Originally Posted 24 July 2008

It’s funny how a lot of people are so keen to believe in the idea of destiny, that their lives are all planned out ahead of them and that everything they do or everything that happens to them is ‘for a reason.’ Initially this idea would seem appealing to me, I mean, it involves preposterous arrogance in thinking you are in any way significant in the grand scheme of things (and I love preposterous arrogance), but in actual fact the idea of fate actually undermines you as a person.

I mean, sure, it may be comforting to think that mundanities such as going to work some dead-end job every day, or troubling events such as rejection or loss are part of something bigger , something more exciting and rewarding, but really, when you think about it, it isn’t comforting at all. If the universe has plans for you, if everything that happens is pre-determined, then you have no choice over what you do. Move house? Part of the big invisible game of chess you’re a pawn in. Get a pay rise? All part of your life trajectory. Take a shit? Yes, also part of your ‘destiny’. Nothing you do is in your control. Nothing is praiseworthy. Nothing is blameworthy. Nothing is genuine. You are basically a robot following a sequence of pre-programmed events, following a binding track that we call life.

M-isa

Perhaps it is apt, therefore, that Lisa, who has the nasal monotone of some sort of cyborg, was preaching about Mario’s departure the other Friday as ‘the Universe calling him.’ It was his destiny to go, she repeated on and on, trying to delude herself and Mario - not that he would have needed convincing. “Of course. Of course. I’m needed elsewhere. I need to save the world. But these people Just Won’t See It.” But anyway, yes, yes, there was a ‘reason’ you went Mario, but unfortunately that reason was simply that you were an insufferable twat.

Lisa has actually come out of the whole thing quite well. Without Mario and her trading propaganda pieces about each other she has emerged as quite thoughtful and, dare I say it, nice. And just to contradict what I twatted on about in the opening paragraphs, I actually like her for her spiritual and paranormal musings. She genuinely believes in it all. And when she regales the other housemates with tales of haunting or of alien visits, the effect of her dry, boring voice serves only to add an air of authority to her stories, as though she’s reading a business report or a set of minutes from her company’s last meeting. Forget intonation, passion, and animation – cold, hard drabness is how to really tell a story.

The best was her tale of seeing a little green man (I should point out she was not referring to the ill Luke of recent weeks – although I bet he served as a constant hallucinatory reminder of it all). I just like the fact that she’s ended up with Mario, a man so muscled and spray tanned that he is almost the antithesis of this alien form she described. Alien – small, Mario – big. Alien – green, Mario – decidedly orange. Alien – intelligent lifeform...

L-ex

Luke and Bex was the other story of the week. After weeks of flirting the tension broke as the pair kissed after a house party. I should clarify something by flirting. Becky’s levels of subtlety and of social refinement were so crude that her idea of chasing a man was actually read as literal in her head – with the manifestation of her side of the romance largely involved her literally chasing Luke round the garden, looming towards him like a manic, angry housewife, tits flying about everywhere but the vicinity of her chest. Saying that, it was almost endearing. Almost.

While I criticise Becky’s chasing of Luke as being absurdly transparent and obvious, I cannot let Luke get away with his side of things, as to any guy who knows what it’s like to be interested in a girl, his actions will be just as obvious as Becky’s simplified ‘chasing=chasing’ equation.

If his constant play-fighting, teasing, and intelligent posturing weren’t enough, he has made his feelings clear by asking Becky such leading questions as “So Becky, who do you fancy most in the house?” or “If you had to sleep with someone in here to repopulate the planet, who would it be?” As well there’s the constant theme of dating being brought up “Where do you go on first dates?” and “What do you look for in guys.” All the type of questions that are framed so as to seem indirect and disguising of their purpose, which is ultimately to force the person in question to break down, overcome with passion, and scream “Yes! Yes! I love you. Oh, can’t you see. Your innocent questions wheedled out my feelings. And you didn’t even ask Luke, it just happened that I suddenly thought about it all. Oh how cruel love is.” That’s the hope anyway.

I mean sure it’s non-threatening, and in Luke’s clouded yet driven mind it will seem clever enough to slip under the radar, but really it’s the psychological equivalent of turning up at a girl’s house naked, with a condom hanging off your flaccid penis, innocently asking if she wants to ‘hang out.’ Sure, you didn’t explicitly say anything, and sure, you’re trying to get them to read into something, but its painfully transparent.

S-ex

In other flirting news, Sara and Rex have been frequently flirting, but in a way that suggests there is no attraction – but rather a battle going on. “Oh I actually own half of London” Rex would preposterously boast. Sara would coo back flirtily how amazing that was, and how girls must love him. She’d probably give him a playful punch for good measure. Anything for him to change his approach and start liking her – for then she has won.

But not Rex. Although momentarily puzzled by such compliance to his grandiloquent boasting, he will continue blindly along his path of trying to impress, trying to get her to like him, to gain some sort of true recognition for everything he truly is. Again Sara will only respond to this with enthusiastic admiration. It’s like watching two flirt-bots sparring, each inexhaustedly flirting to such virtuoso levels (Rex boasting that he once cooked a meal for 5,000 using just two fish and five loaves of bread, Sara giggling and removing clothes), yet forgetting the whole reasoning for doing so in the first place. The battle had been won long ago, yet they continue the games.

Mikey

I’ve been going on, so I’m going to wrap things up wby attacking a blind man. I am reluctant to criticise Mikey, because given his circumstances, its admirable that he’s as good a person as he is. Call me selfish, but I would probably become a mean spirited bastard of a person given such physical impairment. Well, more of a mean spirited bastard.

However, it does need to be said that Mikey is rather annoying. He has an obsession with noise, and would complain about a pin dropping to a greater extent than even Mario would were said pin dropped in a designated no-shoe area. This, despite the fact that he has a voice like it was intended solely for use by a mad Scottish politician preaching at Speaker’s Corner (read – Gordon Brown*). And he’s close to that noise. It’s coming right out of his cake hole. Right by his ears. I can only assume this goes undetected, what with everything he says clearly being so bloody worthwhile.

The guy’s a bit sleazy too. Some of his comments just seem a little.. uncomfortable. And while Sara encouraged him gratuitously, extending her range of flirting to absolutely everyone in the house, Mikey jumped on board her offer of feeling her clothes by touching every available bit of her body. And who said guys only care about appearances?

Sorry.