Tuesday, October 01, 2002
Monday, September 30, 2002
D'you want angst with that?
People occasionally ask me why, if I'm this git'ard chaos magickan and all, my life is still arguably bitchaboutable (with sucktastic interludes). They suggest that if I really want to improve my lot I should git my 'ard on and sort it out, or admit that the whole magick thing is a flatulent bubble of methane gurgling up from the delusional mulch at the bottom of my brain. Why, if I can in theory get anything I want (within certain ill-defined boundaries), how come I've not got it yet?
Because unless I force myself to sit down and think really really hard about it, I don't rightly know what I'm after. See, my ideal, totally unrealistic, dream-on way of making a living wolud be to write sf/f/h&det/mys about prehistoric mammals and werewolf dryads who are accountants and things and stuff. I want to write about any damn thing that floats through my cranium and get paid for it, too.
Now, I understand that this ideal version of events is unlikely to transpire, barring some huge violation of the laws of probability. I accept that. However, having recognized that Scenario #1 is unlikely, I do not then substitute a more reasonable one. For example, a reasonable ambition would be to write books in my chosen genre puddle for a living. This would be time-consuming and I'd have to deal with-- dah dah DARRR!-- editors, but it's both workable and desirable. It's a reasonable compromise between my ideal and reality.
But I don't stop there. Oh, no. Before I can even properly observe the processes involved, I've mentally compromised myself down to writing the instruction manual for ZarggGlubYuth's Infant Adrenal Gland Extractor MkII (or teen romances, whatever comes first) and then I get all glum and have to get drunk and eat yoghurt raisins until I feel better.
I have got-- got-- got to stop this whole compromise ad absurdum stuff, and get some really realistic Plan.
When I have my Plan, I will do Stuff.
Fear me.
People occasionally ask me why, if I'm this git'ard chaos magickan and all, my life is still arguably bitchaboutable (with sucktastic interludes). They suggest that if I really want to improve my lot I should git my 'ard on and sort it out, or admit that the whole magick thing is a flatulent bubble of methane gurgling up from the delusional mulch at the bottom of my brain. Why, if I can in theory get anything I want (within certain ill-defined boundaries), how come I've not got it yet?
Because unless I force myself to sit down and think really really hard about it, I don't rightly know what I'm after. See, my ideal, totally unrealistic, dream-on way of making a living wolud be to write sf/f/h&det/mys about prehistoric mammals and werewolf dryads who are accountants and things and stuff. I want to write about any damn thing that floats through my cranium and get paid for it, too.
Now, I understand that this ideal version of events is unlikely to transpire, barring some huge violation of the laws of probability. I accept that. However, having recognized that Scenario #1 is unlikely, I do not then substitute a more reasonable one. For example, a reasonable ambition would be to write books in my chosen genre puddle for a living. This would be time-consuming and I'd have to deal with-- dah dah DARRR!-- editors, but it's both workable and desirable. It's a reasonable compromise between my ideal and reality.
But I don't stop there. Oh, no. Before I can even properly observe the processes involved, I've mentally compromised myself down to writing the instruction manual for ZarggGlubYuth's Infant Adrenal Gland Extractor MkII (or teen romances, whatever comes first) and then I get all glum and have to get drunk and eat yoghurt raisins until I feel better.
I have got-- got-- got to stop this whole compromise ad absurdum stuff, and get some really realistic Plan.
When I have my Plan, I will do Stuff.
Fear me.
But enough about me...
Odd. I've been voted in as the subject for this week's Barbinterview. Given my relentless narcissism, I'm surprised there's anything about me that people didn't know. Still, there ya go...
Odd. I've been voted in as the subject for this week's Barbinterview. Given my relentless narcissism, I'm surprised there's anything about me that people didn't know. Still, there ya go...
Saturday, September 28, 2002
Heads up.
