I'm back! Yay for you.
Last monday week the Pirate and I went to see the Rocky Horror Show. The tix were by birthday gift to him since we'd been trying to see it for over six months but stuff kept getting in the way.
So there we were, walking around downtown Bath in our knickers.
He went as Rocky for a change, instead of his usual Frank getup. We spraypainted his underwear and sneakers metallic gold, sprayed his hair gold, and put gold sparkles all over his muscly chest. It was pure class, people.
I did a Janet, and wore a lacy white virginal bra, white knickers, a very short white slip, stockings and heels. and that were it. We had such a good time despite the fact that most of the boring, middle class people in Bath showed up in boring, middle class clothes and refused to do the Time Warp with us. What a bunch of squares.
The following morning I was off to America, where I attended the 42nd Congress on Medieval Studies at Kalamazoo and gave a paper on my recent work. I got some good criticism and feedback and made some good connections. I also bought over $500 worth of books, including an antique set of the complete works of Chaucer in 7 volumes from 1899 in beautiful condition. I had to have them.
The highlight of the convention was Miss Melville, long-time fiend who recently finished her BA in English. She had never been to an academic conference and when she came along to hear my paper she was enthralled by the whole setup. So the following day she came with me and gate-crashed.
Let me repeat that in case you missed the implications of that statement. She gate-crashed an academic conference on Medieval studies because it was fun. There's nerds and then there's nerds.
I had a lovely week at home with my parents and wonderbeagle. Daisy Doodle is still plugging along (albeit very slowly), but since I won't be back home again for a year I know I'll not see her again. It's very sad.
The other extremely sad news is that Bluto died while I was away. This does not come as a surprise. He had been losing weight and getting thin for some time, and I suspected there was a problem with his mouth. I observed that he was only storing food in his left cheek pouch, and never his right. When I saw uneaten sunflower seeds in his cage I knew it was serious, because only terrible pain could possibly keep him from his sunflower seeds, such was his love of the crunchy little delectibles. Unfortunately when these things happen there's nought to be done. I made an effort to give him more soft, fatty foods, but it wasn't enough. Poor little blighter. He was a most excellent and admirable rodent.
Showing posts with label Bluto. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bluto. Show all posts
Friday, May 18, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Vingnettes from the weekend
As opposed to vinegarettes. This is snippets of life, not salad dressing. Duh.
Foot-in-Mouth Disease
Saturday His Swashbuckleyness made his first ever totally insensitive, thoughtless, assenine remark. We've been together over 9 months, so I think he's still got a hell of a great record. (Keep in mind that my back hurts. A lot. Often. There is nothing I want more than to go back to rowing and rack up the medals with the rest of my team. Instead I'm stuck indoors getting fat and bouncing between phyical therapists like a nuclear-powered pingpong ball. And The Pirate bloody wells knows it.)
So Saturday morning we wake up together, the sun is shining, it's a beautiful day. We are snuggling. And what does he say? "Gee, what a great day to go sculling!" Which was all it took for me to burst out in tears. The putz.
Plant Life
When I'm depressed I play in the dirt. Works every time. To cure stree, exercise. To cure depression, re-pot all your houseplants.
So I dragged the Pirate over to Gardiner Haskins where I splashed out (spent 16 pounds) on new pots for my houseplants. And then made him spend 2 hours of his afternoon watching me pot houseplants. Poor lad. It must have been the epitome of boring for him, but look at the results!
Honest People
Saturday evening we had dinner at the Pirate's local with one of his mates from work. It's a great pub -- I had the wood pigeon in summer fruits sauce and a bowl of spring vegetable soup. It was good, but not as good as the P's lamb shank. I'll get that next time. Unless I get the pheasant again. Or the venison. But I digress.
We ate in the garden out back overlooking the valley and the setting sun. I put my purse (that's 'handbag' for the British readers) under the picnic table. And promptly forgot about it.
When I couldn't find it the next day I figured I must have left it, so I walked back to the pub. Someone had turned it in, and the barkeeper handed it to me. With all the cash and credit cards still inside it. Every penny. It's very reasurring to know that there are still honest people in the world. Apparenlty people don't all suck. Or do they...
Fat Kids
Sunday afternoon cricket games are fun. I like the Pirate's local club because it's a real family affair. Everyone shows up with the kids, and the women drink ale and clap and shout "shot!" and the kids run around the edge of the pitch playing boundary ball and biting each other. It's nice. Except for every single one of the kids is fat and ill-behaved, and I regularly see displays of some of the worst parenting skills on Earth.
Like this sunday. There was a girl, about 4 years old. Not quite as huge as the 4-year-old boy with the 3 chins who already has difficulty walking and balancing his enormous girth and will never in his entire life see his own willy without the aid of a mirror, but getting chunky. Her mother was beyond chunky. In the first over this little girl said she was hungry. Her mother replied that she couldn't be hungry because she'd just had lunch. The little girl repeated her request, and mummy gave her... a bag of crisps! For a 4-year-old! Fabulous. It took the child about 4 overs to eat the crisps, at which point she declared she was hungry again, so mummy gave her... another bag of crisps!
