Right, David Mitchell can have his own category.
In some ways, I've grown up into a slightly shorter replica of my dad. In this particular, minor, way, we both pour a great deal of bile and contemptuous scorn into the word "football" - enunciating both its syllables, Foot. Ball.
Though my dad was actually on a school sports team, which would have been pretty much unthinkable for me. I can't quite look back at school P.E. and laugh yet - it's more looking back and screaming "Nononono make the memories stop I beg for a swift death".
And remember, I played with the girls! Well... I'm not sure that you can call them "girls", more "enraged she-beasts from the Book of Vile Darkness who've been handed blunt instruments and then cheered on in their bloodshed". If I'd had to share sports lessons with the other boys, I wouldn't be alive to write this.
Menstruation? It does rather jar with my sense of self, but I'm glad that the sports teachers never kept track of my menstrual cycle. Eight periods a month is probably not the ordinary number.
I guess the attendant anaemia would have explained my height and weight...
Anyway, come on, people. Give me a positive view of sport. One that doesn't recall me having my head trodden into freezing mud.
Saturday, 25 October 2008
Friday, 24 October 2008
It's going to look like YOUR FACE.
Hey, real people have been commenting on this here thing. And I hadn't noticed. Ahoy there.
And I got my first insulting anonymous comment a few posts back, w00t.
Anyway, I has mostly been... worrying, because my marks this term have to be decent. And wondering if I ought to improve my idiosyncratic French, because I have just got to go and study some Upper Palaeolithic cave art in the flesh... paint... at some point.
Anyway, my rant of the day. I'm aware that we're having a global economic recession, sorry, "downturn" and that there are bigger issues out there, but this is my blog.
People who meet a tattooed individual, then trot out the cliche: "What's that going to look like when you're 80?"
Now, that doesn't annoy me because I've got tattoos. Nor does it annoy me on the behalf of others who do. The general response is a lighthearted "Fuck off, when I'm 80 I'll probably be in a wheelchair or dead; if a blobby tattoo is my biggest worry, my whole life is gonna be one giant party."
Of course, I'd say the same - but the topic, in all seriousness, is upsetting. I'm insulted, on the behalf of every 80-year-old in the country who finds themselves with another new physical disability every day, and every 80-year-old in the country who is in constant, debilitating pain.
The people asking that question are never, ever elderly themselves. And they're able-bodied enough to wander the streets being rude to people. They've never, ever considered what life might be like for the very old - they prefer to make jokes about their possible appearance.
Here's a classic case - my own grandfather, though something similar will happen to every one of us:
My grandfather can't walk any more. Because he had to have one leg amputated, an operation that had to happen under local anaesthetic, because a general anaesthetic would have killed him (yes, I realise that many women have caesarean sections under local - and that's just another type of bodily trauma that these appearance-obsessed people, who seem never to have encountered it, can ignore). He's blind in one eye, but has to lie with the working eye facing the wall because the appropriate side of his body gets too painful (he can't sit for long, for the same reason). He can't wash or dress himself, and has to use a catheter. Imagine how dignified that must make him feel.
So... in answer?
AWFUL. It's going to look awful. So, because tattoos start fading from the very beginning, I'm going to hide in a hole for the rest of my life, because my precious, precious looks are irreversibly damaged - because unattractive things and people shouldn't be seen in public. And when you're 80, and you still meet every stupid standard of beauty in the world and are also perfectly physically fit, because that seems to be what you're expecting, you can drop by my hermit-cave and laugh at me.
Edit: That's odd: I was thinking about tattoos and unconscious ageism, and don't have time to rant about the sexist vitriol directed at tattooed women - an awesome blogger read my mind and wrote one for me, today.
And I got my first insulting anonymous comment a few posts back, w00t.
Anyway, I has mostly been... worrying, because my marks this term have to be decent. And wondering if I ought to improve my idiosyncratic French, because I have just got to go and study some Upper Palaeolithic cave art in the flesh... paint... at some point.
Anyway, my rant of the day. I'm aware that we're having a global economic recession, sorry, "downturn" and that there are bigger issues out there, but this is my blog.