One from the inbox:
One from the inbox:
Dear supporter of MoveOn.org's 9-11Peace campaign,
An American war against Iraq grows more likely with each passing day. But there is still something important you can do to help stop it.
President Bush needs the United Kingdom's support for a war, because your country is a member of the United Nations Security Council.
John Hodgson, a British citizen, recently proposed taking the message below to your national leaders. Please contact them at:
Prime Minister Tony Blair
020 7219 5676
or 01429 882202
Foreign Secretary Jack Straw
020 7219 5070
or 01254 52317
M.P. Tam Dalyell
020 7219 3427
or 01506 834255
M.P. Chris Smith
020 7219 5119
or 020 7607 8373
Or try the main number for Parliament: 020 7219 3000
Make sure their offices know you're calling regarding the possible war on Iraq, and urge them to ensure that the U.K. opposes any U.N. Security Council resolution authorizing an attack on Iraq.
Your own words are always best, but you may find it helpful to use some of the arguments made below by John Hodgson.
-----
No justification
Mr Blair:
You constantly speak of building a better Britain and a better world. But we cannot do that by illegal attacks on a sovereign state that has not attacked us and shows no plausible intention of doing so. It is clear that the US feels itself justified to engage in global bullying for economic interest, but our role is to show that there is a better
way to world peace. That way is by respecting the rule of law, the autonomy of other states, and the importance of the United Nations.
- John Hodgson, Higher Education (September 20, 2002; Bristol, United
Kingdom)
-----
Your voice really counts here. Please make these important calls today.
Also, please let us know you've called, by clicking here:
http://www.moveon.org/callmade_iraq_uk.html?id=777-1215852-R9REJR0S5vXP5bp0j2NmRw
Keeping a count helps make this work more effective.
Thank you.
- Eli Pariser
International Campaigns Director, MoveOn.org
Founder, 9-11Peace Campaign
September 26, 2002
Harassed Jordanian woman flips out!
Okay, I'm anti-violence and so forth, but this still made me grin a bit. Apparently three guys had got into the habit of bawling sexual obsceneties at this woman whenever they saw her around-- till the day she ripped off her cloak and her veil, and proceed to kick seven kinds of hell out of them. Apparently she'd been sitting on some serious martial arts skills.
Heheheheh.
(Snaffled from Sarcasmo's Corner)
Okay, I'm anti-violence and so forth, but this still made me grin a bit. Apparently three guys had got into the habit of bawling sexual obsceneties at this woman whenever they saw her around-- till the day she ripped off her cloak and her veil, and proceed to kick seven kinds of hell out of them. Apparently she'd been sitting on some serious martial arts skills.
Heheheheh.
(Snaffled from Sarcasmo's Corner)
Ananova - Edwina Currie reveals four-year affair with John Major
I'd just like to say "eeeeeewwwwwww".
I'd just like to say "eeeeeewwwwwww".
Gay
I note that I am still getting upwards of seventy-eighty hits a day from Solonor's (good and colour changey and toyfilled) blog. This is fine; I always need fresh minions. However, every single one of these hits relates to Spiderman Will Make You Gay. I have a couple of things I really have to get off my chest about this:
1) S.W.M.Y.G. is not that funny.
It's funny in a philosophically absurd sorta way (Concept: sexual orientation. Percept: watching Spiderman dance will permenantly change said orientation). One can entertain oneself by comparing and contrasting S.W.M.Y.G. and the attitudes of people who think that Clause 28 is all that protects our children from growing up to be bulldykes or nancyboys. It's funny because... well, Spiderman, dancing, you know, it's a thing. But it's not amazingly hugely terrifically funny. (Unlike, say, a troupe of plastic skeletons dancing to a cover of Y.M.C.A., which was that funny and still had some funny left over for a bag of chips.)
2) Am I the only person alive who doesn't find the word "gay" inherently funny?
