Zombies!

I think that our culture is so media-saturated, we now all live our lives backwards. We went to a most enjoyable, and extremely peculiar, party last night... and we spent half of it discussing what headlines would be written if our campus media got the wrong end of the stick (there was only one sofa and about thirty people, so it was a bit of a squash).

I like "President in Five-Hour Halloween Orgy With Transsexual" best. He pointed out that his reputation would probably be greatly increased.

Now, what made this party peculiar? I hear you cry.

Well, the hostess had brought in a student of landscape gardening - who had landscape-gardened the living room. The floor was now a real lawn, and there was a beautiful shrine and grave (those of the teenage years of our hostess, who had just turned 20).

I really have nothing to blog about atm. I'm lacking inspiration on the serious stuff. I could post a picture of my new tattoos when they're healed, I guess. I'm going to go and play Zombie Fluxx now.

Kitteh Blogging - the inferior acquaintance of baby blogging

Now, when we chose this here kitteh, we were assured that she was used to adults, children and other non-human animals, and would happily play and socialise with an organism that fitted in any of those categories. However, we’ve hit upon a problem – she’s decidedly not used to computers.

She goes absolutely mental whenever there’s a screen in front of her, with its moving cursor or scroll bar - jumping up and down on the keyboard with all four feet, attacking the screen with claws and teeth and, in fact, making a decent effort to eat the whole thing. She can’t be dissuaded – the only thing to do is to shut her in another room, which feels mean as she’s only a baby.

Hagrid is a professional computer nerd, who spends a decent chunk of his time working from home. Is this an insurmountable problem, the only solution to which is the hire of a small child to amuse her while we work?

Also, she feels the need to tell me whenever she makes use of the litter tray – not just half-heartedly, either. I’m meowed at and bitten for as long as it takes to get me to view the poo. I just have to see it for her to be gleefully happy again.

Is that normal feline behaviour?

As you can tell, I’m at home with the kitteh. I’m also so ill that it’s an immense effort just to get up for the Viewing of the Excrement, and as for cleaning it out… bending down makes me very dizzy.

Also, I thought I’d sorted out an issue of mine, of the sort with a capital I… but, it seems, I haven’t. I think I’ll take some preventative measures to stop me from going so utterly mental again. To the outside observer, they’ll be both hilarious and peculiar – but, sadly, I can’t tell y’all what they’ll be.

OK then, imagine that I’m the bloke that went on Trisha with his phobia of scotch eggs (yes, he did). No, say it was only a phobia of a particular brand of scotch eggs, made in minuscule quantities in a Northern Scottish cottage industry. A scotch egg of this brand tastes much better than the average supermarket fare. It is more pleasing to the eye, the palate and the soul.

Would it be fair for me to ask my friends not to eat them, to avoid triggering me? (I know “trigger” shouldn’t be used lightly, but say that I have, like most people, had experiences to which the concept “should” apply, but I’m still affected more by the eggs). Do I ask them to stick to Tesco’s Finest or M&S for their daily proteiny goodness? Or is that entirely unfair? Does it matter, if they’re unlikely ever to travel to the single town in the North of Scotland wherein those particular, terrifying eggs are available?

I have a serious case of Analogy Fail, here – but it’s intentional, so that no-one has any idea what I’m talking about. As usual, haha. Give me your answers.

I was actually around several other trans guys / female genderqueers on Friday. It was weird, like looking in several mirrors at once – though the binary trans guys had all obviously gone through transition the “regular” way, living as butch dykes beforehand, and ending up straight guys rather than, say, *giant fairies*.

There are supposed to be the same number of trans people, of every variety, in the world as there are French people (so says my little book on the subject, though I’m sure that’s a conservative estimate). The problem is, if you’re French, you can take a wild guess as to the location of another French person – and, y’know, it’s not common for French people to deny, and hide, that they are French, “Cette baguette? Il n’est pas ma baguette! Je les déteste! J’adore le pain grillé! Est je ne sais pas pourquoi la baguette est dans mon pantalon!” (that’s an FtM in denial about his nation, see? But he’s speaking Franglais, because it’s a while since I applied myself to irregular verbs etc.).

And whatever the reason, you do tend to see more trans women / male genderqueers out and about.

So, anyway, it was nice to be in a space where a lot of people looked like me.

Barack Obama

Look, US politics are important over here, no matter how much we're fed up at how much our media reports on them. Frankly, no-one listens to a small, overpopulated island whose last achievement was the New Wave of British Heavy Metal in the 80s - and OK, a normal person would replace that with victory in the Second World War 45 years before then, but I'm optimistic.

