Confusion (A User's Manual)

The dream I've been harbouring for almost a complete term - that of beating Gwen in Physics - is gone. Two and a half marks was the final difference in our marks. Not much, but a world of difference at the same time. Who knows? If I'd tried harder, I may even have been able to equal her mark. Except she's good at Physics, and the only reason I get nearly the same as her is because I frantically copy her notes each lesson, so as a possibility, that's fairly unlikely.

In fact, the only major talent I can think of that I possess is the ability to confuse people. Not just vaguely perplex them for a couple of minutes. Leave them staring in wonder, their brains having given up attempting to follow my train of thought some time ago. It works especially well on logical people. Gwen and Chinny are hapless victims, while Peanut, is generally able to take it in her stride.

For example, in Maths a couple of days ago (well, yesterday. It was yesterday. But I feel like telling a pointless, transparent lie) I wrote the sentence 'Andrew Hansen is within the pale to quite a very tall degree' in Gwen's book. I haven't a clue why. But she spent the lesson examining it closely, refusing to believe that I would write such a pointless thing without adequate reasons. 'Is it an anagram of something?' she asked despairingly after a considerable period of time.

Logic is a valuable thing, but not always useful.

I may cause Gwen to despair sometimes, but she does the same to me. I was sounding her out about her knowledge of classic novels in English.

LESLIE (L): Tell you what. Name me a single book by Charles Dickens.

GWEN (G): Oh, I know this. There was that one they did a version of on the ABC recently - what was it called? Little - little something - oh, no, it was tiny. Tiny - Dorris? No, Dorrit. Tiny Dorrit.

L: Well . . . close. You're close. I think you mean Little Dorrit.

G: How about the one with the boy? The one who couldn't have any more. You know the one I mean.

L: Oliver Twist, I think.

G: No.

L: Are you sure?

G: Actually, yes, that was it.

L: Right. Can you name one of the Brontë sisters? Any one of them. You can even name the brother if you want.

G: Jean.

L: There isn't a Brontë sister called Jean.

G: Julie, then.

L: Nope.

G: Well, you name them then.

L: Charlotte, Emily, and . . . the other one. Dammit, I've forgotten the third Brontë sister's name. Or were there only two? Anyway, Charlotte and Emily. Charlotte wrote Jane Eyre.

G: Wrote what?

(Long pause, followed by a longer argument as to whether or not Gwen should have heard of Jane Eyre or not. This was eventually resolved by both of us refusing to agree with the other one)

L: OK, name a Jane Austen book.

G: Aren't you getting tired of this?

L: No, I'm enjoying it.

G: In that case, Pride and Pre-

L: You can't have Pride and Prejudice. Pick another one.

G: The one about the mansion, then.

L: What? Mansfield Park?

G: No, it's a different one.

L: Right. Well. Finish this title. The Picture of Dorian ___

G: Northanger Abbey!

L: I appreciate that you're trying, but The Picture of Dorian Northanger Abbey is not the answer I was looking for -

G: That's the Austen novel I was trying to remember.

L: Oh. Where do mansions come into Northanger Abbey?

G: You know, mansions, abbeys, they're basically the same thing. And it's Dorian Grey. The Picture of Dorian Grey. That's the book we found in the library, remember? They'd made a graphic novel of it and you kept yelling at it.

(That one's kind of a long story. I'm not going to go into it. Anyway, at this point, Gwen became a little annoyed with me.)

G: I'm not sure it's overly useful, knowing lists of classic novels. I bet you can't name a single species of Australian bird. For example, where is the Paradise Parrot found?

L: The Northern Territory.

G: No, it's completely extinct. What about the Ground Parrot?

L: The Northern Territory.

G: No, on the coasts of Queensland, New South Wales, and Victoria.

We continued in this vein for some time.

L: Well, that's excellent. Can you name a Sherlock Holmes story? One not involving hounds?

G: The Adventure of the Lion's Mane. With the jellyfish.

L: I don't know if you're right or not, but I'll assume you're right. It sounds right, anyway. What's the name of Sherlock Holmes's best friend? Well, his friend, anyway. I'm not sure Sherlock Homes does 'best friends'.

G: Oh, I know this one. It's Walter - Wallace - 

L: Yes, Sherlock Holmes and his best pal Wallace.

