30 July 2006
Its neither cuddly nor wuddly.
Is the ad showing in the US too?* And whats your favourite?
*OK, so courtesy of You Tube I have just worked out that yes, this advert is pretty well known. The only difference is that here in the UK Binky has a squeaky, timid little voice and 'his' (?) line goes: "It just made me pee my pants".
28 July 2006
It was suddenly pointed out that if Barbie were a real woman she would be something like six foot tall with a 48" bust and 18" waist.
Obviously the world is now peppered with women sporting silicon breasts, inflated lips (like someone just peeled them off a window somewhere), slightly overtight face lifts for that permanent plastic-injection-surprise look and the essential bottle blonde hair extensions. The harbingers of doom were bang on the money with their predictions this time.
Still, I doubt the Pamela Anderson types want me to feel sorry for them or indeed to have any opinion at all on what is a public display of 'private' emotions.
What really worries me is the current incarnation of Barbie - not the doll, but the computer graphics version in the many videos and DVDs seemingly swamping the market and also taking over the satellite movie channels.
Have you seen even an advert for Fairytopia or Swan Lake or the like? Here's the latest one, 'The 12 Dancing Princesses'. Look at Barbie's arms, compared to those of other female figures in the same picture.
In order to escape the image of a huge breasted bimbo, yet keep as much of the proportion as possible, Barbie's mammaries have slimmed down but so, it seems, has the rest of her. Callista Flockhart and Terri Hatcher have nothing on this pixellated princess, who seems like the pro-ana goddess for the under fives.
Its all horribly, terribly wrong; just watch and wait.
Oh and if you're of a mind you could also complain and/or pray. Hard.
26 July 2006
Its a huge storm, about 12 miles out to sea and each explosion of power is dancing across the heavens, painting a giant, beautiful lattice of blue-white light that sears the rest of the night sky into a brief scream of violet, before earthing from multiple points.
They are coming at a rate of roughly one every twenty seconds, these forks and streaks and prongs and sheets, this lace work and metal work, this joy.
So I'm sitting watching that and thinking I must blog about it, and it brings to mind all the other things that have happened in the past two months, all those never-to-be-repeated thoughts, moments, sights, ideals, decisions, wrongs, slips, affections.
Its not that they werent moving, I mean if I was a car you could say they definitely turned my ignition. I am not become zombie.
I just have to work out now (still playing car) if its my sparks, tappits or the battery that needs sorting out, because hey I feel that urge to share with you all - to write, to create, or to answer and support (because I still read yout posts on your own blogs), its just that before I can get to the keyboard the impetus is gone, petered out.
My best intentions are so, so leaky; all the oomph trickles out before they generate action. the ideas are sound, its the excecution that fails me.
I feel so stupid.
People I used to love to talk to now do my head in, because they are at 'my speed' and I am not, they bounce and sparkle and I can't keep up. They might as well be Gerald McBoing Boing and I might as well have a bad hangover.
But they're not hyper at all. They're the ones at normal speed.
So me and my psyche, we're just going to toddle back indoors, find our mental slippers, maybe play a few games of solitaire (or maybe not as that sounds too much like thinking), do our best impression of grumpy old men recuperating as slowly as possible and,... and well we'll come back out when we damn well fancy the idea, or theres something nice for tea, bacause thats the way it goes with old grumps, you just never can tell.
Off to bed now to lie in the dark and really experience this storm. I just hope it brings rain because dry lightning is scary and way less predictable.
23 July 2006
- Requirements :: needs and desires
- Pizza :: face
- Dating :: game
- Issue :: forth
- Sharp :: retort
- Distinguish :: set apart, elevate
- Remote :: viewing
- Felony :: I don't know what that is in English, sorry. Just Crime? then: Wilful
- Exercise :: a right
- Choose :: between consequences - is that really a choice?
20 July 2006
13 July 2006
I hope so, it would explain so much.
Back up to the hospital - wish me luck.
P.S. In case you are going to worry yourselves stupid, its only the stuff under nervous, skin and hypersensitive, here. Oh yeah, and going moody and lethargic and stupid and forgetful.
Sheesh, hives on the fingers are a real bitch - itch to the bone, but a swollen throat is scary. Off to share the scared around!
Ah, back before I was missed, I see.
Doctor is determined its much more likely to be an allergic reaction to aspirin, which is inconvenient as, of all the drugs, that's the one that was 100% definitely going to be on the menu for the rest of my life.