Basically, we have delusions of grandeur. The US has political and corporate sway - and loadsa nukes.

That's why I'm paying attention.

I've heard British people my age, who know a bit about our own political matters, compare the Dems to Labour, and the Republicans to the Tories. No... Political savvy failure. Read both candidates' proposed policies, and all their speeches - with your eyes. Yes, read them.

John McCain is rather closer to Nick Griffin than he is to David Cameron. In his turn, Barack Obama is what we, here, would call a "conservative" - and had his family moved to Britain instead, I reckon he'd be in David Cameron's place right now (actually, he wouldn't - we don't seem to like politicians who are great orators any more. We like ones who resemble confused bunnies).

So... they're not like our candidates. You can't view them as much of a muchness, and it's actually quite important who gets in - yes, for the whole world. You don't like them being that important? Go and do some empire-building for Britain, then, so we can have the political clout instead. Look how well that turned out the first time! We could have another War of Independence... with our armed forces made up of five men and a cat, with one combat boot between all of them. Oh.

So - use whatever influence you have to get US citizens voting for the right candidate.

When I talk to people, I'm not even bothering with "Think of all the poor starving children with no healthcare..." etc. - if they ain't thought of them before, they ain't gonna start now.

North Americans are proud patriots, yes? *wins small prize from Royal Society of Obvious-Stating* So, we need the "Your country won't be the punchline to every joke in Europe" angle.

"You won't have to pretend to be Canadian when on holiday in Europe, so that people don't punch you in the face" (I remember that being common a few years ago, at least).

"No-one will think you spend your days alternately beating your wife and having sex with your sister, taking breaks to take potshots at passing black people".

At posh dinner parties, no-one will say, "I must introduce you to Bob... though he is American".

I think that angle is our slim, but only, chance at success.

Here's Obama, anyway, doing his speechifying at the DNC.



He does seem to have those family values goin' on, incidentally - the family seem to quite like one another, and he's never, as far as I know, divorced a wife because she became disabled (I'm not thinking about anyone called John McCain here at all, tis just an observation).

Anyway, this is enough politics, or my mum will kick me off her blogroll (everyone calling her "little comrade" when she was small kind of put her off - I'm frankly surprised she's not a card-carrying fascist now).

Sarah quite fancies Barack Obama. I'd quite like to look and sound like Barack Obama. A Yorkshire Barack Obama. With a flat cap.

That's another problem with his appeal, apparently. He's in too good physical shape. For fat people. To vote. For him.

Please, America. Don't make this true!

Levels of disaster...

Once we've done all the DIY that I ought to be doing right now, rather than writing crap on the interblag, and the house is thus suitable, we're going to get... a KITTEH!

KITTEH KITTEH KITTEH KITTEH. In about a month's time.

Also, KITTEH.

What shall we call it?

Incidentally, KITTEH.

Today, I saw my cousin Helaina in an ITV documentary about living with her disabilities. It was excellent - none of that bollocks that documentaries are crammed with nowadays - no overly loud music, no "interesting" camerawork, no THIS IS THE GREATEST DISASTER EVAR!!!11 O NOES!!!11111 WE MUST PITY THEM! I CAN'T HEAR YOUR PITY YET! CRY, BITCHES! kind of stuff.

I'd give you a link to what I assume is clips from it, but I can't watch and check; ITV's website refuses to play videos unless you are the willing bitch of Microsoft.

Hagrid's looking over my shoulder and saying INSULT MICROSOFT MORE! Microshaft Microshaft Micro$oft! but I'm struggling to summon up the energy to care - aren't I supposed to be stuffed with political principle? Never mind.

Anyway, I'm in awe of Helaina's parents - not in the "Oh, the burden of a crippled child! Why didn't they just shoot her?" kind of way that is still worryingly acceptable, but simply in awe of all their hard work over the years, both to help their own child and for other people's children.

Now, I'm autistic, and my grasp of social nuances is about as great as Microsoft's love for free software, but...

Why, when people use the wrong name/pronoun for trans people, can't they just say "Whoops, sorry" or "BobFUCKRoberta" (my name is permanently E-fuck-Oliver for one person, whose memory is filled to capacity with D&D rules)?