Now, at 200 cals/bag, this child had eating 400 calories, fully a third of all the calories she needs in a day, in the form of a food that will not satisfy her hunger and provide no nutritional value whatsoever. Of course, the salt made her thirsty, so mummy gave her... a can of coke! Another 240 calories!
Later on the afternoon, while the two sides were having their tea, the mother went into the bar and brought out a Mars bar, which she unwrapped and handed to the little girl. Who, to the best of my knowledge, had not solicited the candybar in any way. She said she didn't want it. The mother told her to eat it. So she took 3 bites and pushed it away.
I wanted to vomit. I have never in my life seen a parent attempt to force their child to eat a candy bar. I'm so disgusted I don't know what to think. There's ignorant, but this defies all ignorance and logic. This is somewhere so far beyond ignorant even the powerful gaze of ObviousMan cannot penetrate the fog of stupidity. I have no idea what this woman thought she was doing. I was seriously tempted to report her to the authorities for child abuse.
Oops
And the Pirate was out for a duck on the second ball, so it wasn't the best day of cricket ever.
There and Back Again
But Sunday evening was nice. We fixed some pasta for dinner and watched the P's new Red Dwarf DVDs. Normally he drives me back on Sunday evening (if I havn't bicycled), but it was late and he was tired and I didn't have my bike, so I said I'd take the bus back in the morning.
I caught the 8:03 bus from the stop outside his house and arrived at Bath Spa (train station for the American readers) at 8:30, ten minutes ahead of schedule. The train was a bit late departing, and didn't leave until 8:55, but we got into Brizzle shortly past 9, and by the time I walked home I was stepping into my front door by 9:30. Almost exactly 90 minutes. Not bad, except it only takes me 2 hours on a bike.
Now consider this: the bus was 3.60, and the train was 5.60, for a total of 9 pounds, 20 p to travel 25 miles on public transport.
Let's hear it for British public transport! It costs a forturne, but it will get you there slightly faster than an injured person on a derelict bicycle!
Cute
Here are some photos of Bluto sitting in my fern and chomping on it. I wish I could eat my furniture!
Foot-in-Mouth Disease
Saturday His Swashbuckleyness made his first ever totally insensitive, thoughtless, assenine remark. We've been together over 9 months, so I think he's still got a hell of a great record. (Keep in mind that my back hurts. A lot. Often. There is nothing I want more than to go back to rowing and rack up the medals with the rest of my team. Instead I'm stuck indoors getting fat and bouncing between phyical therapists like a nuclear-powered pingpong ball. And The Pirate bloody wells knows it.)
So Saturday morning we wake up together, the sun is shining, it's a beautiful day. We are snuggling. And what does he say? "Gee, what a great day to go sculling!" Which was all it took for me to burst out in tears. The putz.
Plant Life
When I'm depressed I play in the dirt. Works every time. To cure stree, exercise. To cure depression, re-pot all your houseplants.
So I dragged the Pirate over to Gardiner Haskins where I splashed out (spent 16 pounds) on new pots for my houseplants. And then made him spend 2 hours of his afternoon watching me pot houseplants. Poor lad. It must have been the epitome of boring for him, but look at the results!
Honest People
Saturday evening we had dinner at the Pirate's local with one of his mates from work. It's a great pub -- I had the wood pigeon in summer fruits sauce and a bowl of spring vegetable soup. It was good, but not as good as the P's lamb shank. I'll get that next time. Unless I get the pheasant again. Or the venison. But I digress.
We ate in the garden out back overlooking the valley and the setting sun. I put my purse (that's 'handbag' for the British readers) under the picnic table. And promptly forgot about it.
When I couldn't find it the next day I figured I must have left it, so I walked back to the pub. Someone had turned it in, and the barkeeper handed it to me. With all the cash and credit cards still inside it. Every penny. It's very reasurring to know that there are still honest people in the world. Apparenlty people don't all suck. Or do they...
Fat Kids
Sunday afternoon cricket games are fun. I like the Pirate's local club because it's a real family affair. Everyone shows up with the kids, and the women drink ale and clap and shout "shot!" and the kids run around the edge of the pitch playing boundary ball and biting each other. It's nice. Except for every single one of the kids is fat and ill-behaved, and I regularly see displays of some of the worst parenting skills on Earth.
Like this sunday. There was a girl, about 4 years old. Not quite as huge as the 4-year-old boy with the 3 chins who already has difficulty walking and balancing his enormous girth and will never in his entire life see his own willy without the aid of a mirror, but getting chunky. Her mother was beyond chunky. In the first over this little girl said she was hungry. Her mother replied that she couldn't be hungry because she'd just had lunch. The little girl repeated her request, and mummy gave her... a bag of crisps! For a 4-year-old! Fabulous. It took the child about 4 overs to eat the crisps, at which point she declared she was hungry again, so mummy gave her... another bag of crisps!
