Argh.

First, not only did I bang my head against the keyboard but I was strongly tempted to visit Fanny this weekend and yell at her in person. But, I shall talk a deep breath and refrain. For now. Or send annoyed text messages every other day.

Then, my new job is taking up almost all of my spare time. I am now the Assistant Editor of SomeJournal. Most of the other SJ folks are based in Europe. Europeans, so far, are cute and unconcerned about time. I rather like that since, in general, I prefer to think of time as fairly elastic too. But not right now. Now, I need to get a bunch of stuff off them and I've been waiting...and waiting....The publishers (not European and hence rather more concerned about time) are getting miffed. It depends on how much longer this will last since a new issue is due very soon and I can't do my part if the Europeans don't get their bums in gear.

Also, you know you've got it bad when you see the second picture (Mr. Mortensen on the red carpet during the SAG Awards 2008) and still think ohh....Aragorn (first pic) and then forget to do any work for the next few minutes while you wonder where your copy of the LOTR series is.

I (re)watched North and South over the weekend and thought: hmm...I wonder if they could get rid of that bloke from the final scenes since he just drags it down. Then I found this. Enjoy.

Spinster.

There is a cute boy who works in my building. And of course I say "boy" though he is likely in his thirties. This keeps me in the "girl" camp because oh my God I am not a woman yet. Or womyn. Or lady. Though I do like the phrase lady-bird. I don't know why. Perhaps because I see a bird in a very elaborate hat. And that makes me smile.

Anyway.

So this boy-man who works in my building. I do not think I've tipped the stalker-scale yet. We've noticed each other in the garage. We've exchanged "oh, the dollar bill feeder isn't working" pleasantries at the vending machines. We've tossed shy smiles back and forth.

And I am a total pussy.

Because I will not go any further than this. Will not lay myself open to vulnerabilities and rejection and, lord save us, possibilities. Gracious, no.

I can hear Bum hitting her head against the keyboard right now. Perhaps screaming at me in that way that makes her voice go up just a little with exasperation. All very charmingly accented.

Because I feel like my days of flirting without alcohol are past. And I will be the woman in her house with millions of dollars worth of art that articles are written about and journalists can't call just "woman" or "lady" or "that crazy old bat." No, the call her spinster.

Except I will be the spinster with millions of dollars worth of cosmetics and trashy novels.

That?

That right there?

That's called catastrophizing. Pro tour.

also spreading warmth (but of a different sort)

So, dear readers, the heat is out in my house and since it's an old house from the turn of the 20th C (around 1910 apparently) it's fucking freezing. As the world gets increasingly colder around me, I thought I would sit down and pen a few words of gratitude and spread warmth of the emotional sense while wondering if my toes will ever have feelings in them in the physical sense.

Not much to write about really. It's been a week of challenge (trying to deal with one kid who seems to think he's the intructor of my class instead of me), entertainment (confusion upon the subject of what constitutes "seeing" someone), loneliness (chatted with Mum and realised how lonely they will be when LilSis2 leaves the parental household in a week's time), gratitude (well, I"m not dead...yet) and, of course, a lot of shivering (see first paragraph).

Also (I may as well put this in public view), I almost bought myself a train ticket to visit Fanny* AGAIN during spring break since spring break coincides with my b'day and I really really want to be somewhere that's NOT my current city on my b'day. And, of course, like one of those Fate-y things that sort of call out in dour voices just when you're about to stare into the abyss or something, Amtrak is having a $35 sale to various cities. The only city which a) has a sale ticket and b) has someone I can persuade to go hang out and eat yummy foods with me is Fanny's city. And, sadly enough, I've been dreaming of Goodwill**, and a street which has very cool street stalls, and the absolutely marvellous foodstuffs that I ate when I visited her last.

I might still buy a ticket and come visit. Tix have to be bought by the 31st of this month to take advantage of Amtrak's sale so that gives Fanny 5 days to raise an objection. Just in case I give in to temptation, Fanny, do please keep the the weekend of 14-15 March or the weekend after*** free.

I plan to keep on spreading the warmth by inflicting myself upon my friends and taking advantage of their good nature...