Why do they say "Oh, but it's so hard to get it right"? I sort of understand that they're trying to say "I really didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry, it's not because I'm a bigot of any variety, I just forgot". But the whiny tone - exactly like the one I just used when reminded that I ought to be painting a door! - alters our perception of the statement.

We want to respond with "And it's super-easy to be trans" then list the latest murder stats for people like us, or simply just discuss the smaller, daily incidences of annoyance and insult.

If you've... learned to walk, passed an examination, gotten over an illness, brought up a child, done a job, cooked a meal... done many things... you're surely capable of using a word without much difficulty.

Or do they mean emotionally difficult? Because the patience of the less adorable trans person ends here - we're back to "It's super-easy to navigate the world when your existence is offensive" again.

Do they mean "It's easy to forget something, it'll take time to remember consistently" - 'cause that would be rather more reassuring.

I'm not attacking anybody in particular here - we were just discussing on the interblag why on earth "but it's so hard" is the most common response.

I've just come to the conclusion that if people are gonna be so tactless, they can't complain when I do it. Fellow auties - we get a free pass!

Incidentally, I'm living a double life at the moment - my grandma knows nothing, so no-one is using my new name in front of her. Of course, she's deaf as a post - I could say "I'm a Nazi warlord who eats babies!" and she'd say "Ahh, that's nice."

But she might learn to lip-read...

Finally, I'm incredibly glad that I live in the UK. The concept of all the North Americans going "Bugger me, it's hurricane season again... better evacuate," with the same resignation that we'd use to say "It's drizzling," is crazy.

I hope everyone gets out safely. If I was the praying type, that's what I'd do.

In which we learn that trans people can't use mattocks

I'm trying to write an email to my supervisor at uni, so that I can go full time trans-wise in my department – and also so I can get help with the stupid name thing; I guess if the staff know me as Oliver, the bureaucrats will be more likely to accept it.

I tell a lie – it says that they might accept a letter from a GIC, if no GRC exists.

Incidentally, what's the waiting list for a first appointment at the GIC I could be referred to? More specifically, how long is the waiting list in years?

At least two, is the answer.

But that is, in fact, beside the point.

I'm also mates with our very LGBT-friendly students' union president – I wonder if he can pull strings. I'll be extremely nice to him, shall I? Though I think the nicest thing I could do would be to relieve him of the presidency somehow (he's a freelance creative genius normally, and not really cut out for a 9-to-5).

Anywho, what shall I say to my supervisor? I've done nothing but stress him out over the past year, mainly because I spent a lot of it ill in bed, failing to reach deadlines; I'm not sure that I'm imagining the look of slight horror whenever he sees me. AND I'll need help with my coursework from him soon. By “help” I mean that I'd like the whole thing to have a single reference: “Steve Roskhams, pers comm”. I'm sort of stuck.

If I was a cynic, I would list the few things he might be pleased to hear: he's turned me into a nascent Marxist archaeologist (he's an established one)? I recently read one of his books, and thought it was awesome? The way he wields a mattock makes me jealous (him: Str18/Dex17, me: Str7/Dex9, an extra -2 to mattocking owing to back problem)?

As does his ability to have millions of biological children without going through hell (he's rarely seen without some small carbon copies of himself – and, see, that's trans-related!)?

Nah. I think I'd just better say O HALP HALP. Again.

Shame in the Park

London Pride and Manchester Pride get some of the biggest musical names in the country.

York Pride? A covers band called Jesus and the Felchmonkeys.

(The several over-fifties readers I know of might not understand the full implications of the name; to them, I suggest a nice cup of tea instead of brooding about it.)

Now, York University Students' Union, us, happened to have the largest banner, near the entrance. It really looked as if we were running the whole show, and people behaved accordingly.

So, when Jesus (an astoundingly wobbly man) of Jesus and the Felchmonkeys came onstage in a frilly bikini and a sink plunger, we laid our heads in our hands and cried.

When he mooned the audience, we died a little inside.

If I were allowed to choose a representative of the LGBTQI community, to wave about at the straight/cis passers by, I might choose... well, not him....

Anyway, we handed out some leaflets. They were good leaflets, if a little EXCITABLE!!! because one of our officers loves the humble exclamation mark, and the underline tool, and Caps Lock, a little more than is healthy. QUEER!!! Hooray!!!!

Anyway, Hagrid and I filled out some surveys about our sex life (which is astonishingly dull, if the questions are anything to go by - have YOU ever used poppers while receiving anal intercourse? I thought that was oddly specific, too).

Here are the first question, verbatim.