Why is "gay" funny? It's not funny. It started out not funny and it got less funny from there. Here's a little known fact: Every time you say "gay" like it's funny, it gets less funny. Saying "gay" like it's funny is now so far into not-funnyness it's become a source of superdense not-funny. It is Weapons Grade not-funny. You could hurt someone with that. Terrorists could get hold of it.
Here's why "gay" seems funny from a certain angle: "Gay" has become a random derogatory term, as in "that game is gay", "your shoes are gay", "this Counterstrike map is gay". There is much absurdity to play with here and we're all about the absurdity. I understood that part. I also got the part where the randomly cruel and vile things that kids say to each other in the school playground are cripplingly funny, given a certain distance.
Here's why the "gay" thing isn't that funny after all: Pretend it's you. Instead of "gay", insert whatever you got or still get the piss mercilessly ripped out of you for. Then pretend that the prejudices against this thing, whatever it was, were hedged around by laws and rules and clauses. Pretend that many powerful individuals agreed that you were wrong and peculiar, and made laws accordingly. Pretend this trait could get you turned down for jobs, or even fired. Pretend that it seems as though it's okay for everyone to hate you.
Assuming that some or all of this is already true, add "being gay" to the mix and see if things would improve much. Still laughing?
I note that I am still getting upwards of seventy-eighty hits a day from Solonor's (good and colour changey and toyfilled) blog. This is fine; I always need fresh minions. However, every single one of these hits relates to Spiderman Will Make You Gay. I have a couple of things I really have to get off my chest about this:
1) S.W.M.Y.G. is not that funny.
It's funny in a philosophically absurd sorta way (Concept: sexual orientation. Percept: watching Spiderman dance will permenantly change said orientation). One can entertain oneself by comparing and contrasting S.W.M.Y.G. and the attitudes of people who think that Clause 28 is all that protects our children from growing up to be bulldykes or nancyboys. It's funny because... well, Spiderman, dancing, you know, it's a thing. But it's not amazingly hugely terrifically funny. (Unlike, say, a troupe of plastic skeletons dancing to a cover of Y.M.C.A., which was that funny and still had some funny left over for a bag of chips.)
2) Am I the only person alive who doesn't find the word "gay" inherently funny?
Why is "gay" funny? It's not funny. It started out not funny and it got less funny from there. Here's a little known fact: Every time you say "gay" like it's funny, it gets less funny. Saying "gay" like it's funny is now so far into not-funnyness it's become a source of superdense not-funny. It is Weapons Grade not-funny. You could hurt someone with that. Terrorists could get hold of it.
Here's why "gay" seems funny from a certain angle: "Gay" has become a random derogatory term, as in "that game is gay", "your shoes are gay", "this Counterstrike map is gay". There is much absurdity to play with here and we're all about the absurdity. I understood that part. I also got the part where the randomly cruel and vile things that kids say to each other in the school playground are cripplingly funny, given a certain distance.
Here's why the "gay" thing isn't that funny after all: Pretend it's you. Instead of "gay", insert whatever you got or still get the piss mercilessly ripped out of you for. Then pretend that the prejudices against this thing, whatever it was, were hedged around by laws and rules and clauses. Pretend that many powerful individuals agreed that you were wrong and peculiar, and made laws accordingly. Pretend this trait could get you turned down for jobs, or even fired. Pretend that it seems as though it's okay for everyone to hate you.
Assuming that some or all of this is already true, add "being gay" to the mix and see if things would improve much. Still laughing?
Friday, September 27, 2002
Girl's night out: an open letter to female bloggers
Prompted by something kookymojo wrote recently, I've been hunting around for interesting blogs by women.
I've found the whole excercise really disturbing.
Apart from some notable exceptions (see Kooky's list and my sidebar), the writers seem so damn limited in what they'll allow themselves to think or to be. It's as if there's a tarot hand of possible identities that women bloggers feel forced to choose from: The Bitch, the Diva, The Mother, the Domestic Goddess, the Divinely Damaged Girl. At best, w.b.'s permit themselves to blend a couple of these flavours together: the Bitch who is also (ta DAH!) a Diva, the Damaged Girl who's also-- get this-- a Mother...