* Keeping in mind that I did this already in early December and she was a bloody marvellous host, despite my waffling tendencies and indecisiveness over everything! I'd not have all those good memories of places and foods if she'd not taken me about.

** My city requires a planned day trip to visit any Goodwill store and even then the pickings are meagre.

*** Well, just Friday night since I'd catch the Sat train home.

Because I need this.

This has been an exhausting week. I'm going to chalk it up to coming down with a cold and leave it there.

My head is in a sappy kind of place. Where I want to have meaningful conversations with those I love and re-affirm relationships that matter and make sure people know how much they mean to me.

Obviously I am making myself vomit. A lot.

Not to mention this will probably make Bum squirm and refuse to speak to me until I get my head out of ass (arse?). Which will be soon.

The saving grace is that while I am in this ever so drippy frame of mind, I also have a drippy nose and scratchy voice and am blowing my nose every Goddamn minute. Therefore, I am not speaking to anyone very much right now. And so loved ones have been spared the "You know how much you mean to me, don't you? Why the beautiful components that comprise you fill me with joy and light and make me a better person in all ways? I want to shower you in rainbows and have unicorns follow you around, while chipmunks sing to you. In Italian."

Apparently I am also a little bit drunky-drunk when I'm sick and exhausted.

Perhaps it's the pseudeoephedrine.

Whatever it is, this makes me happy in my heart.



Happy weekend.

Oof.

I'm sick.

Again.

The good news: it's probably not the Strep C I had for a while (read: forever).

The bad news: there's not enough Sudafed in the world to get me through tomorrow.

sad

Newspapers (including the NYT's City Room blog), tabloid sites and bloggers are all commenting on it already: as of this afternoon, Heath Ledger's dead*.

I shall always remember his stint as the Irish prince in Roar. The prince, along with a band of helpers, tried to defeat evil Romans and lead the locals to freedom. The roar showed how we were all connected--animals, forest-dwellers, those that are different, and so on--it was "the power of life".

In my view, one of the better shows for those "I'd rather be sat at home, drinking hot chocolate and eating Tim Tams" weekends.** It's too bad he didn't have a show like that for himself.

Also, how will this affect The Dark Knight? I saw the previews in whch Mr. Ledger was the Joker and they were rather impressive. I hope he'd finished filming his bits before he topped himself off/accidentally died though they can do marvels with technology.


* Yes, yes, I'm well aware that loads of people, including young children, die every day due to preventable diseases and lack of health care (as I was told when I dared mention Mr. Ledger's death to my university colleagues earlier). That doesn't mean I can't talk about this one.

** It was also filmed in parts of the world I spent a lot of time in and the vegetation/scenery is fantastic.

Pum.

Apparently, I have worried Bum. Because of my ever so cryptic post last week. Excellent. I will strive to excel at the cryptic post. Everyone needs a talent, the more useless, the better.

I am in a different frame of mind, though not by much. It it so very cold and I think it would be a wonderful idea to take tomorrow off and snuggle down with a cup of hot chocolate and a bowl of cereal and watch inane movies all day long. Except real life intrudes, with huge, honking shoes and that's the way the cookie crumbles. Which is an interesting idea, in and of itself.

I hear tell people had today off. These people are spoiled and do not have their noses to the grindstone. Slackers, all. Which is not to minimize the accomplishments of Mr. King, Jr., except I am bitter and for the first time in a long time, had to work on his day.

I think if I really cultivated the bitterness, I could potentially be a very interesting person. The person people are a little afraid of, but kind of fascinated because of the utter spite that come out of his/her mouth. As it is, I think I am too lazy. Foiled again.

Curses.

whee!

I emerged from my self-imposed seclusion* today to go and watch the first match of the African Cup of Nations football tournament. It was thrilling stuff, Ghana vs Guinea.

In the course of 90 mins, I managed to:

1. Piss off 3/4 of the other spectators by loudly cheering on Ghana and swearing "like a sailor". One of the blokes told me it was "unfeminine". My response is probably not worth posting here.
2. Realised swearing at people on the telly is rather calming. Some of us go to yoga, some meditate, I watch sports.
3. Ah identities and gender issues--people thought I was either from Zimbabwe or South Africa since why else would a girl be watching football alone?
4. I have a date for the next match tomorrow**! Whee!!



* I've told myself I'll finish writing the draft of a chapter or else wither away in my bedroom a la Miss Havisham (but with pyjamas instead of a wedding dress)

** No, not one of my fellow spectators but a chap I met last weekend. I don't agree with going to sporting events to find blokes to date (Fanny will attest to my militant attitude on this)

Ms Singh's "Hot Men" Contest

To celebrate a new book in her Psy/Changeling series (which I've been following since it involves animals/people) , Nalini Singh has a contest in which she urges her readers to list "hot men" from novels (and TV/films). Details here.

When I read the first bit of Ms. Singh's contest guidelines, I reckoned I'd put up Lucas from her first book as the leading "hot bloke". Why? Because he was sensible (useful in a man), could figure out directions (ditto--I'm hopeless at directions), had no hesitation in telling the heroine he fancied her (no waffling about) and could change into an animal (always a huge plus, eh?)

But then there was the addendum. So my field of choices suddenly increased!

In addition to Lucas then here're a few other picks:

5. Sam Tyler and Gene Hunt (yes, together, please!) from the TV series Life on Mars
Why? Because they just work well together :) The series was fun and it was the combined "hotness" of these two that made it so. Sam, with his modern sensibilities and sensitivity; Gene, with his rather un-pc and yet endearingly straightforward view of life and the world around him. Put them together and you have one hot man. And they're coppers. Who doesn't have a thing for coppers?

4. Septimus (Mark Strong) from the film Stardust (among others): It's the hair and the eyes and the determination to get what he considered to be his, despite rather large odds. Nobody said "hot men" had to be all good, right? After all, heaps of novels and plays have told us that evil can be seductive and Septimus surely is.

3. David Tennant as Doctor Who. It's the glasses and the hyperactive behaviour and the lack of availability (though that's been a bit shot lately!). I always fancied a guy in glasses and if they come wearing ratty suits with sneakers and have a tendency to find adventure wherever they go, it'd be fantastic if they took me along as well. Being damaged helps, of course :)

2. Clive Owen (preferably in tights, as in Elizabeth: The Golden Age the Extras episode; or wisecracking as in Shoot 'em Up; or weary and cynical as in Children of Men...you get the idea). I don't think I need to explain why in this case but, if I do, I'd suggest watching any of his films. More than once, actually.

and, finally...

1. Capt. Mal (Nathan Fillion) from Firefly/Serenity and The Operative (Chiwetel Ejiofor) from Serenity. Again, a twosome--opposite and, yet, similar. Both were honourable, both are very fanciable and both are willing to do much for what they believe in. But, they are also not afraid to question their beliefs and respect each other (and the people around them) . As with no. 3, I reckon with these two, adventure would be a constant and, right now at the start of another semester of teaching and writing, I'd like an adventure!

Oh, and MtP is probably the first non-textbook I've pre-ordered. I'm feeling rather fangirlish about it all!

Heee.

Yeah. I'm pretty juvenile.

This is so very, very, very NSFW and for over 18 only.

Kee-rap.

(Which is how I say "crap" in my head, when it has been particularly kee-rappy.)

This has been a bad week. As in pretty awful. As in I want to hide away. Perhaps change the entire direction of my life. Perhaps become circus folk.

The things that have happened this week...I think I'm still trying to find my own reasoning. Trying not to feel like a failure, or rather that I've failed someone. Trying not to take on the actions of others as a reflection of me, trying not the let someone else's self-absorption morph into my own.

Hard, though.

I've had enough drama. And perhaps this means I've made the wrong choice. If I really don't want to deal with the drama of others, if I don't want to have to help clean up the mess left behind by intrapsychic pain (oh, yes, bitches. You heard me.), perhaps this was really the most self-destructive choice I could have taken.

And, honestly, how kick-ass would it be to be able to call one's self circus folk? I already have an act in mind.

So that's my big conclusion for this week. I think I will run away.

Except Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay comes out April 25.

definitely not cutting edge...

but oh so pretty.

I was flipping through channels right now and came across this show. I can't believe I've never watched it before--fanciable boys*, supernatural stuff, cheesy special effects.

