting scarier. They got the vote a while ago and now they want to kill babies and are anti motherhood! Where are the nice women like Mrs O'Connor who I used to watch through her window at Garden Road when I was young?

 - A. Sinner

Dear A. 

You touch on the fact of women's spectacularly visible status in feminised mass cultural domains in the first decades of the twentieth century. Feminine spectacles are commonly understood to invite viewers to access women's bodies, as you did when you were a young perve hiding in the bushes outside Mrs O'Connor's house, yet early twentieth-century spectacles paradoxically called renewed attention to women's illegibility. Women's visual prominence made apparent their 'unknowability', recasting an ancient ideational heritage in modern terms. Representations of women as opaque in the early twentieth century constituted a challenge to ocularcentrism and reveal the centrality of femininity in mass mediations of epistemology and ontology. Drawing on written accounts of women's opacity in the fashion and beauty press, it is arguable that attention to spectacles of unknowability can be productive for feminist modernist studies. The texturing of histories of feminine spectacle challenges some tenacious dichotomies that continue to inform accounts of women's place in the modern, including those of subject and object, and visibility and invisibility. Focusing on opacity leads us to a productive account of the variable visibility of women in the modern, which foregrounds the multiple historical relations of different groups of women to regimes of visibility and keeps in view the diverse ways that differently classed and raced women were positioned vis-à-vis spectacle. This suggests that an attunement to the unknowable not only nuances our understanding of a discrete historical period, but can lead the feminist researcher to confront and expand her own gaze in the era of capitalist modernity.

I trust that this is helpful,

The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

HATS ALL FOLKS

Dear The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt I'm excited, really excited. I just bought myself a new hat. This is the first 'proper' hat that I've ever bought. I think it makes me look cool. It makes me look like Paul Newman or Robert Redford or, even, James Dean. I'll be beating women off with a stick. Here's a pic. What do you think?

- Hat Boy 

 Dear Hat Boy. Is that what you think? Really? Look, I don't want to take the wind out of your sails but sartorial elegance isn't in your repertoire, OK? And as for Paul Newman, Robert Redford and James Dean, those guys looked good with or without hats. They were fucking handsome dudes. You seem to have a strange idea of what women like. The only 'beating off' that you will be doing will be in the privacy of your bedroom. 

 Yours, with the intention of being helpful, The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

UNINFORMED IN A SPECIAL AREA OF KNOWLEDGE

 Dear Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

I know someone who used to work in the wine industry and who writes a wine blog. He knows a lot about wine and in his blog posts uses high falutin' language to describe the wines he's tried. These wines are usually far too expensive for the normal person to buy and quite frankly, horrible. Once I saved up to buy one of the wines he dribbled on about. It was an Australian shiraz - Black Pepper something or other. It cost a fortune! I tried it and it was too damn thick. I don't know where that pepper stuff came from in the name as I couldn't taste any of that. all I could taste was red wine. Thick red wine. It was too dark to see through as well. I prefer my own choices which I buy at Pak 'n Save, usually from the specials bin and never more than $10 a bottle. Am I wrong?

- Phyllis Steine.

Dear Phyllis. No, no, you're not wrong À chacun son goût I say or, in your language "I know what I like so there."

If it weren't for you and people like you then where would we be eh? It would be near impossible to get a table booking at a good restaurant and the car parks in decent supermarkets like Farro Fresh and Moore Wilson would be full (like Pak 'n Save). The shelves of these would be stripped bare of decent cheeses, meats, breads and vegetables and we'd all be forced to eat that fast food shit that you no doubt love. This is why McDonalds, Burger King, KFC, Nandos and all those other poison factories exist - to cater to you and your ilk. If it weren't for you and yours then wine shop shelves would not be able to keep up with stocking decent, well made (and labelled) wine. It's no accident that most of the wine industries offerings are in bag-in-the-box format or in cheap sub $10 bottle packaging with 'cleanskins' being ever more popular. This is so discerning people can go about purchasing their preferred beverages in a quiet and orderly manner while you lot squabble and fight over the cheap shit on special.

No, you're not wrong. Carry on as you are.

- The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt.

AMARONE OR CHIANTI?

 Dear Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt

I live in a pristine part of the country, by the water in a beautiful bay.

Occasionally some scrote of a fisherman catches snapper and fillets them while on his boat and drops the fish frames - head, skeleton, tail and some other 'meat' - into the water which end up on the shoreline.

How do I stop this from happening?

 - Philip A. O'Phisch

Dear Philip. I'm sorry to hear of your little problem but the answer is in a word you used. Fillet.

I suggest you buy or 'procure' as sesquipedalian Robert says, a very sharp filleting knife.

Lie in wait until you see the offending fisherman step onshore and, with a deft stroke or two, remove his liver. Quickly pan-fried this can be served with fava beans and a nice Chianti.

- The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt