Fading away

Although my tattoo hasn't even been sketched yet (I think), I'm still wildly excited about getting it. I can't wait to have Serenity and the SG-1 Stargate tattooed on my back, followed by all the other ships, gates and galaxies I've chosen for my piece.

I get that, while tattooing is becoming more mainstream, it's still not really accepted as something a "good girl" would do. Fair enough; I'm not a very good girl, although I'm nowhere near as bad a girl as I'd like, or as bad as some seem to think tattooing will make me (a whole other rant).

What really bugs me, though, is the assumption people make that I'll somehow end up regretting getting myself inked when I'm older. As though these things that i have specifically chosen to be put onto my body, because of the meaning they hold for me, will suddenly become unacceptable to my brain and I'll be desperately trying to get rid of them, covering up at every opportunity and ashamed to show myself.

Look: I'm almost 40 years old. I'm pretty well aware of the fact that skin sags as one ages, and tattoo ink fades, and wrinkles happen. None of that matters to me. I'm not getting tattooed because I think it's going to make me look hot, badass, or whatever it's supposed to be doing in some imaginary world of why-the-fuck-would-she-do-this. I'm not having ink stuck under my skin for anyone but me. I've chosen my themes and my images very carefully, because they have real meaning and purpose for me, and they represent important things in my life, things that make me who I am today. I don't care that they're from TV shows, or books, or movies, or comics, or are imaginary creations that don't exist. In fact, that's pretty much the point, if you've read my post on my sci-fi back piece.

Is it supposed to be about how the tattoo will sag as I age? That it'll wrinkle and fade and look bad? Newsflash: I'm no supermodel as it is. I'm not hot, sexy or mysterious; and I'm certainly not getting tattooed to turn anyone on. Again: it's for me. And as my whole body ages, so will my tattoo; it's meant to be part of me for the rest of my life, just like everything else will (hopefully) be part of me for however long I live - hair, teeth, arms, legs, skin. My ears will get bigger and I'll lose my hearing; my eyes will get saggy and wrinkled and I'll have trouble seeing; my face will droop and I'll get jowly and my butt will sit behind my knees and my boobs will hang down to my waist and SO WHAT? It's called GETTING OLD. So my tattoos will GET OLD with me!

Besides, as someone else said, when I'm old I'll be too damn busy worrying about my arthritis and senility to give a rat's ass about being ashamed of my ink!

Age is a state of mind

Skinny Bitches – do we really need more of them?

Debbie Logan of Organic Emporium sends out weekly emails to customers, containing newsletters filled with all sorts of info, from the usual recipe-laden food news to organic growing practices to her views on virtually any topic under the sun. I found yesterday's mail particularly interesting, focusing as it does on the Skinny Bitches phenomenon. I'm particularly disturbed by this trend, coming as it does in the midst of the battle being waged to sway girls' (and women's) minds towards either eating healthily or being conditioned into seeing any sort of larger figure as 'fat' - even if eating has nothing to do with the way they look. That's an issue for another time, though, and one that has been covered extensively by other bloggers.

Unfortunately, Debbie doesn't archive her newsletters, so the only way to show you her thoughts is to copy and paste.

UPDATE: Debbie has started a newsletter archive following requests from her customers

Skinny Bitches – do we really need more of them?

I find myself becoming as outspoken and as passionate about the notion that the quality of our thoughts has every bit as much an effect on who we are, as does our food. A toxic thought is as detrimental to our emotional health as a toxic pesticide on our apple. As this journey blazes on for me, I've learnt to distrust people who eat the 'purest' of foods yet toxify themselves and the air around them with an air of superiority over others, who are ever critical and judgemental of the rest of the world, who believe that most people are dumb and stupid and that really they own the marketplace on what one should be eating to be healthy. I've just been reminded about how obnoxious I find such characters after glancing over the chapter headings for 'Skinny Bitch' and reading some snippets of the book. I am not charmed.

I had my fill of encountering this type of attitude in the initial stages of this business – until I learnt to avoid sources of it – and it led me to critically question the nature of true health. It makes little sense to me to mess up your health by attempting to follow an extreme eating philosophy or diet that creates stress.