Sample dialogue from today's eppy**:

Girl: You know, when this is over, we should go have angry sex
Pretty boy with yummy Southern accent: Don't objectify me!

Definitely up my alley.

I should actually be doing some writing tonight but, instead, will be searching the online world for earlier episodes of the series.


* Actually, just one--the older one, who seems to be in some sort of existential crisis and under a death sentence. I'm all about damaged blokes :)

** Which is apparently one of the weakest of the series (I've been faffing about online)

the things you find in Newsweek

Apologies, dear Reader(s) but this week has seen the start of a new semester and I've been busy teaching a new set of undergrads while wondering how on earth the Library could have "forgotten" about all the books and articles I had asked to put on reserve. In other words, Real Life has gotten in the way of entertaining yous. But, fear not, for I'm back.

I was skimming through Newsweek just now, trying to find an article for my class tomorrow when I ran across this:

"Move Over, ‘Meerkat Manor’ A nature writer suddenly finds himself at the heart of a hot plagiarism scandal." by Paul Tolme.

What's it about, yous ask? Well, here's Tolme:

"When I traveled to South Dakota in 2005 to write a story about black-footed ferrets, I never imagined my words about the little weasels would one day appear in a trashy romance novel. I just wanted to write an informative and entertaining piece about these endangered prairie carnivores.

Three years later my story ("Toughing It Out in the Badlands") is at the center of 2008's sexiest plagiarism scandal."

He goes on..."To see my textbook descriptions of ferrets in a bodice-ripper, as dialogue between a hunky American Indian and a lustful pioneer woman who several pages later have sex on a mossy riverbank, is the height of absurdity."

Apparently a famous romance novelist plagiarised the works of others, including Mr. Tolme.

Mr. Tolme's full story is here. He's actually a rather amusing writer (despite his tendency to characterise romance novels as trashy rubbish, a characterisation not helped by that particular book's cover)

Languid-handed vampires ahoy!

Went over to Border's to pick up the book Fanny talked about earlier. Ended up buying this and this instead.

Just finished reading the first one (see pic). Plenty of vampires and a rather unbelievable tale of how two people who love each other keep their hands off each other for over 600 years. I don't want much in my vampire books but, really? That's taking abstinence much too far.

ETA: Since I was half-asleep when I wrote this, I forgot to add this book comes very close to violating one of my taboos in life. Most things, I'm fine with--I figure if some of us fancy diaper-wearing and weeing on each other while performing tantric sex, then good on them. But, Evermore has one of the few things that make me icked out. Or could have, if the author hadn't magicked it away towards the end.
I want Fanny to read this to see what she reckons.

Gutter

Is it bad that I chuckled at this? (Fanny would say it's probably a sign of my lack of social interactions in general)

Presenter:

25% come fairly regularly. They need little effort to make them come.

50% come more than once. They need some help, some assistance but they come more than once.

And the other 25% never come at all. And I mean never. No matter how much you coax them or give then incentives. I often want to ask them how they feel about this but I don't want to put them on the spot. There must be some serious reason why they can't come and I think they need some help there. I'm sure they want to come but they just don't seem able to.

In case yous are wondering where I was, it was a conference on increasing attendance.

Muh.

I am very disturbed by this book:

I like this author, I like her other books in the series. This one...I don't know.

Applause on one hand for going somewhere unexpected, especially for this genre and sub-genre. And there are aspects I like. I love the fairy-tale-artifact aspect. It's obviously that archaeologist in me screaming to come out and play.

But...the more I think about it (and I suppose that's some measure of success, that I'm still thinking about a paranormal the next day), the more I feel just a little bit cheated and manipulated and at the mercy of editing decisions that impacted/impeded the narrative. Shoved the narrative down unearned paths.

I have opinions. I want others.

And I especially feel Bum should read this so we can disagree. No languid-handed vampires, though. I'm not sure if she can get past that disappointment.

Outed.

I have been outed as a Hello Kitty fan(atic) at work. I'm not sure how this is going to affect my professional development and the supervisory experience. It can't be good.

The very young daughter of someone I work closely with calls Hello Kitty "Hi Pussy." I fear I am going to have a new nickname very soon.