"Hey, bet you didn't see that one coming, didja? Bet you're shaken out of your complacent view of women by the fact that the writer has managed to combine TWO meaningless gender stereotypes in ONE handy blog. Look how complex and multilayered I am! I bet you're really impressed! Arencha? Arencha?"
Well... no, as it goes. Very no. You've enlarged your cage a little, but you're still locked up. I know that's ultimately true of all of us, but these are such tiny, tiny confines to write within. I'm beginning to suspect that one reason male bloggers are more prevalent or more widely read is that men are (very generally) less willing to buy into stereotypes, or at least less likely to occupy them full-time.
You are not a cartoon character. You contain worlds. Everyone does.
NOW SORT YOUR SOPPY SELVES OUT, YOU BIG LEAKY EMBARRASSMENTS YOU, BEFORE I'M FORCED TO GET A SEX CHANGE OUT OF UTTER SHAME! YES, YOU HAVE HORMONES AND YOU CAN USE A COMPUTER! JOLLY GOOD! WE'RE ALL TERRIBLY PLEASED! NOW, PERHAPS YOU'D LIKE TO FIND SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF THAT YOU COULD WRITE ABOUT THAT ACTUALLY DISTINGUISHES YOU FROM FIFTY-ODD PERCENT OF HUMANITY, IF IT'S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE?
I swear. I get PMS that could strangle a sodding goat and d'you know what? I still find other things to talk about. If you're eighteen or under you might reasonably be forgiven for thinking that you're the first person since Marie Curie to combine oestragen and higher brain functions, but when you hit thirty it starts to look a bit daft. You have a voice, now stop trying to be an echo.
Chromosomally yours,
MCxx
PS: And how come we've all ended up with the same sitemeter? That's... that's scary, that is.
PPs: No yodelling, either.
Prompted by something kookymojo wrote recently, I've been hunting around for interesting blogs by women.
I've found the whole excercise really disturbing.
Apart from some notable exceptions (see Kooky's list and my sidebar), the writers seem so damn limited in what they'll allow themselves to think or to be. It's as if there's a tarot hand of possible identities that women bloggers feel forced to choose from: The Bitch, the Diva, The Mother, the Domestic Goddess, the Divinely Damaged Girl. At best, w.b.'s permit themselves to blend a couple of these flavours together: the Bitch who is also (ta DAH!) a Diva, the Damaged Girl who's also-- get this-- a Mother...
"Hey, bet you didn't see that one coming, didja? Bet you're shaken out of your complacent view of women by the fact that the writer has managed to combine TWO meaningless gender stereotypes in ONE handy blog. Look how complex and multilayered I am! I bet you're really impressed! Arencha? Arencha?"
Well... no, as it goes. Very no. You've enlarged your cage a little, but you're still locked up. I know that's ultimately true of all of us, but these are such tiny, tiny confines to write within. I'm beginning to suspect that one reason male bloggers are more prevalent or more widely read is that men are (very generally) less willing to buy into stereotypes, or at least less likely to occupy them full-time.
You are not a cartoon character. You contain worlds. Everyone does.
NOW SORT YOUR SOPPY SELVES OUT, YOU BIG LEAKY EMBARRASSMENTS YOU, BEFORE I'M FORCED TO GET A SEX CHANGE OUT OF UTTER SHAME! YES, YOU HAVE HORMONES AND YOU CAN USE A COMPUTER! JOLLY GOOD! WE'RE ALL TERRIBLY PLEASED! NOW, PERHAPS YOU'D LIKE TO FIND SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF THAT YOU COULD WRITE ABOUT THAT ACTUALLY DISTINGUISHES YOU FROM FIFTY-ODD PERCENT OF HUMANITY, IF IT'S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE?
