Courting the Holidays

Just on a short break from uni. I haven't ceased contemplating and dabbling about aimlessly. To begin, I vaguely (but only vaguely) considered a trip to Queenstown, just like that, only to remind myself how snow looks like. But without warning, the icy, dry winds picked up in Brisbane and I realised then, much to my surprise, how bony and fat-less I am and how much that trip to Queenstown may eventually cost me from a chill factor. Severely discouraged from ever becoming a snowboarding champion, I decided to stay put and to continue what I've since been doing in Brisbane, covering myself like a ridiculous snow bunny all the while making Nivea and Garnier very rich.

It's a pity really because at least 3 of my friends (and that includes the Twisted One) have snowboarded and I've always wanted to try it out.

Oh, well. Poor me.

To cheer myself up, I decided to indulge in "Les Laisons Dangereuses". By Jove it's working. I'm having a marvellous time as I read each of the scandalous letters that constitute this 18th century novel. At last, a means of indirectly giving way to my frivolous libertinage!! I feel just as I did when I first discovered my mother's saucy vampire comic books as a child. (Well not quite, but it's close, very close.) What delicious pleasures this correspondence affords me. Ok, I'm only exaggerating, there's nothing really osé about the novel (so far, anyway). In fact it's simply hilarious. I'm laughing all the way. To be honest it's the most witty thing I've ever read primarily because it's so damn well written. In short, I feel jealous of Laclos. And whatsmore I find it so amusing that nothing really has changed these days in matters of courting and amorous liaisons. How advanced is this Laclos? I mean, to have expounded in such a shameless manner all the human motivations and machinations of courting, rejection, seduction etc...etc...No wonder this novel was banned in France at the time! I even read that Marie Antoinette had hidden a copy of the book before she was emprisonned. I guess no woman could resist the appeal of forbidden fruit.

To further entertain my sordid imagination, I've begun to speculate on what character I could possibly embody from the Liaisons Dangereuses. While the Marquise de Merteuil would no doubt possess a splendid wardrobe, and this in itself would appeal to my excessive vanity, I'm nevertheless convinced that I'd do much better as a man of disrepute. I think the ridiculous Vicomte de Valmont would suit me to a t.

So there you have it, Les Liaisons Dangereuses.
Worth a peak.

I can only wonder why it was never recommended to me in my teenage years. I'm sure that I would have appreciated it, if only as a self-help book. I do think no serious curriculum should be without it. If not, how would one ever learn to recognise a Valmont? Or a Merteuil, for that matter?