I'd better put a nerd alert here so no-one will waste a read.
In April 2003, a 2.5 metre long female squid was dragged from the Ross Sea off Antarctica. It was then the largest squid recorded and was still a juvenile.
In July 2005, Bruce Deagle of the University of Tasmania and his team analysed the gut contents of a male giant squid caught off the west coast of Tasmania in 1999. They found three tentacle fragments and 12 squid beaks which suggested cannibalism. This was the 2nd time cannibalism had been documented.
The first time cannibalism was suggested, Steve O'Shea from New Zealand suspected it was accidental. O'Shea said, "The male giant squid has to use a puny 15-gram brain to coordinate 150 kilograms of weight, 10 metres of length and a 1.5 metre long penis. He physically plunges this penis into the female's arms, which are rather unfortunately right next to her beak. Because he is coordinating so much with so little, I think occasionally bits get chewed off when they inadvertently get too close to the beak." ( I had to put this in, it's such a bloke thing)
However the Tasmanian squid was a male so cannibalism is likely to be intentional. (unless like half the animal kingdom, they're bent)
Japanese researchers in a fishing boat, using sperm whales as a guide to pinpoint the giant squid's haunts, caught pictures of an 8 metre long squid with a cheap camera. The squid was attracted towards the camera attached to a baited fishing line, 900 metres down. The researchers found that instead of being fairly inactive and drifting around waiting for fish to come to them, the squid are agressive predators.
Mark Norman of Museum Victoria said, "The pictures show an animal that's more like a python striking a rat". One of the tentacles was snagged on the line and it's not only armed with suckers, but each sucker is ringed with tiny teeth. These are the only photos of an animal talked about for centuries.
The point of all this rambling (is anyone still with me?) is that G.W. Bush has given NASA the go-ahead to return to the moon. NASA says we have so much to learn about the moon by going back there and besides we want to build a base there. This from an agency that can't fix a telescope in space that's given us so much information. Okay off base, back on.
We know very little about the deep ocean. Deep sea explorers are sure there are bigger animals than the giant squid. Not that America isn't snooping around down there. Bob Ballard only found the Titanic by accident when looking for two sunken nuclear subs for the US Navy. But while America is looking up the Chinese are looking down. They're constructing a deep sea submersible (Clive Cussler, anyone) to explore the ocean floor for minerals and if they find them, they own them.
We live on a water planet not on the moon. When the ice melts and the oceans rise l'd like to know what's coming in with the tide.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Sunday, October 30, 2005
WEEKENDITIS
It's been one of those weekends when I'll be glad to see Monday.
First I want to offer a reward to the person who can bring me the head of the designer of my water heater. Fortunately I discovered the water was cold before the late night shower or I would also want his lungs and heart ripped out. Who would design a heater where to see the pilot light you have to lay flat on the ground? While holding down the pilot switch with one hand and flicking the ignite button with the other as you try to read the instructions. I am dyslexic with instructions at any time and when I get half way through the list, it says 'don't ignite for 5 minutes to let unburnt gas .....' . I didn't read past this I was too busy running for cover.
I rang my nephew who came straight over in case I was in the process of blowing up the neighbourhood.
While I had the 6'4" brick outhouse here I got him to open the plastic container of Drano. That's another designer I want drawn and quartered. I don't have a big hand and this container is large. The instructions say, press down, squeeze sides in at the marks and twist, which only works if you have hands the size of Hagrid's. I can't even blame the Blight for clogging up the drains with his moulting since the hair I drag out is long and red.
I sat down with the Sunday paper then to calm down and wait for the water to heat up, by which time I would be out of the mood to do the dishes. See good can come out of bad. Reading about the latest idiocy of the Federal Government put me right back in the 'bring me his head' mode.
Prof. Ian Harper, the head of Howard's new Fair Pay Commission will let his Christian faith provide him with a moral compass in the task of setting wages. He has spent a lot of time praying about this and believes that God's will is important to be done in the world. The last time I looked this was a secular Parliament. I don't mind him being a Christian but that is his private business and should not have anything to do with Government business and if he can't separate the two, he should not take the position.
The only thing that saved the weekend was the ABC and it's marvellous programme on The Divine Michelangelo. So well done that last week I could almost see the lice crawling in his hair because he never washed. The first time I saw a statue carved from marble, I was very young but I remember I just had to touch the flowing robes because they looked so real. It was the same watching the statue of David from different angles. I liked the science the program introduced as well. How the workers moved the statue, how the marble was quarried and how the fresco medium was mixed. Please sir, ABC, sir, can I have some more?
First I want to offer a reward to the person who can bring me the head of the designer of my water heater. Fortunately I discovered the water was cold before the late night shower or I would also want his lungs and heart ripped out. Who would design a heater where to see the pilot light you have to lay flat on the ground? While holding down the pilot switch with one hand and flicking the ignite button with the other as you try to read the instructions. I am dyslexic with instructions at any time and when I get half way through the list, it says 'don't ignite for 5 minutes to let unburnt gas .....' . I didn't read past this I was too busy running for cover.
I rang my nephew who came straight over in case I was in the process of blowing up the neighbourhood.
While I had the 6'4" brick outhouse here I got him to open the plastic container of Drano. That's another designer I want drawn and quartered. I don't have a big hand and this container is large. The instructions say, press down, squeeze sides in at the marks and twist, which only works if you have hands the size of Hagrid's. I can't even blame the Blight for clogging up the drains with his moulting since the hair I drag out is long and red.
I sat down with the Sunday paper then to calm down and wait for the water to heat up, by which time I would be out of the mood to do the dishes. See good can come out of bad. Reading about the latest idiocy of the Federal Government put me right back in the 'bring me his head' mode.
Prof. Ian Harper, the head of Howard's new Fair Pay Commission will let his Christian faith provide him with a moral compass in the task of setting wages. He has spent a lot of time praying about this and believes that God's will is important to be done in the world. The last time I looked this was a secular Parliament. I don't mind him being a Christian but that is his private business and should not have anything to do with Government business and if he can't separate the two, he should not take the position.
The only thing that saved the weekend was the ABC and it's marvellous programme on The Divine Michelangelo. So well done that last week I could almost see the lice crawling in his hair because he never washed. The first time I saw a statue carved from marble, I was very young but I remember I just had to touch the flowing robes because they looked so real. It was the same watching the statue of David from different angles. I liked the science the program introduced as well. How the workers moved the statue, how the marble was quarried and how the fresco medium was mixed. Please sir, ABC, sir, can I have some more?
SHAKESPEARE UNMASKED
"Shakespeare could hardly quill a stanza without inserting profanities of the day like 'zounds' or 'sblood' - offensive contractions of 'God's Wounds' and 'God's Blood' - or some wondrous sexual pun"
John McWhorter, an expert on the psychology of swearing at the Manhattan Institute, New York, criticises a proposed bill to limit obscenities on American airwaves, saying that swearing is a universal in human language.
Bless that syphilitic little quill pusher. This is also the man who Brendan Nelson says we should read more of in our schools. A combined course in profanity and sex-ed is what every teenager needs.
I swear a lot.
I swear like a trooper.
I swear like a blue water sailor.
I was taught to swear by a blue water sailor.
I swear because it's great for pain relief.
I taught my white haired mother to swear and I know I'll pay for that when I finally met up with my father again.
Being a woman I swear at men.
Being a lefty I swear at the right.
Being poor I swear at the rich which will change when I'm rich, then I'll swear at the poor.
Being fat I swear at size 8's.
I'd swear at teenagers but they swear back with bigger words.
My sister swears and we often swear in tandem. We have a habit of saying FIGJAM to the overly confident who aren't as wonderful as they like to think they are. Being shorthand it preserves our dignity in polite company. I've even gone all Elizabethan and shouted 'God's Death' (#@*# TV shows). I keep a swear tin by the computer and use it to keep my blog clean, mostly.
Now the fun's gone out of it. It's legit. It's universal in human language, bugger it. *clunk*
The academics have taken the %$@# fun out of a @#%* good sport, when everyone knows the only obscenity on American airwaves is GDubya. Bless his @#&* little @#&* cotton @#$* socks.
Yigfurk and have a @#$* nice day.
John McWhorter, an expert on the psychology of swearing at the Manhattan Institute, New York, criticises a proposed bill to limit obscenities on American airwaves, saying that swearing is a universal in human language.
Bless that syphilitic little quill pusher. This is also the man who Brendan Nelson says we should read more of in our schools. A combined course in profanity and sex-ed is what every teenager needs.
I swear a lot.
I swear like a trooper.
I swear like a blue water sailor.
I was taught to swear by a blue water sailor.
I swear because it's great for pain relief.
I taught my white haired mother to swear and I know I'll pay for that when I finally met up with my father again.
Being a woman I swear at men.
Being a lefty I swear at the right.
Being poor I swear at the rich which will change when I'm rich, then I'll swear at the poor.
Being fat I swear at size 8's.
I'd swear at teenagers but they swear back with bigger words.
My sister swears and we often swear in tandem. We have a habit of saying FIGJAM to the overly confident who aren't as wonderful as they like to think they are. Being shorthand it preserves our dignity in polite company. I've even gone all Elizabethan and shouted 'God's Death' (#@*# TV shows). I keep a swear tin by the computer and use it to keep my blog clean, mostly.