G: Oh, no, I remember, it's Watson.

L: That's it.

G: Yes, from the quote. 'Exemplary, my dear Watson'.

L: Um.

Book-related conversations haven't been working out for me recently. For example, less than five minutes ago the RCG entered my room while I was trying to type this. Here is the basic gist of our conversation:

(RCG enters, and, without any form of introduction, goes into her first question)

RCG: Do you know who Animal Farm is by?

L: George Orwell, I believe.

RCG: Right, do you know where it is?

L: I think he was buried some time ago, I'd be very surprised to hear that he was still walking around -

RCG: No, where is it?

L: I think it's set in England, but don't hold me to that.

RCG: You're not listening! Where is it?

L: On a farm, presumably.

RCG: Leslie! Listen! Do you know where it is?

L: I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.

RCG: My copy of the book, of course, where is it?

L: OK. I had no idea you'd even heard of Animal Farm, let alone borrowed it. Or bought it. Or generally acquired it. By hopefully legal means. Why would I know where it is?

RCG: Have you taken it?

L: Do you see it anywhere around here?

(We both survey the mass of books, clothes and miscellaneous items that cover the floor of my room)

L: Well, it's not there, anyway. Why would you need to know who the author is before - 

(RCG leaves)

L: - being able to find it?

Anyway, I believe I was on the topic of CONFUSION. I included the above excerpt from my life on the basis that I was fairly confused at the time. I prefer it when I'm the confuser, rather than the confusee, personally. As with all skills, that of confusion is apt to be lost unless you practice it regularly. So I do so, especially on Chinny. Every few mornings or so, I make it my especial duty to exclaim euphorically the moment I see her, fall on her neck, explain I haven't seen her for some time, and then attempt to convince her that one or both of us has been doing an impossible and/or improbable activity. As a guide to those who want instruction in the fine art of CONFUSION, I've constructed a handy anthology of different things I've said to her over the course of these confusing mornings. They're in chronological order. At least, they should be. My memory isn't the best, as Gwen will willingly testify.

The Leslie M. Harper Anthology™ 

of Chinny's most confusing moments

(a collection that will bring enjoyment to the whole family, especially if you print it out and use the backs of the pieces of paper to play Hangman on. If you have a double sided printer, you won't get that much enjoyment. Unless you decide to read it instead. Whatever works for you)

1. 'Chinny! Thank goodness you're all right! I haven't seen you for a year! I assume you've just got back from your trip to the moon?'

'Um . . . what?'

'I did say it was foolish of you to go in a hot air balloon. Still, your own choice. What was it like?'

'Leslie, what are you talking about?

2. 'Chinny! I made it out alive! I didn't think I would, after falling down that hole.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I was walking across the oval to my bus stop yesterday when I fell down a hole to the centre of the Earth. I was stuck there for twelve hours, at least.'

'You'd burn to death, though. What are you talking about'

'No, it turns out the whole 'lava at the centre of the Earth' theory is wrong. It's actually a giant shopping complex. I fell right into the reception area. I just sat there for six hours - the receptionist was hugely unhelpful, and the water filter was broken. Eventually I took the lift.'

'You took a lift - in the middle of the Earth?'

'Yes, but it broke halfway up so I took the stairs from that point instead. They have the most bizarre interior decoration down there. It took me another six hours to get out. Actually, when I was walking up, I met this Danish guy on the stairs - the same thing had happened to him, falling to the centre of the Earth - his name was Niels, apparently.'

'Leslie, I don't know what you're talking about, but it's time for class.'

3. 'Chinny!'

'What is it - oh, no.'

'Thank goodness I've found you. I've been so worried. Promise me you'll never spend a year being medically dead again.'

'Leslie, I'm worried.'

4. 'Chinny! I'm so glad to see you made it back all right!'

'Where have I been this time?'

'Egypt, of course. Ancient Egypt. I'll never understand why you chose to spend seventeen years on holiday there, but I suppose it was your decision.'

'What - how did I get to Ancient Egypt? Where is Ancient Egypt?'

'Just north of Russia. Can I see the photos you took?'

'Leslie, why are you doing this?'

5. 'Chinny! You're alive!'

'Leslie, I don't know what you're about to say, but it never happened.'