People who meet a tattooed individual, then trot out the cliche: "What's that going to look like when you're 80?"
Now, that doesn't annoy me because I've got tattoos. Nor does it annoy me on the behalf of others who do. The general response is a lighthearted "Fuck off, when I'm 80 I'll probably be in a wheelchair or dead; if a blobby tattoo is my biggest worry, my whole life is gonna be one giant party."
Of course, I'd say the same - but the topic, in all seriousness, is upsetting. I'm insulted, on the behalf of every 80-year-old in the country who finds themselves with another new physical disability every day, and every 80-year-old in the country who is in constant, debilitating pain.
The people asking that question are never, ever elderly themselves. And they're able-bodied enough to wander the streets being rude to people. They've never, ever considered what life might be like for the very old - they prefer to make jokes about their possible appearance.
Here's a classic case - my own grandfather, though something similar will happen to every one of us:
My grandfather can't walk any more. Because he had to have one leg amputated, an operation that had to happen under local anaesthetic, because a general anaesthetic would have killed him (yes, I realise that many women have caesarean sections under local - and that's just another type of bodily trauma that these appearance-obsessed people, who seem never to have encountered it, can ignore). He's blind in one eye, but has to lie with the working eye facing the wall because the appropriate side of his body gets too painful (he can't sit for long, for the same reason). He can't wash or dress himself, and has to use a catheter. Imagine how dignified that must make him feel.
So... in answer?
AWFUL. It's going to look awful. So, because tattoos start fading from the very beginning, I'm going to hide in a hole for the rest of my life, because my precious, precious looks are irreversibly damaged - because unattractive things and people shouldn't be seen in public. And when you're 80, and you still meet every stupid standard of beauty in the world and are also perfectly physically fit, because that seems to be what you're expecting, you can drop by my hermit-cave and laugh at me.
Edit: That's odd: I was thinking about tattoos and unconscious ageism, and don't have time to rant about the sexist vitriol directed at tattooed women - an awesome blogger read my mind and wrote one for me, today.
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
Friday, 17 October 2008
Masculinity fail
The comments for my fieldwork last term pointed out that "Oliver found the physical aspects of the work demanding, and he had some absences through illness" - egad, can I get a disclaimer already, for all the eminent archaeologists that see them and mock what they assume to be a particularly wussy cis boy???
"Incidentally, Oliver has XX chromosomes and weighs less than 120lb whatever he eats, and YES WHILE HIS CATEGORY IS CERTAINLY WITH THE BLOKES, doesn't feel that the comparison of physical strength that people are now going to make is necessarily fair. Many of his absences were owing to migraines, which he gets at certain points in his menstrual cycle, OK??? He has the body and constitution of a consumptive Georgian romantic heroine or an elven princess, all right? If you want to fight over this issue, he'll gladly... erm..."
Also, if you're trans masculine at all, you really don't want to come out to my supervisor - his attitude isn't the problem, he's been bloody wonderful - but he might make you feel rather inadequate. "Hello, Oliver, I'll be with you in a minute. I've got to move fifty pianos with my left hand, demolish a skyscraper with my right, father two children (with the obvious parts) and open some beer bottles with my teeth."
OK, he might never have said that in so many words. But his superhuman strength is admired throughout the department, and he really doesn't understand the concept of illness. I reckon he thinks it's a fiction invented by heartless capitalists.
Anyway... I think I'll post a more light-hearted take on the toilet issue, as the only other option is to stab people in the head with rage.
So, I use the Gents, unless I'm in a dodgy place where it seems less than safe to do so. I miss the cameraderie of the Ladies'. WHY don't other men talk while they're having their pees?
And WHY do they always go alone? It's not just homophobic men not wanting to seem gay, or gay men not wanting to be stabbed - men in gay bars do it too!
It's not a secret mission. Everybody can guess where you're going.
"Incidentally, Oliver has XX chromosomes and weighs less than 120lb whatever he eats, and YES WHILE HIS CATEGORY IS CERTAINLY WITH THE BLOKES, doesn't feel that the comparison of physical strength that people are now going to make is necessarily fair. Many of his absences were owing to migraines, which he gets at certain points in his menstrual cycle, OK??? He has the body and constitution of a consumptive Georgian romantic heroine or an elven princess, all right? If you want to fight over this issue, he'll gladly... erm..."