If you're physically becoming healthier but in the process becoming mentally dis-eased…I think you're perhaps missing the boat somewhat. Similarly, if your diet is an excuse to make yourself feel better than 'cheese-burger eating Jo' – I'm also going to question the health of your psyche. Seriously. If cheese-burger eating Jo doesn't think any less of you for eating what he terms 'bunny rabbit' food, then there's a fair argument to make that he might be a slightly nicer person than you.! Of course I'm not talking to – YOU – I'm talking to the symbolic figure-head, you know those self-righteous people that are obsessed with their diet and spend their lives turning their noses up at people who eat differently to them? Yes them – I'm focusing on the philosophy that creates that kind of attitude, such as the philosophy 'Skinny Bitch' seems to advocate. I use the word philosophy loosely here because I'm not too sure that there is much substance to this book or anything truly health promoting about it because you cannot build a mansion on a flawed foundation. It matters not how healthy or unhealthy the vegan diet they recommend you eat, actually is (and that is hugely debatable) - if it's built on a foundation of thinking that is based on myth and particularly – myths that keep you from leading a truly empowered life – it counts for nothing and it's going to cause you harm in the long run.

I'm adamant about this point and I find particularly passionate about it!

Believe it. If you are not sure that it absolutely isn't ok for anybody to tell you that if you aren't SKINNY, you're a 'fat', 'dumb', 'stupid dumb-ass' – skinny bitch words – then you are not in touch with your authentic power.

I'm getting to a point here – truly….!

So I've just received a delivery from Kalahari.net of the latest books I've ordered and they're all offer very contradictory views about life and food. Perfect.

I have 'Skinny Bitch' – 'a no-nonsense tough-love guide for savvy girls who want to stop eating crap and start looking fabulous', (vegan), 'The Vegetarian Myth' – Food Justice and Sustainability, and 'Stitched-up – Who Fashions Women's Lives' by Stephanie Vermeulen.

The startling contrast between the opinions of these three books best reflects the vastness of opinions that I encounter and reflect upon in my journey of understanding our relationship with food in all its intricacies and most importantly how it impacts our health. Read them all, open your mind to listening to and reading all opinions and then decide what feels right FOR YOU. There cannot then, be one truth or one right. I don't believe there ever was one perfect diet.

It has just occurred to me that if these 3 books were having an introductory conversation right now on my desk, it would probably sound like this:

Skinny Bitch – you should eat a vegan diet if you want to be skinny otherwise you're a 'fat slob' and a 'stupid dumbass'…

The Vegetarian Myth – It is a myth that veganism is a superior form of eating, to reject the notion that something must die in order that something must live is to reject nature rather than embrace it..

Stitched-Up – who says that skinny is ideal and who the hell are you to decide that you're an authority on what I should be eating?

So it's going to be interesting reading and I'm going to share it with you as I go along.

I can tell you first off that I have an idea that Skinny Bitch is not going to be my cup of tea. I am angry after just browsing through the contents and the title alone says much about the negativity of its message.

DO WE REALLY WANT TO TAKE 6000 STEPS BACKWARDS AND REABSORB THIS HOLLYWOOD MYTH THAT SKINNY IS IDEAL – IS HEALTHY – IS SUCCESS – AGAIN?

Do we want to reinstitute this most debilitating blow on the feminine psyche – all over again – that a woman's curves are wrong and that skinny is ideal and attractive?

It's a myth so easy to blow and it originates from the fashion industry primarily – skinny made clothes look better on catwalks – it's a form of psychological enslavement to buy this myth – under scrutiny it disappears like mist in a sun's glare…..it is not going to make you happier to be SKINNY….the authors of this book are both from the fashion industry – no surprises there – and seem to think that to look 'good' which in their interpretation is almost emaciated is to be successful. Some of those more superficial creatures that are invested in the idea that what they look like defines who they are – yet – for all their skinniness, I wouldn't feel compelled to spend much time in their company at all.

They sound pretty shallow and obnoxious to me and I'd be horrified to have their very narrow impression of what physical ideal is around my daughter or any impressionable girl for that matter.

As a society we have exhausted this boring, superficial and empty notion to tears, it's tired and it's a lie.

Skinny didn't buy anybody more love and more success. The pursuit of skinniness has messed with the psyche of women for so long, caused death, poor self-esteem, endless misery, eating disorders and death. Can we not rather start aiming for higher ideals, like self-love, like self-acceptance, like healthy eating, like more giving and forgiving and more self-love – do we really need more rules and more diets? Do we really need any more self-obsessed, withholding, shaming, arrogant, self-righteous bitches? I don't think the world needs anymore of those. Call me old-fashioned……J

Skinny Bitch has been outstandingly successful – sadly. Woman are still attracted to rules, diets, shame and guilt – and there is enough shaming language in what appears to be a horrific book as far as I can tell for now. I can barely believe some of the sentences I've read….like this one….."do you really think sugar or hydrogenated oils or eggs or milk wont' make you fat? Sober up, asshole."

I'm not kidding! Here's another "give up the notion that you can be sedentary and still lose weight. You need to exercise, you lazy shit".!

I'm clear that skinny bitches wrote this book, I'm not yet clear whether it's got any substance other than the cheap shock tactics of some really crass language. It's rather catty and childish.

I'm sure it'll have much to say about diet and only AFTER you've started reading it, do you get ambushed with a vegan agenda .

Again, this makes me question the integrity of these woman?

If you pick up 'The Kind Diet' by Alicia Silverstone for example, it's clear before you open the book that the book promotes a vegan lifestyle. 'Skinny Bitch' masquerades as a diet/lose weight book and then within a couple of chapters is conjuring up the most awful images of factory farming as they introduce their vegan agenda. I don't think that's cool, I think it's another cheap and nasty assault, bit like picking up a book about 'love' and suddenly realizing you're reading a religious book punting one particular religious belief.

I'm all for people becoming familiar with what factory farming is all about and I'm all for that kind of awareness so that people can boycott that type of food and this horrendous practice of animal manufacture. This isn't the way to do it though, I don't believe. It's manipulative in the extreme.

I'm not liking this guys. I fear a book like this is going to cause some damage. Not damage that we aren't familiar with and that's what scares the life out of me. We're used to this rubbish right? It will reinforce some utterly rubbish yet debilitating beliefs about women and their bodies.

I'll write some more on this topic, for some odd reason I've actually been inundated with mails asking me to comment on 'Skinny Bitch' recently, as if people can sense something isn't right about it but aren't sure.

I'm getting that impression myself at first glance, I dearly hope the content will be strong enough to overcome its initial promise of bitchy superficiality.

At least if it doesn't offer anything more intelligent, I have 'Stitched-Up' to make intellectual amends. I also want to talk much about the contents of this book and particularly about what the author has to say about how we have culturally been indoctrinated to feel shame and guilt about our bodies and how this in particular has enslaved our self-esteem to false promises.

Right, enough said, Skinny Bitch has raised the hackles on my neck somewhat!

I'll be back tomorrow…..Let's not be skinny bitches, let's by healthy and wholesome and diverse and let's divorce ourselves from the notion  - for once and for all – that we are what we look like. It's debilitating and it's a lie and it isn't going to deliver. Most of us have experience of this and many of us have harmful recollections of having this notion thrown down our throats by the media particularly.

I'm for empowerment and the relationship between food and empowerment.

Please be very discerning about what you read, particularly when it hits on a vulnerable area of your psyche which just might be that you're not happy with yourself, or your weight.

All these 'trap' books – hook you with a promise of 'losing weight', 'becoming pure, clean and light', 'becoming disease free', having 'endless energy and overcoming all your illnesses and weaknesses and issues. There is no diet Nirvannah or diet heaven – where a diet leads you to a perfect body and perfect life.

You need to protect your vulnerabilities and nurture them to strength and wholeness.

The perfection you seek is found in a quiet place, deep inside you.

Food must honour your most loving relationship to yourself. You cannot use food to fix a damaged self-esteem. I advocate a joyous, fantastic and intuitive relationship between yourself and food. Throw out the rule books, you don't need them! Read beautiful, expanding, intelligent opinions – and it's all only an opinion – and take back your power – decide what is best for YOU and be careful of cheap and nasty 'diet' books that shame.