Now, at 200 cals/bag, this child had eating 400 calories, fully a third of all the calories she needs in a day, in the form of a food that will not satisfy her hunger and provide no nutritional value whatsoever. Of course, the salt made her thirsty, so mummy gave her... a can of coke! Another 240 calories!
Later on the afternoon, while the two sides were having their tea, the mother went into the bar and brought out a Mars bar, which she unwrapped and handed to the little girl. Who, to the best of my knowledge, had not solicited the candybar in any way. She said she didn't want it. The mother told her to eat it. So she took 3 bites and pushed it away.
I wanted to vomit. I have never in my life seen a parent attempt to force their child to eat a candy bar. I'm so disgusted I don't know what to think. There's ignorant, but this defies all ignorance and logic. This is somewhere so far beyond ignorant even the powerful gaze of ObviousMan cannot penetrate the fog of stupidity. I have no idea what this woman thought she was doing. I was seriously tempted to report her to the authorities for child abuse.
Oops
And the Pirate was out for a duck on the second ball, so it wasn't the best day of cricket ever.
There and Back Again
But Sunday evening was nice. We fixed some pasta for dinner and watched the P's new Red Dwarf DVDs. Normally he drives me back on Sunday evening (if I havn't bicycled), but it was late and he was tired and I didn't have my bike, so I said I'd take the bus back in the morning.
I caught the 8:03 bus from the stop outside his house and arrived at Bath Spa (train station for the American readers) at 8:30, ten minutes ahead of schedule. The train was a bit late departing, and didn't leave until 8:55, but we got into Brizzle shortly past 9, and by the time I walked home I was stepping into my front door by 9:30. Almost exactly 90 minutes. Not bad, except it only takes me 2 hours on a bike.
Now consider this: the bus was 3.60, and the train was 5.60, for a total of 9 pounds, 20 p to travel 25 miles on public transport.
Let's hear it for British public transport! It costs a forturne, but it will get you there slightly faster than an injured person on a derelict bicycle!
Cute
Here are some photos of Bluto sitting in my fern and chomping on it. I wish I could eat my furniture!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Well that was fun
Or not. I guess it depends on your definition of 'fun.' I define 'fun' as...
No! No more of that! My head is spinning. We will now return to our regularly scheduled program of whining, ranting, and divulging lurid details of my relationship with a certain sea-faring scallawag. And photos of hamsters. (Natch.)
So first up, whining:
My back hurts. It hurts a lot. I'm sick of it hurting, I'm sick of not being active and athletic and ass-kicking, of feeling weak and useless and helpless, and I'm rapidly losing confidence in my therapist. This sux.
And now a bit of ranting:
The medical care at the hospital in my hometown is SHIT. My father went in for a "routine procedure" on Monday. By the evening he was in extreme pain, so the nursing staff decided to do a follow-up procedure which, while being utterly agonizing, was supposed to ultimately relieve the original pain. Did it? Did it fuck. After doing the agonizing procedure THREE times, THEN they decided to do an ultrasound to see what was causing the pain, and lo! it wasn't the thing they thought it was, so the Hat-Trick of Agony was completely unnecessary from the beginning! Awful fucking hospital. He's home now, and with mom looking after him instead of supposed trainedmonkeys nurses, so he's doing much better.
A few lurid details:
Sorry, Hannah; I havn't seen the Pirate since last week. He's got something up his sleeve for saturday, though (actually cancelled a cricket match to spend the day with me), so I should have some juicy tidbits for you next Monday.
And finally:
There. Are we all happy now???
Oh, one more thing. Today is April 18th, aniversary of the start of the American Revolution and Paul Revere's famous ride. Henry Wadsworth Longellow wrote a poem about it, and every year on the 18th of April mom and I phone each other and recite the poem. It's a good poem. I can't phone you and recite it for you, but here's a link: http://poetry.eserver.org/paul-revere.html
Oh, and one more thing (said Colombo): I am the number one hit on Google if you search for the phrase "Cambridge fitties." Go on, try it. You know you want to.
No! No more of that! My head is spinning. We will now return to our regularly scheduled program of whining, ranting, and divulging lurid details of my relationship with a certain sea-faring scallawag. And photos of hamsters. (Natch.)
So first up, whining:
My back hurts. It hurts a lot. I'm sick of it hurting, I'm sick of not being active and athletic and ass-kicking, of feeling weak and useless and helpless, and I'm rapidly losing confidence in my therapist. This sux.
And now a bit of ranting:
The medical care at the hospital in my hometown is SHIT. My father went in for a "routine procedure" on Monday. By the evening he was in extreme pain, so the nursing staff decided to do a follow-up procedure which, while being utterly agonizing, was supposed to ultimately relieve the original pain. Did it? Did it fuck. After doing the agonizing procedure THREE times, THEN they decided to do an ultrasound to see what was causing the pain, and lo! it wasn't the thing they thought it was, so the Hat-Trick of Agony was completely unnecessary from the beginning! Awful fucking hospital. He's home now, and with mom looking after him instead of supposed trained
A few lurid details:
Sorry, Hannah; I havn't seen the Pirate since last week. He's got something up his sleeve for saturday, though (actually cancelled a cricket match to spend the day with me), so I should have some juicy tidbits for you next Monday.
