Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Your mother...

...should know.

Seems my mother reads my blog. She's upset by the mention of blow jobs. What can I say? Don't read the blog, mum, you won't like it! Hee-hee!

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I'm...

...down.

Actually, I'm not particularly. But what if I were? The organisation Dignitas is seeking a change in Swiss law which would allow assisted suicide in cases of severe depression. This, I think, is a very frightening idea. While I am cautiously in favour of assisted dying where the person has an incurable illness which is making their life unbearable, depression is a very different matter. For one thing, it is not generally incurable. For another, someone who is severely depressed is, by definition, not of sound enough mind to take this decision - a requirement if assisted death is to be legally acceptable.

Removing the barriers to suicide, making it "safe" and "comfortable" and certain to succeed, is an act of mercy where the sufferer's only other option is a long and painful death from terminal illness. But to extend this to the clinically depressed is highly dangerous - suicide in these cases needs to be seen as what it is: a final resort, a violent and horrifying end which should never, ever be sought where there is the least chance of a return to life.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Let's...

...talk about sex, bay-bee.

I hate that embarrassing moment when you say exactly what you thought before you realised that you shouldn't say it. Like today, I'm sitting helping my housemate proofread an article on Julius Caesar and stuff, when she notices my attention wander...

"You're looking very thoughtful?"
"Yes... I was just considering blow jobs."

Which was true. But I was considering them because I had recently had a conversation with a friend over whether blow jobs were acceptable from a Christian perspective. So, had I said, "Yes... I was considering a fine point of theology", that would also have been true. Somehow, the mouth has a real urge to say the inopportune before allowing the brain to filter.

The other night, I dreamt that I had a beard. I'd just shaved it, and it was really painful. And when I woke up, I thought "how awful to have a beard". And now I'm curious about whether beards really do hurt, or whether that was just the dream. If anyone would like to leave a comment telling me, that would be great. (N.B. to men - whether they hurt or not, they're damn nasty and should be taxed. Except maybe for religious beards, because that's a different thing. But to do it from choice?)

Please...

...Mr. Postman.

The thing is, right, you think you understand everything, and then it turns out that you don't.

Anyway, I've been making a website, and maybe writing CSS all day has made my brain funnier than before, but what I'm told is a good cure for this is pizza, which I am now going to go and get from somewhere. All for me.

Goodnighten...

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Life...

...is just a bowl of cherries.

Now, I find this quite unlikely.

Let's look at the evidence:
1) Bowl of cherries tastes good. Life sometimes does, but more usually tastes of something boring and pedestrian like cheese sandwiches. And occasionally, it tastes like something really disgusting. Seaweed, say.
2) Bowl of cherries stays in one place for your viewing pleasure. Life is unlikely to do this, ever. Until maybe you're eighty and too old to enjoy it.
3) Bowl of cherries full of reassuringly predictable content. "Ooooh... what'll it be today? I know: a cherry!" Every one's a winner. Life: not so much.

So, let's reassess:
Life is just a bowl of random foodstuffs, placed on the roof of a high-speed train, with the odd unexpected item like dog poo mixed in.

Admittedly, it doesn't fit the tune quite so well.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Video...

...killed the radio star.

So, who needs all these computers, anyway? Complete waste of time.

No, not really.

But I'm trying to learn CSS, and my brain hurts an awful lot. As do my eyes.

It was so much easier when you wrote a project on coloured paper, glued shiny stars on it, and got really good marks and a pat on the back.

Probably should point out, for the benefit of people on Facebook, that these posts are being fed in from my blog. So if I seem to be talking crap that you don't understand, that could explain it. Or it could be the other, more obvious explanation.

Always look...

...on the bright side of life. As Jesus once said. (Was it Jesus? Looked like him, anyway.) So, let's look at how lovely life is.

West Wing season 7 arrived in my pigeonhole today. Like, Oh My God, it's the end of an era. The delightful and delectable D invited me to bring it over and share his television (mmm... luxury!) so we ate chocolate souffle and enjoyed the delights of C. J. Cregg.

Side note: someone I once knew gave me the nickname E. J., for reasons best not discussed. But no one calls me that any more. And I really liked it. But how do I reintroduce it? I mean, it's a bit weird just to rename yourself randomly, eh?

Side note 2: the people in the church choir in which D and I sing think we're well on the road to marriage. What is it about churches? Exactly the same thing happened when I first started going to St. Mary's in Swansea with K. "Ooooh, and is he your boyfriend?" "No, no, we're just friends." "Well, you just keep hold of him, dear"(knowing wink). And there's no point arguing. They see two people of vaguely the same age; they want them to marry and produce Christian Children. Scary!

Anyway, on with the litany of wonderful things. I have a friend with cats. He invited me to dinner last week. So, not only did I have dinner cooked for me (yum), and not only did I introduce yet another person to the delight and absurdity that is the cartoon version of The Lord of the Rings, but I also had a cat on my lap for the first time in years. You cannot, dear Reader, imagine in your wildest dreams the wonderfulness of having a cat. Unless, of course, you have a cat yourself. In which case it would take less imagination, I suppose.

And then he who cooked me dinner also lent me the DVDs of Firefly, which is a kind of sci-fi series and absolutely rules the universe.

AND I have two Patricia Cornwell novels left to read in order to complete my perusal of her entire body of work. (Ha, like the pun? Crime writer, body of work... Cool, huh?) I feel that this is an achievement I can legitimately bring up with my supervisor when he asks precisely what I've been doing all Summer.

Erm... that's it.

All you need...

...is love.

Yeah, like hell it is! Love. Such a deceptive little word. It acts like it's a great thing, like everyone should want to be its friend, right? But don't be fooled! It will suck out your brain, chew on your heart, and trample on your bloody, beaten corpse, laughing all the way. Love is a little incubus who sits on your chest while you're asleep and plays frisbee with your soul. Love wants nothing more than to alienate your friends, ruin your life, and dance on your solitary grave.

That's what I think of love.

Monday, September 04, 2006

A long, long time ago...

...I can still remember when the blogging used to make me smile.

I have been remiss. I confess this fact. This is because I have been doing the Academic Tango - a.k.a. presenting papers at numerous conferences, applying for jobs, teaching, setting up a mailing list and website, and trying to write my thesis. All at the same time. Whilst pretending that I don't have CFS.

So apologies to all two of my avid readers - you are greatly loved.

I'm going away now, as I have a blister on my right thumb, exactly on the edge which does the typing. Gaaagghh!