I take comfort in the fact that there are those much, much, much more fanatical than I.

uh

I'd vote for manscaping. After all, that's almost a public service so we should all vote for it.

BBC headline "Australians vote on word of 2007".

Other choices include:

Password fatigue: Frustration caused by having too many passwords and failing to remember them

Manscaping: Male grooming procedures involving the removal of body hair

Tanorexia: An obsessive desire to have tanned skin

Credit card tart: Someone who transfers loans to a new card when the interest-free period of the first card expires
Salad dodger: an overweight person
Microgrom: a surfer under the age of 10

Full story here.

Remember the American word of the year was the very exciting "subprime".

buh! (aka "the most wonderful place in the world")

For the past 2 weeks or so, I have been mostly alone. Not in the “I am an island, let me float” sort of way but in the “everyone at university is on vacation. I have no one to talk to” sort of way. Yesterday, this changed as I went to an event where there were (gasp!) more than 12 people. It was an evening spent playing scrabble in a pub. I knew the organiser and a few other people but I didn't know the people I was sat next to.

It was therefore rather disconcerting to be on the end of a rather tough Q&A session from the person who was sat next to me. I was asked what I did, why I did what I did, why I was not interested in the political primary (because I don't vote and was waiting for the Daily Show to tell me all about it later), what the US rules for choosing a President are (umm...thanks), what are the rules in my country and a long, insistent (and repeated) question about what my favourite place in the world is (and why).

This last question turned into a long harangue about how I was not passionate and was “very reserved” because I answered that there wasn't anywhere that I'd been that I'd not liked. Well, there hasn't been. Person told me I “should have feelings one way or another”. I kept saying, “well, saying I like most places is a feeling”. Then, I was asked “so why are you here then? In the United States?” Fair enough but I hadn't actually expected to be grilled on my reasons for being in the United States when all I had in mind was a few drinks, scrabble and listening to people's stories about what they were up to. I was (thankfully) rescued when one of the people I knew showed up (I may have almost fallen on their neck and wept with joy in reaction )

My question is: When did we decide that “oh, it's all right” as a response to a question was not enough and, instead, one has to write poems praising (with passion!) or detesting places (and things). Just saying, “oh, it's okay” or “not too bad” seems inadequate and feelings are asked for. As a frequent "barfly" (as Fanny calls it), I like listening to people's tales about what they've done and where they've been but only if they are keen on chatting. And, if they say "oh, I like it here", I think "well, of course" and move on. It's also a reciprocal exchange, not a grilling.

At the pub I usually go to watch football, most of the patrons are from overseas. We mostly ignore each other (except when cursing various teams or criticising the ref), we grunt and nod if we catch each other's eyes and we watch the matches. There's a lot of cursing and yelling but no Q&A session or questions about why we are in the USA. It's the perfect social activity for me, I reckon. (I answered, "why not?" in case yous are interested )

Am not a Republican.

I am really, really, really not a Republican.

However:

He was kind of a hot bitch.

Puh.

Can we slow it down just a little? Turn the lights down low? Maybe a little wine, baby? Let's get closer to that fire.


I live in this lovely complex with lovely (-ish) buildings and lovely landscaping and even lovely staff. And some people leave their blinds open and are all out there with weird, twisty candles and ugly couches, and questionable running shoes lying in the middle of the living room. These are interesting people. They have stories to tell about where they are running, who they are lighting those candles for and why that couch? Why that hideous Navajo blanket draped across the back? I am interested in these people.


Even more intriguing are those that leave the blinds just a half-way closed. Where there's a blurry image of what's going on behind there. And what's going on is marvelously interesting and exciting and mysterious and just a little bit dangerous. But it's all amorphous shapes and the tantalizing draw of the unknown. These are the people I am even more interested in.

But I suppose...to get these questions, my wonderings appeased, I would need to actually know these people. And the stories in my head will not be the stories that they tell. And I'm not sure I'm ready to give up the sometimes belief that that hideous Navajo blanket is actually a magic tapestry leading to enchanted worlds where unicorns and dragons frolic, instead of a gift from Aunt Paula when she went on the Senior Citizen road trip out West. And they would learn that I'm not running a sweatshop with tiny immigrant children, churning out imitation Rolex.

