March 2008 Archives
In the mornings, I have the radio on. (Also afternoons, and sometimes evenings, but that's not my major focus here.) I'm terribly middle-class and left-wing so I have Radio 4 on pretty much all the time. Not for me, witless jibberings betweens songs, nor DJs who require a retinue of sycophants so they can get out of bed in the morning. Chris Moyles? Who said that?
No, I listen to the Today programme in the mornings, and a mix of drama, comedy, news and random documentaries the rest of the time.
The other morning, I was listening while half asleep, to the dulcet tones of John Humphreys (I think) as he described the forthcoming speech that Gordon Brown was going to be giving at the Scottish Labour Party conference later that day. One of the speech's points was that the SNP-led Government isn't doing anything for vulnerable groups; only Labour is the true way. This must be referring to a fancy-dan version of vulnerable; the Government have recently brought in a bill that's leading to free personal care for all elderly people in Scotland, in their own homes where possible. They've also guaranteed funding for Rape Crisis Scotland, facilitating the setting up of a national, 24-hour helpline. If the elderly and women and children affected by sexual violence aren't vulnerable, who is?
This morning, they were discussing the US Democratic primaries, and that certain men seem to be lining up to tell Clinton to bow out. Including Justin Webb, the BBC's US politics correspondent. If the name rings a bell, it's because I've mentioned him before. He agrees that Clinton should bow out, and said as much. Right after saying that she and Obama are neck-and neck in the race. I guess women really do have to do better than men to be considered the same.
Well, I have an eye-wateringly early start to look forward to, so really should go to bed. I'm so exhausted, I keep forgetting that my telephone interview went OK, I got an email earlier to say I've been successfully short-listed for the next step. Probably a face-to-face interview. At least being so worn out will mean that, at the interview, I'll come across as a mindless automaton far better, thereby giving me a better chance of getting the job...
No, I listen to the Today programme in the mornings, and a mix of drama, comedy, news and random documentaries the rest of the time.
The other morning, I was listening while half asleep, to the dulcet tones of John Humphreys (I think) as he described the forthcoming speech that Gordon Brown was going to be giving at the Scottish Labour Party conference later that day. One of the speech's points was that the SNP-led Government isn't doing anything for vulnerable groups; only Labour is the true way. This must be referring to a fancy-dan version of vulnerable; the Government have recently brought in a bill that's leading to free personal care for all elderly people in Scotland, in their own homes where possible. They've also guaranteed funding for Rape Crisis Scotland, facilitating the setting up of a national, 24-hour helpline. If the elderly and women and children affected by sexual violence aren't vulnerable, who is?
This morning, they were discussing the US Democratic primaries, and that certain men seem to be lining up to tell Clinton to bow out. Including Justin Webb, the BBC's US politics correspondent. If the name rings a bell, it's because I've mentioned him before. He agrees that Clinton should bow out, and said as much. Right after saying that she and Obama are neck-and neck in the race. I guess women really do have to do better than men to be considered the same.
Well, I have an eye-wateringly early start to look forward to, so really should go to bed. I'm so exhausted, I keep forgetting that my telephone interview went OK, I got an email earlier to say I've been successfully short-listed for the next step. Probably a face-to-face interview. At least being so worn out will mean that, at the interview, I'll come across as a mindless automaton far better, thereby giving me a better chance of getting the job...
It's only taken all day, but I've recovered from last night. There was a fair bit of red wine, a Jack and lemonade and something off the cocktail list called a Cola Bottle, which tasted exactly like the sweeties... Anyway, when we got into town, Lesley and I went to Rufus T. Firefly's. At the bar, getting the Jacks, I bumped into a guy accidentally, and apologised. Quite frankly, I could've broken his toe and he wouldn't have much minded, he was to busy checking me out. As it were. We sat down and were chatting away when the same guy approached us a few minutes later, to ask if we'd like to play pool, mixed doubles. Our response was, "Ok, but only if she's on my team." I haven't played in years, so was pretty poor. The second game, when we really did mix, I deliberately played like shit. The other guy seemed almost smitten with one or the other of us, though got the Deathglare™ when he put his hand on my waist to get me to move aside for his shot. He quickly removed his hand, then asked me politely to move aside. And I faintly recall arguing for transgendered rights with the first guy. I can't even remember why. So, the end result of behaving like a good feminist, out to have a good night with friends - in other words, being true to myself, accepting no gendered clap-trap about how to behave with members of the opposite sex (traditional wisdom has it that behaving the way I did emasculates men and they really don't like it) and holding fast to my principles, even if my speech did get slightly blurred around the edges? Near begging to go to the Cathouse with them. Which wouldn't have happened, whether or not I had the train to catch.
And, you know what, I'm maybe bragging a bit, but I'm sure that those guys won't forget Melissa and Evadnie very quickly...
And, you know what, I'm maybe bragging a bit, but I'm sure that those guys won't forget Melissa and Evadnie very quickly...
I don't think I've fully woken up yet... Got that odd, disconnected feeling. It usually goes with the waxing and waning of the depression, though this time, I think it's the effect of just never getting enough sleep and having a few drinks last night. And I forgot to take my tablet yesterday, I'm getting almost-brain-shocks from that too...
Right, tablet taken.
Yesterday was generally pretty good, I took Mum for lunch and as expected, we went to Café Gandolfi. As expected, Mum ordered the Stornoway black pudding. As I've given up with the animal parts, I didn't have the bacon and avocado salad (though now I've a hankering for avocados...) and ordered the white pudding. It was gorgeous, I must say. And very filling. I had a cupcake with my coffee, even took a photo of it with my phone. If I hadn't ordered one, the world would've been rent asunder, and as I'm not sure I want the weight of knowing I caused that final cataclysm, even if it is just for a couple of minutes, I had to. It was glittery, you see. Now, I'm pondering what other foods would benefit from a sprinkling of glitter... I'm thinking all...
Anyway, I was intending to post the photo of the cake, but later discovered that I couldn't find my phone. Turns out I left it at Lesley's flat last night. It's oddly liberating to not have it, though at the same time, I felt bereft when I didn't know where it was. There's a lot on there that I just don't have anywhere else. Still, at no point today will I have Eddie yelling that my phone's ringing. Not that I would anyway, but it's kind of nice. Subconsiously, I think I'm trying to get rid of the thing; I spent all Friday leaving it at home when I went out to work.
Bah, I'm feeling quite out of sorts just now. There may be more later, when I feel more myself again.
Right, tablet taken.
Yesterday was generally pretty good, I took Mum for lunch and as expected, we went to Café Gandolfi. As expected, Mum ordered the Stornoway black pudding. As I've given up with the animal parts, I didn't have the bacon and avocado salad (though now I've a hankering for avocados...) and ordered the white pudding. It was gorgeous, I must say. And very filling. I had a cupcake with my coffee, even took a photo of it with my phone. If I hadn't ordered one, the world would've been rent asunder, and as I'm not sure I want the weight of knowing I caused that final cataclysm, even if it is just for a couple of minutes, I had to. It was glittery, you see. Now, I'm pondering what other foods would benefit from a sprinkling of glitter... I'm thinking all...
Anyway, I was intending to post the photo of the cake, but later discovered that I couldn't find my phone. Turns out I left it at Lesley's flat last night. It's oddly liberating to not have it, though at the same time, I felt bereft when I didn't know where it was. There's a lot on there that I just don't have anywhere else. Still, at no point today will I have Eddie yelling that my phone's ringing. Not that I would anyway, but it's kind of nice. Subconsiously, I think I'm trying to get rid of the thing; I spent all Friday leaving it at home when I went out to work.
Bah, I'm feeling quite out of sorts just now. There may be more later, when I feel more myself again.
Squee! I have my tickets for Sia booked. I slept in this morning. All the way to 8am! Though I did wake at 4.55am to switch off my alarm. Back at work tomorrow morning... Oh well, I'd better have a decent day today. There's a new issue of Bust out, and hopefully Bitch too, so I guess I'll look at Paperchase while I'm in Borders... Coz, I need a new note book. To go with the 16 other pristine ones in the drawer.
In other news, I have a telephone interview on Monday afternoon. Please all keep your fingers crossed for me please, and envision me sitting in a purple room, with a high ceiling and fairy lights all about the place. That's kind of where I want to be sooner rather than later, so any and all assistance would be greatly appreciated.
Now, is today a pink day, or is it a turquoise day....
In other news, I have a telephone interview on Monday afternoon. Please all keep your fingers crossed for me please, and envision me sitting in a purple room, with a high ceiling and fairy lights all about the place. That's kind of where I want to be sooner rather than later, so any and all assistance would be greatly appreciated.
Now, is today a pink day, or is it a turquoise day....