1) Are you a) a man, or b) a woman? This survey is for men only. If you are a woman, do not complete this survey.

The second question was "Are you a trans man?" which was nice. Of course, the rest of the questions demonstrate that they'd forgotten about trans men altogether, but meh.

------------------------------------

Incidentally, he's now on the phone to Kim, who works in Jorvik Viking Centre. Not Eboracum Roman Centre, say, but Jorvik Viking Centre, with all the big Vikings on the side and all the Viking stuff in it.

One of the visitors to Jorvik, in Jorvik, while Kim was wearing her Jorvik Viking costume, asked, sincerely, whether she was a Roman.

This was because she is female, and Vikings were all men.

Someone else complained that there were only two Viking re-enactors. There were four. Two had vaginas.

But... the Vikings were all men, godsdammit, and I with my Massive Penis of Saxon-Bashing will tell you so!

------------------------------------

I just wrote an ending to this post explaining that I now want to be a fireman when I grow up, with astonishing illogic.

I have the spine of someone sixty years older. I don't remember a life without constant back pain.

Career plan fail.

Doctors, part eleventy

The cinema in Leeds has designated some showings of Mamma Mia! as sing-alongs.

O HALP, I are being dragged there by a mysterious force...

That *nearly* makes up for the delay of the new Harry Potter film (a delay I only just heard about).

Let's watch the trailer, anyway.



Now, I lovelovelove Harry Potter (not the films so much, but they're not that bad). I rather wanted to change my name to Harry rather than Oliver, so that every second was like being inside one of the books. I would make everyone say it like Hermione does.

"Harry!!!"
"Yes?"
"Do the fucking washing up!"

Don't you see how wonderful that could have been?

-------------------------------------------------------

Trans FAQ, part eleventy-one:

"Why don't transsexual people trust doctors?"

Transsexual people are often told not to worry their pretty little heads about transition - surely the doctors have got it covered? Or, WHAT, they haven't even SEEN a doctor yet? How do they know they're a real transsexual?

Now, these questioners have obviously never had a serious medical condition - and, wait, are male or childless.

(DISCLAIMER - this post is about MOST doctors. It's not about nurses, who are heroes, paramedics, who are heroes, and the few doctors that are attracted to the profession through altruism, rather than for the massive pay packet.)

Doctors. Are. Crap. Doctors cannot deal with the commonest of issues, and faff about until more serious issues escalate. They can't prescribe the fucking Pill.

One of my own GPs, who has treated me for minor ailments in the past, almost killed Silverback through negligence. That's no exaggeration. Through more inaction, he made certain that my grandad had to have his leg amputated, because it was too late to save it. There are more GPs at that practice - there's the one who doesn't listen to a word you say, the one that doesn't listen to a word you say while STARING at you in a freaky staring manner, and the other... that doesn't listen to a word you say.

Some of them might have known their stuff medically. Who knows? They can't tell you, because they didn't listen to your problem.

"I have to lie down while having blood taken, because it always makes me immediately pass out."
"Now, just sit there - "
"No, I have to lie down, because it makes me pass out."
"Don't be afraid!"
"I'm not afraid at all. It just makes me pass out."
"I'm sure it won't. It'll be very quick."
*ten second pause*
CRASH.

Now, if you had a complex neurological condition (not a "disorder") and you needed medical supplies and procedures to improve it...

And you'd have to face horrendous waiting lists anyway (try two. whole. decades. if you're a particular friend of mine, battered by cutbacks and the postcode lottery)...

And you probably won't be given the supplies and procedures if a) you're gay or bisexual, b) you have children, c) you don't dress correctly, d) you're over about 40...

You'd probably raise money for private surgery without referral, and buy some illegal hormones online.

That's what I'd do.

Why do you think so many pregnant women opt for home births, with as little medical involvement as possible?

Because they don't, actually, *like* being patronised and treated like not-quite-humans.

Beauty

So, there will be a discussion of our culture's ridiculous female beauty standards, generally centering around weight.

A lot of women will say "They're ridiculous. They make me feel terrible about myself, when I'm actually, y'know, OK" and some other sensible, non-controversial things like that.

Then, some bloke - or many blokes - will jump in and say HONESTLY! You silly women, all the problems would be solved if you just STOP CARING about your weight. I like a woman to have curves, so you shouldn't be turning to fashion magazines for acceptance, you should be turning to ME! You silly women, honestly, what will you think of next? Ha ha ha.