'It's nice that you'd like me to believe that, but I know the truth. I know how you were eaten by that giant carnivorous plant. It's your own fault for going near it, I said it wasn't safe. How did you survive?'

'I don't know. It didn't happen. Leslie, that didn't happen!'

'Still, it's your own fault anyway. If you're going to illegally grow mutated plants in your secret laboratory, you can hardly blame others for the consequences.'

'Please, just tell me what you're talking about!'

6. 'Chinny!'

'No!'

Good times.

Well, we've had our library anecdotes. Rather too many of them, I think. Nowadays, it's not enough just HAVING anecdotes, you need a wide-ranging topic to bring them together. Still, what do you care? You just have to read it. Whereas I have to write it, and as I'm an insanely slow typer it's taking some time. Yes, Marie-Clare, I said I'd be done in an hour. I was being overly optimistic. Anyway. So in order not to push it, I have devoted great thought to (suddenly decided to write about) the canteen. 

For example, I have recently worked out exactly how much Paul McCartney is worth to Marie-Clare. Marie-Clare loves Wagon Wheels, which are a type of large chocolate biscuit with marshmallow and jam. You can buy them from the canteen for $1.50. Apparently - and this will shock anyone who knows her - Marie-Clare would rather have Paul McCartney's weight in Wagon Wheels than the Beatle himself. We discussed this for a little, and eventually decided that the exchangeable ratio of Wagon Wheels to Paul is about three-quarters of his bodyweight. I worked on these assumptions:

1. Each Wagon Wheel weighs around 50g (I'm assuming this because it says so on the packet)

2. Paul McCartney weighs around 80kg (at least, he did when he was in the Beatles, which is when Marie-Clare likes him. I have to say, 'how much does paul mccartney weigh' is one of the strangest things I've ever googled)

3. The cost of a Wagon Wheel is $1.50 AUS (you're going to have to take my word on this one)

So. 1600 Wagon Wheels would weigh the same as Paul McCartney, meaning 1200 would be three-quarters of his weight. This is a total of $1800. Some people say Paul McCartney is worth many millions. Well, we know better. He's worth slightly less than $2000, and no more.

I've also worked out what Marie-Clare's future life will be like. I put it to her in the line for the canteen (where she very shortly bought a Wagon Wheel). I've put Marie-Clare's interjections in so you can see how it COULD have been, and how it ended up:

L: Next year, in Year 11, 25 will see you and realise that your creepy, stalker-ish behaviour is actually a sign of true love. You will leave high school early, elope together, and marry.

MC: Not without graduating from school.

L: You will graduate from high school, elope together, and marry. Not having money, you will be forced to live in a caravan park.

MC: I'm not living in a caravan park!

L: You will live in a caravan park. You've eloped, you're not rolling in cash. You will manage the shop in the caravan park while 25 works in the coal mines.

MC: I'd rather be rich.

L: That's not an option. During your time in the caravan park, you will have numerous children.

MC: Oh, no. I hate children. If I have children I'll drown them.

L: Um. Yes. All right, you sell these children to people who want them in order to pay for your caravan.

MC: All right, that's OK, I suppose.

L: Until, that is, you are arrested and sent to gaol for selling children.

MC: But they wouldn't care. They're children. And I'd give them to people who wanted them.

L: Not to worry! 25 will bake you a cake with a file inside it. A metal file, not a nail file, or one of those paper files. A paper file would get soggy inside a cake.

MC: Yes, but I'm not sure 25 can cook. Perhaps he could buy a cake.

L: Yes, he'd buy a cake, saw it in half, and hide the file inside it. You would file through the bars of your prison cell at night and escape back to 25, who would then steal a car and drive with you to Las Vegas.

MC: No, we'd drive to Los Osos.

L: Lososos?

MC: L-O-S O-S-O-S.

L: OK. Los Osos. There, you will start a casino.

MC: I suggested Los Osos because that's where 25 is from.

L: Good.

MC: It's in California.

L: OK. When the police catch up to you, you will sell your casino and buy a helicopter. You and 25 will crash it and fake your own deaths. You will then go to Switzerland, where you will buy fake IDs, and then move to Liverpool and sell Beatles memorabilia. You will discover that your children have grown up and become rich and famous during this time, and buy them back to live off their incomes.

MC: We don't have any money. What do we buy them back with?