Now the fun's gone out of it. It's legit. It's universal in human language, bugger it. *clunk*
The academics have taken the %$@# fun out of a @#%* good sport, when everyone knows the only obscenity on American airwaves is GDubya. Bless his @#&* little @#&* cotton @#$* socks.
Yigfurk and have a @#$* nice day.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
NICENESS
It was hard going this morning, sometimes the knees need bribing to start moving. It doesn't help getting a driver who likes to jerk the bus and the backside hits the seat before the knees are ready. Instant pain. The train ride is always peaceful but not today. The girl behind me coughed all the way to Frankston. Real gut wrenching lung busting hacking coughs. At one stage I expected to see bits of lung go flying past and land half way up the carriage. I kept thinking of those signs they used to have in wartime, 'Is your journey really necessary?'. It wasn't much good moving, any germs had enough momentum to hang a left around Mars.
No taxis, so a half hour walk to M-in-law. Every time I think I'll tell her that it'll be just once a month, she comes out with something really nice and I can't do it. "I can always count on you," she says. "All the rotten things that you've gone through and you're still the same nice person you always were." She's so pleased that I didn't drop her when he left and I still can't do it. I can feel my guardian angel belting me about the head with his wings while yelling 'old lady, be kind, be kind'.
Walk back to the train which is full of grotty teenagers, mobile phones, school bags and more germs than I had this morning. I get a tap on the shoulder from a nose ring and pink hair and an unexpected niceness. She likes my hair comb and would I mind telling her where I bought it. I make my own jewelled creations so I show her what to do. Unfeigned interest and politeness
and a thank-you. Guardian angel still at it with 'niceness, niceness everywhere you go'. Shut up.
Just to get a double whammy, my mother is next. I arrive with lunch, always arrive with food if you don't want to starve. She's crippled with rheumatoid arthritis but she keeps going on will power and morphine. It's hard not to help but we have to let her do as much as she can or her mobility goes. I sit down and make all the ribbon roses her hands won't let her do anymore, so she's set for another week of craft projects. I'm then allowed to walk home, or crawl to be more exact, threatening to rip the wings off my guardian angel if he opens his mouth once. There's just so much niceness I can do or take in one day.
No taxis, so a half hour walk to M-in-law. Every time I think I'll tell her that it'll be just once a month, she comes out with something really nice and I can't do it. "I can always count on you," she says. "All the rotten things that you've gone through and you're still the same nice person you always were." She's so pleased that I didn't drop her when he left and I still can't do it. I can feel my guardian angel belting me about the head with his wings while yelling 'old lady, be kind, be kind'.
Walk back to the train which is full of grotty teenagers, mobile phones, school bags and more germs than I had this morning. I get a tap on the shoulder from a nose ring and pink hair and an unexpected niceness. She likes my hair comb and would I mind telling her where I bought it. I make my own jewelled creations so I show her what to do. Unfeigned interest and politeness
and a thank-you. Guardian angel still at it with 'niceness, niceness everywhere you go'. Shut up.
Just to get a double whammy, my mother is next. I arrive with lunch, always arrive with food if you don't want to starve. She's crippled with rheumatoid arthritis but she keeps going on will power and morphine. It's hard not to help but we have to let her do as much as she can or her mobility goes. I sit down and make all the ribbon roses her hands won't let her do anymore, so she's set for another week of craft projects. I'm then allowed to walk home, or crawl to be more exact, threatening to rip the wings off my guardian angel if he opens his mouth once. There's just so much niceness I can do or take in one day.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
SHOPPING 2
This shopping day writing could become a regular whinge. I can't believe how much food has gone up in two weeks. I get the same things and I use a calculator so Safeway can't fool me. I keep remembering old film from 1930s Germany when people used a barrow to carry money for food and wondering when I'll have to do the same. Cat food is a better investment than Telstra and it's gone up because steel for the cans has gone up. Can't you lot put it in plastic so I'm not lining the pockets of the wealthy and the wealthier who throw their spare change into BHP?
I couldn't even afford to buy Blue magazine. I never thought I'd come down to deciding whether to feed my inner perve or my outer woman.
So, because I'm in a snotty mood here's my up-your-nose to all the evangelical, fundamentalist, christian anti-science wastes of space. A last word on my penguins, my precious atheist penguins.
Some species can expel their poop with such force it can land 40 centimetres away. The penguins have to generate internal pressures of up to 60 kilopascals, which is more than 4 times the peak squeeze typically exerted by humans. (hope that's TMI for them)
Next time the Godsquad turns up at the zoo to praise the tuxedo wearers, I hope the penguins turn their backs and do what every scientist would love to do.
I couldn't even afford to buy Blue magazine. I never thought I'd come down to deciding whether to feed my inner perve or my outer woman.
So, because I'm in a snotty mood here's my up-your-nose to all the evangelical, fundamentalist, christian anti-science wastes of space. A last word on my penguins, my precious atheist penguins.
Some species can expel their poop with such force it can land 40 centimetres away. The penguins have to generate internal pressures of up to 60 kilopascals, which is more than 4 times the peak squeeze typically exerted by humans. (hope that's TMI for them)
Next time the Godsquad turns up at the zoo to praise the tuxedo wearers, I hope the penguins turn their backs and do what every scientist would love to do.
SPRING GARDEN
We've had too much Spring rain, it can stop now. It makes Spring seem like left over Winter. It wrecks the racing form for the Cup. It makes the grass grow and the weeds and the ivy. Especially the ivy which is supposed to keep to its side of the bluestone barrier but with all this rain it's not keeping the bargain. It's sneaking up the fence and into the trees.
It knows I can't get rid of it because underneath those lovely shiny leaves is a seething, heaving mass of fornicaton and reproduction. Slugs, spiders, lizards and snails are all at it. I live in hope that they'll eat each other but as long as the ivy stays, the garden ghetto is safe.
I tear up the junk mail and feed it to the snails. I am their god, the one who rains manna from heaven, the one they worship. I can hear the little slimers muttering, 'we can't cross the barrier. The god who feeds us will let us die in the sacred pools of frothy amber. Don't cross the barrier'. It's a shocking waste of a tinnie (not really it's Sydney brew) but they die happy and it keeps the rest in their place.
The slugs are something else, for one thing they're carnivores and they're huge. They'll eat any cat food I throw out to the Magpies and would eat the Magpies if they could. I could blame myself for this since the ivy's a good buriel spot for the occasional dead bird or mouse so carnivorous mutant slugs might be a local phenomenon. Although I'm sure I've seen some sliming the corridors of power in Canberra.
I've no idea how many species of spiders live in there but after seeing something big, black and hairy dragging an egg sack containing half the population of Tokyo, I don't want to. I have visions of a slug vs. spider 'Mad Max' existence in the depths.
I mean something out there is knocking off mice and birds. I know it's not the cats. The garden is foreign territory to them, just something they look at from behind glass between trips to the food dish and my bed.
So I can't kill the ivy and it knows it.
It's an ivy-free zone at the back but that's not without the wildlife spookies either. Late afternoon, the birds start gathering along the fence like a casting call for an Alfred Hitchcock movie. They sit close together, watching, silent and waiting, except for the doves who are usually too busy having wild sex under the lime tree. Talk about seed fuelled rage parties, they go at it at the drop of a feather. Exhibitionists! I've seen more action under that tree than in my.....aah never mind where.
Night belongs to the possums. Ringtails and Brushtails, always hungry and like the doves perpetually horny if the noise on the roof is anything to go by. They hate me because I cut down the Spruce tree but it was in their own best interests. I was always amused at how they would delicately negotiate the phone line across the road, across the garden to the roof and then leap to the Spruce only to miss it completely and hit every branch on the way down......every night! These freeloaders come for apples and currants, not cheap sultanas but expensive currants. They also like honey-dipped bread but unless they're prepared to chip in for my Tasmanian leatherwood goodness, let 'em eat crumbs.
I'm not a slave to my garden, I'm a slave to every creatures that looks at me cutely. But I'm warning them, the minute I win Tattslotto I'm having the whole lot bricked over.
It knows I can't get rid of it because underneath those lovely shiny leaves is a seething, heaving mass of fornicaton and reproduction. Slugs, spiders, lizards and snails are all at it. I live in hope that they'll eat each other but as long as the ivy stays, the garden ghetto is safe.
I tear up the junk mail and feed it to the snails. I am their god, the one who rains manna from heaven, the one they worship. I can hear the little slimers muttering, 'we can't cross the barrier. The god who feeds us will let us die in the sacred pools of frothy amber. Don't cross the barrier'. It's a shocking waste of a tinnie (not really it's Sydney brew) but they die happy and it keeps the rest in their place.
The slugs are something else, for one thing they're carnivores and they're huge. They'll eat any cat food I throw out to the Magpies and would eat the Magpies if they could. I could blame myself for this since the ivy's a good buriel spot for the occasional dead bird or mouse so carnivorous mutant slugs might be a local phenomenon. Although I'm sure I've seen some sliming the corridors of power in Canberra.
I've no idea how many species of spiders live in there but after seeing something big, black and hairy dragging an egg sack containing half the population of Tokyo, I don't want to. I have visions of a slug vs. spider 'Mad Max' existence in the depths.
I mean something out there is knocking off mice and birds. I know it's not the cats. The garden is foreign territory to them, just something they look at from behind glass between trips to the food dish and my bed.
So I can't kill the ivy and it knows it.