And finally:
There. Are we all happy now???
Oh, one more thing. Today is April 18th, aniversary of the start of the American Revolution and Paul Revere's famous ride. Henry Wadsworth Longellow wrote a poem about it, and every year on the 18th of April mom and I phone each other and recite the poem. It's a good poem. I can't phone you and recite it for you, but here's a link: http://poetry.eserver.org/paul-revere.html
Oh, and one more thing (said Colombo): I am the number one hit on Google if you search for the phrase "Cambridge fitties." Go on, try it. You know you want to.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Wildlife Exotique
It was a wild, wild weekend. (When is it not?)
Here is our local finned wildlife, doing what it does best. Nothing.
Our local furred wildife, attempting to reach his food bin by busting through the yellow, plastic cap on his mushrroom hut. *sniff sniff* I can smell eet! I know eet's there!
Here is our local feathered wildife. This winged mofo is trying to decide if I would pose a threat to his chicks were he and his bitch to roost on the ledge outside my window. I'm trying to convince him that yes, yes I would be a HUGE threat to his chicks. Noisy, shite-squirting, raucus, garbage-eating fuckwads. (You have no idea how unsettling it is to be sitting at your compter happilyblogging working and suddenly look up to find a seagull, 6 feet from your face, at head level, staring at you through your window. Fuking unnerving, I can tell you.)
This weekend Pirate and I went to Longleat Safari park, where we saw even more wildife. It was wicked good. If you havn't been there, go. It's so much better than a zoo. The animals have loads of space to move around, and you drive through the park in your car. We saw lots of things.
(This is a rock wallaby. See that second little head sticking out there? I want to be that baby. That is the warmest, coziest, snuggliest place ever. I want to live in a pouch.)
(These monkeys are experts at destroying windshield wipers and radio antennae. Pirate did not want to stop the car in this area because he didn't want monkeys tearing it to bits, like what happened the last time he was here. So the converstation went more or less like this:
Me: Aawwww! Monkyes!
Pirate: Aaagh! Monkeys!
Me: Stop the car, I want to take a photo.
Pirate: No! We're not stopping! The car is NOT. STOPPING.
Result: dozens of blurry monkey photos.)
And butterflies on flowers:
We also had a couple really good talks this weekend. There was a lot of stuff that needed to be said. We talked about our chosen career paths and the ways in which we might be able to reconcile the logistical differences of our respective careers, etc.
We also talked about our religious and philosophical differences. I'm not going to go into detail, but we have very strong opposing beliefs on some subjects, and it's an issue I've been reluctant to discuss for a variety of reasons. It got quite emotional for both of us, and we havn't come to a final resolution, but we are a lot closer than we were 48 hours ago and I am feeling much reassured. It was agreed that if we can handle this issue, we can probably handle anything.
Here is our local finned wildlife, doing what it does best. Nothing.
Our local furred wildife, attempting to reach his food bin by busting through the yellow, plastic cap on his mushrroom hut. *sniff sniff* I can smell eet! I know eet's there!
Here is our local feathered wildife. This winged mofo is trying to decide if I would pose a threat to his chicks were he and his bitch to roost on the ledge outside my window. I'm trying to convince him that yes, yes I would be a HUGE threat to his chicks. Noisy, shite-squirting, raucus, garbage-eating fuckwads. (You have no idea how unsettling it is to be sitting at your compter happily
This weekend Pirate and I went to Longleat Safari park, where we saw even more wildife. It was wicked good. If you havn't been there, go. It's so much better than a zoo. The animals have loads of space to move around, and you drive through the park in your car. We saw lots of things.
We saw white rhino things:
And things with babies:
And more things with babies:
(This is a rock wallaby. See that second little head sticking out there? I want to be that baby. That is the warmest, coziest, snuggliest place ever. I want to live in a pouch.)And monkeys on cars:
(These monkeys are experts at destroying windshield wipers and radio antennae. Pirate did not want to stop the car in this area because he didn't want monkeys tearing it to bits, like what happened the last time he was here. So the converstation went more or less like this:Me: Aawwww! Monkyes!
Pirate: Aaagh! Monkeys!
Me: Stop the car, I want to take a photo.
Pirate: No! We're not stopping! The car is NOT. STOPPING.
Result: dozens of blurry monkey photos.)
There was some hot lion on lion action, complete with audience:
And butterflies on flowers:
And the wildest wildlife of all:
(photo removed)
(photo removed)
Wild Thing, I think I love you!
We also had a couple really good talks this weekend. There was a lot of stuff that needed to be said. We talked about our chosen career paths and the ways in which we might be able to reconcile the logistical differences of our respective careers, etc.