Another will say, that's right, men don't mind what you look like, and because you obviously exist entirely for men, you shouldn't worry your pretty little heads.

This is predictable, and unhelpul.

They get worse if there's a (rare) discussion about non-white women using beauty products that make them resemble white ones.

The same blokes (though, sometimes, white women too) Well, aren't you silly! You should be proud of your race! You look fine! Why don't you just stop thinking about it entirely. Silly women, aren't you shallow. Ha ha ha.

A lot of people benefit substantially from making white women feel unacceptable, and non-white women feel even worse. They have a great deal of vested interest in female unhappiness. They are prepared to do absolutely anything to allow it to continue. This is the case.

Y'know, for a lot of women, the role their looks/weight play in attracting the opposite/same sex bothers them less than... keeping their job. Avoiding street harassment. Avoiding cruel judgement by relatives and "friends". Most importantly, avoiding feelings of self-hatred.

Sorry, you men. It's not about your utter sexiness. I know you think everything ought to be.

Though it is a typical narrative of people who are attracted to women - she really thinks she's unattractive! Does she live in some nightmarish hall of mirrors? Is she legally blind? - it's not the lady concerned who is the crazy one.

I'm NOT discussing femme, cosmetic-using, frock-wearing women who do those things entirely for fun, or because they are expressing their feminine gender identity, or for any reason that isn't to stem self-hatred or because they feel they should. I'm glad that they are allowed self-expression, just like I'm sad that women with different wants are not, and am in love with the humble eyeliner pencil myself (you know how many gay Goths there are about - look at some NUS LGBT discussions and drown in a sea of lacy blood).

But a woman who tortures herself with illegal, painful, carcinogenic skin lighteners? A woman who starves herself? If someone is willing to go to those lengths, it's unlikely that she can *just forget it*. And it's perfectly visible what makes her that way, even if some people (those who can) choose to ignore it.

n.b. for those people who have never met me - I'm not talking entirely out of my arse when discussing how women are treated. Remember that I look like one, so might have a bit of insight - not as much as an *actual* woman, but.

n.b. 2 - the catalyst for this rambling post was this. So... a light-skinned mixed-race woman has to be lightened to be acceptable? I'm thinking - how could that possibly make a dark-skinned black woman feel wonderful?

Journeys - and a solution to all the world's problems

I'm a bit on edge at the moment. This is because I'm trying to reconcile one of my greatest loves and one of my greatest hatreds.

This isn't going to be a particularly profound post. My love is for music festivals, my loathing for travelling. To get to Wacken Open Air next week, we have to travel on several different modes of transport - and if we miss the plane, or it's cancelled, we miss the festival.

I HATE travelling. By car, around the UK, it's fun, as there are very few surprises (well, there's the price of petrol I suppose, with which one can familiarise oneself if one needs a heart attack).

I HATE the uncertainty. I would love it if all public transport came at the allocated time and left at the allocated time - if nothing was ever, ever late or cancelled. My thoughts would be of future frolics at my destination, and I'd have time to read a few books.

Remember in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time - specifically, the passage in which the protagonist has to have timetables made for every minute of every day, so he doesn't panic? That was one of the best descriptions in there.

Actually, I've said before that I can't cope with untruthful statements, unless I understand their value as a story or as a white lie. "8.30" on a bus timetable is NOT a white lie, if the bus comes at 8.52. It's an ordinary, stinkin' lie.

I'm impressively good at hiding my OCD and autism - until I have to go on a journey.

"Panic" isn't the word, because neurotypical people have panic attacks. The feeling is, physically, (according to people who've had heart attacks) exactly like a heart attack, but with a kind of mental freeze - it's impossible to think, and to speak in logical sentences.

Again, as depicted in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, some goon always tries to cuddle me or put a calming arm around my shoulders at that point. Those people are lucky that I'm not particularly strong.

Take this as a health and safety tip - don't try it.

I've actually forgotten what this post was supposed to be about.
I'll just concentrate on how head-asplodingly awesome some of the bands are.

Or I suppose I could talk about the Great Nightwish Controversy. Now, Nightwish wrote *our song* so don't worry, this is written with plenty of metallic emotional investment.

Yes, I realise we are both more butch than the song, but "Beer Beer" just *cannot* fill the same slot in one's life.

I saw the new Nightwish line-up in April. The couple I was with think that Annette Olson EATS RAW BABIES AND SUCKS DONKEY COCK (not that the two acts are comparable, the characters in Clerks II seemed to appreciate the latter).