You may have noticed that I often waffle about the way certain parts of the press *coughDailyMalecough* reports. I do have good things to say about journalists too. This piece written by Johann Hari is the kind of op-ed I like to read. Not much with the emotive language, no air of hysteria, no thinly-veiled subtext. And this article by Mark Steel (who I think is pretty funny anyway) is rather wonderful too. I can also recommend his book Reasons To Be Cheerful, which I read last summer. Political humour roolz.
Bah, I may have to stop using YouTube, in protest against the Nuts channel (on the front page there's a thumbnail of a woman's torso in black lingerie as the still from the video, and it's a featured video) and the ad that's promoting the premiere of The Secret Lives Of Women. The picture is of a woman, face obscured by the big arrow button, white lingerie on show...
The BBC seem to be banging the immigration drum this week, thankfully not in the manner of the right-wing. Well, not totally. Yunno, when we have immigration on the scale that say, Chad, has to deal with (what with it being a country bordering Sudan, right next to the Darfur region) then we can maybe start making noises about the massive influx of immigrants and refugees. But what do I know?
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Anyway, I had a rather random dream featuring Ross Noble this morning. He never fails to put me in a good mood, so here's a ranom clip from Randomist. Maybe it'll amuse you too.
Bah, I may have to stop using YouTube, in protest against the Nuts channel (on the front page there's a thumbnail of a woman's torso in black lingerie as the still from the video, and it's a featured video) and the ad that's promoting the premiere of The Secret Lives Of Women. The picture is of a woman, face obscured by the big arrow button, white lingerie on show...
The BBC seem to be banging the immigration drum this week, thankfully not in the manner of the right-wing. Well, not totally. Yunno, when we have immigration on the scale that say, Chad, has to deal with (what with it being a country bordering Sudan, right next to the Darfur region) then we can maybe start making noises about the massive influx of immigrants and refugees. But what do I know?
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Anyway, I had a rather random dream featuring Ross Noble this morning. He never fails to put me in a good mood, so here's a ranom clip from Randomist. Maybe it'll amuse you too.
Catching up on The F-Word, I came to this article: Feminism Keeps My Marriage Together. I'm quite pleased to read it, as I've been pondering the dynamic between feminism and heterosexual romantic relationships. I'm glad I'm not the only person who thinks about these things, even if the author is married and I'm very single.
A musical break...
Visited the local charity shop a little while ago. 8 books (including My Life by Leon Trotsky [not that I'm particularly Trotskyist] and The Wise Wound [having spent my life, since the age of 17, wondering why something so natural and commonplace to nearly every woman on the planet was ever so shameful and embarrassing, I'm rather looking forward to reading this one]) and 12 7" singles and £5 to asthma research later, I'm wondering where I'll put the books...
A musical break...
Visited the local charity shop a little while ago. 8 books (including My Life by Leon Trotsky [not that I'm particularly Trotskyist] and The Wise Wound [having spent my life, since the age of 17, wondering why something so natural and commonplace to nearly every woman on the planet was ever so shameful and embarrassing, I'm rather looking forward to reading this one]) and 12 7" singles and £5 to asthma research later, I'm wondering where I'll put the books...
While reaching down the back of the computer, I knocked a candle holder off a wee shelf. It's a very solid glass thing, and totally undamaged by it's fall. Mostly because the site of impact was my right wrist, just at the bony part. I have a lovely bruise coming up now and pain around my right hand. Typing is still ok, but oh sweet spaghetti, does it hurt. And I was going to blog about how I'd had a nap this afternoon and took my tablet (I have no earthly clue when I last took it; time and days mean nothing to me anymore) and life is so much better now. I finally spoke to someone at the Student Loans Company (hold music there seems to be Student Hits of the Early to Mid 90s, someone's choosing for their demographic very carefully) and deferment is under control, and I've filled out an online application for a better paid job in Glasgow. If I'm successful, my little purple flat filled with fairy lights and shoes fall well within the realms of possibility.
I think I should maybe go get some ice for my wrist...
I think I should maybe go get some ice for my wrist...
What a fabulous time to start having bad dreams... Especially ones so violent as the one that woke me at 3.30am today. Cuz, yunno, everything else is going so well just now.
In my mind, I'm hiding under my duvet. Bodily, I'll be catching up shortly.
Here's an amusing cartoon from Toothpaste For Dinner in the meantime.
toothpastefordinner.com
Here's an amusing cartoon from Toothpaste For Dinner in the meantime.
toothpastefordinner.com
Why, oh, why do people insist on shouting from the rooftops about how they've found love? Why do they suddenly develop selective amnesia and forget that when they were single, what it felt like to hear someone else go on about how wonderful it is and how there's someone for everyone? You've got the person you love, who loves you, why is that not enough? Just think, now you have all those years and months and weeks and days an hours and minutes to discover how much you really dislike each other.
Be thankful that I'm too tired to continue, it could get ugly, and extremely self-pitying. But I will point you in the direction of Daphne Decends by the Pumpkins.
*I feel compelled to add that this is a reaction to something someone posted on Shakesville, not someone I know.
Be thankful that I'm too tired to continue, it could get ugly, and extremely self-pitying. But I will point you in the direction of Daphne Decends by the Pumpkins.
*I feel compelled to add that this is a reaction to something someone posted on Shakesville, not someone I know.
Should you ever stain your skin while dying your hair;
- get a small quantity of cigarette ash
- mix it with water to a paste-like consistancy
- apply to the affected area, rubbing gently
- wash off with clean water
- do not lick affected area for some time (or let anyone else do so)
It's going to be a long week. I'm feeling knackered already.
In quiet moments, I'm trying to write a mental shopping list. I need new jeans as the ones I have are now too big. And new underwear as some of it's too small. Also, new face jewelry, as I lost the bar closures for both my nose and my lip, then lost the nose ring down the plug in Lesley's shower last Sunday. I bought replacements, but rings that have screw-on balls instead, [fill in crappy joke about getting two whole pairs of balls, as deemed applicable], which is fine except that I keep dropping the balls and have real trouble getting the nose one on and off because it's too small to handle easily. Do I want purple rings as well as the plain stainless steel / titanium ones? For special occasions (like, when I wear make up) and spares (like, when I lose the closure and then the ring).
I think that's all I really need just now, the rest is all just stuff that I kinda want. Like, shoes, random CDs, some books. Oh, and I need to look out my glass paints to see if they're useable. One of my clients randomly offered me 4 small circular mirrors, and I'm mulling over a few ideas of what to do with them.
Oh, and I need a new set of strings and a lead for my bass and amp. I have a growing list of songs that I want to see if I can learn. Turning Japanese by The Vapours has been in my head for about 3 days, ever since Evadnie went through an obsessive period with it last week.
In quiet moments, I'm trying to write a mental shopping list. I need new jeans as the ones I have are now too big. And new underwear as some of it's too small. Also, new face jewelry, as I lost the bar closures for both my nose and my lip, then lost the nose ring down the plug in Lesley's shower last Sunday. I bought replacements, but rings that have screw-on balls instead, [fill in crappy joke about getting two whole pairs of balls, as deemed applicable], which is fine except that I keep dropping the balls and have real trouble getting the nose one on and off because it's too small to handle easily. Do I want purple rings as well as the plain stainless steel / titanium ones? For special occasions (like, when I wear make up) and spares (like, when I lose the closure and then the ring).
I think that's all I really need just now, the rest is all just stuff that I kinda want. Like, shoes, random CDs, some books. Oh, and I need to look out my glass paints to see if they're useable. One of my clients randomly offered me 4 small circular mirrors, and I'm mulling over a few ideas of what to do with them.
Oh, and I need a new set of strings and a lead for my bass and amp. I have a growing list of songs that I want to see if I can learn. Turning Japanese by The Vapours has been in my head for about 3 days, ever since Evadnie went through an obsessive period with it last week.
"Yes, Depresso, we know that you get worked up and foamy (no, not like that) about violence against women, but what about you? It's what we read your blog for. What exciting stuff have you being doing? We want to know about you..."
Yeah. No-one's said that. As my psychic abilities are taking their time to make with the working, I couldn't even begin to guess if anyone's even thought that. Though I have noticed that you folks tend to comment more on the non-political stuff. Maybe because I don't appear to brook much arguement... And I guess there's only so much anyone can say about it, though I seem to be managing.
So, anyway. My life. It's fantastically dull. However, it shouldn't be too dull for too much longer; I've got Saturday off (a whole day! No alarm at 6am!) and it's Mum's birthday. As it's also payday at the end of the week, I'm planning to take Mum out for lunch (for some reason, she's not overly impressed with my suggestion of a Meal Deal from Gregg's) and I really, really, really want to go to Missing. I'm going to burn some Sia CDs for people that I'm hoping will come to the gig too (and one for Pilf that I promised aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaages ago, but have yet to make good on. Sorry Pilf!) and will be able to hand them over. I'd better check that the gig's not sold out...
A week on Sunday I have my first listen-in session on the helpline. I've met the woman who'll actually be on the line before, she's fantastic. If I was using the service myself, I'd be relieved to talk to someone like her.