I swear. I get PMS that could strangle a sodding goat and d'you know what? I still find other things to talk about. If you're eighteen or under you might reasonably be forgiven for thinking that you're the first person since Marie Curie to combine oestragen and higher brain functions, but when you hit thirty it starts to look a bit daft. You have a voice, now stop trying to be an echo.
Chromosomally yours,
MCxx
PS: And how come we've all ended up with the same sitemeter? That's... that's scary, that is.
PPs: No yodelling, either.
Thursday, September 26, 2002
Optical illusion
Have a look at this-- it's a bit good.
(From (the same place I always get stuff like this).
Have a look at this-- it's a bit good.
(From (the same place I always get stuff like this).
Again you have failed me!
I give you wretched wretches the simplest task (winning me the Grauniad's bloody stupid weblog compo) and you FAIL ME! Do not try my patience, puny ones. I can always get new minions-- can you say the same for your internal organs?
*Feeds tidbits to pet mutant piranahgoatdonkeycat from gauntleted fingers*
I give you wretched wretches the simplest task (winning me the Grauniad's bloody stupid weblog compo) and you FAIL ME! Do not try my patience, puny ones. I can always get new minions-- can you say the same for your internal organs?
*Feeds tidbits to pet mutant piranahgoatdonkeycat from gauntleted fingers*
If finding this funny makes me a bad person, I don't want to be good.
(Put it down-- you don't know where it's been.)
(Put it down-- you don't know where it's been.)
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Doctor Fish
Jesus H. Christ in an all-male jaccuzzi, but I am TIRED. I am a tired wee Gothling. Did I mention that I hate packing? I did? Repeatedly and at length? Good. Hope you're all really bored.
So, magick. Haven't written anything on the ol' magick for a while now.
I'm currently working on some health magick because what with evil stomach bugs and some other stuff, my health is not very healthy. I've been trying to re-jig my immune system (utilizing trance states and visualization) but that seems to have backfired; I'm still coming down with foul things and my allergies are raging out of control. Still, I will persevere. The fact that I'm seeing an effect, any effect... well, that's reason to continue, no?
What I've done is, I've adapted the visualizations to include some more specific "repair" scenes. I've constructed a mystic gunk-tank in mindspace, sort of like the bacta tank from The Empire Strikes Back only with purple goo and just generally cooler-looking. Tonight I'm going to add some luminous silvery fishy things whose job it will be to swim around in the purple goo and nibble away at any negative stuff, physical or otherwise, that might be messing with my health. (I got the idea from "doctor fish".) If this pattern works well, I'll improve on it so that I can be all like a superhero and stuff.
Oh, and I've decided to spend next week EVIL. (Strictly for research purposes, you understand.) Unless I get bored.
Jesus H. Christ in an all-male jaccuzzi, but I am TIRED. I am a tired wee Gothling. Did I mention that I hate packing? I did? Repeatedly and at length? Good. Hope you're all really bored.
So, magick. Haven't written anything on the ol' magick for a while now.
I'm currently working on some health magick because what with evil stomach bugs and some other stuff, my health is not very healthy. I've been trying to re-jig my immune system (utilizing trance states and visualization) but that seems to have backfired; I'm still coming down with foul things and my allergies are raging out of control. Still, I will persevere. The fact that I'm seeing an effect, any effect... well, that's reason to continue, no?
What I've done is, I've adapted the visualizations to include some more specific "repair" scenes. I've constructed a mystic gunk-tank in mindspace, sort of like the bacta tank from The Empire Strikes Back only with purple goo and just generally cooler-looking. Tonight I'm going to add some luminous silvery fishy things whose job it will be to swim around in the purple goo and nibble away at any negative stuff, physical or otherwise, that might be messing with my health. (I got the idea from "doctor fish".) If this pattern works well, I'll improve on it so that I can be all like a superhero and stuff.