Still, apparently, the swollen throat is real but more likely a regular sore throat.
Yes I had water retention in my face this morning - puffy cheeks and froggy lips (think female Gremlin), but as I wasn't wheezing, it doesn't count.
The drowsiness, vagueness and sensation of being not up to speed is, I am told, likely to do with the antihistamines for the hives; never mind that I felt like shit before I started taking those.
So I have a prescription for a new antihistamine, instructions to stay out of the sun (fine, I'll just borrow a burka so I can keep to the post op exercise, yes?) and on top of the low fat diet I have a low salicylic acid diet - no tartrazine, virtually no fruits. I can have salad, but not cucumber and tomato. Top of the short list of the (four) allowed fruits, is lemon.
Fine, I'll just go suck one of them, then.
09 July 2006
I live with my brother Jerry and have to admit that yes, we were named after a brand of ice cream, but he lives up to the name for both of us, the tub of lard that he is. You want (correction, don't want) to see him with half a fig roll or a garibaldi biscuit; he is avarice personified.
For myself, well, not to be boastful, I do seem to live up to another sort of namesake, specifically Ben the super genius leader of the rats .
So, just to finish the introductions, here I am:
but I'm just going to have a spot of tea, if you don't mind
before getting back to the job at hand.
Have a nice weekend.
06 July 2006
The following is snaffled from another blogger (Wulfweard). Its doing the rounds, and so it should.
Laura Schlessinger is a US radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that as an observant Orthodox Jew homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22 and cannot be condoned in any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by a US resident, which was posted on the Internet
Dear Dr. Laura:
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the specific laws and how to follow them.
a) When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odour for the Lord (Lev. 1:9). The problem is my neighbours. They claim the odour is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
b) I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
c) I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev. 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offence.
d) Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighbouring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?
e) I have a neighbour who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?
f) A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination (Lev. 11:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?
g) Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?
h) Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev.19:27. How should they die?
i) I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
j) My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev.24:10-16) Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging. Your devoted disciple and adoring fan.
05 July 2006
If you missed it, here's the link, with a lot of the information.
The detail which I found most fascinating (and which is not mentioned on the page linked above) was to do with why it is dangerous to wake a sleepwalker. I always assumed the danger was to the walker, when it is apparently to the person that is interfering, who is likely to get thumped, or worse.
See, rather embarrassingly I can understand this and relate to it on a personal level as well as an academic one. Husband knows well enough never to wake me suddenly and more never to wake me at all by standing by the bed and leaning over me. In that split second that I go from the secure, accepted reality of the dreamsleep to instead the 'real' world where my eyes are fighting what light there is, all is blurry and a strange, silhouetted male figure is stooping over me; well, there's simply not enough time to get sensible about where I really am and what the real situation is, before my animal/gut instincts have reacted to a perceived threat and smacked him in the face or pushed him backward across the room.
Its one thing to say theres not enough time, but the rage hangs around. After that I will be 'wide awake' in a fight or flight sense, even if my brain isn't working properly - panting, hot, stressed, hyperalert, aggressive, furious, shocked, defensive - if Husband were the indignant type or otherwise daft enough to keep hold or get in closer instead of backing off, then its completely likely that I would keep on flipping out at him without taking pause to assess the situation. As it is, when he's put me through that shock but backed right off, my second reaction is still to express more of my exasperation by following him to get in another shove. Its not even like a second reaction, more that I am up and running, defending/attacking furiously and at full pelt.
Its not me, honestly, its all base reactions, and as I properly 'wake' it is like reclaiming control from some animal. I could still be arguing loudly about how that is NOT the way to wake me, yet even if the stream of consciousness feels apparently uninterrupted; husband will still have to calmly tell me one or two of the things that I said or did, because I don't remember.
Its a good job husband is such a nice guy. Its a good job I've mastered denial.
I used to be a sleepwalker.
As a child I terrified my mother, walking down spiral stairwells and trying to get out of the front door, still dreaming yet generally attempting things that a five year old would never dare, in her waking hours.
Later I could still scare her silly because even when I wasn't sleepwalking anymore I was still often fast asleep with one or both eyes wide open, making her frequently wonder if I was dead.
Last to go (and it never truly went) was, more than sleep-talking, sleep-conversing.
I answer people.