We also talked about our religious and philosophical differences. I'm not going to go into detail, but we have very strong opposing beliefs on some subjects, and it's an issue I've been reluctant to discuss for a variety of reasons. It got quite emotional for both of us, and we havn't come to a final resolution, but we are a lot closer than we were 48 hours ago and I am feeling much reassured. It was agreed that if we can handle this issue, we can probably handle anything.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Egad! It's been a while...
Sorry for the radio silence, peeps. I got kinda busy there for a few days. By way of apology I'm going to post a photo of Bluto in all his furry, seed-munching glory. I love how my moblie phone and hairbrush completely dwarf him in this pic. Heehee.
In the news:
The Pirate is now in India, spending 2 weeks living in 5-star hotels and playing cricket. Lucky bastard. So I'm back to being lonely and blathering on about the P to anyone who will listen, but I must confess I'm getting loads done now that I have my weekends back.
So that's what's going on. Given the current state of the world, expect some more political diatribes in the near future.
In the news:
- On Wednesday the Pirate came over for dinner. I fixed a nice meal, NOT because of VD, but because a, I hadn't done it in a while; b, he gave a very successful presentation at the office on Monday and I wanted to recognize that (a grand poombah slapped him on the back afterword and said, "That was bloody good, Pirate, bloody good indeed!); c, I had just bought the new Jamie Oliver cookbook (yes, I adore him. sue me.); and d, he was scheduled to leave for India on Friday and I knew we wouldn't see each other for a few weeks. It was a lovely evening, as are all evenings with my Pirate.
- Since the Pirate wasn't going into the office on Friday (he was packing and leaving for India), I told him that if he wanted he could come over thursday evening and stay the night and have one last shag before setting off for the subcontinent. He had a lot to do before he left and said he probably wouldn't have time. "No worries," said I. Then on Thursday I'm sitting and listening to a paper about indexing marginalia on all British-produced manuscripts from 1375-1509 when i get a text: "See you in an hour." Guess who couldn't get on a plane without his farewell shag? I had already agreed to go to the boatclub Valentine dinner, so I phoned the hostess and asked if I could drag the P along. "No worries," she said. So we went and had fajitas with the boat club, and then had our farewell shag. So thursday was good.
- Then I was at a 2-day conference on Medieval studies on Fri and Sat. I didn't give a paper, but I hosted a couple sessions, and had a really good time. It was a small conference and everyone was very chummy. On Friday I got a free meal at an Italian restaurant out of the deal, so even better.
- Sunday (and this is the good bit), I cycled down the boathouse with R, who also has a buggered back, and we took the double scull out for a light paddle. R and I move really well together, and we get along well as friends, so she is my favourite co-paddler. We did 6 k (which sounds like nothing but is huge progress for both of us), and had a really nice time. And guess what? No back pain! So I'm going to beging slowly reintegrating myself back into the club when work and time permit. Whee!
- Sunday afternoon (and Friday morning) I spent making huge strides in my research, as Flatmate B is teaching me how to write software programs in Basic that I can use to do computer-aided linguistic analysis of medieval texts. We've written a couple programs together, and I'm getting more comfortable with some of the concepts. After I get the hang of this it will increase the quality and scale of my research by orders of magnitude. For the first time in months I feel really really good about my work and where it's going. (And yes, Sal, after I get the hang of Basic I am going to move on to Python. We're already hitting the limits of what Basic can do.)
The Pirate is now in India, spending 2 weeks living in 5-star hotels and playing cricket. Lucky bastard. So I'm back to being lonely and blathering on about the P to anyone who will listen, but I must confess I'm getting loads done now that I have my weekends back.
So that's what's going on. Given the current state of the world, expect some more political diatribes in the near future.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Hamster mansion
The Pirate is in love with my hamster. When he walks in the door the first thing he does (often before he kisses me) is go straight to the hamster cage. If Bluto is awake, the door gets opened and the little furry one gets to play with Uncle Pirate as long as he pleases. Bluto loves the Pirate becuase the Pirate gives him all the sunflower seeds he can cram into his little cheeks.So I wasn't terribly surprised when a couple weeks ago he (the Pirate) purchased a bag of plastic connector tubes for the little guy's cage. I had already made some modifications to the cage (like the addition of the little mushroom-hut thingy on the bottom left), but the P, being an engineer, felt an uncontrollable urge to over-spec the furry one's abode. This is the result:
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
The lighter side
That's enough intelligent debate for one day. Let's look at some much-awaited hamster photos, shall we?
Bluto's new palatial habitat.
(The hamster's view)
Aw! Little fuzzy dude! All bow down before His Majesty The Schmuggleware!
*blows stupid trumpet noises with lips*
Hamsta' Paradise: wolfin' down the chizzow in the seed dish.
His Roundness, in all his corpulent glory.