Also, if you're trans masculine at all, you really don't want to come out to my supervisor - his attitude isn't the problem, he's been bloody wonderful - but he might make you feel rather inadequate. "Hello, Oliver, I'll be with you in a minute. I've got to move fifty pianos with my left hand, demolish a skyscraper with my right, father two children (with the obvious parts) and open some beer bottles with my teeth."
OK, he might never have said that in so many words. But his superhuman strength is admired throughout the department, and he really doesn't understand the concept of illness. I reckon he thinks it's a fiction invented by heartless capitalists.
Anyway... I think I'll post a more light-hearted take on the toilet issue, as the only other option is to stab people in the head with rage.
So, I use the Gents, unless I'm in a dodgy place where it seems less than safe to do so. I miss the cameraderie of the Ladies'. WHY don't other men talk while they're having their pees?
And WHY do they always go alone? It's not just homophobic men not wanting to seem gay, or gay men not wanting to be stabbed - men in gay bars do it too!
It's not a secret mission. Everybody can guess where you're going.
Thursday, 16 October 2008
Welcome Week
According to Sarah and D, two Warwick freshers have died this week. Of alcohol poisoning.
Up here, our teetotal SU president is trying to make introductory events less like compulsory drinking contests.
And people are COMPLAINING. Apparently all the fun!!! of Freshers' Week!!! (now renamed Welcome Week) is all gone!!!
FUCK OFF.
That is all.
Up here, our teetotal SU president is trying to make introductory events less like compulsory drinking contests.
And people are COMPLAINING. Apparently all the fun!!! of Freshers' Week!!! (now renamed Welcome Week) is all gone!!!
FUCK OFF.
That is all.
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
We won't inherit the Earth, whatever my bumper sticker said. The Earth is full of twats.
Battybattybats' writings on the fabulousness that is the Goth subculture makes me want to write an elegy for my other much-maligned cultural family - that of the geek.
However, I'm feeling snarky, rather than poetic - or, indeed, elegiac (?). So, I'm going to start by aggressively debunking the main myth that is associated with geeks/nerds/whatevers - as suggested in this week's copy of our student rag, Vision.
Apparently, our freakish hobbies and interests exist only to soothe our troubled souls - troubled, because we simply don't get laid enough.
That latter part might, indeed, be the case - until our sample geek reaches 18 and leaves high school!
After that, ze gets laid ABSOLUTELY ALL THE TIME. If ze so wishes - a fairly large proportion of us are on the asexuality spectrum somewhere - meaning, O Vision writer, that they're not trying.
Oh yes - and in my sample of geeks, i.e. those at my university, threesomes/foursomes/etc. seem to be more common than average.
We rarely get laid out of our tribe, yes - but the thought of sleeping with the average person generally leaves us cold. Bear with me, said Vision writer, and say we're in a parallel universe in which every "normal" student suddenly WANTS US BADLY. Let's try it with both sexes -
Male Student: Let's have sexual intercourse (yes, I realise that non-geeks are less direct, but I can't replicate what they actually do).
Geek: OK, but we'd better have at least half a conversation first. What do you think of (insert obscure film/book/mathematical equation)?
Male Student: I am amazing. Listen to my immense sense of entitlement and vastly inflated sense of self-worth. I like football.
(In the unlikely event that Geek is still horny, ze wanders off and masturbates).
Female Student: Let's have sexual intercourse (see disclaimer above).
Geek: OK, but we'd better have at least half a conversation first. What do you think of (insert obscure film/book/mathematical equation)?
Female Student: I am amazing. Listen to my immense sense of entitlement and vastly inflated sense of self-worth. I like shoes.
(In the unlikely event that Geek is still horny, ze wanders off and masturbates).
Sorry about the binary examples, there - but most of the genderqueers I've met are fellow geeks. Heck, "geek" is a gender.