Sometimes we have matching issues (say, concern over the time and my need to not be late) so the exchange will appear to them to make perfect sense, even though I am sound asleep the whole time and don't remember a word of it. Sometimes, I am told, my replies make sense as sentences, but that is all. For example, if Husband was to say "Good morning" I might, if dreaming, reply "No I can't because its snowing."
These days, instead of leaving me to keep dreaming until the time means he has to wake me and has to stand over me, he will start gently bugging me there and then, from beside me, from a position that cannot be confused with attack.
I have to wonder, if I was still a sleepwalker and, say, at the edge of a flight of stairs so he had to wake me and hang on for my own safety; would he still be alive? Or would my inner animal have pushed him down the stairs in indignation, and then stormed off to the kitchen for a couple of knives to finish the job (on account of how this bastardarseholesoneofawanker broke my concentration (dream) and that is unforgiveable)?
After watching that programme I genuinely do not know.
04 July 2006
Theres not much text to the whole thing, in the first place, and Bart has found the most beautiful pictures, as usual, to reinforce the words.
Why take the message out of that setting, and effectively dehydrate it, to put it here?
That would be silly.
Still in the spirit of theft (or of open sharing or whatever you call it, depending on your opinion of blogs and bloggers), HERE is my post for the day.
03 July 2006
I followed a link from Jo's to the third version of the candybar doll maker, which has so many options that it really is a case of being thoroughly spoilt for choice.
I do have a problem which I am reminded of by this game; at least its a problem only when its not a positive asset, it just doesn't seem cut out for being of no relevance whatsoever. Not your fence-sitting kind of trait.
Unlike many who never have to think about these things but just seem to get on with getting on, I don't appear to know who I am.
I tried, and all of the following are me (coming as they do from my own imagination), yet I am none of the following. Friends, meet Dinky, Kinky and Wonky. Try not to get too attached or feed them or anything.
So, can you do any better? And if you already know who you are, would you want to do one for me?
01 July 2006
She woke to a beautiful sunny morning.
For a brief moment she felt that life had been good to her, that over all, when you took the long term view, life had indeed been quite happy ever after. The instant when you wake, she knew, was the most important one of the day, being steeped in more certainty and clarity than any other time for the rest of the twenty four hours. In that moment, feeling was knowing, and knowing spread from your head to your toes. When old story tellers speak of knowing something with every fibre of their being, they mean the certainty that you can only ever wake with. They tend not to mention that you can wake with the opposite certainty the very next day.
Perfecting the moment, Sleeping Beauty's dreamy, contented eyes focussed of the look of adoration written across the face of her Prince Charming, who was stooped to waken her and was mumbling soft, silky welcomes to the day.
PC: You overslept, love
SB: Ooooh lovely, I havent done that in weeks. I must finally be catching up on my sleep.
PC: I woke two hours ago and I've been all on my own
SB: So you thought you'd wake me up to keep you company?
PC Lay himself on the bed beside her and gently kissed her forehead, taking care, unlike the day before, to avoid touching her absessed cheek. Her unspoken releif was matched by a look of absolute pride, from him.
SB: It feels bigger today. How bad does it look?
PC: You look lovely
SB: Come off it you fibber, how bad is it, I know I look lopsided
PC: Honestly, you look gorgeous
SB: Oh for heaven's sake theres no honesty about it. Why can't you just tell me the truth? Why can't I ever trust you to give me an honest, straight answer?
PC: Oh but darling you always look beautiful to me, I can't help it.
SB: And you always get right up my nose by being untrustworthy and unreliable, I mean if I havent got a partner who will tell me the truth, where will I go? And where do you get off waking me up from my first deep sleep for weeks, for no reason except that you can't function on your own? I can't trust you and that pisses me off and I can't help that, either.
PC looks all crestfallen and confused, like a faithful labrador who wagged his tail at the wrong time. Sleeping Beauty, meanwhile, realises yet again that she is too weak, that she hasnt the heart or the nerve to break the bonds that tie her to this stupid, selfish, cloyingly dependant man. Life with noone at all would be far too scary, far too much like the old days when she explored the castle all alone, so she lives day by day, smiling at the crowds, standing loyally beside her effusively happy, puppy-dog husband who will never, her whole life through, give her one straight answer. The man who will (and has already) let her meet dignitaries with her flies undone, or smile and wave for an hour long motorcade, with a huge piece of spinach stuck to a front tooth, because he believes, no matter how much she rants or weeps or pleads to the contrary, that a lady should always be given a flattering answer.
A devotee, for sure, but no partner.
Happy ever after, in Hell.