There is sadness and misery and starvation and war and genocide and bigotry and abuse outside, but inside there is love and fuzz and, most importantly, an abundance of sunflower seeds. Let happiness reign supreme!
Bluto's new palatial habitat.
(The hamster's view)
Aw! Little fuzzy dude! All bow down before His Majesty The Schmuggleware!
*blows stupid trumpet noises with lips*Hamsta' Paradise: wolfin' down the chizzow in the seed dish.
His Roundness, in all his corpulent glory.
There is sadness and misery and starvation and war and genocide and bigotry and abuse outside, but inside there is love and fuzz and, most importantly, an abundance of sunflower seeds. Let happiness reign supreme!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
I accept your dare
I stole this meme.
How my mom sees me:
How my dad sees me:
How my brother sees me:
How my academic advisor sees me:
How my flatmates see me:
How the Pirate sees me. literally.
(yes, that really is the top of my head.)
How the Pirate sees me, metaphorically speaking:
(Fine print: This is not to suggest the Pirate's sexual orientation is anything other than advertised. Only that he has way more confidence in my talent than is healthy.)
How Bluto sees me:
("I am become Green Grocer, bringer of vegetables.")
More of how Bluto sees me:
How Bluto sees himself:
How I see myself:
(no self-esteem problems here, i assure you.)
How my mom sees me:
How my dad sees me:
How my brother sees me:
How my academic advisor sees me:
How my flatmates see me:
How the Pirate sees me. literally.
(yes, that really is the top of my head.)
How the Pirate sees me, metaphorically speaking:
(Fine print: This is not to suggest the Pirate's sexual orientation is anything other than advertised. Only that he has way more confidence in my talent than is healthy.)
How Bluto sees me:
("I am become Green Grocer, bringer of vegetables.")
More of how Bluto sees me:
How Bluto sees himself:
How I see myself:
(no self-esteem problems here, i assure you.)
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Penis Post
A new drug for premature ejaculation is available, reports this week's issue of New Scientist. In a clinical trial of 2000 men, all of whom typically ejaculated less than 1 minute after penetration, the time to ejaculation was:
1.8 mins for men on placebo
2.8 mins for men on 30 mg dose, and
3.3 mins for men on 60 mg dose.
This struck me as lovely news, until i read the following:
"Marcel Waldinger, a neuropsychiatrist at Leyenburg Hospital in The Hague... is concerned that phaymaceutical compaines may be trying to 'pathologise' a condition... that belongs to normal sexual performance." In his 2005 study among the world's males' time taken to ejaculate, the average man lasted only 5.4 mins. (yes, that really is a decimal point.) In Turkey, the average was only 3.7.
5.4 mins!?!? really? um, wow.
Here's what this says to me. This says to me that popular culture has led us to have unhealty, unnatural, unrealistic expectations of men's staying power. We've seen this effect before, in our obsessive desires to have microwaists, DDboobs, and perfect tans all year round. At the same time that we've been bombarded with unrealistic expectations of our bodies, we've also been bombarded with equally unrealistic expectations of sexual performance. Egad. I actually feel sorry for men. (and Turkish women).
In related penis news: Bluto is defiantely a boy.
There was considerable doubt as to the authenticity of the little guy's true gender, as it's rather difficult to tell with hamsters. But this morning as I took him out of his cage so i could clean it, i was rubbing his belly and i accidently encountered, his, um, all right i'll just say it: i rubbed my hamter's cock. Not deliberatley, mind, but apparently he likes having his belly scratched a little too much.
I feel like i need a shower.
1.8 mins for men on placebo
2.8 mins for men on 30 mg dose, and
3.3 mins for men on 60 mg dose.
This struck me as lovely news, until i read the following:
"Marcel Waldinger, a neuropsychiatrist at Leyenburg Hospital in The Hague... is concerned that phaymaceutical compaines may be trying to 'pathologise' a condition... that belongs to normal sexual performance." In his 2005 study among the world's males' time taken to ejaculate, the average man lasted only 5.4 mins. (yes, that really is a decimal point.) In Turkey, the average was only 3.7.
5.4 mins!?!? really? um, wow.
Here's what this says to me. This says to me that popular culture has led us to have unhealty, unnatural, unrealistic expectations of men's staying power. We've seen this effect before, in our obsessive desires to have microwaists, DDboobs, and perfect tans all year round. At the same time that we've been bombarded with unrealistic expectations of our bodies, we've also been bombarded with equally unrealistic expectations of sexual performance. Egad. I actually feel sorry for men. (and Turkish women).
In related penis news: Bluto is defiantely a boy.
There was considerable doubt as to the authenticity of the little guy's true gender, as it's rather difficult to tell with hamsters. But this morning as I took him out of his cage so i could clean it, i was rubbing his belly and i accidently encountered, his, um, all right i'll just say it: i rubbed my hamter's cock. Not deliberatley, mind, but apparently he likes having his belly scratched a little too much.
I feel like i need a shower.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Shutterbug
This is a post of random photos of nice things. I think you'll enjoy it.