I don't think I'm ready to do that.

Fuh.

Right now, on, lo, this day, the eighth of January, at 10:17pm, Eastern time, it is 63 degrees. Fahrenheit (though if it were 63 degree centigrade (145.4 degrees F), this would be an entirely different post, what with the earth burning to a crisp [or approximate burning to a crisp. Though Bum will tell me there are places on earth where 200 degrees F is normal]. I don't think writing a post would be first priority. Though I am remarkably self-involved).

I think the downward spiral of Britney Spears is somehow responsible for this.

Or is it the Scientologists?

Perhaps it is best if we just leave this speculation to the experts.

(double) huh

A book recommendation for yous, just in time for a new week of reading in those shiny, happy cubicles.

As the io9 writer(s?) puts it, "[the Feminists] is the story of cubicle drone Keith Montalvo, who has been caught consensually slipping the pink torpedo to a female co-worker. Unfortunately, it's 1992 and the Big-Sisterish "Committee" has outlawed all unauthorized heterosex, and his crime is punishable by death. Keith flees underground, literally and figuratively, where he meets Angela, a boot-wearing resistance fighter hottie. Luckily for Keith, while women on the outside reject all males, Angela and other female members of the Subterraneans resistance movement are "attached to the men with arm-clinging closeness." Soon he and Angela are working (arm-in-arm, of course) to assassinate the President, and reclaim gender supremacy for men."

Why, Angela, why? Was the shagging worth it? I wonder if the book answers that (off to Amazon to check)

Thanks to io9 for the link.

Guh.

Am interviewing candidates for my post next year. They're all shiny and new and very concerned about making the right impression and have thought out every answer possible to every question there is and their suits are all dark and nary a blue eye-shadow to be seen.

We ask the question "What is your favorite movie and why." We are very fond of the "...and why." Inordinately. And we've gotten the stock answers: Citizen Kane, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Traffic, blah, blah blah blah.

Just once I want them to say Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle for the subtle commentary on racial politics, impressions and identity.

Or the BBC Pride and Prejudice because Colin Firth was young and yummy and when he approached Elizabeth, he was instructed to imagine he had an enormous erection.

This blog is devolving into something interesting.

Wuh?

According to the powers that be, this is me. It's surprisingly accurate (I reckon)

5 - the Observer Thanks for taking the test !

you chose BZ - your Enneagram type is FIVE (aka "The Thinker"). "I need to understand the world" Observers have a need for knowledge and are introverted, curious, analytical, and insightful. How to Get Along with Me Be independent, not clingy. Speak in a straightforward and brief manner. I need time alone to process my feelings and thoughts. Remember that If I seem aloof, distant, or arrogant, it may be that I am feeling uncomfortable. Make me feel welcome, but not too intensely, or I might doubt your sincerity. If I become irritated when I have to repeat things, it may be because it was such an effort to get my thoughts out in the first place. don't come on like a bulldozer. Help me to avoid my pet peeves: big parties, other people's loud music, overdone emotions, and intrusions on my privacy. What I Like About Being a FIVE standing back and viewing life objectively coming to a thorough understanding; perceiving causes and effects my sense of integrity: doing what I think is right and not being influenced by social pressure not being caught up in material possessions and status being calm in a crisis What's Hard About Being a FIVE being slow to put my knowledge and insights out in the world feeling bad when I act defensive or like a know-it-all being pressured to be with people when I don't want to be watching others with better social skills, but less intelligence or technical skill, do better professionally

uh-huh

Today, I went and saw Sweeney Todd*. I actually arrived there in time for the previews. These included a a horror film, two films about war and conspiracy, and two musicals. The last one--Mamma Mia--concerned me a bit since it starred Colin Firth, who'd morphed from A) to B) without my being aware of it. Nothing wrong with B) except I can't quite imagine having fantasies about that chap (and also he reminds me a bit much of various blokes who used to hang about the beaches around where I grew up)

I checked IMDB who told me Pride and Prejudice came out in 1995. No wonder Mr Firth's looking a bit more settled.

