Gustavo Santaoalla

Mar 23, 2012 20:09

I don't really know, now that I think about it, why I really came to Singapore this break. I guess my parents just booked me on a flight and I came. I'm here for 3 weeks, with nothing much to do, but then again, if I was in the UK I'd just be bumming around someones house, feeling like a bit of a leech, so its not all bad. And you know, seeing the family, having meals cooked and laundry done too. But the days are such a drag. It is like watching paint dry. Today I did a bit of work, but mostly I just sat in this hot reading room staring out of the window, suffocated a little by the heat and listening to Gustavo Santaoalla. It felt a bit like I was in one of those 5 house collections you see along the interstate near...Utah or Colorado or something, where people spend all their lives knowing just 20 other people and attending to a petrol pump. Except instead of wearing a dirty shirt and a cowboy hat and smoking a cigarette. Like a guy from the aforementioned 5 house town who you might ask for directions and say "Can you read", to which he might say "I can only read the pictures" (see City of God). I was - in my boxers in an air conditionable room, staring out at an empty street. Very dull. I'm just ticking off the days to China.

I feel guilty as well because I have a number of friends who are here and quite free and I do propose the odd social engagement but mostly I feel quite uninterested. I didn't need a holiday when term ended, and I don't want to be somewhere where nothing is really happening. Crossing the halfway mark of my time in college has not just been symbolic in its importance. I'm actually starting to feel as if my life is in the UK and that Singapore is just a place where I go on holiday. I don't quite know how to feel about this, but it is definitely true. Strange. I'll have to dedicate time to thinking about this. Thank god I have loads of it. Thats the thing about time, its abundance or lack thereof never suits your convenience.

There was a brief moment today where my body conjured up some anomalous passion and took me out of my waking sojourn. It was an article about how Arsenal, with their recent winning streak, were not missing Fabregas. Absolute tripe. I can't stand journalists who cannot maintain a level head and objectively judge trends. Cesc Fabregas, if he was still in the premiership would quite clearly be its best central midfielder. Who comes close? Lampard and Gerrard at their peak were his peers but are now slightly faded forces. He has continued improving. Modric is a fine player but does not run games with Fabregas' class, and his vision, while excellent, does not change games against the very best where Fabregas' almost always did, and still does. If we had Fabregas this season the way Barcelona have had him, he would be worth 15 points, about 15 assists and 10-15 goals. Arteta/Ramsey/Rosicky would have each played less because Fabregas would always start, and if we take their contributions away (by a fraction) that still leaves a net Fabregas effect of 10 points, 8-12 goals and 10-13 assists. This would place us on 65 points, 5 off the leaders. Genuine title contenders. So the Straits Times, the gold standard for football reporting, should bottle it.

But this emotion was soon overcome as well by the slow afternoon and the need to devote my mental faculties to instead think of something to do to avoid an infinite loop between soccernet, my email, facebook and the new york times. I think I'll go to ezy video and rent a film to whack on tonight. I'll maybe sprint the 5 minute walk, just to trick my body into thinking it is tired enough to warrant permitting me 8 hours of sleep. Football at RI tomorrow to break this lull, followed by more work and then premiership action at night. What boredom?
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