Choose wholesome opinions as you do wholesome foods.

Owie. Yuck. And also, yay!

It's been a torrid few days here in the Ysabel-MadCat household. Apart from the big announcement at my work and the rush to wrap up the last few days at the office (and the consequent cramming of a month's worth of communication into less than a week by my esteemed colleagues in the other city, less said the better), my department was also introduced to our new manager, who'll be starting at the end of January. We all knew she was coming, of course, but it's nice to finally have official confirmation.

Then, last Monday, 13 December, the department went out for our year-end lunch. Nice enough, although - unlike every single other department in the entire company - we had to fork out of our own pockets because our acting head doesn't want to run foul of the compliance department. Which sucks, quite frankly.

It was a tasty lunch, quite filling, not too expensive, and we followed up with a stroll around the shops that dot that particular restaurant's precinct; not to my taste, fairly whitebread, I'd say, all French Provencal and fake-rusted garden ornaments, that sort of thing - pretty enough, just not my kind of style. I wasn't enjoying it very much, frankly, because I was feeling rather over-full - quite Christmas-lunch-full, in fact, which was rather odd, considering all I'd had was a lamb roast, mash, a glass of wine and a few spoons of chocolate mousse. After a final cup of tea, we headed back to my colleague's house for a couple of cocktails, which I mixed (quite weakly, as we still had to drive back home that night) while we chatted and kuiered quite convivially in the balmy evening air. As MadCat was on night shift last week, he saw to the animals and when I got home at 9pm, all I had to do was go straight to bed, to toss and turn uncomfortably all night.

Tuesday was a bit of a nightmare of discomfort, as my chest hurt all day and I was quite the moaning Minnie, annoyed with my arrogant colleagues from that distant port city and snowed under with silly bits of work that, quite frankly, were streaming in because people had only thought of these items at the very last minute. That night I lay alone in bed, thinking I was having a heart attack, the pain was so excruciating. I tried to phone my mom - as I tend to do in all such situations - but the phone just rang and rang, unanswered. So eventually I got up and wrote my funeral wishes - rather dramatic, I know, and thank goodness I didn't post them to my blog, but really, that's the sort of thing that makes me feel better - writing out my will before a long journey, or setting out my funeral wishes when I'm all on my own, or something else devilishly superstitious.

Wednesday was sheer hell. I just couldn't muster the strength to do anything. In between bouts of getting ready for work, I had to keep lying down. It was sheer torture. Eventually MadCat came home from work, and convinced me that I needed to go to the doctor. I called both my bosses, and they were both sick as dogs, too - both had been vomiting all night. In total, four of us had been struck down by some virus at that restaurant. It wasn't the food - that had been delicious, and perfectly cooked; someone was carrying a virus on his or her hands, and passed that to us through the meal, either through cooking or delivering.

But there was more. Before heading to the doctor, I'd taken delivery of Deafboy and Adventure Girl's pups - because it was bucketing down, and the pups needed a dry spot for the day, as there was nowhere else for them to go; they couldn't spend a third day outside in the rain. You can imagine what awaited me when I came home from the doctor, with four excited dogs stuck in the lounge and the patio, sleeting rain driving in and the four of them rushing around dragging water everywhere. Poo piles. It was lovely.

Eventually I managed to drag my carcass through to the bedroom, order the dogs through to my room and passage with me, and pass out. And that's how we spent the day, with me occasionally getting up to let them all out for pee breaks, then back into bed,. then out again when MadCat awoke, then out again when Adventure Girl came to fetch them, and back to bed for me for the rest of the night.

So it's gone since then, with the occasional foray into the world to test the waters for Candlewick's kitchen tea, and a fabric shopping expedition with BellyDiva. But I still haven't recovered, and in fact had a relapse this weekend - this time with added puking. Wonderful. I'm still queasy, and very unhappy. I hope this does not bode ill for Christmas Eve, and Day, and Boxing Day, too.