I agree that she's a sub-standard singer, considering the quality of the other female metal vocalists about, and I'm assuming she aced the auditions because she's shagging one of the other band members.

And I'm glad I saw Nightwish's last performance with Tarja Turunen.

However, the vocals didn't depress me as much as they *angered* the other two (a note to some guys in the crowd - yes, these ladies are attractive Goth lesbians, no, they wouldn't be any use in your sex life if, indeed, you had one, please take your ungentlemanly remarks elsewhere).

This is because I think that Nightwish should be a karaoke opportunity! The rest of the band should come on and play, while everyone in the crowd strives for those high notes. If the vocals aren't (anything like) as good as Turunen's - try and sing over them.

I'm nearly at the humorous cats...

Re yesterday's post about "shock", you know what is *surprising*?

This (click on the image to prove it is what it looks like, NSFW).

Holy motherfucking Christ on a unicycle!

Re the only comment so far - what dude in the whole wide world can't find a clitoris? Is he, in fact, imaginary? Does he know that socially masochistic black guy with all the racist friends? Has he ever had his car nicked while his dead grandmother was on the roof-rack*?

It's like not being able to find a specific tooth - yes, it's not an enormous body part, but it generally lives in the same place all on the women you meet.

*Someone I have ACTUALLY met is a walking urban myth. He was born with the coil clutched in his infant fist. His mother concurs, with a look in her eyes that suggests the story is really true...

Doctors vs. Comedians

If the progesterone-only pill, or, indeed, the "progestrogen-only FISH, wheeeeeeee, I am a moron" (see novel below) did cause male-pattern hair growth, I'm sure I would have noticed.

I'd be giving my GP some bullshit excuse by now about how I *really really* needed it...


If, like me, you stick your fingers in your ears and go "LALALALALALALA" whenever some ill-educated hack mentions Thomas Beattie, meaning that your fingers and ears have actually fused by now, you'll be relieved by the following joke from Mock the Week:

"What would you say to him, if you were a doctor?"
"Well, I'd say "The good news is, you've had a baby. The bad news is, it's blown your cock off,"."

If a real doctor, one I already knew, said that to me, as a joke... I would probably laugh so much that I peed myself a little bit.

Am I an oddity?

Hero(ine)s

These people should get as much recognition as possible for their courage.

1) Sameem Ali, a woman brought up partially in care and partially in an abusive home, forced into a "marriage" at 13 which she escaped for the sake of her son, and now a councillor in her home town of Manchester - of course, this was managed with no formal qualifications.

2) Father Louis Braxton - yes, I know that men of the cloth ought to intervene to protect the vulnerable like this priest did, but it's not exactly an everyday occurrence.

In lighter news, scroll down here and you'll find a photo of my maternal parent in an unfortunate outfit. If my grandma could, she'd still force us both to dress like that.

Now I come to think about it, if you leave a delicate garment in my parents' or grandparents' house for any length of time over thirty seconds, it is returned to you nice and clean by a beaming grandmother... approximately one-third of its original size, with no trace of its original colour or pattern.

By "delicate" I mean not constructed out of reinforced concrete.

It's a war of attrition against my masculine wardrobe and my mother's perfectly ordinary clothes, the kind that might be worn by a perfectly ordinary person (as opposed to flowery monstrosities).

At 13 and 14, I used to wear my (then long) hair in pigtails sometimes. I thought the look was obviously ironic, because the rest of me was swathed in black and spikes. It wasn't ironic enough for my grandmother. It was just *adorable*.

Interior Decor

I'm currently feeling like a rich person, as I'm staying over at my friend Luke's house - it's like a TV house, with a TV family in it.

I mean television, not transvestite.

And I don't mean the kind of television that's so prevalent nowadays, where the audience is invited to point and laugh at stupid people with rubbish lives... I mean fictional television, where everything is nice and shiny and pleasant and REALLY BLOODY EXPENSIVE.

*loses all genetic Commie leanings & desire to take archaeology (the paupers' discipline) any further*

Remind me to talk tomorrow about sexist pseudofeminists. "You think x, because all females think x! Don't treat yourself badly by saying you think y!"

Yes, I know that several people on my blogroll talk about the same thing more eloquently, but it's been affecting me personally more and more.

And I'll also talk about why I don't self-identify as an astronaut.

And link to an AWESOME AWESOME thing about the geek lifestyle.

bed now, kthxbai.