It's an ivy-free zone at the back but that's not without the wildlife spookies either. Late afternoon, the birds start gathering along the fence like a casting call for an Alfred Hitchcock movie. They sit close together, watching, silent and waiting, except for the doves who are usually too busy having wild sex under the lime tree. Talk about seed fuelled rage parties, they go at it at the drop of a feather. Exhibitionists! I've seen more action under that tree than in my.....aah never mind where.
Night belongs to the possums. Ringtails and Brushtails, always hungry and like the doves perpetually horny if the noise on the roof is anything to go by. They hate me because I cut down the Spruce tree but it was in their own best interests. I was always amused at how they would delicately negotiate the phone line across the road, across the garden to the roof and then leap to the Spruce only to miss it completely and hit every branch on the way down......every night! These freeloaders come for apples and currants, not cheap sultanas but expensive currants. They also like honey-dipped bread but unless they're prepared to chip in for my Tasmanian leatherwood goodness, let 'em eat crumbs.
I'm not a slave to my garden, I'm a slave to every creatures that looks at me cutely. But I'm warning them, the minute I win Tattslotto I'm having the whole lot bricked over.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
MORE ME
My sister said I should put more of me into my posts. That's too scary for me to even think about much less write about. I've got more locked dungeon doors in my mind than Drac's castle and I don't need little cheery sunbeams illuminating my children of the night.
On the other hand, since yesterday I had to front up to Centrelink with the usual trunkload of documents to prove who I am. Yes, I am still the fat crippled throw-away wife I was five years ago and please could you not take away the handsome amount of money our benevolent system allows me to exist on. I find nobody has updated my file since 2000 and I am still separated with numerous bank accounts and fixed deposits, I wish. (My worst nightmare to find I am still married to him) This throws me into forgetting when the divorce was finalised, I have to work back to when he left then go forward to when he re-married. So shaking, stuttering and looking totally unlike a cool, calm welfare scammer, I finally left the building. If I never forgive you for anything, it will be turning me into a beggar at the government's table. I haven't forgotten your parting words about getting a DSP with my rotten health because you didn't intend to give me a penny. I haven't forgotten you wanting me to turn back the separation because the blonde had booked the wedding too early. I haven't forgotten you walking in and out of this house as though you still owned it and me. I haven't forgotten your words at your wedding about not having a past just a glorious future. Well I walked by the grave of your past yesterday and I know you've never been there once. Does your glorious future ever contain one thought of him?
Out of kindness for your mother, I will keep up the illusion of friendship because it makes her happy. When she goes, I will never speak or think of you again. I hate the fact that I have to smile when I talk to you instead of ripping your throat out. I hate pretending I'm the same pathetic person you walked over on your way out. I hate writing this because it still ties me to you.
On the other hand, since yesterday I had to front up to Centrelink with the usual trunkload of documents to prove who I am. Yes, I am still the fat crippled throw-away wife I was five years ago and please could you not take away the handsome amount of money our benevolent system allows me to exist on. I find nobody has updated my file since 2000 and I am still separated with numerous bank accounts and fixed deposits, I wish. (My worst nightmare to find I am still married to him) This throws me into forgetting when the divorce was finalised, I have to work back to when he left then go forward to when he re-married. So shaking, stuttering and looking totally unlike a cool, calm welfare scammer, I finally left the building. If I never forgive you for anything, it will be turning me into a beggar at the government's table. I haven't forgotten your parting words about getting a DSP with my rotten health because you didn't intend to give me a penny. I haven't forgotten you wanting me to turn back the separation because the blonde had booked the wedding too early. I haven't forgotten you walking in and out of this house as though you still owned it and me. I haven't forgotten your words at your wedding about not having a past just a glorious future. Well I walked by the grave of your past yesterday and I know you've never been there once. Does your glorious future ever contain one thought of him?
Out of kindness for your mother, I will keep up the illusion of friendship because it makes her happy. When she goes, I will never speak or think of you again. I hate the fact that I have to smile when I talk to you instead of ripping your throat out. I hate pretending I'm the same pathetic person you walked over on your way out. I hate writing this because it still ties me to you.
Monday, October 24, 2005
WEIRD SCIENCE
"A beer mat that can tell when a glass is nearly empty and prompts bar staff for a refill has been created in Germany. The mat contains a pressure sensor to detect when the drink is running low and a radio transmitter to alert the bar."
A goodie for the blokes and I'm sure it will be a hot item. Now to follow up the drinking part could we please have some research into an automatic toilet seat that reminds a man to put it down before he leaves. Perhaps an infrared beam that puts the seat up and down when a useless appendage is waved in front of it. What it is with men and their inability to drop a plastic seat? I know I'm asking them to multi-task, shake drops, zip up, put seat down but it's not rocket science. Considering how they pride themselves on their aim, what's so difficult about leaving the seat down in the first place? Before the argument starts, yes, women can pee standing up. We might not be able to write our name in the snow but we can dot the i. It's just that we prefer comfort over expeediency (joke there).
The Germans are an efficient mob and have come up with an invention for women. Equality, wow.
It's a titanium bra, a breast implant.
"The titanium and polyester mesh cups are fitted to each breast and stitched to the breastbone and pectoral muscles for support".
Newsflash, researchers! I have titanium knees and in winter they freeze enough to sink the Titanic. The thought of carry around two ice cubes in my chest doesn't do it for me. Even the thought of the pain factor has my eyes watering.
If you think the lines at airports are long now, wait until the TT's (short for....) start flying. "Good morning miss. Is that a bomb you're carrying or just your TT's setting off every alarm in the terminal?"
We women though like to share and we know some men out there would love a little lift and separate. A couple of titanium and polyester mesh cups later and they really would clank when they walked.
A goodie for the blokes and I'm sure it will be a hot item. Now to follow up the drinking part could we please have some research into an automatic toilet seat that reminds a man to put it down before he leaves. Perhaps an infrared beam that puts the seat up and down when a useless appendage is waved in front of it. What it is with men and their inability to drop a plastic seat? I know I'm asking them to multi-task, shake drops, zip up, put seat down but it's not rocket science. Considering how they pride themselves on their aim, what's so difficult about leaving the seat down in the first place? Before the argument starts, yes, women can pee standing up. We might not be able to write our name in the snow but we can dot the i. It's just that we prefer comfort over expeediency (joke there).
The Germans are an efficient mob and have come up with an invention for women. Equality, wow.
It's a titanium bra, a breast implant.
"The titanium and polyester mesh cups are fitted to each breast and stitched to the breastbone and pectoral muscles for support".
Newsflash, researchers! I have titanium knees and in winter they freeze enough to sink the Titanic. The thought of carry around two ice cubes in my chest doesn't do it for me. Even the thought of the pain factor has my eyes watering.
If you think the lines at airports are long now, wait until the TT's (short for....) start flying. "Good morning miss. Is that a bomb you're carrying or just your TT's setting off every alarm in the terminal?"
We women though like to share and we know some men out there would love a little lift and separate. A couple of titanium and polyester mesh cups later and they really would clank when they walked.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
OUR 'FRIEND' AGAIN
Same sex couples are being encouraged to become foster parents to ease a chronic shortage of carers. The Foster Care Association of Victoria spokeswoman, Sandra Creaner said it was a recognition that we are a state of diversity. The Association is after all types of people as long as they are the best option for the child.
Very sensible thinking but look who's in full voice against it. Our old friend, Bill Muehlenberg of the Australian Family Association. He thinks it's wrong to conduct social experiments with children in foster care and having two mums or two dads is not nature's ideal.
Sorry Bill but 'two mums' and 'two dads' families are flourishing. As much as you would like to think differently, children are growing up happy with their rainbow families. Hopefully growing up with a lot more tolerance than you usually show.
Caring for children is not a heterosexually exclusive trait and fostering children takes tremendous patience and a lot of love. I know I wouldn't make a good foster parent so anyone, gay or straight, that makes the grade has my support.
The ACE website had a link to a newspaper article about the anger of victims of crime over the fact that there is one victim liaison officer to 12 Gay and Lesbian liaison officers. The Crime Victims Support Association president, Noel McNamara said the disparity in police numbers devoted to gay liaison and victim liaison was a disgrace.
I don't think this is a case of homophobia but more an angry and justified cry for help. The victims are dependent on their liaison officer for support and information on investigations involving themselves or family members. Investigations can go on for years and victims have to live with this. It's not about decreasing the numbers of Gay liaison officers but finding the money for more victim liaison officers. In the meantime, perhaps the Gay community can offer to share their officers with the victims of crime. It might help to build a bridge.
Very sensible thinking but look who's in full voice against it. Our old friend, Bill Muehlenberg of the Australian Family Association. He thinks it's wrong to conduct social experiments with children in foster care and having two mums or two dads is not nature's ideal.
Sorry Bill but 'two mums' and 'two dads' families are flourishing. As much as you would like to think differently, children are growing up happy with their rainbow families. Hopefully growing up with a lot more tolerance than you usually show.
Caring for children is not a heterosexually exclusive trait and fostering children takes tremendous patience and a lot of love. I know I wouldn't make a good foster parent so anyone, gay or straight, that makes the grade has my support.
The ACE website had a link to a newspaper article about the anger of victims of crime over the fact that there is one victim liaison officer to 12 Gay and Lesbian liaison officers. The Crime Victims Support Association president, Noel McNamara said the disparity in police numbers devoted to gay liaison and victim liaison was a disgrace.