Tomorrow (today?) I'll post about the quite nice afternoon we had on Friday, with the geeky photographers, and how that perked me up somewhat. It was good. A ray of sunshine in an otherwise awful week. And there'll even be pics! It's a plus.

Catching up

Well, it's been one of those weekends. Too much spending, too little downtime, definitely too little time spent together. Still, good times meeting new people. New, super-smart people. It's kind of intimidating. Especially when the Smartest Man in South Africa is bludgeoned into revealing his IQ (185. Holy shit.) and you're ... flattened. Well, thank goodness no one asked mine. Although apparently I'm pretty smart, but still. You'd never know it to read this blog!

It was Iaculus' birthday on Friday, so we went off for a potluck at his place yesterday. I always enjoy being around the geeks, and yesterday was no exception. Although I was kind of annoyed on his behalf that a bunch of "friends" cancelled on him on the very day, after confirming that they'd be there. Ah well, those of us who made it, had a great time. Even when the question of IQs came up.

Iaculus' babiest brother has grown, boy howdy. What a dashing young man, and he's inherited the most beautiful eyes of the three boys - even more beautiful than Iaculus himself. I'd venture to say they're as gorgeous as my own brother's, and his take a lot of beating. Also, the young man in question has his head screwed on right, unlike his older siblings; he's not keen on being in a relationship just for the sake of it. I'm impressed, for a 17-year-old. I guess he's just taken a gander at his brothers and decided that being a playa, or having the wrong standards, are not for him. Good choice. WHY did I not take advantage and hug him hello and goodbye? Because he's 20 years younger than I am and I just couldn't bring myself to do so. Even though he's a gorgeous, strapping young man. And a MENSA member. It's the damn IQ issue again! What a waste, and there he was, the well-mannered youngster, my own boyfriend (as well as his brother) urging me to "feel his six-pack". Maybe that's it - not wanting to be told what to do? Who knows? I'm just difficult at the moment. But I couldn't be part of embarrassing the boy!

The Machete War Party plan is gaining momentum, although I'm still in two minds about whether I'll join. I just can't get around what might have to happen to the moochies. Better than leaving them to their own devices, I suppose, but practicality be damned, emotion rules the day and I'm not likely to change my way of thinking without damn good reason.

Also, I've been in a foul mood for the past few days, and copious amounts of Synap Forte, vodka and chocolate have done naught to help. Snap, snap, SNAP, that's me. I growled irritably at MadCat that I guess I'd better start my damn adoption process RIGHT THE FUCK NOW because there's no point waiting until I'm 40, since it'll take a couple of years anyway, almost daring him to object. Poor guy was rather startled. Well, them's the breaks; just beacuse we will not be procreating due to various mental challenges that should not be passed on to future generations, does not mean I intend remaining childless for the rest of my existence. Still, I suppose I could have phrased it more ... kindly.

On the other hand, maybe next week I'll be in a better, more forgiving mood. We'll see.

Word of the day for me: obstreperous. And let's not forget recalcitrant. Also, bitchy.

Time for more martini, methinks.

Gah

It is not "wah-lah", it is "voila". The word is French, you numbskulls!

GAH!

Bite me, if you can

Really, Kristen Stewart? Really? You honestly think that (to paraphrase Alex Dobuzinskis) being dumped by (your) vampire man, sinking into depression and later flying to pursue him, is setting a good example to girls? 

Tonight - New Moon star Kristen Stewart says "be extreme" 

Let me tell you what I think: You're full of shit. And the fact that you're trying to make it seem like your lovelorn, pathetic, angst-ridden, whiny character Bella, is a rebel pursuing what she most wants in life, is a disservice to those strong women in history, literature and movies who were rebels and who actually did pursue their goals and dreams (Amelia Earhart? Mary Shelley? Hermione Granger or Ginny Weasley, both of whom would kick Bella's arse so hard her butt would come out of her nose?). Here's a hint: attainment, in those cases, didn't revolve around desperately seeking the love of a manipulative, passive-aggressive, stalker of a 'vampire' (and I use that term loosely) who's so pathetic he can't even nut up and use his fangs!

Oh wait, I forgot: he doesn't have fangs!