Chris has invited me through to Edinburgh, as there's a new gay club there which is apparently amazing.
It's Lesley's 30th birthday at the end of April, so I've been invited out for that. I might even use this as a way to justify the zebra-pattern pony skin Irregular Choice heels from Schuh, they'd look amazing with coloured tights... And if I do buy them, I have several weeks to pick my colour.
Steve (the WoW friend) is starting to think about moving to Cardiff. There's more to it than that, but I think it would be a good thing for him to do. When he does, I'll talk to Hannah and see if we can arrange a trip to visit him.
And I still have to visit Lesley Anne and Al; Mandy, Ian and the kids, Alan (I've still never seen his 'new' flat that he moved in to about 2 years ago) and Sally and the girls.
Is that enough to be going with?
Yeah. No-one's said that. As my psychic abilities are taking their time to make with the working, I couldn't even begin to guess if anyone's even thought that. Though I have noticed that you folks tend to comment more on the non-political stuff. Maybe because I don't appear to brook much arguement... And I guess there's only so much anyone can say about it, though I seem to be managing.
So, anyway. My life. It's fantastically dull. However, it shouldn't be too dull for too much longer; I've got Saturday off (a whole day! No alarm at 6am!) and it's Mum's birthday. As it's also payday at the end of the week, I'm planning to take Mum out for lunch (for some reason, she's not overly impressed with my suggestion of a Meal Deal from Gregg's) and I really, really, really want to go to Missing. I'm going to burn some Sia CDs for people that I'm hoping will come to the gig too (and one for Pilf that I promised aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaages ago, but have yet to make good on. Sorry Pilf!) and will be able to hand them over. I'd better check that the gig's not sold out...
A week on Sunday I have my first listen-in session on the helpline. I've met the woman who'll actually be on the line before, she's fantastic. If I was using the service myself, I'd be relieved to talk to someone like her.
Chris has invited me through to Edinburgh, as there's a new gay club there which is apparently amazing.
It's Lesley's 30th birthday at the end of April, so I've been invited out for that. I might even use this as a way to justify the zebra-pattern pony skin Irregular Choice heels from Schuh, they'd look amazing with coloured tights... And if I do buy them, I have several weeks to pick my colour.
Steve (the WoW friend) is starting to think about moving to Cardiff. There's more to it than that, but I think it would be a good thing for him to do. When he does, I'll talk to Hannah and see if we can arrange a trip to visit him.
And I still have to visit Lesley Anne and Al; Mandy, Ian and the kids, Alan (I've still never seen his 'new' flat that he moved in to about 2 years ago) and Sally and the girls.
Is that enough to be going with?
I cannot find the appropriate article on the BBC, or the Times, or the Independent or even the Daily Male (and I'm stunned that they don't, given that it's the kind of thing that would have them frothing at the ears and proselytising about) but I heard this piece on the radio this morning that got me to thinking. Someone, or a group of someones, have made a statement of some kind about how there's a litany of faith hate crimes against Christians and Christian churches that go uninvestigated, in contrast to the investigation of faith hate crimes agaist Muslims and Islamic sites.
The man that they had on the news to discuss it further said that faith hate crimes were just as bad as race hate crimes, as skin colour, faith; these aren't things one 'can choose'.
I take issue with the notion that one can't choose one's faith. If that were so, I'd be Church of Scotland Christian as that's what was foisted upon us at school. Except I've chosen Wica.
Also, I can't help but compare his views to the epidemic of crimes against women because they are women. Women aged 15 to 44 are at greater risk of rape and intimate violence than cancer, motor vehicle accidents, war and malaria. It's a bummer when society ignores this massive elephant under the rug, isn't it?
Though I doubt that the Christian man on the radio this morning ever considered the situation of millions of women. Because they are women.
*sorry if this post seems a bit patchy, not being able to find the news item online has thrown me somewhat, and I feel like my point has nothing to work from.
The man that they had on the news to discuss it further said that faith hate crimes were just as bad as race hate crimes, as skin colour, faith; these aren't things one 'can choose'.
I take issue with the notion that one can't choose one's faith. If that were so, I'd be Church of Scotland Christian as that's what was foisted upon us at school. Except I've chosen Wica.
Also, I can't help but compare his views to the epidemic of crimes against women because they are women. Women aged 15 to 44 are at greater risk of rape and intimate violence than cancer, motor vehicle accidents, war and malaria. It's a bummer when society ignores this massive elephant under the rug, isn't it?
Though I doubt that the Christian man on the radio this morning ever considered the situation of millions of women. Because they are women.
*sorry if this post seems a bit patchy, not being able to find the news item online has thrown me somewhat, and I feel like my point has nothing to work from.
Sometimes, I'm not the only person who thinks that some judges are batshit crazy. On hearing about this charity's concern on the radio this morning, I found myself wondering what has happened to Judge Julian Hall that he seems to think that sexual assault of children isn't such a terrible thing. And I find myself idly wondering how many rape cases he's thrown out involving adults on both sides...
Since Monday, I have noticed a marked shift in my attitudes to men in public positions of power. Women too, to a certain extent. You could call it very healthy cynicism, I suppose.
Though not entirely misplaced; a boy who admitted the charges of sex offences (attempted rape is mentioned) perpetrated over 3 years against one girl, has been placed on probation for 3 years. In other words, don't get caught doing it again...
*headdesk*
Since Monday, I have noticed a marked shift in my attitudes to men in public positions of power. Women too, to a certain extent. You could call it very healthy cynicism, I suppose.
Though not entirely misplaced; a boy who admitted the charges of sex offences (attempted rape is mentioned) perpetrated over 3 years against one girl, has been placed on probation for 3 years. In other words, don't get caught doing it again...
*headdesk*
It got kind of hidden in the single-line spaced list of things that I posted yesterday, and I feel that it's worthy of a special mention and more attention. My diction is also my affliction. One day I'll wrote a post entirely in rhyme, when I get enough time....
Anyhoo.
I'm going to see Leonard Cohen in July, the tickets arrived yesterday. With my Mum, who's a bigger fan than I am. And I am a fan. I remember listening to Mum's tapes when I was 8 and that suddenly explains a lot. Anyway, I just happened to read something about him being inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (which as concepts go, is an interesting one, to say the least) the the paper a week or so ago, that mentioned that he was touring for the first time in about 15 years so texted Mum. Turns out it's the first time in 28 years that he's played in Scotland and given that he's now 73, the odds aren't great that he'll be back again too soon. Also, it's Leonard fucking Cohen. I don't care what anyone says, I am now and forever cool.
Anyhoo.
I'm going to see Leonard Cohen in July, the tickets arrived yesterday. With my Mum, who's a bigger fan than I am. And I am a fan. I remember listening to Mum's tapes when I was 8 and that suddenly explains a lot. Anyway, I just happened to read something about him being inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (which as concepts go, is an interesting one, to say the least) the the paper a week or so ago, that mentioned that he was touring for the first time in about 15 years so texted Mum. Turns out it's the first time in 28 years that he's played in Scotland and given that he's now 73, the odds aren't great that he'll be back again too soon. Also, it's Leonard fucking Cohen. I don't care what anyone says, I am now and forever cool.
Here's me tripping through life, figuring that doing something of value for other people is helping me feel more secure and less depressed. Just think how happy and secure I'd be if I had regular sex. Ignore the fact that I don't like one-night stands as I have always felt worse afterwards. And that I don't believe I need anyone else to make me feel anything, let alone secure within myself. Because, obviously, to be a happy, fulfilled person, I must be in a heterosexual relationship and I must be seeking to get married, if I'm not already, and I must be seeking a husband that will provide everything I could ever wish for, emotionally and financially, what with me being female and all. I am but a passive vessel, seconadary to all men. Evidently.
Oh, and this is headline news on the Daily Male's webshite.
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Random linkage. Some Friday fun.
Oh, and this is headline news on the Daily Male's webshite.
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Random linkage. Some Friday fun.
Things wot have made life bearable recently:
Things that I could quite happily live without, ta:
- The brass Gizmos in someone's window that I pass every day going to a client's house.
- Mum referring to Captain Jack as Torchwood, as I think she only watches it to perve over John Barrowman. Possibly with the sound turned down. And only the early evening version as she finds it "too scary" some weeks. I still think it's shit.
- The arrival of our Leonard Cohen tickets.
- Hopefully going to see Sia play in Glasgow in a couple of weeks.
- Getting involved with the Glasgow Feminist Network.
- Reading my blog translated into Spanish and finding out just how little I can remember from 5th year at high school.
Things that I could quite happily live without, ta:
- The client's dog peeing on the kitchen floor this morning.
- Another client having a bad attack of the squits, also this morning.
- My period taking it's own sweet time to arrive, resulting in an extended period of back ache and premenstrual gas. And an inhuman ability to eat huge quantities of sugar.
- Certain feelings that just won't go away, dammit. Shoo!