I don't think this is a case of homophobia but more an angry and justified cry for help. The victims are dependent on their liaison officer for support and information on investigations involving themselves or family members. Investigations can go on for years and victims have to live with this. It's not about decreasing the numbers of Gay liaison officers but finding the money for more victim liaison officers. In the meantime, perhaps the Gay community can offer to share their officers with the victims of crime. It might help to build a bridge.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
WHAT DESIGN?
Stolen from Urbancreature who nicked it from Mr. Lefty.
Weblog Usability.
The Top Ten Design Mistakes.
1. No Author Biographies.
I've always wanted to be a woman of mystery.
2. No Author photo.
I need a bigger screen.
3. Nondescript Posting Titles.
Gotcha! I sweat blood over my pithy titles.
4. Links don't say where they go.
Neither do teenagers.
5. Classic Hits are Buried.
How do they know what I did to the ex?
6. The Calender is the only navigation.
They didn't give me one. Was it something I said?
7. Irregular Publishing Frequency.
Not me. I'm into double figures, 15 so far.
8. Mixing Topics.
When one is a monumental know-it-all, one can't help but mix topics.
*childishly blows rasberry*
9. Forgetting that you write for your future Boss.
Lady Lash at the Pleasure Palace for Lonely Men is computer illiterate.
10. Having a Domain name owned by a weblog service.
What!!! Just a minute while I find a 5 year old to explain.
Weblog Usability.
The Top Ten Design Mistakes.
1. No Author Biographies.
I've always wanted to be a woman of mystery.
2. No Author photo.
I need a bigger screen.
3. Nondescript Posting Titles.
Gotcha! I sweat blood over my pithy titles.
4. Links don't say where they go.
Neither do teenagers.
5. Classic Hits are Buried.
How do they know what I did to the ex?
6. The Calender is the only navigation.
They didn't give me one. Was it something I said?
7. Irregular Publishing Frequency.
Not me. I'm into double figures, 15 so far.
8. Mixing Topics.
When one is a monumental know-it-all, one can't help but mix topics.
*childishly blows rasberry*
9. Forgetting that you write for your future Boss.
Lady Lash at the Pleasure Palace for Lonely Men is computer illiterate.
10. Having a Domain name owned by a weblog service.
What!!! Just a minute while I find a 5 year old to explain.
A TALE OF THREE
I know three men. The eldest remembers abuse he suffered in a church-run home. The second was accosted bya paedophile, escaped unharmed but traumatised. The third was subjected to a regime of sexual harassment by a jealous supervisor. The incidents happened when they were young and vulnerable but the effects have lasted and coloured their perception of homosexuals.
The first two cannot separate paedophilia from homosexuality. The third knows they exist but not in his world.
It's the third one I know most about. He walked away from his apprenticeship and it was years before he told us why, even now we don't know the full story. He disapproves of my involvement with the Gay Rights Lobby. He can't understand that what happened to him as a straight kid happens to gay kids every day of the week. When I asked if he would abuse or bash a gay kid, he was horrified and said no-one gets bashed with him around. Here is someone who would prefer that queers stayed invisible but wouldn't allow them to be hurt. Consider him a work-in-progress.
The other two won't change. Their experiences provided an opening for the "paedophiles are homosexuals" propaganda and it's part of them. Neither of these men is the bash and abuse type but they can spread the propaganda and perpetuate the myth. Nothing I could say will change them.
I began to think about them as I read Rodney Croome's post on a Pride or Prejudice anti-homophobia training workshop for teachers. The teachers are in a hurry , the Education Department wants them to wait until a formal academic evaluation of the impact of the program on student attitudes is completed. Schools are the first place young people become aware of their sexuality and aware of the dangers if that sexuality is a same sex attraction. I sympathise with the teachers who watch the bullying going on everyday but the Department worries if the teachers will cope with the teenagers coming out.
I know that schools have to be made safe for lgbt teens. Straight students have to be taught that it's not okay to bash and abuse, inside or outside of school hours. Quality sex and sexuality programs are need to stop the myths. That kid you've known for years doesn't suddenly become a monster when he or she says they're gay. Bad attitudes formulated at school follow through life so let's stop them here. It's naive, simplistic and idealistic because I haven't allowed for parents, religion or community attitudes but it's not about them.
We need a program that keeps gay teens alive long enough to be strong enough to be confident enough in their gay selves. It's the safest thing we can do for them.
The first two cannot separate paedophilia from homosexuality. The third knows they exist but not in his world.
It's the third one I know most about. He walked away from his apprenticeship and it was years before he told us why, even now we don't know the full story. He disapproves of my involvement with the Gay Rights Lobby. He can't understand that what happened to him as a straight kid happens to gay kids every day of the week. When I asked if he would abuse or bash a gay kid, he was horrified and said no-one gets bashed with him around. Here is someone who would prefer that queers stayed invisible but wouldn't allow them to be hurt. Consider him a work-in-progress.
The other two won't change. Their experiences provided an opening for the "paedophiles are homosexuals" propaganda and it's part of them. Neither of these men is the bash and abuse type but they can spread the propaganda and perpetuate the myth. Nothing I could say will change them.
I began to think about them as I read Rodney Croome's post on a Pride or Prejudice anti-homophobia training workshop for teachers. The teachers are in a hurry , the Education Department wants them to wait until a formal academic evaluation of the impact of the program on student attitudes is completed. Schools are the first place young people become aware of their sexuality and aware of the dangers if that sexuality is a same sex attraction. I sympathise with the teachers who watch the bullying going on everyday but the Department worries if the teachers will cope with the teenagers coming out.
I know that schools have to be made safe for lgbt teens. Straight students have to be taught that it's not okay to bash and abuse, inside or outside of school hours. Quality sex and sexuality programs are need to stop the myths. That kid you've known for years doesn't suddenly become a monster when he or she says they're gay. Bad attitudes formulated at school follow through life so let's stop them here. It's naive, simplistic and idealistic because I haven't allowed for parents, religion or community attitudes but it's not about them.
We need a program that keeps gay teens alive long enough to be strong enough to be confident enough in their gay selves. It's the safest thing we can do for them.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
BIG SEX
No, perverts and porn addicts, not that kind of sex. This is about 'big girl' sex, kindly brought to you by the North American Association for the Study of Obesity. Apparently if we 'big girls' start to lose weight we will see an improvement in the quality of our sex lives. I thought for a moment it meant they were going to train men to stop looking for J.Lo and start dealing with reality. But no, it comes down to us not feeling sexually unattractive and improving desire with even a moderate weight loss.
I have lost quite a lot of weight but it hasn't helped my sex life. I'm still reading about other people's, all the thrills without the spills so to speak. It's nice to have a man say it doesn't matter how big you are and then compare you to two Kylies rolled into one. How wonderful to be compared to someone I could wear as a lapel brooch.
I have to admit I'm as bitchy as the next thin person when it comes to another woman's weight.
I compare all the time and my standard measurement is whether I would need sunscreen if I stood behind 'her over there'. 'Her over there' is usually wearing stretch pants and a T-shirt that could double as an I-max screen. Never mind the weight, stretch pants are sexually unattractive even on a hot guy riding a bike. Mmmmmm..... hot guy on a bike.....okay desire is working.
The problem is and always will be no matter how thin I get (the QE11 is ever going to be a 12 metre yacht) I don't see myself as sexually attractive. I could get a PhD in seduction but would always fail the practical. I mean I wouldn't sleep with me if I was the last person on earth. All those self help books say you must love yourself first then others will.
Well, I do love myself, every glorious hectare, I just don't fancy me.
I have lost quite a lot of weight but it hasn't helped my sex life. I'm still reading about other people's, all the thrills without the spills so to speak. It's nice to have a man say it doesn't matter how big you are and then compare you to two Kylies rolled into one. How wonderful to be compared to someone I could wear as a lapel brooch.
I have to admit I'm as bitchy as the next thin person when it comes to another woman's weight.
I compare all the time and my standard measurement is whether I would need sunscreen if I stood behind 'her over there'. 'Her over there' is usually wearing stretch pants and a T-shirt that could double as an I-max screen. Never mind the weight, stretch pants are sexually unattractive even on a hot guy riding a bike. Mmmmmm..... hot guy on a bike.....okay desire is working.
The problem is and always will be no matter how thin I get (the QE11 is ever going to be a 12 metre yacht) I don't see myself as sexually attractive. I could get a PhD in seduction but would always fail the practical. I mean I wouldn't sleep with me if I was the last person on earth. All those self help books say you must love yourself first then others will.
Well, I do love myself, every glorious hectare, I just don't fancy me.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
NOT RATIONAL
I visited the 'My Gay Marriage' blog to see how Luke and Matthew were enjoying married life in Canada. They have a lovely apartment in Vancouver, have already been travelling and celebrating Canada's Thanksgiving Day. They posted photographs of the turkey, the decorations and the table set for two. Two chairs, two glasses and two plates for two lovely young men.
Instead of making me happy for them, it made me incredibly sad. They've already celebrated, alone, a day that wasn't Australian and without their family. They're getting ready for Halloween and Christmas, together, again without their family.
There were other things missing from their photographs, a dog under the table, a pampered cat on the couch, a baby on one knee and a toddler draped over a shoulder. They had to leave Australia for their dream wedding and they'll have to stay away to have their dream family.
