Worth Watching

This video is over an hour long, but why don't you give it a go tonight instead of Big Brother or Antiques Road Show? You won't regret it.

As the hippopatomus of time

flatulates on the marathon runner of style as it ambles along the road of BBC comedy, so goes the great Humphrey Lyttleton.

RIP you sarcastic, sodding, talented genius.

The News in Brief

and Thong, and Tighty Wighty, and Bikini, and...


Politics
I'm the Vice-Pres of the Atheist, Agnostic, and Secular Society. We're holding elections tonight for a new Pres. (I don't want to be it. I don't have time to do the job I've got.) Mostly my concern is that the one person who's being doing all the work for the last 18 months will have to continue to do all the work, and when he graduates there won't be a society any more. We need to start spreading some responsibility around or the club will die, which would be a huge shame.

Health
I'm seeing a chiropractor. Although the ruptured disk is as healed as it will ever be, my pelvis is apparently out of alignment. This is causing me to put 15 more pounds of pressure on my right foot than on my left when I stand. Such misalignment puts a twist in my spine that will make reinjury more likely, so I'm having it sorted. Which is good. I guess. I'm a bit skeptical of chiropractors. They're not doctors. I worry that it's all just so much snake oil. Any thoughts?

Finance
I can't afford the chiropractor. I earn about 100 pounds a week. This is my only regular income. I could earn more, but I don't have time to take on a third job. My rent is 78 pounds a week. I have the remaining 22 to live off and buy things like food, books, and pay for rowing expenses. The chiropractor costs 50 pounds a week, plus 12 pounds a week in bus fares to get there (his office is in a different city). Ow. I'm afraid this will hurt my wallet more than it will help my back.

Arts
Went to see Ladysmith Black Mambazo at Colston Hall last night. They were amazing. Rich, soulful, powerful, and even a bit camp at times. At one point a bunch of women jumped up on stage and started hugging the guys! There is not enough music in my life right now. It was wonderful to sit there with their round, full harmonies filling my ears. I needed that.

Celebrity
Our Roving Reporter spotted the Pirate this weekend down at the Bristol boat house on the Avon near Bath. He was helping his stiff, sore, pathetic, degenerate, dejected girlfriend lift her scull out of the water. Later, our source informs us, he took her to his gym to get a proper workout in, since her water session was too painful for her back and she returned after doing a paltry 3k. At the gym he spotted her while she did an upper body weights circuit and helped her stretch afterwards. Later that evening (according to our snoop) he spend nearly an hour giving her a full-body deep muscle massage with lots of beramot-scented oil and a rolling pin.

Obituaries
Daisy the Wonderbeagle passed away last week. She had to be put down owing to excessive feebleness and inability to hold her pee. She leaves behind 4 grieving bipeds and numerous friends and admirers. She was 15 1/2.

Horoscope
Your position is shaky right now, but that is temporary. You will find a way out, as you always do. In love, you are coming to a crux. Soon you will know for certain where you stand, one way or the other.

Pushin' up the Daisies

Mom and dad had to have the Easer Beagle put down this week. She was almost 15 1/2 years old. Ripe old age. She was diagnosed with Cushing's Disease when she was 8 and given 3 months to live, so we think she did pretty good. She was happy and bouncy and healthy for most of her life, and only really started to slow down a lot in the last 2 years. By last week she was too weak to walk to the back door to go out for a pee.

I'm too bummed to write much about her right now, so I'll just put up some photos.

The Easter Beagle sunning herself amongst the pansies.

Curled up in bed, waiting for mom to wake up so she can go for a walk in the park and check her p-mail.

Looking cute and knowing it, blast her.

The Belly Beagle in her preferred habitat -- dozing on dad's corpulence.

Marcel Marceau

died the other day at the age of 84.

What i want to know is, what were his last words? 'Oh my God the Germans have invaded Poland!' ?


Miss Melville wondered if the cause of death was choking. As in mime grabs throat, wife rolls eyes...

Cirlcle of life

My aunt is sick. Again.

She's in the hospital with congestive heart failure AND pneumonia. And yet, amazingly, she doesn't appear to be at death's door. The fam have told me not to bother flying home.

The doctor told her, effectively, "You're a time bomb. But given that you're 80 years old and morbidly obese, you knew that anyway. So what's really changed?"

"What do I do now?" she asked.