- Being woken up (from a light doze in which I was getting friendly with Billy) by the feeling of someone standing up from sitting on my bed. On the wall side.
- Being woken up again by the feeling of (possibly the same) someone placing their hand on my lower leg on top of my duvet. Even if I did suddenly feel less freezing from that point.
- My alarm clock being set to 6am every day this week. I'm really not a morning person, far less a middle-of-the-damned-night person.
I mentioned the other day that there was a noticeably delay between thought and action. It appears to be about 24 hours now. All I can say is ojfepsfjsepdifjhesdrszlfe/fn\nk\\sw/'t lnaklhqwqn3 TIHANQ£ht qn.
I'm getting fed up of this.
I'm getting fed up of this.
You know, I kind of thought that I'd be a bit more... something about a certain coincidence earlier this evening. I was at a client's house, rinsing out her Thermos to make a cup of tea (her MS is such that it's often safer to keep things in sealed vessels as much as possible), when I noticed an address label on the bottom. She freecycles a lot, so I'm guessing it came to her that way. Anyway, the address itself. It's across the road from my last partner. The one who I couldn't quite get over for such a long time. I've been thinking a bit about it lately. It wasn't a good idea to get involved with anyone at that time. Certainly not him, not after all the years of kind of quiet idealising. I know I'm not really making sense; the best analogy I can think of is, imagine I met Billy Corgan and we got together.
I'm kind of passively mad at myself for charging into that last relationship because I know, in my heart of hearts, that had all things been equal, it might have worked. But things were not equal. I really don't think that I was truly myself for pretty much all of last summer. Apart from once, when he asked if I'd heard of Queens of the Stone Age and I replied "No, for I have been living under a rock all my life." Or similar. It's difficult to describe, but looking back on that period now, I can see that I was the worst I've been in a few years. I spent a lot of time in my bed. Within myself; I felt like I was curled up in a ball, like a hedgehog under threat. I was so scared of feeling anything, especially more pain. Hence why the cutting started up again...
Why can't the depression cause me to act crazy towards people I don't know and care about? That bridge is well and truly burnt, which pisses me off because that's one ex I still kind of like and respect.
Anyway. While pondering my mental state of 7 months ago, No Surface All Feeling by the Manics has been going round and round in my head, so here's a video someone made to go with it...
I'm kind of passively mad at myself for charging into that last relationship because I know, in my heart of hearts, that had all things been equal, it might have worked. But things were not equal. I really don't think that I was truly myself for pretty much all of last summer. Apart from once, when he asked if I'd heard of Queens of the Stone Age and I replied "No, for I have been living under a rock all my life." Or similar. It's difficult to describe, but looking back on that period now, I can see that I was the worst I've been in a few years. I spent a lot of time in my bed. Within myself; I felt like I was curled up in a ball, like a hedgehog under threat. I was so scared of feeling anything, especially more pain. Hence why the cutting started up again...
Why can't the depression cause me to act crazy towards people I don't know and care about? That bridge is well and truly burnt, which pisses me off because that's one ex I still kind of like and respect.
Anyway. While pondering my mental state of 7 months ago, No Surface All Feeling by the Manics has been going round and round in my head, so here's a video someone made to go with it...
Alas, Rosemary Goring of the Glasgow Herald. You were doing so well in your article about the Herald's covering of gender issues over the last 225 years, highlighting certain pivotal events and excecuting, with such wit, such points as "Clearly, the entire edifice of British civilization was in danger of collapse should women employees be fairly renumerated.", and illustrating the inequality demonstrated in the reporting of the Templeton New Mill disaster (that it was all the more tragic as all the victims were female - if it had been men it would have somehow been less tragic.)
But then you wrote, near the end, "In 2008, for most women, the major battles are now won...". Do I have to recite the miniscule conviction rate for sexual assault? Do I have to point to the tsunami of pornography that's being peddled as normal and suitable for female and juvenile consumption (these links might not be safe for work, and certainly not safe for my lunch)? Do I have to remind you of Steve Wright, Levi Bellfield and Mark Dixie?
The fight for gender equality is as real and as pitched as it was 30 years ago, 50 years ago, 200 years ago. Because we are still not equal. And what's really disgusting now is that women are now being told that being objectified is empowering and liberating. While at the same time, that if they do behave in that way, well, it's their own fault if 'something bad' happens. And every time I see a woman wearing a Miss [month] Playboy necklace, or a teenage girl wearing the bunny on her t-shirt, something inside me laments that we still have such a long way to go. And then I get angry...
So what can I say? Many women do seem to believe that the fight's almost over. I still fight for them. You, Ms. Goring, may choose to be one of those women, as is your right. The one thing I ask is that you try not to play into the post-patriarchy fantasy. Too many people will read what you opine and believe it to be true, which makes my and my sisters' fight that little bit harder. If you feel like writing about gender issues again, may I suggest you consider this piece by Bob Herbert, of the New York Times, or this piece by Joan Smith for the Independent?
Love and kisses,
Depresso
But then you wrote, near the end, "In 2008, for most women, the major battles are now won...". Do I have to recite the miniscule conviction rate for sexual assault? Do I have to point to the tsunami of pornography that's being peddled as normal and suitable for female and juvenile consumption (these links might not be safe for work, and certainly not safe for my lunch)? Do I have to remind you of Steve Wright, Levi Bellfield and Mark Dixie?
The fight for gender equality is as real and as pitched as it was 30 years ago, 50 years ago, 200 years ago. Because we are still not equal. And what's really disgusting now is that women are now being told that being objectified is empowering and liberating. While at the same time, that if they do behave in that way, well, it's their own fault if 'something bad' happens. And every time I see a woman wearing a Miss [month] Playboy necklace, or a teenage girl wearing the bunny on her t-shirt, something inside me laments that we still have such a long way to go. And then I get angry...
So what can I say? Many women do seem to believe that the fight's almost over. I still fight for them. You, Ms. Goring, may choose to be one of those women, as is your right. The one thing I ask is that you try not to play into the post-patriarchy fantasy. Too many people will read what you opine and believe it to be true, which makes my and my sisters' fight that little bit harder. If you feel like writing about gender issues again, may I suggest you consider this piece by Bob Herbert, of the New York Times, or this piece by Joan Smith for the Independent?
Love and kisses,
Depresso
So, Monday was quite an intense day. I've caught up on all my training at the Rape Crisis Centre, so have put myself down to do my first listen-in quite soon. For a multitude of reasons (some quite obvious, others more tacit), I cannot ever go into any detail, of any sort, about any of the women who are using the service. I will, however, say that I felt physically sick on hearing what one woman has survived. I'm gobsmacked by her personal strength and would move mountains and oceans to help her any way I could, even if I haven't so much as spoken to her directly.
Funnily enough, I was thinking about the pornography presentation as I was walking home half an hour ago, when I came upon a magazine lying on the side of the pavement. Half the back cover was showing, I could see it was pornographic. I'm still tired enough that there's a noticeable lag between thought and action, so I had to double back to pick it up to put it into the nearest bin. Just before I dropped it into the bin, I looked at the front cover, to see which delightful publication it was. 40 Up, which has just made me think of 7 Up, which has just made my stomach lurch unpleasantly. The irony of the thing was that, while it was clearly aimed at males who like the more mature woman, the ad on the back cover that I'd initially seen was a photo of two young women who were apparently in the act of removing their lacy white pants. With yellow stars printed over their nipples. Apparently, even males who like older women, like young women too. Or they're being told to.
So... on payday, I will be getting myself a pad of Post-It notes and starting to commit random acts of feminism. Newsagents beware...
Funnily enough, I was thinking about the pornography presentation as I was walking home half an hour ago, when I came upon a magazine lying on the side of the pavement. Half the back cover was showing, I could see it was pornographic. I'm still tired enough that there's a noticeable lag between thought and action, so I had to double back to pick it up to put it into the nearest bin. Just before I dropped it into the bin, I looked at the front cover, to see which delightful publication it was. 40 Up, which has just made me think of 7 Up, which has just made my stomach lurch unpleasantly. The irony of the thing was that, while it was clearly aimed at males who like the more mature woman, the ad on the back cover that I'd initially seen was a photo of two young women who were apparently in the act of removing their lacy white pants. With yellow stars printed over their nipples. Apparently, even males who like older women, like young women too. Or they're being told to.
So... on payday, I will be getting myself a pad of Post-It notes and starting to commit random acts of feminism. Newsagents beware...
You'd think the people of the fair city of Glasgow have never seen lime green...
Unfortuantely, I can't get the whole song. Anyway. Sometimes, I wish I could be as talented and politically active as Kathleen Hannah.
Question is, what's stopping me, at least on the second thing?
I'm walking home because I just missed my bus, and they're hourly. It's a good day for it, and look at the view I'm getting. Not a sound but birds and the wind in the trees. Oh, and a distant jet, but I am under the approach to Glasgow airport.