It's Australia's loss that Luke and Matthew prefer to remain in Canada where they are recognized and respected as a married couple. They were, and are supported in every way by family, a Christian family who only want their happiness.
Contrast them to Max McCosker, 55, who stayed in the closet even though he's had a relationship for 25 years. In the aftermath of his arrest and trial in Fiji (about which I am not qualified to comment) his life is now open and almost destroyed. His family has turned away from him. It wasn't easy to come out 30 years ago and in some circumstances almost impossible. How sad that a family who's known him is silent. He's still the same man, although no longer with a hidden life. Does he regret not taking a chance on family to come out as a young man, to live with his partner? Only he can answer that.
There is a war being fought in this country, using the weapons of hate, fear, intolerance, law and religious dogma. Homosexuals must not be allowed to be happy, to flourish, to be themselves, to create families.
Dreadnought aka John Heard has said that same-sex attracted individuals are not made for marriage, it warps them. Fellow Catholic, Cardinal George Pell makes no secret of his feelings about same-sex marriage. Bill Muehlenberg of the AFA doesn't believe in same-sex marriage because he thinks homosexuals are no better than alcoholics and animals. The Federal Government legislates against same-sex marriage to score political points with religious groups but then recognises partners in its Anti-Terrorism Bill, s.105.32 (2) family member of a person means (a) the person's spouse, de facto spouse or same-sex partner.
Do homosexuals want marriage only for the legal benefits? No, I don't think that's the only reason. Marriage is a traditional ritual of commitment that has changed meaning over the centuries. It is now the most powerful way of saying, I take this person, in front of these witnesses, to be my love for the rest of my life. Children raised with this tradition of family love will go on to want the ritual for themselves and so society will be the richer.
We have no right to deny this tradition to any group of human beings for any reason, political or religious. It is not rational.
My apologies to Mr. McCosker if I give offence for using his story without his permission.
Instead of making me happy for them, it made me incredibly sad. They've already celebrated, alone, a day that wasn't Australian and without their family. They're getting ready for Halloween and Christmas, together, again without their family.
There were other things missing from their photographs, a dog under the table, a pampered cat on the couch, a baby on one knee and a toddler draped over a shoulder. They had to leave Australia for their dream wedding and they'll have to stay away to have their dream family.
It's Australia's loss that Luke and Matthew prefer to remain in Canada where they are recognized and respected as a married couple. They were, and are supported in every way by family, a Christian family who only want their happiness.
Contrast them to Max McCosker, 55, who stayed in the closet even though he's had a relationship for 25 years. In the aftermath of his arrest and trial in Fiji (about which I am not qualified to comment) his life is now open and almost destroyed. His family has turned away from him. It wasn't easy to come out 30 years ago and in some circumstances almost impossible. How sad that a family who's known him is silent. He's still the same man, although no longer with a hidden life. Does he regret not taking a chance on family to come out as a young man, to live with his partner? Only he can answer that.
There is a war being fought in this country, using the weapons of hate, fear, intolerance, law and religious dogma. Homosexuals must not be allowed to be happy, to flourish, to be themselves, to create families.
Dreadnought aka John Heard has said that same-sex attracted individuals are not made for marriage, it warps them. Fellow Catholic, Cardinal George Pell makes no secret of his feelings about same-sex marriage. Bill Muehlenberg of the AFA doesn't believe in same-sex marriage because he thinks homosexuals are no better than alcoholics and animals. The Federal Government legislates against same-sex marriage to score political points with religious groups but then recognises partners in its Anti-Terrorism Bill, s.105.32 (2) family member of a person means (a) the person's spouse, de facto spouse or same-sex partner.
Do homosexuals want marriage only for the legal benefits? No, I don't think that's the only reason. Marriage is a traditional ritual of commitment that has changed meaning over the centuries. It is now the most powerful way of saying, I take this person, in front of these witnesses, to be my love for the rest of my life. Children raised with this tradition of family love will go on to want the ritual for themselves and so society will be the richer.
We have no right to deny this tradition to any group of human beings for any reason, political or religious. It is not rational.
My apologies to Mr. McCosker if I give offence for using his story without his permission.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
OUTBREAK
The virus known as 'Spanish Flu' has been resurrected by the US as part of a bid to combat Bird Flu. "The 1918 virus was an entirely avian-like virus that adapted to humans," said Dr. Taubenberger. Scientists are studying it to find out what made it so deadly and comparing it to the way H5N1 is evolving may be the only chance to head off a world pandemic.
H1N1, named for the proteins on the outer skin, haemagglutinin and neuraminidase, hit American troops leaving for France in September 1918. From the 1st September to November ll, 1918, the American Force lost 35,000 men in battle. Starting from the same date through to April 1919, in Europe and America, the US Army lost nearly the same number to flu and pneumonia. The Navy lost over 4000 men in the last four months of 1918, nearly twice as many as the Germans had killed in the whole year. In Philadelphia, 7,500 people died in two weeks. There had been outbreaks in 1915, 1916 and 1917 but in France in 1917, horses also began dying of flu-like ailments.
In 1997 H5N1 appeared in Hong Kong. Authorities thought they had contained it, but 2005 sees H5N1 arrive in Europe. Already 64 people are dead but only after direct contact with infected birds. It, so far, has limited or no capability to pass human to human. No-one knows how many mutations it needs to become a global killer. In 1918 there was no jet travel but the virus spread world wide regardless and spread fast. It targeted young healthy people and killed quickly. Today we have a vast number of immune compromised people, AIDS sufferers who won't survive.
How many Australian scientist do we have working on virus vaccines?
How much of the 50 million dollars going to ASIO would be better used in training scientists to combat a greater threat than terrorists will ever be?
In 1918, there was no global health authority to collate data on the epidemic.
There are no exact figures for the deaths world-wide but it is believed to have killed 1 per cent of humanity.
The war on terrorism is nothing compared to this.
It's time the Government got serious about science.
H1N1, named for the proteins on the outer skin, haemagglutinin and neuraminidase, hit American troops leaving for France in September 1918. From the 1st September to November ll, 1918, the American Force lost 35,000 men in battle. Starting from the same date through to April 1919, in Europe and America, the US Army lost nearly the same number to flu and pneumonia. The Navy lost over 4000 men in the last four months of 1918, nearly twice as many as the Germans had killed in the whole year. In Philadelphia, 7,500 people died in two weeks. There had been outbreaks in 1915, 1916 and 1917 but in France in 1917, horses also began dying of flu-like ailments.
In 1997 H5N1 appeared in Hong Kong. Authorities thought they had contained it, but 2005 sees H5N1 arrive in Europe. Already 64 people are dead but only after direct contact with infected birds. It, so far, has limited or no capability to pass human to human. No-one knows how many mutations it needs to become a global killer. In 1918 there was no jet travel but the virus spread world wide regardless and spread fast. It targeted young healthy people and killed quickly. Today we have a vast number of immune compromised people, AIDS sufferers who won't survive.
How many Australian scientist do we have working on virus vaccines?
How much of the 50 million dollars going to ASIO would be better used in training scientists to combat a greater threat than terrorists will ever be?
In 1918, there was no global health authority to collate data on the epidemic.
There are no exact figures for the deaths world-wide but it is believed to have killed 1 per cent of humanity.
The war on terrorism is nothing compared to this.
It's time the Government got serious about science.
Monday, October 17, 2005
BAGS ARE PACKED
I spent yesterday working out how the proposed terrorism bill would affect me. Well, my bags are packed because if it goes through I'll probably be arrested on sedition. My last post has me showing the Clown Prince how to stage a palace coup against his King.
As an urban feminist, a supporter of gay rights, gay marriage and rainbow parents and a frequent thrower of blasphemies against the Prime Miniature, I'm gone. Not to mention the tirade of abuse I threw at Court Jester Abbot yesterday when I read about his new way of cutting the abortion figures.
Why doesn't somebody lock this man up and throw away his mouth? To stop abortions he wants to hand women money when they get pregnant, that's for counseling. Half way through the nine months, we get money for expenses. After the baby is born, we get the rest of the bonus money. What do we do then if we really didn't want the baby? Knowing Abbot, I'm sure he could set up a booming little baby market and we could get even more money.
I am suspicious about this anti-abortion stand. I get the feeling that the churches really miss the stigma being removed from pregnancy outside of marriage. In the old days their girls' homes were a ready source of baby-bearing slaves to be used and abused and coerced into giving up their children to be adopted by good christian families.
Okay, away from the creepy christians and back to this urban feminist terrorist. I'm against war because it kills children and if it doesn't kill them, it turns them into terrorists. I'm against extremists of any kind, from any country, of any religion. I'm against prejudice, poverty and corporate greed. I'm also against reality TV shows so that makes me hostile to media moguls.
That should be enough to put me under house arrest. I can handle that but I will fight to the death to defend my blog. *sings* You can't take that away from me!
As an urban feminist, a supporter of gay rights, gay marriage and rainbow parents and a frequent thrower of blasphemies against the Prime Miniature, I'm gone. Not to mention the tirade of abuse I threw at Court Jester Abbot yesterday when I read about his new way of cutting the abortion figures.
Why doesn't somebody lock this man up and throw away his mouth? To stop abortions he wants to hand women money when they get pregnant, that's for counseling. Half way through the nine months, we get money for expenses. After the baby is born, we get the rest of the bonus money. What do we do then if we really didn't want the baby? Knowing Abbot, I'm sure he could set up a booming little baby market and we could get even more money.
