Saturday, 20 September 2014

eleanor rigby

On Thursday 30 May last year I finished Eleanor Rigby by Douglas Coupland. I remembered nothing about it based on the title, except that I enjoyed it, as I usually enjoy Douglas Coupland. I still have the copy, and remember more after a flick through it. I see I've also marked a few page numbers:

Here's something else I think about: in the movies, the way criminals are ready to squeal so long as they're entered into a witness relocation program. They're given a brand new name, passport and home, but they'll never be able to contact anybody from their old life again; they have to choose between death and becoming someone entirely new. But you know what I think? I think the FBI simply shoots everybody who enters the program. The fact that nobody ever hears from these dead participants perversely convinces outsiders that the program really works. Let's face it: they go to the same magic place in the country where people take their unwanted pets.

p6, the name of a pet shop: Petcetera.

The day after we landed in Rome was a Sunday, and we were driven to Vatican City in our Albanian motorcoach. All I knew about the Vatican was that my dad was annoyed I'd be going there, and, well, that's about it - I still have no idea what the Pope is supposed to do. Given my limited knowledge of office politics at Landover Communication Systems, I can only imagine what a political viper's nest the Vatican must be.
Alain, the only Catholic in the class, kept his distance from us, knowing that our heretical energy might easily consume him. To paraphrase the warning he gave us before we arrived: 'Religions are designed to outlive individual people, and so what looks evil and bizarre from the outside is actually just a long-term survival system.'