Today has been mostly good. I'm still very tired, but seem to be more able to take it in my stride. I'm having slight issues with my computer and malware, but I'm hoping to have that sorted out very soon. Evadnie seems to be currently obsessed with Two Lane Blacktop by Electrocute and Conroy by Cake just now, and seems to delight in shuffling from Madonna to System of a Down. Keeps me on my toes, I guess. At the weekend, I'm actually going to have something resembling a social life; Saturday night I'm meeting Lesley and on Sunday I'm catching up with Steph.
Admittedly, I feel a little melancholy just now; I was thinking about stuff on the bus earlier, stuff that I've managed to shove to the side lately. If circumstances were different, I'd likely be under my duvet, feeling like I'd been eviserated and left to rot. As it is, I just want to have a shower and sleep.
One thing I was reminded of; looking at the night sky is immensely grounding. I felt almost serene, gazing at all the constellations I can't remember and Orion's Belt. None of it matters. Not one thing. Everything that humans have done and will ever do is nothing to the Universe. So there's not so much point in getting stressed out and wound up about anything. It'll all be dust, soon enough.
And in a notible coincidence, Jen's just texted me out of the blue, to ask "Who owns the Moon?"
Admittedly, I feel a little melancholy just now; I was thinking about stuff on the bus earlier, stuff that I've managed to shove to the side lately. If circumstances were different, I'd likely be under my duvet, feeling like I'd been eviserated and left to rot. As it is, I just want to have a shower and sleep.
One thing I was reminded of; looking at the night sky is immensely grounding. I felt almost serene, gazing at all the constellations I can't remember and Orion's Belt. None of it matters. Not one thing. Everything that humans have done and will ever do is nothing to the Universe. So there's not so much point in getting stressed out and wound up about anything. It'll all be dust, soon enough.
And in a notible coincidence, Jen's just texted me out of the blue, to ask "Who owns the Moon?"
Hail? Pah! That's nothing compared to rice pudding.
If I was to let myself moan, I'd whine about how today I was up early, as a client had to attend 2 out-patient clinics and had to be ready for the patient transport, so I was at her home for 7.30am. I'd grumble on about the weather and how I seem to always end up at least half-soaked. I'd mump about having to clean up regurgitated dairy-based desserts, while trying desperately to not join in and part company with my toast and peanut butter. Additionally, I'd have a good whinge about having to change as I found Ambrosia product on my shoe, skirt and t-shirt.
But that would just be me being petty and selfish; my first client had 2 out-patient clinics to attend; my 2nd client was also sick today (and mentioned slightly blurry vision), my 3rd client wasn't even really well enough to get up this morning and my last client, so far, fell over a table yesterday and was quite ill this evening. I was able to count his tablets back out, put it that way. The next client will likely not be feeling too great; this isn't great weather for people with MS, and my last client (also my 3rd) might well still be in her bed, though hopefully not. Also, American Gothic and Devin Dazzle and the Neon Fever arrived.
If I was to let myself moan, I'd whine about how today I was up early, as a client had to attend 2 out-patient clinics and had to be ready for the patient transport, so I was at her home for 7.30am. I'd grumble on about the weather and how I seem to always end up at least half-soaked. I'd mump about having to clean up regurgitated dairy-based desserts, while trying desperately to not join in and part company with my toast and peanut butter. Additionally, I'd have a good whinge about having to change as I found Ambrosia product on my shoe, skirt and t-shirt.
But that would just be me being petty and selfish; my first client had 2 out-patient clinics to attend; my 2nd client was also sick today (and mentioned slightly blurry vision), my 3rd client wasn't even really well enough to get up this morning and my last client, so far, fell over a table yesterday and was quite ill this evening. I was able to count his tablets back out, put it that way. The next client will likely not be feeling too great; this isn't great weather for people with MS, and my last client (also my 3rd) might well still be in her bed, though hopefully not. Also, American Gothic and Devin Dazzle and the Neon Fever arrived.
Bah. It's difficult to keep a sense of humour about bad weather when tiny hail stones are being flung at your unprotected skin at about 50mph. I had an ice cream headache without the ice cream. My back, however, is nearly bone dry.
So. You'll probably have notice the dearth of posting recently; I've been quite tired (still), I've rolled a paladin (Pulseczar) and got her to level 10, and Mozilla was playing funny buggers yesterday.
Not much has happened, though the Pleasantville soundtrack CD arrived. I'd forgotten that I'd ordered it. It's now ripped to SonicStage, before the CD vanishes into the distressing mess of my room, and I'll get it transferred to Evadnie later today. In the meantime, I need coffee and have some iced gingerbread that's probably slightly damp from being in my bag.
So. You'll probably have notice the dearth of posting recently; I've been quite tired (still), I've rolled a paladin (Pulseczar) and got her to level 10, and Mozilla was playing funny buggers yesterday.
Not much has happened, though the Pleasantville soundtrack CD arrived. I'd forgotten that I'd ordered it. It's now ripped to SonicStage, before the CD vanishes into the distressing mess of my room, and I'll get it transferred to Evadnie later today. In the meantime, I need coffee and have some iced gingerbread that's probably slightly damp from being in my bag.
I have no doubts at all, about working with Rape Crisis. I have a healthy trepidation of being able to do the work, but my concerns are nothing compared to what the women service users will have.
Should I ever have any wobbles, I'll come back and read this article from the New Statesman.
And be slightly thankful that the political situation in Scotland, as it affects Rape Crisis services, isn't so bad as in England and Wales; we have securer funding from the Scottish Government. People can say what they like about Alec Salmond and golf courses and men with bad toupees, but his government are doing far more than paying lip service to gender-based violence, and that matters far more to this voter.
Should I ever have any wobbles, I'll come back and read this article from the New Statesman.
And be slightly thankful that the political situation in Scotland, as it affects Rape Crisis services, isn't so bad as in England and Wales; we have securer funding from the Scottish Government. People can say what they like about Alec Salmond and golf courses and men with bad toupees, but his government are doing far more than paying lip service to gender-based violence, and that matters far more to this voter.
Other people have lives. I have Zoma. She's now 58 and once I'm done here, I'm off to the Blasted Lands and the Dark Portal. Anyway. I had a moment of sweet revenge this afternoon...
I got the boat from Booty Bay to Ratchet, and while there some human rogue did the /slap emote. (It'll make no sense to people who don't play, so I'm not going to try to explain it, but here's Blizzard's page to explain.) I returned with the /rude emote, which for a female blood elf means I stick my tongue out and waggle my hands at my ears. A gnome warlock then challenged me to a duel. Level 24. Bear in mind, I was 56 or 57 at the time. I didn't want to get drawn in, because I don't much care for PvP, and rarely duel anyone. This warlock and the rogue started with the /chickens, which was really quite irritating. So. After disembarking at Ratchet, I made sure I was last off (just as well, there was a ?? dwarf rogue on the boat too, who thinking about it now, must've been stealthed on the boat in the hopes that I would go PvP) and stealthed. I followed the gnome mage for a little bit, then stunned him with my Sap. A couple more hits and he was dead. The stunning effect hadn't even worn off, he didn't harm a hair on my head. No honour points from the kill, but my oh my, revenge is sweet.
I got the boat from Booty Bay to Ratchet, and while there some human rogue did the /slap emote. (It'll make no sense to people who don't play, so I'm not going to try to explain it, but here's Blizzard's page to explain.) I returned with the /rude emote, which for a female blood elf means I stick my tongue out and waggle my hands at my ears. A gnome warlock then challenged me to a duel. Level 24. Bear in mind, I was 56 or 57 at the time. I didn't want to get drawn in, because I don't much care for PvP, and rarely duel anyone. This warlock and the rogue started with the /chickens, which was really quite irritating. So. After disembarking at Ratchet, I made sure I was last off (just as well, there was a ?? dwarf rogue on the boat too, who thinking about it now, must've been stealthed on the boat in the hopes that I would go PvP) and stealthed. I followed the gnome mage for a little bit, then stunned him with my Sap. A couple more hits and he was dead. The stunning effect hadn't even worn off, he didn't harm a hair on my head. No honour points from the kill, but my oh my, revenge is sweet.
I think I could use some of Rigby's java... Maybe I'd stop hearing the line "Waiter, waiter, percolator" as "Waiter, waiter, perk you later" too. I'm incorigible!
My alarm woke me this morning, and I listened to the Today programme before getting up. Hearing a mention of this specific report made me want to letterbomb the Daily Male. As I seem to want to at least once a week. Not only does it make my head throb to read it, this specific comment makes me want to weep for the woman's daughters:
"I have two daughters and I will teach them, as they reach their late teens, that if they go out and get drunk then they only have themselves to blame for what might ensue. Silly girl.
- Rachael, Ipswich"
This one is laughable:
"It's scary what women can get away with these days.
- Jon, England"
I say that's it's scary what men have been able to get away with for years. Rape and sexual assault have a very low reporting rate, and a miniscule conviction rate.