I am suspicious about this anti-abortion stand. I get the feeling that the churches really miss the stigma being removed from pregnancy outside of marriage. In the old days their girls' homes were a ready source of baby-bearing slaves to be used and abused and coerced into giving up their children to be adopted by good christian families.
Okay, away from the creepy christians and back to this urban feminist terrorist. I'm against war because it kills children and if it doesn't kill them, it turns them into terrorists. I'm against extremists of any kind, from any country, of any religion. I'm against prejudice, poverty and corporate greed. I'm also against reality TV shows so that makes me hostile to media moguls.
That should be enough to put me under house arrest. I can handle that but I will fight to the death to defend my blog. *sings* You can't take that away from me!
Saturday, October 15, 2005
A MOMENT, MR. COSTELLO
MYZOCYTOSIS: Heterotrophic nutritional mode in which prey is suctioned into a food vacuole via a feeding tube or peduncle, and then digested. In other words, the predator penetrates the prey and eats it from the inside out, drawing in the cytoplasmic contents for dinner.
It's the opposite of phagotrophy, where the whole prey is engulfed and eaten from the outside in.
My science lesson for today and while I was reading about this fascinating myzocytosis, it occurred to me that I could make some money with this.
Oh, Mr. Costello, Mr. Treasurer, Mr. "I want to be P.M", I have a little plan I'd like to sell to you. A surefire way for you to rule our fair land. All you have to do is:
1. Leave a note saying you're in hiding to write the truth about the last five years of the Liberal party. This will ensure that the entire country and the P.M. will be looking for you in the wrong direction.
2. Sneak up on the P.M. and crawl up his bum. This part should be easy, you've been half-way up there for years so going the whole nine yards shouldn't be a stretch.
3. Suction the P.M.'s innards into your food vacuole. No problem here, you've been swallowing his crap for years about his retirement so what's a bit more.
4. Make yourself comfortable in his skin. This could be difficult as you'll have to shorten your outlook a little. (short person joke in case you missed it)
5. This is important. Remember to stand on his record not yours but since you're not around, blame yourself for everything that goes wrong.
6. Look kindly on those who have helped you on your torturous road to the inner workings of Prime Ministership.
7. Put out a press release saying that Costello has joined Latham to build a commune in the wilderness.
8. Really, really important bit. Do not exult in your triumph. One smirk and the game is up.
It's the opposite of phagotrophy, where the whole prey is engulfed and eaten from the outside in.
My science lesson for today and while I was reading about this fascinating myzocytosis, it occurred to me that I could make some money with this.
Oh, Mr. Costello, Mr. Treasurer, Mr. "I want to be P.M", I have a little plan I'd like to sell to you. A surefire way for you to rule our fair land. All you have to do is:
1. Leave a note saying you're in hiding to write the truth about the last five years of the Liberal party. This will ensure that the entire country and the P.M. will be looking for you in the wrong direction.
2. Sneak up on the P.M. and crawl up his bum. This part should be easy, you've been half-way up there for years so going the whole nine yards shouldn't be a stretch.
3. Suction the P.M.'s innards into your food vacuole. No problem here, you've been swallowing his crap for years about his retirement so what's a bit more.
4. Make yourself comfortable in his skin. This could be difficult as you'll have to shorten your outlook a little. (short person joke in case you missed it)
5. This is important. Remember to stand on his record not yours but since you're not around, blame yourself for everything that goes wrong.
6. Look kindly on those who have helped you on your torturous road to the inner workings of Prime Ministership.
7. Put out a press release saying that Costello has joined Latham to build a commune in the wilderness.
8. Really, really important bit. Do not exult in your triumph. One smirk and the game is up.
Friday, October 14, 2005
WHEN I'M GOOD I'M BAD
I visited my ex-mother-in-law today. It takes me four hours of travelling to spend two hours with her. She's 92 and I encourage her every visit to make it to 100. That's eight more years before the Blight of my Life gets his hands on her money and gives it to the blonde he ran off with.
Even when I'm being good, I'm really being bad.
Even when I'm being good, I'm really being bad.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
CHRISTIAN CREEPIES
Cardinal George Pell, Les Strong, Dr. James Dobson, Major-General Digger James. All men, all christians. Men who wrote to the Prime Miniature urging him to clarify the definition of marriage as the union between man and woman because it was morally, socially, and biologically right and according to christian principles.
Compare this to The Humanist Society of Victoria's President Rosslyn Ives who said consenting adults should be free to choose their partners and be protected by law. "Society thereby gains by accepting diverse forms of coupling, rather than trying to coerce all individuals into a standard mould," Ms Ives said. That is 21st century thinking.
Now we have Tony (christian man) Abbot saying the Government has no plans to change the availability of the abortion pill RU486, which was banned in Australia in 1996. He said, "the Government's position is unchanged although obviously we're always prepared to listen to someone who wants to make an intelligent case to us".
Are you even listening to us Abbot? Intelligent case or cries from the wilderness, it doesn't seem to matter to these christian men. They know what's good for our bodies and they'll keep making decisions about our bodies for us. Why are we still letting men keep us from the best choices for our health? Why are we still letting them define what form of union we should have and who we should have it with? Why are women still being patronised by this Government and every religious group in the country? Because we are our own worst enemies. We are still lumbered with the 19th century idea of men being our protectors and most women love it.
Well bugger off the whole lot of you. There are women out there who can outlive, out think and eventually outmanoeuvre you. We'll marry who we like and when we like. We know what's best for our health and well being so get used to it because eventually you'll hear us rage.
Compare this to The Humanist Society of Victoria's President Rosslyn Ives who said consenting adults should be free to choose their partners and be protected by law. "Society thereby gains by accepting diverse forms of coupling, rather than trying to coerce all individuals into a standard mould," Ms Ives said. That is 21st century thinking.
Now we have Tony (christian man) Abbot saying the Government has no plans to change the availability of the abortion pill RU486, which was banned in Australia in 1996. He said, "the Government's position is unchanged although obviously we're always prepared to listen to someone who wants to make an intelligent case to us".
Are you even listening to us Abbot? Intelligent case or cries from the wilderness, it doesn't seem to matter to these christian men. They know what's good for our bodies and they'll keep making decisions about our bodies for us. Why are we still letting men keep us from the best choices for our health? Why are we still letting them define what form of union we should have and who we should have it with? Why are women still being patronised by this Government and every religious group in the country? Because we are our own worst enemies. We are still lumbered with the 19th century idea of men being our protectors and most women love it.
Well bugger off the whole lot of you. There are women out there who can outlive, out think and eventually outmanoeuvre you. We'll marry who we like and when we like. We know what's best for our health and well being so get used to it because eventually you'll hear us rage.
SHOPPING DAY
I should call it something else, "Balancing Costello's Budget" day considering the amount of GST I seem to be paying. It's a day full of decisions. Blocks of chocolate are on special but I can be good and go past. I'll regret this moment of purity when I'm ransacking the cupboards at midnight like the demented chocoholic I am. Maybe just one block and pick the one which is not my favourite. First, a quick look at the registers, if cute check-out boy is on, the chocolate is out.
Why is the cute check-out boy so important? Because he paid ME a compliment, a pat on the head, a sop to my non-esteem. A month ago he said my shopping was the healthiest he'd put through all day. I've told you it's the small things that make me happy. Mind you, his speaking to me nearly gave me a heart attack because of what I was doing at the time.
I was indulging in my favourite hobby of mentally stripping him to his jocks (I don't go any further, the dangly bits make me giggle). Breaking into my thoughts like that could cause severe trauma in case he's the one in 20 million who can read minds. From there we had a conversation. He had been a vegetarian but lost too much weight. No ticks for that information, he's thin enough to pass for my left leg. Everything gets measured in relation to my left leg, except dangly bits, gutter minds.
He really is sweet with his lovely long fingers lingering over my vegetables. Unruly black curls, almost green eyes, straight teeth, cute bracelet on his wrist (memo-check Gay Guide) and a white shirt that is transparent under lights. So in order to continue my hobby, have a conversation and get my pat on the head, I don't feel I can slip the non-healthy chocolate through. I'm not completely virtuous, I go two shops down and buy it at Bi-Lo.
If he's fired, I have a back-up. Drool Boy no.2. He makes my cappucino with such thick foam the sugar sits on top so I can drink my coffee through the crystals......Mmm shopping day.
Why is the cute check-out boy so important? Because he paid ME a compliment, a pat on the head, a sop to my non-esteem. A month ago he said my shopping was the healthiest he'd put through all day. I've told you it's the small things that make me happy. Mind you, his speaking to me nearly gave me a heart attack because of what I was doing at the time.
I was indulging in my favourite hobby of mentally stripping him to his jocks (I don't go any further, the dangly bits make me giggle). Breaking into my thoughts like that could cause severe trauma in case he's the one in 20 million who can read minds. From there we had a conversation. He had been a vegetarian but lost too much weight. No ticks for that information, he's thin enough to pass for my left leg. Everything gets measured in relation to my left leg, except dangly bits, gutter minds.
He really is sweet with his lovely long fingers lingering over my vegetables. Unruly black curls, almost green eyes, straight teeth, cute bracelet on his wrist (memo-check Gay Guide) and a white shirt that is transparent under lights. So in order to continue my hobby, have a conversation and get my pat on the head, I don't feel I can slip the non-healthy chocolate through. I'm not completely virtuous, I go two shops down and buy it at Bi-Lo.