In fact, I take your bullshit downright personally! Because I would rather crawl on my belly through broken glass tipped with industrial-strength acid, than be associated with the idea that being a passive ninny like Bella, is what true love is all about. Oh yes, true love is about sacrifices. But it's also about knowing when someone's playing you, about knowing when someone loves you enough not to fuck with your head, and about knowing when it's time to walk away. Then again, I tend not to live in an old-style Mills & Boon romance.

Ooh, and you know what, you know what, Bella must be a real rebel because - *gasp* - she's in love with two guys! Hell, even Anita Blake is more of a rebel, and she's not only in love with vampires, werewolves, wereleopards and the like too, she's actually screwing them! (Often at the same time.) Of course, let's instantly dump the werewolf who's always loved you (and later develops an unhealthy, paedophilic attachment to your newborn daughter, by the way) for Sparkleboy and fly to his rescue! 

But, I am preaching to either the choir - as I know there are thousands who agree with me - or to the deaf, dumb, blind and stubborn. After all, say Twihards, "(Shakespeare) was a ripoff artist who knew how to market", and Stephen King's just jealous because he'll never attain success like Stephenie Meyer (newsflash: oh wait, do I actually need to give a newsflash about one of the most successful writers in modern history?). I'm not even shitting you about the Shakespeare quote.

I don't know what riles me more; the blatant stupidity rampant in these Twitards and their overwhelming love of the sparkleverse, to the exclusion of all other viewpoints ("You're just jeaaaallllllous! You don't understaaaaaaand! It's a masterpiece, better than than idiot Harry Potter! Waaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh, stop being mean to my Eddiekins!") or the sheer stupidity displayed in their arguments. I mean, and I'm sorry I can't let this go, but DID THAT TWITARD ACTUALLY CALL SHAKESPEARE DERIVATIVE COMPARED TO STEPHENIE FUCKING MEYER? (Don't miss the other part of her comment about Mary Shelley's Frankenstein: "A teenager wrote it with the help of two accomplished authors. Give Meyer a break, and some credit."

The mind actually boggles. A red mist rises before my eyes, and I cannot even think coherently to muster some form of rational argument. Which, I suppose, may well render me nothing more than an over-emotional anti-Twitard.

And that, my friends, is why I would rather rip out and chew on my own liver, than read more than the chapter of Twilight I slogged through, or subject myself to more than the New Moon trailer - which I can't avoid these days anyway.

Not to mention that ripping out my own liver and eating it? Would make me more of a man than Sparkly-bum the pretty boy. 

But don't let me spew all the venom by myself. Masswyrm has already said it all so eloquently: 

"Bella Swan is one of the most detestable, obnoxious, mentally unstable characters in modern American literature. She is a character so over the top that she borders on satire; and were she some sort of Holden Caulfield-like, deliberately unlikable character written with the intent to openly mock the ideals of modern romantic literature, she would be acceptable, if not perfect for the part. But Stephanie Meyer isn’t that self-aware. Instead, she has woven together a cloyingly insufferable romantic saga – a junkfood and cheesecake epic, if you will – centering around a woman who revels in, nay celebrates, how damaged she is. I dated a girl like Bella once. Thank god they make medication for girls like that now."

Go, read. Then read his earlier column, about the sheer creepiness of a 90-year-old man lusting after a 17-year-old girl. Or is Eddie 109? After all those centuries, the years blur together, I suppose, and school kind of starts looking the same. 

Or, you know, don't bother, if you're a Twi-fan. Either way, I'll just continue my un-dazzled existence over here, wasting my time on romances.That Romeo and Juliet. So derivative!

Straight-talking

Let's go straight into my issues with bad writing: I know, I know; it's perfectly natural for the language to evolve. I just expected that it would take place over a longer period and that it wouldn't become almost a point of pride for people to write - and speak - badly.

The fact is, English is so widely spread that it's no wonder there are hundreds - perhaps even thousands - of different versions spoken around the world. However, the use of dialects and patois is different, in my not so humble opinion, from plain bad grammar, spelling and misuse of words.