This comment doesn't actually make sense.
"She should go to jail for the same length of time as the accused if he had been convicted. Next we will have to here that only 5% of rape trials result in convictions. No wonder when women like this are prepared to make false allegations so easily due to the fact that they get off with it.
- Jbgood, London UK"
So... the eye-wateringly low conviction rate is the fault of women who make allegations that are found to not have enough proof to secure a conviction (whether or not they really are false or not). Because, if the complainant was then prosectuted for wasting police time or whatever, we'd only have rape trials where there was incontravertable proof. Which would likely take the form of physical injuries. So it would only be violent rapists that were tried? And, oh no, I've just gone cross-eyed....
"Women have all the power in western society. If people ever thought we lived in a patriarchal society we would not have unpunished claims of rape, male-only frontline service and ignored male victims of domestic abuse. Slowly (but surely) society is starting to realise men really have no rights compared to women. Thanks to feminists and New Labours attack on men and fathers, how many more will have to suffer before it ends?
- Clive, Leeds, UK"
Whatever Clive's on, I quite fancy some. Because we do have unpunished claims of rape, though not the way he's meaning it, apparently. 98% of claims are not made up. That's 98% for the 20% of rapes that are reported. There's a whole lot of unpunished rapes, claimed or otherwise, right there. The double negative has confused my tired brain somewhat, so I can't quite figure out what he's meaning when he says "male-only frontline service" (the military?) . And who's ignoring male survivors of domestic abuse? I, and every other feminist in the land, know that men suffer domestic abuse and are raped too. But they still only make up around 3-5% of the total. I would never ignore that group, but let's not be taking the focus off the by-far-and-away larger group in this discussion, eh?
And I must remember, a "night of passion" involves my drunken date becoming "increasingly aggressive and pulled off [my] clothes", telling him "to stop, over and over again.", and him "pressing down on me quite hard, simulating the sex act," with him "forc[ing] his hand into [my] pants when he "suddenly seem[s] to hear me" and agree[s] to stop." Going by what the Daily Male have reported of her evidence. And have headlined on the main page as "Why was Cambridge graduate ever put on trial for sex assault after drunken night of passion?"
Oh, and just in case your blood pressure isn't high enough, the next 'story' on the Daily Male's website is this one: "Woman who cried rape five times is spared jail for perverting the course of justice". Loving the comments. Because, yunno, lying to the police etc. is exactly the same as sexually assaulting someone, so of course she should've got 7 years, like a rapist. Except, what rapist gets 7 years, let alone serving it all? Most I've seen, going by my memory, is 6 years.
Oh, and lookie here, the irony! It's a woman who did make up the claims. And has been charged with perverting the course of justice and has been named and identified.
Isn't it funny how very few Male readers seem to have realised that just because someone is aquitted, it does not mean that the crime did not happen. It means that there is not enough evidence to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that the accused committed said crime.
*in yer eye, it is.
"I have two daughters and I will teach them, as they reach their late teens, that if they go out and get drunk then they only have themselves to blame for what might ensue. Silly girl.
- Rachael, Ipswich"
This one is laughable:
"It's scary what women can get away with these days.
- Jon, England"
I say that's it's scary what men have been able to get away with for years. Rape and sexual assault have a very low reporting rate, and a miniscule conviction rate.
This comment doesn't actually make sense.
"She should go to jail for the same length of time as the accused if he had been convicted. Next we will have to here that only 5% of rape trials result in convictions. No wonder when women like this are prepared to make false allegations so easily due to the fact that they get off with it.
- Jbgood, London UK"
So... the eye-wateringly low conviction rate is the fault of women who make allegations that are found to not have enough proof to secure a conviction (whether or not they really are false or not). Because, if the complainant was then prosectuted for wasting police time or whatever, we'd only have rape trials where there was incontravertable proof. Which would likely take the form of physical injuries. So it would only be violent rapists that were tried? And, oh no, I've just gone cross-eyed....
"Women have all the power in western society. If people ever thought we lived in a patriarchal society we would not have unpunished claims of rape, male-only frontline service and ignored male victims of domestic abuse. Slowly (but surely) society is starting to realise men really have no rights compared to women. Thanks to feminists and New Labours attack on men and fathers, how many more will have to suffer before it ends?
- Clive, Leeds, UK"
Whatever Clive's on, I quite fancy some. Because we do have unpunished claims of rape, though not the way he's meaning it, apparently. 98% of claims are not made up. That's 98% for the 20% of rapes that are reported. There's a whole lot of unpunished rapes, claimed or otherwise, right there. The double negative has confused my tired brain somewhat, so I can't quite figure out what he's meaning when he says "male-only frontline service" (the military?) . And who's ignoring male survivors of domestic abuse? I, and every other feminist in the land, know that men suffer domestic abuse and are raped too. But they still only make up around 3-5% of the total. I would never ignore that group, but let's not be taking the focus off the by-far-and-away larger group in this discussion, eh?
And I must remember, a "night of passion" involves my drunken date becoming "increasingly aggressive and pulled off [my] clothes", telling him "to stop, over and over again.", and him "pressing down on me quite hard, simulating the sex act," with him "forc[ing] his hand into [my] pants when he "suddenly seem[s] to hear me" and agree[s] to stop." Going by what the Daily Male have reported of her evidence. And have headlined on the main page as "Why was Cambridge graduate ever put on trial for sex assault after drunken night of passion?"
Oh, and just in case your blood pressure isn't high enough, the next 'story' on the Daily Male's website is this one: "Woman who cried rape five times is spared jail for perverting the course of justice". Loving the comments. Because, yunno, lying to the police etc. is exactly the same as sexually assaulting someone, so of course she should've got 7 years, like a rapist. Except, what rapist gets 7 years, let alone serving it all? Most I've seen, going by my memory, is 6 years.
Oh, and lookie here, the irony! It's a woman who did make up the claims. And has been charged with perverting the course of justice and has been named and identified.
Isn't it funny how very few Male readers seem to have realised that just because someone is aquitted, it does not mean that the crime did not happen. It means that there is not enough evidence to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that the accused committed said crime.
*in yer eye, it is.
I may have mentioned, the other day, that the local charity shop had some records. 7" singles for 25p, and such. Well, I bought some. As you get over that shock, allow me to grab the pile (carefully) and bore you to watching crappy Saturday night telly as I list them.
I'm currently listening to Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Cole Porter Songbook. On changing the record, I noticed a message on the dust sleeve "HOME TAPING IS KILLING MUSIC" with a picture of a cassette and crossbones (which would make quite a good tattoo, thinking about it) then "AND IT'S ILLEGAL". Besides this double album, I have Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Irving Berlin Songbook, I Don't Like Mondays - The Boomtown Rats; Karma Chameleon - Culture Club (it reminds me of being 4 and starting school); Drive - The Cars; Girls On Film - Duran Duran; It's My Party - Lesley Gore; Give Me Back My Man- The B-52s; Golden Brown - The Stranglers; Love Is The Drug - Roxy Music; Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen; Tainted Love - Soft Cell; Just can't Get Enough - Depeche Mode; Life On Mars? (backed with The Man Who Sold The World!!) - David Bowie; Rock The Casbah - The Clash; Cloudbusting - Kate Bush and See You - Depeche Mode. As far as I can tell, all the singles are original releases. I'm debating whether or not to get Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris, if it's still there, the next time I'm in... Anyway, if I took the notion, I could quite probably sell these on for a bit more than 25p each.
-----
My first client this morning gave me a box of chocolates. I nearly blubbed as I thanked her.
I mentioned the other day, and Jud asked me to elborate further, that I have some misgivings about my job. I can't emphasise enough, it's not that I hate my job. I love it. My clients are lovely, I enjoy spending a bit of time with them and getting to know them. The responsibility to other people seems to be helping me keep the depression under control, too. I may wake up at 6.30am and want to stay under the covers all day, but I can't, not while I have elderly people to help out of bed. And I'm thinking about myself a lot less, which is helping to keep the negative thinking at bay. The issue lies with the longer term future. I don't want to stay living with my parents any longer than I have to. I want to move to Glasgow, or at least, closer to it. I also want to start thinking about some kind of future so if I do get together with the right person, the practicalities of a commitment aren't impeded by having to travel for an hour each way and parents in the next room. If I'm ever going to have children, I can't do it all in the back bedroom. I might be getting a little ahead of myself there. Anyway. This week, I have worked about 24 hours. The time spent travelling between clients means that it's going to be nearly impossible for me to work 37.5 hours, and not collapse with exhaustion and get a regular day off. My days this week have started at 8am and ended about 8.30pm. My room is a bombsite. I've been too tired to do just about anything. I don't know my schedule for this coming week, but I'm reasonably sure that I won't have time off until next weekend, because I asked for it off. I'll soon be finished my training with Rape Crisis, and have a month commitment of 12 hours with them. And all my clients are in the area that I currently live. Fine for just now, but when I get myself sorted out and move, it's going to be impossible. So. Yeah. I guess I'll start looking into a different job, still within social care, that's based in one location. Which will ideally be well-served by public transport, and nearer to Glasgow. It's not that I want to leave this job, it's more that I have to, if I want to get the kind of life I've been aiming for.