If he's fired, I have a back-up. Drool Boy no.2. He makes my cappucino with such thick foam the sugar sits on top so I can drink my coffee through the crystals......Mmm shopping day.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
THOUGHTS ON DISASTER
Nature is. Nature has no agenda, no ambition, no lust for killing, no politics, no religion.
Naure just is.
For the memory of every child, in India, Pakistan and Guatemala, I can offer these words by
Charlotte Grey.
Becoming a mother makes you the mother of all children.
From now on each wounded, abandoned, frightened child is yours.
You live in the suffering mothers of every race and creed and weep with them.
You long to comfort all who are desolate.
Naure just is.
For the memory of every child, in India, Pakistan and Guatemala, I can offer these words by
Charlotte Grey.
Becoming a mother makes you the mother of all children.
From now on each wounded, abandoned, frightened child is yours.
You live in the suffering mothers of every race and creed and weep with them.
You long to comfort all who are desolate.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
IT'S IN THE GENES
I have been doing my usual rounds of the political blogs using their brains to clarify what I am thinking. They obviously have more access to the hidden ways of government and can make sense of the ramblings of policyspeak. Maybe it's logic, something I haven't been blessed with. Show me a rock and I can tell you what it's composed of, show me a policy statement and get a blank stare. Give me science over politics and philosophy anytime, throw in physics as well, I'm rotten at that.
When I started writing, I intended to be serious about politics and life etc. etc. but humour always seems to be just under the surface, ready to jump out, ringing bells and waving flags. I can't help it, blame genetics.
Our family is hopeless at drama. It's not that we don't try, we've had enough life and death situations to fill a blog. It only takes one snigger and we're all off. Our family motto is "And if we laugh, tis that we may not weep". (Don't comment, I know I changed it)
Scene 1. Mother, stressed to the max by wedding preparations, struggles out of the front door,
down the steps, more struggles with the gate. She struggles on, up the hill, making mental shopping lists until halfway to the shop she realizes she is dragging the vacuum cleaner not carrying a basket. She gracefully turns around and heads home as though hoovering the footpath is something she does regularly. This is the stuff of family legend. The word 'hoover' is enough to rattle her cage for years.
Scene 2. Father in ICU, in a coma. Mother walks in, gasps, clutches my arm saying, "he looks so terrible. I can't believe he's aged so much". I'm puzzled, thinking he looks 100% on the day before until I see she's looking at the WRONG man in the WRONG bed and he is old, somewhere in the region of the late hundreds. That was the finish of the sensitive daughter act.
When cancer finally took him two years later, the Irish wake started in the car on the way to the service. We told so many funny stories about a very funny man and laughed so much we could barely make a dignified entrance.
There have been times when I have been unable to breathe with the uncontrolled laughter my family has generated. Yes, I do plan to post about serious issues on this blog but they'll have to sneak in without me looking or I'll break up, it's in the genes.
When I started writing, I intended to be serious about politics and life etc. etc. but humour always seems to be just under the surface, ready to jump out, ringing bells and waving flags. I can't help it, blame genetics.
Our family is hopeless at drama. It's not that we don't try, we've had enough life and death situations to fill a blog. It only takes one snigger and we're all off. Our family motto is "And if we laugh, tis that we may not weep". (Don't comment, I know I changed it)
Scene 1. Mother, stressed to the max by wedding preparations, struggles out of the front door,
down the steps, more struggles with the gate. She struggles on, up the hill, making mental shopping lists until halfway to the shop she realizes she is dragging the vacuum cleaner not carrying a basket. She gracefully turns around and heads home as though hoovering the footpath is something she does regularly. This is the stuff of family legend. The word 'hoover' is enough to rattle her cage for years.
Scene 2. Father in ICU, in a coma. Mother walks in, gasps, clutches my arm saying, "he looks so terrible. I can't believe he's aged so much". I'm puzzled, thinking he looks 100% on the day before until I see she's looking at the WRONG man in the WRONG bed and he is old, somewhere in the region of the late hundreds. That was the finish of the sensitive daughter act.
When cancer finally took him two years later, the Irish wake started in the car on the way to the service. We told so many funny stories about a very funny man and laughed so much we could barely make a dignified entrance.
There have been times when I have been unable to breathe with the uncontrolled laughter my family has generated. Yes, I do plan to post about serious issues on this blog but they'll have to sneak in without me looking or I'll break up, it's in the genes.
Monday, October 10, 2005
SERENITY
I missed 'Revenge of the Sith' due to circumstances beyond my control because I couldn't think of a way to fob off the gas and electricity and their bills took months to pay off. I was determined not to miss 'Serenity'. I rolled up for my Gold Class ticket only to find it was showing at theatre 1. I was stunned, a good science fiction not in Gold Class, followed by total shock as I saw my favourite theatre was showing....'Deuce Bigelow'. Rob Schneider had made a personal appearance to promote this tripe so they showed it in my Gold Class. Couldn't they have shuffled it off after he left the country?
School holidays were in full swing so I was ankle-deep in popcorn carrying munchkins. Luckily for me they were all going to see "Sharkboy and Lavagirl' in 3D so I settled in to enjoy 'Serenity'. I wasn't comfortable, no footrest, the screen didn't look right and the seat next to me was way too close. I'm used to having the nearest coughing, sneezing pervert at least a metre away. No servant to bring the coffee either not that I drink in the dark, I can spill enough under an MCG spotlight. At one screening, a man had food and drink delivered every 15 minutes and never missed his mouth.
I decided not to let 'uncomfortable' ruin the film but the movie trailers and THE AD didn't make it easy. Why does every spooky movie have an insane, wailing, scratching, clawing psychopathic black cat in it? It makes me nervous knowing I have two of them at home just waiting for the right full moon. Then there was THE AD. I'd seen in on TV and gone 'erk' but when it's on an enormous screen it really slaps you in the face. Don't ask me the name of the car the two naked people are flogging (I doubt anyone in Oz knows) but the sight of him bending over to put the car keys in his sock made me lean back in my seat. Where are the protesting religious fanatics when you need them?
By the way, the film was great but I think I lost my hearing in the first half hour. I never have that trouble in Gold Class (I should get a freebie for these plugs) where the noise is a reasonable level, not too loud, but enough to cover the chomping and slurping. The box office gross hasn't been good which means they'll push it to DVD fast which means I can buy it and enjoy it in my own Gold Class (I really need a freebie) with one eye on the cats and no car ads.
School holidays were in full swing so I was ankle-deep in popcorn carrying munchkins. Luckily for me they were all going to see "Sharkboy and Lavagirl' in 3D so I settled in to enjoy 'Serenity'. I wasn't comfortable, no footrest, the screen didn't look right and the seat next to me was way too close. I'm used to having the nearest coughing, sneezing pervert at least a metre away. No servant to bring the coffee either not that I drink in the dark, I can spill enough under an MCG spotlight. At one screening, a man had food and drink delivered every 15 minutes and never missed his mouth.
I decided not to let 'uncomfortable' ruin the film but the movie trailers and THE AD didn't make it easy. Why does every spooky movie have an insane, wailing, scratching, clawing psychopathic black cat in it? It makes me nervous knowing I have two of them at home just waiting for the right full moon. Then there was THE AD. I'd seen in on TV and gone 'erk' but when it's on an enormous screen it really slaps you in the face. Don't ask me the name of the car the two naked people are flogging (I doubt anyone in Oz knows) but the sight of him bending over to put the car keys in his sock made me lean back in my seat. Where are the protesting religious fanatics when you need them?
By the way, the film was great but I think I lost my hearing in the first half hour. I never have that trouble in Gold Class (I should get a freebie for these plugs) where the noise is a reasonable level, not too loud, but enough to cover the chomping and slurping. The box office gross hasn't been good which means they'll push it to DVD fast which means I can buy it and enjoy it in my own Gold Class (I really need a freebie) with one eye on the cats and no car ads.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
GETTING BETTER
Sometimes when you're down, some small thing picks you up, like a neighbour calling in with a slice of pavlova with cream, strawberries and passionfruit. I may put her in my will as I've been living on toast, tea and sulphur drugs for days. She did ask if I was still on a diet but in this situation what else could I do but lie.
This is bad as I'm a recovering fat person, in other words, I'm not really fat because I'm losing.
I'm down from the size of a small island to a small house. Every morning my higher consciousness tells me, today you will be a loser. Then my organic brain kicks in telling me where I hid the chocolate from last shopping day. Yes, I know life would be simpler if I didn't buy it in the first place but I hate disappointing those highly paid consultants who place them in the most strategic spot for fat people to see.
There is a light on the horizon for those of us with defective mouth syndrome (it's the old joke - it swallows everything you put in it). Developed in the US is a robot that nags fat people about their diet and exercise and warns you not to eat that cheesecake.
The robot in the shape of a dog would use a pedometer, bathroom scales and a PDA to gather information about weight, activity and eating habits. According to New Scientist, studies have shown that people who accurately record what they eat and how much they exercise are more likely to keep their weight down. (HaHaHa)
The robot has been programmed to exhibit four different behaviours, representing lethargy, energy and two stages in between. If you have stuck to your daily calouries, robodog will jump up and down, wag his tail, play vibrant music and flash brightly coloured LEDs. If you've been bad, robosnitch will move slowly and lethargically and play low-energy music. They're testing it on fatties next year.