Incidentally, we also build more lasting relationships. Take a look at the average online forum dedicated to Dungeons & Dragons, MUDs, Terry Pratchett, whatever (No, someone is not a geek just because they play bloody World of Warcraft. They might simply be emulating the worst aspects of the subculture).
Anyway, you'll see so much evidence of marriages, civil partnerships, and every other kind of committed relationship.
I'm an autistic geek, so I am one of those few that do have problems getting laid (see my last post but one). But even I've managed it a respectable few times, and I'm in a great relationship.
I believe it's fitting to end with a Discworld quote.
Vision writer, and all your ilk; I think you have something wrong with your head.
I think it's stuck up your bum.
(I know I've let the side down by not finding the exact quote, but tough.)
However, I'm feeling snarky, rather than poetic - or, indeed, elegiac (?). So, I'm going to start by aggressively debunking the main myth that is associated with geeks/nerds/whatevers - as suggested in this week's copy of our student rag, Vision.
Apparently, our freakish hobbies and interests exist only to soothe our troubled souls - troubled, because we simply don't get laid enough.
That latter part might, indeed, be the case - until our sample geek reaches 18 and leaves high school!
After that, ze gets laid ABSOLUTELY ALL THE TIME. If ze so wishes - a fairly large proportion of us are on the asexuality spectrum somewhere - meaning, O Vision writer, that they're not trying.
Oh yes - and in my sample of geeks, i.e. those at my university, threesomes/foursomes/etc. seem to be more common than average.
We rarely get laid out of our tribe, yes - but the thought of sleeping with the average person generally leaves us cold. Bear with me, said Vision writer, and say we're in a parallel universe in which every "normal" student suddenly WANTS US BADLY. Let's try it with both sexes -
Male Student: Let's have sexual intercourse (yes, I realise that non-geeks are less direct, but I can't replicate what they actually do).
Geek: OK, but we'd better have at least half a conversation first. What do you think of (insert obscure film/book/mathematical equation)?
Male Student: I am amazing. Listen to my immense sense of entitlement and vastly inflated sense of self-worth. I like football.
(In the unlikely event that Geek is still horny, ze wanders off and masturbates).
Female Student: Let's have sexual intercourse (see disclaimer above).
Geek: OK, but we'd better have at least half a conversation first. What do you think of (insert obscure film/book/mathematical equation)?
Female Student: I am amazing. Listen to my immense sense of entitlement and vastly inflated sense of self-worth. I like shoes.
(In the unlikely event that Geek is still horny, ze wanders off and masturbates).
Sorry about the binary examples, there - but most of the genderqueers I've met are fellow geeks. Heck, "geek" is a gender.
Incidentally, we also build more lasting relationships. Take a look at the average online forum dedicated to Dungeons & Dragons, MUDs, Terry Pratchett, whatever (No, someone is not a geek just because they play bloody World of Warcraft. They might simply be emulating the worst aspects of the subculture).
Anyway, you'll see so much evidence of marriages, civil partnerships, and every other kind of committed relationship.
I'm an autistic geek, so I am one of those few that do have problems getting laid (see my last post but one). But even I've managed it a respectable few times, and I'm in a great relationship.
I believe it's fitting to end with a Discworld quote.
Vision writer, and all your ilk; I think you have something wrong with your head.
I think it's stuck up your bum.
(I know I've let the side down by not finding the exact quote, but tough.)
Sunday, 12 October 2008
Prophecies
Hagrid decided that, today, we would go and visit Mother Shipton's Cave in Knaresborough. The borderline-illiterate signs and museum displays were filled with spookiness and lots of "ooooh... some of her prophecies came true... ooooh" which was thoroughly enjoyable.
Sadly, the Internets tell me that they've been fairly selective, so as to heighten the atmosphere. Here's the big one that wasn't mentioned anywhere:
The world to an end shall come
In eighteen hundred and eighty-one.
FAIL. You really have no idea how disappointed I am.
Sadly, the Internets tell me that they've been fairly selective, so as to heighten the atmosphere. Here's the big one that wasn't mentioned anywhere:
The world to an end shall come
In eighteen hundred and eighty-one.
FAIL. You really have no idea how disappointed I am.
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