Oh, and a job that doesn't involve managing to be outdoors in the worst weather for weeks and weeks, that would be nice too.
I'm currently listening to Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Cole Porter Songbook. On changing the record, I noticed a message on the dust sleeve "HOME TAPING IS KILLING MUSIC" with a picture of a cassette and crossbones (which would make quite a good tattoo, thinking about it) then "AND IT'S ILLEGAL". Besides this double album, I have Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Irving Berlin Songbook, I Don't Like Mondays - The Boomtown Rats; Karma Chameleon - Culture Club (it reminds me of being 4 and starting school); Drive - The Cars; Girls On Film - Duran Duran; It's My Party - Lesley Gore; Give Me Back My Man- The B-52s; Golden Brown - The Stranglers; Love Is The Drug - Roxy Music; Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen; Tainted Love - Soft Cell; Just can't Get Enough - Depeche Mode; Life On Mars? (backed with The Man Who Sold The World!!) - David Bowie; Rock The Casbah - The Clash; Cloudbusting - Kate Bush and See You - Depeche Mode. As far as I can tell, all the singles are original releases. I'm debating whether or not to get Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris, if it's still there, the next time I'm in... Anyway, if I took the notion, I could quite probably sell these on for a bit more than 25p each.
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My first client this morning gave me a box of chocolates. I nearly blubbed as I thanked her.
I mentioned the other day, and Jud asked me to elborate further, that I have some misgivings about my job. I can't emphasise enough, it's not that I hate my job. I love it. My clients are lovely, I enjoy spending a bit of time with them and getting to know them. The responsibility to other people seems to be helping me keep the depression under control, too. I may wake up at 6.30am and want to stay under the covers all day, but I can't, not while I have elderly people to help out of bed. And I'm thinking about myself a lot less, which is helping to keep the negative thinking at bay. The issue lies with the longer term future. I don't want to stay living with my parents any longer than I have to. I want to move to Glasgow, or at least, closer to it. I also want to start thinking about some kind of future so if I do get together with the right person, the practicalities of a commitment aren't impeded by having to travel for an hour each way and parents in the next room. If I'm ever going to have children, I can't do it all in the back bedroom. I might be getting a little ahead of myself there. Anyway. This week, I have worked about 24 hours. The time spent travelling between clients means that it's going to be nearly impossible for me to work 37.5 hours, and not collapse with exhaustion and get a regular day off. My days this week have started at 8am and ended about 8.30pm. My room is a bombsite. I've been too tired to do just about anything. I don't know my schedule for this coming week, but I'm reasonably sure that I won't have time off until next weekend, because I asked for it off. I'll soon be finished my training with Rape Crisis, and have a month commitment of 12 hours with them. And all my clients are in the area that I currently live. Fine for just now, but when I get myself sorted out and move, it's going to be impossible. So. Yeah. I guess I'll start looking into a different job, still within social care, that's based in one location. Which will ideally be well-served by public transport, and nearer to Glasgow. It's not that I want to leave this job, it's more that I have to, if I want to get the kind of life I've been aiming for.
Oh, and a job that doesn't involve managing to be outdoors in the worst weather for weeks and weeks, that would be nice too.
Before I head out to my last client of the day, then return home and collapse face down in a heap*, hopefully in the general vicinity of my bed, here's an amusing animation.
*Clients keep asking if I have a boyfriend. How would that work? Is there a guy out there who'd like a girlfriend he might see once a fortnight, if he's lucky, and who contacts mostly by email and the odd phone call? And then, only when she's not so tired she can't even think let alone talk?
*Clients keep asking if I have a boyfriend. How would that work? Is there a guy out there who'd like a girlfriend he might see once a fortnight, if he's lucky, and who contacts mostly by email and the odd phone call? And then, only when she's not so tired she can't even think let alone talk?
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
And I'll never feel right eating dead animals again.
I suppose I really should explain what I'm on about, before people think I need to see a couple of doctors and an approved social worker. On the way home after my morning visits, I came upon a frog that looked remarkably still. Thinking back, it can't've been there very long as it looked very much alive, aside from it's intestines and other internals hanging out it's mouth. I really hope that it was accidentally squashed by a passing car, and that it wasn't victim to some heartless person who stamped on it deliberately. For some reason, I couldn't leave it there, lying on the pavement next to the wall, so I got the paper bag from my just-finished (and last ever) bacon roll and picked it up with that. A little further around the corner was a burn which is in full flow because of the snow and rain, so I dropped it into there. After talking to it as I carried it, then apologised to it for dumping it unceremoniously into the burn.
And put the bag in the bin when I got home. The little bloodstains were heartbreaking. So. I can't, in good conscience, eat any other animal. And I really like frogs, they have a charm that appeals to me. Though I prefer when they're aren't deaded by humans.
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The silver version of Zeitgeist arrived! Along with the Stigmata soundtrack, and Touching the Propellor by Dawn of the Replicants. I wonder if the computer works with NTSC DVDs... I'll check later, in the meantime I have some ripping to do. And until I have something else to say about any of these records, here's a video for a song from Stigmata. Lyrics by one William Patrick Corgan (now you understand why I wanted the CD)...
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
I talk to dead frogs.
And I'll never feel right eating dead animals again.
I suppose I really should explain what I'm on about, before people think I need to see a couple of doctors and an approved social worker. On the way home after my morning visits, I came upon a frog that looked remarkably still. Thinking back, it can't've been there very long as it looked very much alive, aside from it's intestines and other internals hanging out it's mouth. I really hope that it was accidentally squashed by a passing car, and that it wasn't victim to some heartless person who stamped on it deliberately. For some reason, I couldn't leave it there, lying on the pavement next to the wall, so I got the paper bag from my just-finished (and last ever) bacon roll and picked it up with that. A little further around the corner was a burn which is in full flow because of the snow and rain, so I dropped it into there. After talking to it as I carried it, then apologised to it for dumping it unceremoniously into the burn.
And put the bag in the bin when I got home. The little bloodstains were heartbreaking. So. I can't, in good conscience, eat any other animal. And I really like frogs, they have a charm that appeals to me. Though I prefer when they're aren't deaded by humans.
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The silver version of Zeitgeist arrived! Along with the Stigmata soundtrack, and Touching the Propellor by Dawn of the Replicants. I wonder if the computer works with NTSC DVDs... I'll check later, in the meantime I have some ripping to do. And until I have something else to say about any of these records, here's a video for a song from Stigmata. Lyrics by one William Patrick Corgan (now you understand why I wanted the CD)...
So, it snowed. 3", which is quite a lot for one night in the west of Scotland. While it's still runny, we have no problem dealing with it, but when it turns white and pretty to look at, everything pretty much grinds to a halt.
I just liked how the litter bin looked. So took the photo.
I mentioned that I was moving bedroom furniture last Sunday; this is the end result. Unfortunately, I already have more books and am expecting more CDs, so might end up sleeping on the sofa downstairs very soon. The shelves are on top of chests of drawers and I'm finding that the highest book is about the top end of my reach. Today's shenanigans led indirectly to the purchase of 4 more paperbacks from the charity shop, I guess when the stacks hit the ceiling I'll have to come up with something else...
And just coz, my most favourite candy. The newsagent down in town has mysteriously started stocking Reece's Nutrageii (how else does one pluralise Nutrageous?) but not peanut butter cups. Anyway, I was in East Kilbride on Sunday, and the Woolworths there occasionally has the cups in stock and did that day.Peanut butter will save the world one day, mark my words.
Being out and about much more lately, with the work I'm doing, I've noticed a few things. Nothing earth-shattering, just stuff that catches your attention and sticks in your mind for whatever reason. Last week, I was walking through the park, and saw a man out with his children, walking the dog. He had one of those catapulty things that are de riguer for canine companions these days. The idea behind them is to throw the ball further, so the dog runs further, so gets more exercise, with minimal exertion by the human. In this particular scene, the older child was riding on a buggy board. Something about the irony of it stuck in my head and made me laugh in a cynical fashion. If things continue like this, dogs will soon be the thinnest members of the average dog-loving family.
The paper boy who delivers to some of the houses on my street has an FT bag. When I had a paper round, my flourescent bag advertised something like the Daily Record, or some other popular tabloid. I didn't even realise the posh papers did delivery bags. In this town, though, it doesn't wholly surprise me. The town's population is about 8,000 so not very big by any stretch of the imagination, and most people work elsewhere. Yet, there are 5 florists, 2 greengrocers, at least 5 hairdressers and 2 barbers and 5 cafés that I can think of. Oh, and a very posh expensive lingerie shop that doesn't ever seem to advertise. From that, property prices and the stupidly massive SUVs on the tiny roads in town, it's reasonably safe to infer that the average income is a bit higher than the national average.