L: Well, the original holder of 25's new - fake - passport was the prince of Denmark. When the old king dies, 25 will inherit the large fortune that goes with the throne.

MC: All right. Then what?

L: Then you, being quite famous yourself by this point - or do I mean infamous? - will write your autobiography. Or rather, you will be quite busy by this point, so you can hire me from the newspaper I'll be working for, and I can ghost-write it for you.

MC: Yes, you can call it How we met. As described, it will be about how 25 and I met.

L: In fact, I might start it soon. Seeing as we know exactly how it's going to happen, the sooner it's done, the better. Then you can publish it as soon as you get to Liverpool.

MC: Sounds sensible. Oh - we're at the front of the line.

It was a very, very long line. Anyway, expect How we met to be in all good bookstores soon.

You might be wondering why I was lining up with Marie-Clare when I had no actual money to spend myself. Well, that's how we do things at our school. Today, I, Midgie, Lala, Ames, and Marie-Clare were all in a single line. It was quite a long one, and Ames was delighted to see that one of the other lines was moving far faster. 'Marie-Clare, come and line up in this one with me, we'll be done sooner.'

They both moved. Marie-Clare hastily turned to me. 'Leslie, you're not buying anything, can you hold my place in this line in case the other one starts getting slower?'

I was happy to do so, and I stayed with Lala and Midgie as we moved inexorably towards the front of the line. 'Which one of you is buying something?' I asked aimlessly.

'I'm not.'

'Neither am I.

'Then - why are you lining up?'

'We came with Ames.'

'Ah.'

The line had built up behind us rather dramatically, and there was no quick method of escape. The counter was suddenly right in front of us.

Time for some quick thinking. 'Oh, no!' I said loudly. 'I don't have my wallet. It must be in my bag. Yes, it's not here. What a pity, because that means I can't buy anything. I definitely would have bought something if I had money, but as it is -'

And with that, I ran. Lala and Midgie followed nimbly behind me. I personally think I did quite well, given the circumstances. Yes, I'll never make an actor, but I'll live. There was no call for them to laugh at me to such a degree. Still, it's always nice to make people laugh. Although I tend to prefer it if they don't do it to my face. Better for the self-esteem, don'tcha know.

Later that lunchtime, they actually began giving out free food (if only they'd been doing it when I'd pulled my wallet trick!). I've a feeling it was because it was the end of Health Week. They'd been serving unduly healthy food all week, and they still had some left, and so decided to give it to us. I got a Caesar salad. I must learn how to make it. It's about time we had a 'Leslie's Recipes: Caesar Salad', don't you think? Gwen had pasta. She opened the box suspiciously. 'Look at this!'

Vyvyan and I examined it closely.

'Looks like pasta.'

'It is pasta.'

'So, what's wrong with it?'

'Look!'

She jabbed a fork viciously into a piece of pasta (for some reason they only give out forks in the canteen). It splintered. The pasta, not the fork. The fork just bent. 'Look! It's still frozen!'

Healthy? I'm so sure. Deep-frozen pasta isn't in any of the food groups.

Unless you take it literally, in which case yes, it's in the carbohydrate group. That doesn't mean you can eat it, though.

I also discovered a useful technique for disconcerting people who are trying to eat yoghurt (which they'd also gotten free from the canteen).

'And lo! The prophet Vyvyan did take the fork, and put it into the yoghurt. For the canteen staff, the original sinners, had only given her a fork with which to consume the product. They are not welcome in the kingdom of Heaven of our Lord Vyvyan. For the fork is the devil, sent to try us, while the yoghurt is purity, and the strange passionfruity pulp on top is the tangy religious goodness we need in our lives. Behold! It is the first miracle of the book of Vyvyan! The holy one has eaten the yoghurt with the fork! We bow to her, in the hopes that we, too -'

'SHUT UP, LESLIE!'

'And the chosen one did show her rage by spraying yoghurt elegantly across the table. And her followers were liberally coated in a mixture of dairy, passionfruit and the holy saliva of our Lord -'

'Be quiet or I'll drag you off that seat.'

'So spake Vyvyan, as she displayed her almighty wrath. For we are yoghurt in the plastic cup that is our world, and she is -'

At this point, I was dragged off the seat and decided to stop the religious stuff for a bit.

Confusion is all very well at times. But it's not always worth it.