So while txtspk and possibly even l33t-speak fulfill a certain need, the use of incorrect terminology and grammar really gets my goat. And, may I ask, what's the point of dumbing down classic works such as Shakespeare or Milton or Austen because it's "too difficult" for today's crop of students to understand? It's the lazy, easy way out, instead of teaching the basics properly.

I'm afraid the dumbing-down of language - the English language, at least - has already gone beyond control. The Bible in text-speak? I may not be religious, but I can appreciate the beauty of the language used in the King James version. Ebonics and l33t-speak make me shudder. And the news that students in the UK (or was it US?) would be allowed to answer test papers in text-speak made me want to cry.

Even worse is the perception from some - including one guy who wrote to me on IOL - that my particularity for good writing is a form of snobbery and elitism. Unfortunately, I find it hard to argue my point because all the carefully thought-out arguments I have mustered while alone and undistracted fly out of my head in the rush of sheer rage that engulfs me at such blatant stupidity.

I'm not saying that everyone has to speak in olde English or never change the language; what bothers me is that the "rules" of the language, the proper use of grammar and spelling that makes English recognisable - and understandable - across the world, are being disregarded so blatantly. Even journalists are falling into the trap, and here I'm not even pointing the finger at those who write in colloquial fashion, since that's merely a style of writing - I'm talking about those who can't grasp the difference between its and it's, or lose and loose. I expect journalists, at the very least, to know the rules, since writing is their very livelihood.

As for the classics, there's a reason they're called classics. Modernising the writing would detract from the message; Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer and Agatha Christie, for instance, were such mistresses of subtlety that they could convey a world of meaning with a few well-turned phrases; the beauty and pace of the language lies in its crispness and attention to detail. As for Shakespeare, his message translated perfectly to the screen in Baz Luhrman's version, a modernised rock setting in which the archaic language simply ... fitted.

People may not speak that way in real life - and why should they? - but within the confines of the tale being told, there is no reason to discard the language of the day. Updating the classics for the screen or theatre has been done, and done well; rewriting them simply because people "can't understand" (or are too damn lazy to read them properly) is completely different.

So it's not a matter of communicating in an older fashion, but a matter of dumbing down so that people can understand. And I'm appalled that there is even consideration given to dumbing down of literature; are people so stupid that they can't comprehend proper, if olde, English? Too much attention is given to making life easier so that people don't have to think, as opposed to actually stretching their minds.

As if I needed another reason to hate PETA

Oh really, PETA?

Please take this opportunity to kiss my big, pasty ass. The big, pasty ass that has my MadCat panting with lust, especially when I deliberately sashay along in front of him in the mall, tight jeans and all. Ah, wallowing around like a whale after eating a nice big pork roast (oh no, Fatty McFatterson! Eat the pig, BECOME the pig, no?).

Thanks for pointing out the stupidity, Mo Pie. I may not be a particularly eloquent blogger but I can appreciate the talent in others!

Anti-Twilight zone

Kudos, Meg; I couldn't agree more!

http://megwood.wordpress.com/2009/05/26/movie-twilight-2008/

Just don't

Wittier people than I have written about the hell that is Facebook, its neediness, the stupidity of friending all and sundry, the banality.

All I want to know is: why do my friends - my real-life friends - have to mention me to EVERY DAMN FORMER ACQUAINTANCE? Now I have an ex (whom I've been avoiding) and a former ... he wasn't even an acquaintance! I drove him home once when he was drunk! ... wanting to be my friend.

Why don't people just FUCK OFF?

Another fine mess

Oh, Amazon, how you disappoint me. Did you really think people would just roll over and say nothing? Even the authors whose books you are physically affecting?

Amazon rank. A new phrase for fuck-uppery.

Hmm, so far I've only seen it (and read about it) on Amazon.com. I wonder if it affects .co.uk and the other world-wide sites?

Have your cake and eat it

I was doing a staredown with Mojo last night when I felt a gentle touch on my spoon, then a tug on my bowl - filled with heavenly, five-minute mug chocolate cake. I knew something was up.

When I turned back to my empty spoon, I said "bastard" as I spooned up another bite and MadCat almost snorted illicit chocolate cake through his nose.

Yeah, like I didn't know he was stealing my cake!