Oh, and I've decided to spend next week EVIL. (Strictly for research purposes, you understand.) Unless I get bored.
emergency.PARADIGM has some excellent photos by Dinnie Corvidae. They are B&W images of graffiti from New York. Check'em out!
Oh, please. Look, I know everyone wants to get a "haunted" item on Ebay these days but this is just silly: wanna buy a haunted crap paperback edition of Atlas Shrugged?
(From Cruel Site of The Day)
(From Cruel Site of The Day)
Real-Time Testing of Internet Filtering in China
I'm obviously not trying hard enough.
(Via just about everybody, really.)
I'm obviously not trying hard enough.
(Via just about everybody, really.)
The beginning of the end...
Just saw off the Bearded One, plus a huge suitcase, rucksack and laptop. I miss the little pervert already *sniffle*. He's going to our new flat in Cork, I'm staying here to pack, sulk, eat too much junk food, and recover from various farewell bashes. I shall be joining him in a couple of weeks if all goes to plan.
I haven't been doing much writing lately, not even posting here or on the messageboards that I haunt in my various guises. I have got to pull myself together and finish something new this week. S'just, at the moment, nothing's really pushing the old writey buttons. I don't have any short story ideas at present and my novel is well and truly stalled; here's hoping that moving will unstick something.
Just saw off the Bearded One, plus a huge suitcase, rucksack and laptop. I miss the little pervert already *sniffle*. He's going to our new flat in Cork, I'm staying here to pack, sulk, eat too much junk food, and recover from various farewell bashes. I shall be joining him in a couple of weeks if all goes to plan.
I haven't been doing much writing lately, not even posting here or on the messageboards that I haunt in my various guises. I have got to pull myself together and finish something new this week. S'just, at the moment, nothing's really pushing the old writey buttons. I don't have any short story ideas at present and my novel is well and truly stalled; here's hoping that moving will unstick something.
Monday, September 23, 2002
Obligatory random whinge
Oh, bloody hell-- just realised I haven't updated since Friday. Aughhh.
Okay. Life in boxes. Floor covered in crud and old copies of New Scientist. Many things I would rather not have to chuck out/leave behind will have to be chucked out/left behind. Hate moving. Gah.
Hugs to all those who made the big farewell bash last Sat., and to Luke who phoned in at 4:00 am Oz time and wished us happy trails. (Missed ya, dude. The sooner we get that website up and running, the better.) For those who couldn't be there: fret ye not, seperate arrangements will be made soon.
The bathroom ceiling is still in a state of romantic ruin. There are now even more holes in it, thanks to the surveyors. Stringy tendrils of fungus wave languidly in the draughts between the joists, and little showers of rust-coloured spores and perished plaster rattle down onto the heads of unwary bathers. I have visions of the whole building imploding a la Poltergiest just as the removal van pulls away from the curb.
Oh, bloody hell-- just realised I haven't updated since Friday. Aughhh.
Okay. Life in boxes. Floor covered in crud and old copies of New Scientist. Many things I would rather not have to chuck out/leave behind will have to be chucked out/left behind. Hate moving. Gah.
Hugs to all those who made the big farewell bash last Sat., and to Luke who phoned in at 4:00 am Oz time and wished us happy trails. (Missed ya, dude. The sooner we get that website up and running, the better.) For those who couldn't be there: fret ye not, seperate arrangements will be made soon.
The bathroom ceiling is still in a state of romantic ruin. There are now even more holes in it, thanks to the surveyors. Stringy tendrils of fungus wave languidly in the draughts between the joists, and little showers of rust-coloured spores and perished plaster rattle down onto the heads of unwary bathers. I have visions of the whole building imploding a la Poltergiest just as the removal van pulls away from the curb.
Friday, September 20, 2002
Gaze upon the glory that is A Tribute to Ray Harryhausen! It-- it-- it's... wonderous!
(Snaffled fromLuke.)
(Snaffled fromLuke.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)