First up, a dose of sperical hamsteroid cutitude. (I love that phrase, courtesy of FN. I can't stop saying it!)
This Bluto. Eating a bean. Or smoking a giant, green cigar.
HOW CUTE IS THAT!?!?!
Secondly, I need these shoes. They have rainbows on them! AND rainbow laces! I am the RAINBOW KID. I've been nuts for rainbows since i was knee-high to ladybug. It's not a gay-pride thing (though i'm down with that, too), it's just an I LOVE RAINBOWS thing.
But I just can't bring myself to pay 40 quid for a pair of canvas shoes that might last me one year if i'm lucky.
*sigh*
(What I need is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow shoes. Hehehe!)
This is a photo of the English countryside. It's pretty. There are hills and pastures, a church steeple and an exceptionally beautiful horse, none of which are in short supply as near as I can tell. What makes this countryside special is that it's visible from the bicycle path i ride on the way to the boat house every week, so this view is part of my regular commute. And gosh, it's lovely. I'm nuts for that horse. I've met him up close, and he's an absolute fucking monster: huge, sleek, muscular. He's probably named Goliath or some such. I don't know, but I'm nuts about him.
Last and certainly least we have a spot of false advertising and a rather disappointing confectionary. These so-called "American Hard Gums" are not American. They are obviously meant to mimick gum drops, but much to my consternation they are a woeful imitation. For one thing, they're too hard. Gum drops should be less chewy and more gelly-like. For another thing, the sugar on the outside is too fine. Proper gum drops have coarse sugar on them. But most significan of all is the flavor. Not only are the flavors too weak, but they're the wrong flavors altogether! Let me just state this for the record: No where, from the Gulf Stream waters to the Redwood forests will you find blackcurrant flavored candy. Black gumdrops are supposed to taste like licorice, people! And the red ones are cinnamon, the white ones peppermint, the green ones spearmint, the yellow ones are lemon and the orange ones are orange. The last two the "Hard Gums" people managed to get right, but they fucked the rest of them up. You people do good horses, good countryside, and lovely churches, but you've got a hell of a lot to learn about gum drops.
First up, a dose of sperical hamsteroid cutitude. (I love that phrase, courtesy of FN. I can't stop saying it!)This Bluto. Eating a bean. Or smoking a giant, green cigar.
HOW CUTE IS THAT!?!?!
Secondly, I need these shoes. They have rainbows on them! AND rainbow laces! I am the RAINBOW KID. I've been nuts for rainbows since i was knee-high to ladybug. It's not a gay-pride thing (though i'm down with that, too), it's just an I LOVE RAINBOWS thing.But I just can't bring myself to pay 40 quid for a pair of canvas shoes that might last me one year if i'm lucky.
*sigh*
(What I need is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow shoes. Hehehe!)
This is a photo of the English countryside. It's pretty. There are hills and pastures, a church steeple and an exceptionally beautiful horse, none of which are in short supply as near as I can tell. What makes this countryside special is that it's visible from the bicycle path i ride on the way to the boat house every week, so this view is part of my regular commute. And gosh, it's lovely. I'm nuts for that horse. I've met him up close, and he's an absolute fucking monster: huge, sleek, muscular. He's probably named Goliath or some such. I don't know, but I'm nuts about him.
Last and certainly least we have a spot of false advertising and a rather disappointing confectionary. These so-called "American Hard Gums" are not American. They are obviously meant to mimick gum drops, but much to my consternation they are a woeful imitation. For one thing, they're too hard. Gum drops should be less chewy and more gelly-like. For another thing, the sugar on the outside is too fine. Proper gum drops have coarse sugar on them. But most significan of all is the flavor. Not only are the flavors too weak, but they're the wrong flavors altogether! Let me just state this for the record: No where, from the Gulf Stream waters to the Redwood forests will you find blackcurrant flavored candy. Black gumdrops are supposed to taste like licorice, people! And the red ones are cinnamon, the white ones peppermint, the green ones spearmint, the yellow ones are lemon and the orange ones are orange. The last two the "Hard Gums" people managed to get right, but they fucked the rest of them up. You people do good horses, good countryside, and lovely churches, but you've got a hell of a lot to learn about gum drops.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
The Roundness of the Schmuggleware
It's hot. It's been hot for over a week. This makes me very happy, but then, I'm not running round in a thick fur coat all day.Bluto is not happy.
I took (fairly drastic) measures to keep the room cool. I covered the windows with white tissue paper to block the sun (and my view), so the sun coming through the glass in the afternoon (my windows face west) wouldn't turn the place into an EZ-Bake oven. I also hemmed my curtains up, because they are plastic, and when they are closed they not only block the light, but also the very little fresh air i get. so now i can have the curtains drawn and still get a breeze. This, however, wasn't quite cutting it for the hamster.
Nor, frankly, was it cutting it for me. I was still waking up at night covered in sweat. And I was sleeping naked. With no covers. (Being naked and sweaty in bed can be a very good thing, but not so much when you're alone and really just want to sleep.)