Incidentally: you cannot 'illicit' a response from someone, unlike 'elicit'. And this from a journalist! Words fail me.

You're not the boss of me

So I'm a bit late, but then I've never claimed to be the most punctual of beasts. Anyway, all the hoo-ha about Valentine's. I just don't get it. Teddies and choccies and cards and pink and mushiness ... why?

Hey, I got my share of V-day cards back in the day. And last year, it was pretty nice to celebrate it with MadCat, given that he's never received a V-day card before, or had anyone with whom to celebrate it. So it was a little milestone, and a little important. This year, though, we're both back to our normal feelings about the day.

Which, to sum it up, are: "Blech."

Personally, I think it's just that I don't like being told what to do. And the looks of horror when people asked what we were planning, and we both said "Not much," just made us even more determined not to do what society expects.

Hey, we both prefer staying in on weekends, and cooking heaps of comfort food, sitting at the dining room table instead of slouching in front of the TV (not that we have one), and spending time together. Stupid pink and hearts and crap mean nothing to us. Or rather, stupid pink and hearts mean trying to fit in with the rest of society. And that's just not us.

Of course, it helped that the stove and oven burned out, and that MadCat had to take the thing apart, and that the giant pork roast we had barely fit into the tiny oven in Ferret's cottage (one of the better buys I have ever made). And that we ate dinner somewhere around 10pm.

All in all, a typical day for us. Wouldn't have wanted it any different.

Slogging ain't so bad

First day back at work. Nothing special, apart from the malevolent spider that crawled out of my car's ceiling, and then scurried around on the rearview mirror tauntingly, while I turned the car round and raced back home. Of course, by the time I got there, spidey was gone. It seemed to stay hidden while I drove back to work, one eye on the mirror. Hopefully it's been sucked up during the first valet poor Envy has received in over three weeks.

As for work, what can I say? It was work. At least I got a lot more done than I expected. And I even left only 15 minutes late, for a change, instead of staying almost an hour later than I should.

Still in pain - the Norflex seems to work for about four hours, then it's time for another. I can't wait to get medical aid so I can get this sorted out! Stupid me. Wish it wouldn't take so long to make up my mind.

Ooh, the bread came out divinely! Yay for gluten-free, corn and cheese enriched, home-baked bread! Going to have to try this as a savoury muffin mix, methinks ...

Hopes raised and dashed

Thanks, Quantum Mechanix. How I would love to give MadCat an F-302 of his very own. What a beauty!

Pity about the price. This city would soon run out of street corners if I tried to make up that exorbitant amount.

Ah, well. Time to return to shots of Sheppard involved in space battles - no better place for an F-302!

The difference

Definitions from the Oxford English Dictionary

peek
- v. peep, glance
- n. a peek

peak
- n. a pointed top, esp. of a mountain; the projecting part of the edge of a cap; the point of highest value, intensity, etc.
- v. reach a highest point.
- adj. maximum. peaked adj.

In other words: use it correctly, people.

I’m making the stuffing as we speak

The damn goose at work attacked me! Can you believe it? No wonder I hate birds. Stupid bloody white goose …

As I was walking across the lawn to Security, this huge white bird lowered its head and came racing across the grass at me, honking like a fury. My god! And of course, there was a line of colleagues’ cars, so I couldn’t exactly run, could I? I mean, what about my reputation? What to do, what to do? Show no fear!

So I stood my ground, stamped my feet, dropped my voice an octave and GROWLED “Go away!” in my best I-eat-gravel-for-breakfast tone. And it worked!

Of course, the goose couldn’t run off in fear, either (we both have too much stiff-necked pride), so it just turned its head, raised its neck and trotted off across the grass as if that’s what it had meant to do all along.

My heart pounded along like a triphammer for several minutes after that, I can tell you. Those damn geese have sharp teeth! Ow. And this particular goose is known for stalking women …

When I first started here, it picked on two women in particular. It would wait outside their driver’s doors every afternoon, so they couldn’t get back into their cars, so that they had to climb in over the passenger seats. And if it was in a particularly bad mood, it would chase them around the cars.

I’m amazed it’s still alive … it won’t be for long, if it picks on me again!