Please excuse me while I go off to have an existential crisis.


* For the 2nd time. It's not that good (I think Alan Rickman would have made a better Todd and someone else should have played H B-C's role) but it's still better than a lot of films out there right now.

Huh.

And yet Bum did not know who this is:

And yet, I did.

I think this reflects more poorly on me.

Duh.

Dear reader(s), I'm sure you are wondering who Fanny and I are, what we get up to when we are not sat in front of our computers wracking (is that the right spelling?) our brains to tell you about things going on in our world.

Well, this picture will tell yous all you need to know about me (and my interests): Fernando Torres (football player for Liverpool and Spain). On his left arm, you can see a tattoo of his name in the Tengwar script*. I enjoy all 3: footy, Frodo and co., fanciable lads (in shorts!)

That's Friday's frivolous blog post for y'all--enjoy the weekend!

* I read about this somewhere--I should confess I don't actually read LOTR's made up languages. Really I don't.

Uh.

I have a confession.

When I saw this, I did a choking kind of "harumph-y" kind of guttural kind of laugh. I mean, really, what the hell? Is this suppose to be empowering and a testament to her no-nonsense, balls (excuse ) to the wall gutsiness? Or is this another attempt by those intimidated by her power and sense of courage to forge new paths and actually be successful at it to make her into an object of ridicule and ridiculousness?

Hee heee or ewww? I suspect ewww. And I'm a little embarrassed for linking to it.

And ever so sorry for devolving into politics. Smack my hand and call me naughty.

Must go stick my head back in the sand.

Fact

So, I was sat in the theatre here yesterday waiting for Monty Python's Life of Brian to come on. The seat next to me was empty. The lights dimmed, famous people came on the screen to talk about why small, independent theatres (like the one I was in) were important to the fabric of American life and I was bored.
Then...I heard a swish. Someone sat next to me. I heard some rustling and a piece of paper was pushed into my hand and a man's voice said, "it's cerulean ducks and a red lawn. Tell Fanny she's next". Before I could look around and give the paper back to whomever it was, the person had left. I caught a glimpse of a long cloak and I think he was wearing a dark beret but I have to admit I was more curious about what the paper said.

Written in large, beige letters were these words:*

"Welcome to my not-so-secret lair behind the cinema
I hope you will enjoy your stay
(no, I'm not the Phantom of the Opera)
I have sent my assistant Scarface to Fanny
His appearance is quite horrifying
But I can assure you he is harmless enough
He just looks like a big tough
(but I hope she likes that sort)
He flies around on a dragon
(he has no imagination--he calls it Eragon)

I'm definitely quite into you
I don't think I'm too smart for you
(I'm not sure though--what is 1000/7.65*2?)
Perhaps you want to discuss Nietzsche or Kant?
(and please don't say you can't)
Since I am holding off on the killing you bit (for now)
I'll wait and see what you will do
and, may I say it again? I'm rather keen on you

Picture the two of us alone inside a small library room
Perhaps there won't be enough space
Perhaps you'll say "but this isn't a good place"
And then I'll show you my koala-kiwi that I made to please you
I hope it will make you happy
I know you like kiwis (but koalas make you unhappy?)

So, yes, I'm very into you
Even though I can be rather odd
(no, I'm not one of the Ood)
It's not easy living behind the cinema
But you can watch films all day
you can see me play
and I'll share my plans for world domination with you
And, for now, I think you'll do
Because, really, I reckon I'm into you."

That was it. I watched the film and left the theatre. On my way to the Metro, I heard the voice again: "Send the duck back with your reply. I shall await it Friday".

Dear reader(s), so what do I do now? My heart is palpitating. I am trembling and excited and scared all at once. And, most importantly, is there a loo behind the cinema?



* Apologies and thanks to Mr. Coulton. You can watch the actual song here.

Fiction.

I feel I should make up a story of romance and adventure, seduction and sorrow for my New Year's Eve to add some interest to this blog. For instance, I could say that as I was browsing the champagne selection at the local booze hut, a stranger, in a stocking cap and a slashing scar across his eyebrow, approached me. He had a gravelly whisper and eyes that peered into my very soul. He murmured, too low for the clerk picking his fingernails with a switchblade to hear, "Tonight is the night. The red duck scampers across the cerulean lawn."