I'm in suburban hell, only in an idyllic rural location.
I'm fast growing to love my clients, but I have to get away from here or I'll never leave. And, to be steely-hearted about it all, my needs are falling by the wayside. I do enjoy the job (but would love a day all to myself sometime soon, please) and I certainly don't regret taking it, but I'm not quite on the right track for me. So, I need to think about things and decide what is right. You know that you'll be kept abreast of any and all developments. Sometimes it feels like I'm almost incapable of not having a thought and keeping it out the blog. I certainly didn't intend to address my job concerns for a while yet...
The paper boy who delivers to some of the houses on my street has an FT bag. When I had a paper round, my flourescent bag advertised something like the Daily Record, or some other popular tabloid. I didn't even realise the posh papers did delivery bags. In this town, though, it doesn't wholly surprise me. The town's population is about 8,000 so not very big by any stretch of the imagination, and most people work elsewhere. Yet, there are 5 florists, 2 greengrocers, at least 5 hairdressers and 2 barbers and 5 cafés that I can think of. Oh, and a very posh expensive lingerie shop that doesn't ever seem to advertise. From that, property prices and the stupidly massive SUVs on the tiny roads in town, it's reasonably safe to infer that the average income is a bit higher than the national average.
I'm in suburban hell, only in an idyllic rural location.
I'm fast growing to love my clients, but I have to get away from here or I'll never leave. And, to be steely-hearted about it all, my needs are falling by the wayside. I do enjoy the job (but would love a day all to myself sometime soon, please) and I certainly don't regret taking it, but I'm not quite on the right track for me. So, I need to think about things and decide what is right. You know that you'll be kept abreast of any and all developments. Sometimes it feels like I'm almost incapable of not having a thought and keeping it out the blog. I certainly didn't intend to address my job concerns for a while yet...
This song has been in my head most of today; Dancing With Myself, covered by Nouvelle Vague. Mostly the chorus, but also "But your empty eyes Seem to pass me by Leave me dancing with myself".
*le sigh*
And, yes. I know the song's about masturbation. I shall draw a discreet veil over any further discussion.
It snowed. I got cold. After a week, I found the bar closure for my nose ring. An hour later, while out and about, I blew my nose and lost it again, this time more permanently. I took a couple of pretty photos on my phone, but can't seem to find the energy to fight with the software to upload them from my phone to the computer, then to Blogger. Maybe tomorrow, if I have time. Or next week, when I've had some sleep.
So, from today, I take these main points:
- New Rocks are pretty great in the snow.
- Dozing off mid-afternoon, not such a great idea, no matter how tired I may be.
- Much useful and practical advice on how to support adults who are survivors of shild sexual abuse.
- American Gothic and the super-special edition of Zeitgeist should be here soon, vagaries of the international postage system permitting. Which, given the way things seem to be going, means I'll see them about the time I turn 32.
- I need a new nose ring.
- I need a day off.
So, from today, I take these main points:
- New Rocks are pretty great in the snow.
- Dozing off mid-afternoon, not such a great idea, no matter how tired I may be.
- Much useful and practical advice on how to support adults who are survivors of shild sexual abuse.
- American Gothic and the super-special edition of Zeitgeist should be here soon, vagaries of the international postage system permitting. Which, given the way things seem to be going, means I'll see them about the time I turn 32.
- I need a new nose ring.
- I need a day off.
I fucking adore the Smashing Pumpkins.
The Smashing Pumpkins - Superchrist
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My loathing of MySpace has just eased fractionally... That's assuming that I've successfully embedded this video.
The Smashing Pumpkins - Superchrist
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My loathing of MySpace has just eased fractionally... That's assuming that I've successfully embedded this video.
I feel like there's something I should be doing, or like I'm waiting for something that's about to happen. I logged on to WoW for a bit, but couldn't keep my attention on it. Zoma is now level 54, roughly halfway to 55. But neither Steve nor Hannah were logged on, so I had no-one to talk to, other than a random person who whispered me to open their lockboxes in Orgrimmar bank, just after I logged on. The high point of the evening was seeing a fabulously non sequitur tell on the trade channel; a level 70 Undead Warrior called Defy announced "i have epic male legs". The gamer-head wonders why he has mail when he can equip plate; the rest of me wonders if by epic he means fantastically toned and shapely. And hairy.
Other in-game points of note recently; Undercity has a Rogue's Quarter, a Trade Quarter, the Royal Quarter, a War Quarter and the Magic Quarter. I know that the Blizzard programmers like to make references to pop culture, but surely Joanne Harris is a little obscure, even for them?
- There was what looked to be a most impressive attempt on a raid on Orgimmar (on Eonar) last night. When I went to get the zepplin to Undercity, there was several skeletons outside the main gates, a good 50 or so at least. I've never seen so many skeletons in one place, not even at Crossroads on a weekend.
- What the buggery-bollocks are pre-mades? Every single guild ad (ok, nearly ever single) I see now follows the same pattern; "[guild name] is now recruiting! Blah blah blah Kara attunement. Blah blah blah ranking system. Blah blah blah pre-mades. /w for inv!" So I wrote a new one for Joy Division (aka Eonar's biggest guild-that-cares-about-spelling-and-grammar. We have 2 members who are one quite a lot [Steve and me], and another 2 who are too busy with their other toons [Pilf and Hannah]) which kind of parodies these ads, but I think my subtle humour has gone clear over the heads of... well, everyone. I really don't get this mass obsession with being level 70 NOW, dammit! and being part of a 25-man raiding group or in a leet guild that only recruits level 70s and will kick you for not being on enough or daring to think about joining a different guild. It's a game. It will not change the world. It passes time, and I've made some friends through it, people that I genuinely like, but really it's not even a hobby. A hobby would give you some palpable outcome, like a book full of neatly catalogued stamps or the ability to play A Clair de la Lune on a Bolivian nose-flute.
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I bought the NME yesterday, for the first time in years. Nearly 10. By golly, but it's still up it's own arse. "There's nothing, nothing more frustrating for us [the staff of the NME] than hearing an amazing band only to discover that the singer wears appallingly crap jeans..." How nice it must be to live a life where dubious clothing is the biggest frustration. And to add insult to injury, this quote is taken from the introduction of the article about the Manic Street Preachers.
Anyway, the purchase was worthwhile, the Manics' cover of Umbrella (you know the song, I promise) is rather good. Thinking about it, most covers that the Manics have done have been. Most everyone who knows them knows the cover of Suicide Is Painless, but their covers of Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head and Can't Take My Eyes Off You are better, in my opinion.
So.... yeah.
Other in-game points of note recently; Undercity has a Rogue's Quarter, a Trade Quarter, the Royal Quarter, a War Quarter and the Magic Quarter. I know that the Blizzard programmers like to make references to pop culture, but surely Joanne Harris is a little obscure, even for them?
- There was what looked to be a most impressive attempt on a raid on Orgimmar (on Eonar) last night. When I went to get the zepplin to Undercity, there was several skeletons outside the main gates, a good 50 or so at least. I've never seen so many skeletons in one place, not even at Crossroads on a weekend.
- What the buggery-bollocks are pre-mades? Every single guild ad (ok, nearly ever single) I see now follows the same pattern; "[guild name] is now recruiting! Blah blah blah Kara attunement. Blah blah blah ranking system. Blah blah blah pre-mades. /w for inv!" So I wrote a new one for Joy Division (aka Eonar's biggest guild-that-cares-about-spelling-and-grammar. We have 2 members who are one quite a lot [Steve and me], and another 2 who are too busy with their other toons [Pilf and Hannah]) which kind of parodies these ads, but I think my subtle humour has gone clear over the heads of... well, everyone. I really don't get this mass obsession with being level 70 NOW, dammit! and being part of a 25-man raiding group or in a leet guild that only recruits level 70s and will kick you for not being on enough or daring to think about joining a different guild. It's a game. It will not change the world. It passes time, and I've made some friends through it, people that I genuinely like, but really it's not even a hobby. A hobby would give you some palpable outcome, like a book full of neatly catalogued stamps or the ability to play A Clair de la Lune on a Bolivian nose-flute.
-----
I bought the NME yesterday, for the first time in years. Nearly 10. By golly, but it's still up it's own arse. "There's nothing, nothing more frustrating for us [the staff of the NME] than hearing an amazing band only to discover that the singer wears appallingly crap jeans..." How nice it must be to live a life where dubious clothing is the biggest frustration. And to add insult to injury, this quote is taken from the introduction of the article about the Manic Street Preachers.
Anyway, the purchase was worthwhile, the Manics' cover of Umbrella (you know the song, I promise) is rather good. Thinking about it, most covers that the Manics have done have been. Most everyone who knows them knows the cover of Suicide Is Painless, but their covers of Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head and Can't Take My Eyes Off You are better, in my opinion.
So.... yeah.