"Well," said the wise doctor. "Whatever you please. There's no point spending your last days sitting in a rocking chair waiting for The Big One. Go live your life."

"I was thinking about taking a vacation."

"Good idea. You should do that."

"But what if I have a heart attack and die in (insert resort town here)?"

"What if you do? What difference does it make if you die here or in Boca?"

"..."

"Exactly."

I like this doctor.

Unconventional Conventionists and Rodent Requiem

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.

Easter Departure

I'm leaving tomorrow (Wed) for up north, to the home of the Pirate's parental units, for Easter. I will be back the following Wednesday, 11 April. I may or may not be blogging during this time period, it's tard to hell.

I'm looking forward to this trip, which will include (but not be limited to) the following phenomena:

• The Pirate's birthday (there will be an absolutely amazing chocolate-raspberry cake involved, but owing to my chocolate addiction and subsequent personal ban I will not be partaking of aforementioned cake. Instead, I will be partaking of the Pirate.)
• The funeral of one of Pirate's close colleages (this is obviously not going to be one of the fun bits, but it needs done)
• A big ol' Pirate family gathering, including both parents, the only brother, the paternal grand-dame, and all the aunts/uncles/cousins on the father's side. It's going to be quite an event. I hope I don't get people's names mixed up.
• Church on Easter Sunday. (I bought a ribbon to tie around my straw hat to match my dress. I feel very posh.) I'm not a church-going type these days, but I have very fond memories of Easter mass, and I just LOVE all those Alleluias!!!!!
  
• Hot hot Pirate whoopee

As you can see, it's going to be a busy trip. Be good and behave yourselves until I get back.

Requiem

She's dead.

I can't really come to grips with that.

I didn't see her die, see them stick the needle in her heart to stop it beating. Dad was the one holding her when she finally deflated.

It should have been me. I was her person.

But I was here, far away. Too far to hear her cry, to mop up the vomit, to carry her to the vet.

Too far to bury the ashes in the back garden,
under a bush where she liked to sit and watch butterflies in the summer. Dad did that, too.

She liked to sit in the garden. She'd hide under a bush and stay there for hours, always seeking out someplace cool in the summer, somplace warm in the winter.

She liked to sit on the arms of chairs and the end of the sofa, under the reading lamp where the heat from the light bulb made her warm.

Or lay on wood floor in the front hall where the heating ducts ran right beneath the floor boards
and made them warm.

And of course in the sunbeam on the ottoman of the glider rocker. She would move across the floor with the sunbeam, tracking its progress through the day.

And under the Christmas tree. That was Nirvana. It was a bush... inside! And it had lights, which made it warm. Best of everything; the preferred habitat of the Christmas Cat. It even came with tissue paper to sit on - the lovely, pleasing crunch of the tissue!

No more Christmases for Noelle.

I hope she didn't suffer too much. Though I don't expect it's much fun to have all your internal organs throw in the towel simultaneously. They wanted to keep her alive until I came home. What's more cruel, to prolong the physical suffering?
Or to put her down without her person, letting her die with
the feeling that she's been abandoned, wondering where I am?

They decided they couldn't drag out her condition. It was probably best.

She died last week, but they didn't tell me until yesterday. She died right around the time that I fucked up the race last sunday (broke a pair of sculling blades, cost my team a medal), and also when i got that depressing email from Iain. Mom said I had enough to cope with. She didn't want to throw a dead cat on top of the pile.
Fair enough.
She was 18 years old. I got her when I was 9. I'm 27 now. Do the math: that's 2/3 of my life. 2/3 of my life! I barely remember the time before her. I don't remember sleeping in my bed without her curled up next to the pillow, or splayed across my feet. I don't remember her not being there to beg for tuna every time someone opened a can. I don't remember being able to open the front door without looking around first to make sure she's not in a position to sneak out. She's a part of home, part of what defines it and makes it home. Defined. Made. Past tense. What's home like now? Dunno. Don't really want to go home and find out, either. Now it's surreal - I can imagine it never happened. But when I go home the reality will be there, and the cat won't. I don't believe in an afterlife, but I hope I'm wrong. I hope she's somewhere where there is tuna on every plate, butterflies in every garden, and tissue paper in every gift. May the sun shine warm upon your carpet, may your litter be ever fresh, and may the mice be slow, the bats fly low, and the catnip grow. Goodbye, Fuzzbutt; sleep well.