It was time to purchase... a fan.
Helloooooooo Woolworths!
15 pounds later (such a rip-off. i've never paid so much for a desk fan in my life! and that was the SALE PRICE), I arrived home with my beige, mechanical salvation. (That sounds rather rude, doesn't it? Oh well.) I put it together. I plugged it in. I pointed it at the hamster cage. And lo! The hamster appeared from under his woodchips, felt the breeze, and saw that it was good. He has spent the last three days sprawled in a puddle on the deck of his cage, soaking up the breeze. I give you Exhibit A: Hamster Puddle!
Seriously, he hasn't moved. He actually growls at me if i put the thing on 'oscilate' in an attempt to steal some air for myself. I think I many need to buy another fan.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
One word:
Hamster porn.
(Ok, maybe that's two words, but it's still hilarious.
...and don't ask me how I found this website.)
(Ok, maybe that's two words, but it's still hilarious.
...and don't ask me how I found this website.)
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Awww...
I don't want to turn this into one of those "is my pet cute?" blogs. where every post "oh look how cute my fill-in-the-blank is! i want everyone to tell me over and over how adorable s/he is. guess what my insert-random-animal-here did today?!?" fucking gag me. or fuck and gag me. i'm down with that too. anyway, in this case, i couldn't resist. i mean for fuck's sake, he's spherical!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Introducing...
(drumroll please...)
...Bluto S. Schumggleware!
Here he is, folks: my adorable little guy, the most dependable man in my life. Sure he's only 3 inches long and has a hairy back, but a girl can't have everything.
His favourite past times include running manically on his wheel all night long (which mercifully does not squeak); eating sunflower seeds; carrying wads of shredded loo roll around in his mouth; and looking at me imploringly with those big black buggy eyes.
We're also learning how to roll around on the floor in the Death Star (yes, I realize you will need photos of this), but at the moment we still don't quite have the hang of that one.
You're probably wondering by now why the name. I'll enlighten you.
Schmuggleware, besides sounding really cute (it's good when a pet's name is larger than the pet), is German for 'contraband.' I chose this because I'm not technically supposed to have a pet in this building. They're doing room inspections shortly, but it's ok because we've got a whole network of sympathetic pet lovers in different rooms on different floors ready to babysit Bluto for a few days while the Angel of Death, i mean, management passes by my lintel.
S. is the same S. as in Harry S. Truman. Not that I'm a big fan of Truman. I mostly stuck it in there because it regularizes the meter of the name. Bluto Schmuggleware scans / x / x x, whereas Bluto S. Schmuggleware scans / x x / x x. See? It's much more natural. Yes yes i'm a linguist. get over it.
So why Bluto? I'll tell yo this: IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH POPEYE.
It's after this guy:
Also named Bluto, he was round, furry, of few words, and the life of every party. He brought joy and laughter to those around him. I can't think of a better namesake for a hamster.
And if you have NO IDEA who this is, then for FUCK'S SAKE go rent the movie 'Animal House.' An American cult classic and the voice of a generation.
Rest in peace, St. Belushi: your legacy lives on in our hearts and in the bossom of a small grey rodent in Bristol, England.
...Bluto S. Schumggleware!
Here he is, folks: my adorable little guy, the most dependable man in my life. Sure he's only 3 inches long and has a hairy back, but a girl can't have everything.
His favourite past times include running manically on his wheel all night long (which mercifully does not squeak); eating sunflower seeds; carrying wads of shredded loo roll around in his mouth; and looking at me imploringly with those big black buggy eyes.
We're also learning how to roll around on the floor in the Death Star (yes, I realize you will need photos of this), but at the moment we still don't quite have the hang of that one.
You're probably wondering by now why the name. I'll enlighten you.
Schmuggleware, besides sounding really cute (it's good when a pet's name is larger than the pet), is German for 'contraband.' I chose this because I'm not technically supposed to have a pet in this building. They're doing room inspections shortly, but it's ok because we've got a whole network of sympathetic pet lovers in different rooms on different floors ready to babysit Bluto for a few days while the Angel of Death, i mean, management passes by my lintel.
S. is the same S. as in Harry S. Truman. Not that I'm a big fan of Truman. I mostly stuck it in there because it regularizes the meter of the name. Bluto Schmuggleware scans / x / x x, whereas Bluto S. Schmuggleware scans / x x / x x. See? It's much more natural. Yes yes i'm a linguist. get over it.
So why Bluto? I'll tell yo this: IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH POPEYE.
It's after this guy:
Also named Bluto, he was round, furry, of few words, and the life of every party. He brought joy and laughter to those around him. I can't think of a better namesake for a hamster.And if you have NO IDEA who this is, then for FUCK'S SAKE go rent the movie 'Animal House.' An American cult classic and the voice of a generation.
Rest in peace, St. Belushi: your legacy lives on in our hearts and in the bossom of a small grey rodent in Bristol, England.
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