I think I would last about 3 days before I kicked little robo right up its brightly flashing LEDs. It could be useful in other ways. If I was clever I could solder a basket to its back, shove $10 in its mouth and send it out for coffee and muffins. Not good for my weight but it's the small things that make me happy.
This is bad as I'm a recovering fat person, in other words, I'm not really fat because I'm losing.
I'm down from the size of a small island to a small house. Every morning my higher consciousness tells me, today you will be a loser. Then my organic brain kicks in telling me where I hid the chocolate from last shopping day. Yes, I know life would be simpler if I didn't buy it in the first place but I hate disappointing those highly paid consultants who place them in the most strategic spot for fat people to see.
There is a light on the horizon for those of us with defective mouth syndrome (it's the old joke - it swallows everything you put in it). Developed in the US is a robot that nags fat people about their diet and exercise and warns you not to eat that cheesecake.
The robot in the shape of a dog would use a pedometer, bathroom scales and a PDA to gather information about weight, activity and eating habits. According to New Scientist, studies have shown that people who accurately record what they eat and how much they exercise are more likely to keep their weight down. (HaHaHa)
The robot has been programmed to exhibit four different behaviours, representing lethargy, energy and two stages in between. If you have stuck to your daily calouries, robodog will jump up and down, wag his tail, play vibrant music and flash brightly coloured LEDs. If you've been bad, robosnitch will move slowly and lethargically and play low-energy music. They're testing it on fatties next year.
I think I would last about 3 days before I kicked little robo right up its brightly flashing LEDs. It could be useful in other ways. If I was clever I could solder a basket to its back, shove $10 in its mouth and send it out for coffee and muffins. Not good for my weight but it's the small things that make me happy.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
JUST A LITTLE UNWELL
This must be a record, 3 posts and I managed to get sick with, as yet, some unidentified ailment.
I'm multi-drug allergic so I'm currently taking sulphur tablets which have me crawling along the walls. I hate being ill because I was for so long but when I was divorced I picked up healthwise. I don't like being in pain and definitely not ill and in pain.
I don't know how people going through chemo or other painful treatments can actually keep a diary of how they're feeling and what's going on around them. When I really feel crook, there's nothing like planning the music for the funeral, hoping that I have one friend left who'll turn up and ways to come back and haunt anybody who puts Banksias or Proteas (I hate them) on my environment-friendly coffin.
I pick out a few old favourites to read so I don't have to think too much. It must be the doom in me that goes to Patricia Cornwell or Clive Cussler. Good old Dr. Kay makes me feel inadequate when I'm well, cutting up 10 cadavers during the day and home making Italian food for 16 at night. Then we have Dirk Pitt getting various bits of him burned, beaten or broken and still walking away on the last page.
This is the first time I've been able to turn on the computer for a week. Any longer and the withdrawal symptons would truly be horrendous but now I'm heading back to snooze awhile with Dirk.
I'm multi-drug allergic so I'm currently taking sulphur tablets which have me crawling along the walls. I hate being ill because I was for so long but when I was divorced I picked up healthwise. I don't like being in pain and definitely not ill and in pain.
I don't know how people going through chemo or other painful treatments can actually keep a diary of how they're feeling and what's going on around them. When I really feel crook, there's nothing like planning the music for the funeral, hoping that I have one friend left who'll turn up and ways to come back and haunt anybody who puts Banksias or Proteas (I hate them) on my environment-friendly coffin.
I pick out a few old favourites to read so I don't have to think too much. It must be the doom in me that goes to Patricia Cornwell or Clive Cussler. Good old Dr. Kay makes me feel inadequate when I'm well, cutting up 10 cadavers during the day and home making Italian food for 16 at night. Then we have Dirk Pitt getting various bits of him burned, beaten or broken and still walking away on the last page.
This is the first time I've been able to turn on the computer for a week. Any longer and the withdrawal symptons would truly be horrendous but now I'm heading back to snooze awhile with Dirk.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
VIRTUAL REALITY FOR MEN
I see Ron Boswell and Steve Fielding have rejected changes to allow women to have access to non-surgical abortions. At the moment women wanting Mifepristone must apply to the Federal Minister for Health and we all know who that is and what he stands for.
When are men going to stop making decisions about our bodies? When my patented Virtual Reality Machine hits the market, that's when. Men who think they know what is good for women will be able to step inside and experience childbirth, natural childbirth of course. As a free gift they could also have post-natal psychosis (apparently they already get post-natal depression but how do you tell, they're such whiners anyway) and then I might let them make an informed choice about what I can and cannot have. With a little tweaking of the program they could also experience the mental state of a rape or incest victim who finds herself pregnant.
I don't mind them making laws which apply to both sexes but not when they only apply to women. I like not being pregnant and wearing shoes and staying out of the kitchen.
When are men going to stop making decisions about our bodies? When my patented Virtual Reality Machine hits the market, that's when. Men who think they know what is good for women will be able to step inside and experience childbirth, natural childbirth of course. As a free gift they could also have post-natal psychosis (apparently they already get post-natal depression but how do you tell, they're such whiners anyway) and then I might let them make an informed choice about what I can and cannot have. With a little tweaking of the program they could also experience the mental state of a rape or incest victim who finds herself pregnant.
I don't mind them making laws which apply to both sexes but not when they only apply to women. I like not being pregnant and wearing shoes and staying out of the kitchen.
MOVING ON.
I have lost a friend, not in death but as in growing away.
In a 20 minute drive I found the things that I tolerated or ignored over the years were not things I would tolerate or ignore in a stranger. I am not gay but I support gay and lesbian rights especially the right to be happy, to be married and to have children. She can't understand this, especially letting 'those people' have children. She fostered a child for a short time and was very unhappy that the child went to two gay men in a permanent arrangement. Her concern was that the child might see something 'nasty' in the bedroom. She is still single so doesn't realize that living with children and sex consists of making sure they never see anything. It means making the space between bedrooms a DMZ with landmines and attack dogs. Parenting gays and parenting heteros do not roll naked around the lounge in front of little gossips who will take the tale to school next day. Believe me, getting sprung scars the parents more than the child. After explaining this, I launched into my usual spiel about the rotten job parenting is and anyone who wants the job gets my support. In one ear and out the other, gay parents will always do 'nasty' things in bedrooms.
The next conversation involved the government's newstart allowance which she had just put in for. I managed to keep my jaw from hitting the floor but it was an effort. She has just paid cash for a new house and received the first home-buyer allowance but it's a fair way out from the city so travelling to work would involve time. She knocked back the full time work, opting for part-time closer to home which has now all but dried up so newstart and the concessions will help get her over this financial hiccup. SHE CAN WORK, the full time position is still available, she is healthy, young and drives a car but she cannot see anything wrong with taking if the government is handing out. It's this attitude that will make it harder for those in real need for this allowance. I'm sure she knows the difference between right and wrong but she's selective about it.
Her body will grow old but her brain has reached the limit. She still thinks the same as she did 20 years ago and will be the same 20 years from now but I'm moving on.
I have lost a friend, not in death but as in growing away.
In a 20 minute drive I found the things that I tolerated or ignored over the years were not things I would tolerate or ignore in a stranger. I am not gay but I support gay and lesbian rights especially the right to be happy, to be married and to have children. She can't understand this, especially letting 'those people' have children. She fostered a child for a short time and was very unhappy that the child went to two gay men in a permanent arrangement. Her concern was that the child might see something 'nasty' in the bedroom. She is still single so doesn't realize that living with children and sex consists of making sure they never see anything. It means making the space between bedrooms a DMZ with landmines and attack dogs. Parenting gays and parenting heteros do not roll naked around the lounge in front of little gossips who will take the tale to school next day. Believe me, getting sprung scars the parents more than the child. After explaining this, I launched into my usual spiel about the rotten job parenting is and anyone who wants the job gets my support. In one ear and out the other, gay parents will always do 'nasty' things in bedrooms.
The next conversation involved the government's newstart allowance which she had just put in for. I managed to keep my jaw from hitting the floor but it was an effort. She has just paid cash for a new house and received the first home-buyer allowance but it's a fair way out from the city so travelling to work would involve time. She knocked back the full time work, opting for part-time closer to home which has now all but dried up so newstart and the concessions will help get her over this financial hiccup. SHE CAN WORK, the full time position is still available, she is healthy, young and drives a car but she cannot see anything wrong with taking if the government is handing out. It's this attitude that will make it harder for those in real need for this allowance. I'm sure she knows the difference between right and wrong but she's selective about it.
Her body will grow old but her brain has reached the limit. She still thinks the same as she did 20 years ago and will be the same 20 years from now but I'm moving on.
Monday, October 03, 2005
COPPERWITCH FLIES IN
This will be the first of my postings when I get past the acute blogger's block. I have opinions on just about everything but I'll be kind to you and keep most of them to myself. I lean to the left politically, dislike discrimination and support Gay and Lesbian Rights. If you want sports news, I can't help you. The same with reality TV shows, I have enough drama in the backyard without watching Survivor somewhere else. I don't do drugs, drink, gamble or get laid which makes me stick my hand in the toaster some mornings to see if I'm alive. My mind has a tendency to ramble and fall out of my mouth without thinking.
Come back in a week or two to see if I can top this brilliant start
Come back in a week or two to see if I can top this brilliant start
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)