And with that, he touched my face and decamped swiftly. I was left changed, knowing this coming year would, indeed, be the time the red duck scampers....

Except what really happened (because I couldn't get myself together enough to figure out what I wanted to do)? I had a yummy dinner with the family, got a truly upsetting email, spent oodles of time on the phone discussing said email, harassed my mother and sister until midnight, then harassed the rest of the family (including the animals) while drinking scuppernong wine (no one finishes the champagne in our family before the fizzies go, and we don't cook with it). Then went to bed.

It's like Bum and I are old ladies. And not terribly interesting old ladies at that.

Or accountants in Afghanistan.

When I said "nothing", I don't think it was meant literally

Yesterday: Start of a New Year (or, as people call it, "NYE")

My activities: Starting at 6pm, I had dinner with my landladies (76-year old and 54-year old), 3 dogs and a housemate.
At 8pm, we opened up a bottle of champagne and toasted the New Year. Landladies told us that they weren't planning on staying up till midnight to do so and that "it must be midnight somewhere"*. After this, like most young people, my roommate headed out to party.

Me? I headed upstairs to my room, (re)watched the entire series of North&South, posted here (see yesterday's post) and went to sleep.

If that doesn't qualify as doing nothing then I don't know what does.

I should also remind Fanny that she's not an Accountant in Afghanistan (despite what her profile says). Though if any of yous are looking for Afghani accountants**, I'm sure we can play the part for you.



* And to think Mr. Buffett made a very similar point but probably with different intentions.

** Blogger appears to think that, since neither of us provided full details of where we allegedly are (I have updated mine) on our profiles, we were both Afghani accountants.

Ta-da!

BumWit said what shall we write about (except not shall, because, really, who says shall nowadays? The same people who say tomfoolery. Namely to say, me.)? I have no clue what we shall write about, except I am writing about it and it is nothing.

But not the Great Nothing of the Neverending Story fame. I have no large flying luck-dragon, though I probably could use one. (When I look at the above sentence, I process "fuck-dragon," which is an entirely different kind of dragon, indeed).

I just want to write with BumWit because it will amuse me terribly and with any luck (!), cause me to stretch my brain capacity just a little more than it's currently being stretched. Except stretching makes me sleepy. And that makes me think it's time for a nap. Glorious, glorious sleep.

I instinctively distrust those who do not dream at night. They obviously have no souls.

Willkommen

So, why am I here? I don't know if you mean here in the literal sense (on my bed, late night/early morning) or here in the metaphysical sense (of which I know or care little) or here in the "why this blog now?" sense?

Well, I'll answer the last one: Fanny and I decided, in a time and place that is sure to go down in history as being the site that created much wit and wonder, that, in addition to writing sentences without end (me) and rather amusing sentences (her), we were both fairly bored at odd points in time and so we should do what most of the world (or those with regular access to the Interwebs) do: blog. Also, it might be best to blog for the same blog since, that way, there would be more chance of one of us regularly writing. Fanny has touching faith in my ability to help us stretch our "brain capacity". I would say (and I'm sure you will agree--just keep reading regularly) that we are more likely to (most likely) annoy and frustrate you, (maybe) amuse you and (perhaps) tell you deep, dark secrets about ourselves which I'm sure you all want to know. We shall also, on a regular basis, provide you with much-needed information without which you will be unable to function.

So, the point is to read this and read regularly as well shall be writing about that essential part of human lives: nothing. I've never read/seen the Neverending story so my nothing is more like the sort about which much ado is made of. We shall endeavour to write entire monologues on nothingness (but not on being) or on any and all things that strike our fancy (not fanny, thank you. Such things should remain (mostly) private).

Also, as I do not recall my dreams, does that mean I have no soul or just that I have the attention span of a gnat? And, has anyone actually tested gnats to see whether these insects really do have minimal attention spans or are gnats actually co-existing in a parallel universe where they have the (alleged) attention span and memory-retention capacity of an elephant? Are we to be gnattist here?

On that note, farewell from me (for now). Happy 2008, dear reader.