Lady Parts Alliteration

Wayward Womb.
Ostentatious Ovary.
Complicit Clitoris.
Frantic Fallopian.
Bombastic Breast.
Lascivious Labia.
Cantankerous Cervix.

Things I Can Tell Just By Looking at Him

As it turns out, there aren't that many things I can tell just by looking at him. In fact, I can only really observe and then attempt to make conclusions based on my observations (duh!).

Things I have observed and things I know:

• I know for sure that he works at my local library as I have seen him standing behind the library desk, and I've seen him using the behind-the-library-desk computers, and he checked out a branch transfer for me (and while he did this, I 'checked' him out!...see what I did there)
•  I know his first name, which I was able to ascertain by reading his name tag while he was checking out my branch transfer
• I'm guessing his age is somewhere between over 35 and under 50
• He wears brown shirts at work (I don't know if he's wearing the same brown shirt or if he owns many brown shirts)  [EDIT UPDATE: Since posting this blog post, I have observed him wearing a grey-blue shirt]
• I've observed him smiling and being polite and helpful when he is approached by library customers - this could be an indication that he is a polite and helpful person, or it could be an indication that, given that Librarians are meant to be polite and helpful at work, he doesn't want to get fired
• I think I once saw him wearing a cardigan, though this isn't very surprising, given that cardigans are part of a Librarian's armour (but I do like cardigans - in fact, I think the corporate world would be a better world if business people wore cardigans instead of suit jackets)
• He doesn't appear to wear a wedding ring, at least not at work
• I have a suspicion he smoked a bit of marijuana in his younger days, and occasionally still imbibes (I have virtually no basis for this suspicion, other than his longish sideburns, which, in my mind, suggests probable weed smoker, or maybe that he's part Wookie)

But these things do not an insight into a person give. These things don't tell me, for example, whether or not he's a psychopath - maybe he's a psychopath with a heart of gold. Where does he sit on the political spectrum (further to the left would be better)? Is he sexist or racist or homophobic (qualities possessed by some of my ex-boyfriends)? Is he thoughtful or compassionate or tolerant (qualities not overly possessed by some of my ex-boyfriends)? Does he know who The Chosen One is (hint: "into every generation is born") (extra hint: It's Buffy The Vampire Slayer!)?

He has an 'aura' that suggests some degree of weird loner, which speaks to me (I think I'm more likely to connect with another weird loner, even if that sounds contradictory - are weird loners at all able to make 'proper' human connections with normal people, let alone with each other?!?). Though, my 'observation' of his apparent weird lonerism might be more about my projecting qualities onto him that I desire. Maybe, at the very least, he's sympathetic to (and attracted to!) weird loners, whilst not necessarily being one himself.

So, what if he is someone for me (and I'm someone for him). Is it really a good idea to start something which could go horribly wrong? (That last sentence just seethes with optimism). And if things do go wrong, I'll probably have to go to a different library. I enjoy being a weird loner; do I really want to give up my solitude? Maybe it's possible to be a weird loner AND have a thing with someone - I'd still have to work on my interacting with other people skills, though.

And how would things get started in the first place? If something is going to be done, it's likely going to have to be me that does it. I'll have to 'make the first move', because I would assume that a library staffer isn't allowed to hit on a library customer - workplace sexual harassment protocols would frown upon such behaviour. I'd have to approach him; I could go up to him when he's behind the library desk and ask him some library based questions (and bat my eyelashes and give him my phone number!). But flirting isn't my one of my strengths. I'm not very positive about this strategy. I think I need to sleep on it. I think I will need many sleeps.

Hierarchy of Difficulty

The Hierarchy of Difficulty is, in principle, a ratings system in which various everyday tasks and situations are allocated a numerical value reflecting the degree of difficulty experienced by an individual whenst that individual encounters said everyday tasks or situations. Commonly, the rating scale is from 1 to 10, with 1 = super easy ("I am strolling through a well maintained park on a pleasantly warm summer's day whilst eating a delicious non-dripping ice-cream") and 10 = massively fucking hard ("I have reverted to a permanent foetal position, you may as well kill me now").

I have personally found the Hierarchy of Difficulty to be an effective tool in identifying irksome obstacles and assessing their level of irksomeness upon my person. This helps to give me a more concrete picture of the irksome and, thus, the extent of its evil. I am then better prepared to devise an irksome-reduction strategy. Here are some recent examples from my hierarchy, with ratings in brackets:

♣ Spelling 'hierarchy'. (5)
♣ Writing a blog post titled 'Hierarchy of Difficulty'. (4-5)
♣ Reversing out of my driveway with neighbour's bins almost obstructing driveway - with the margin of error being not more than 2 inches. (8-9)
(though closer to (7) now that I've moved bins approximately 4 inches to the north - away from the driveway - and neighbour seems not to have noticed)
(for those of you at home doing the maths, that does indeed mean that my total margin of error is now approximately 6 inches, which is still pretty tight, but I am highly skilled at driving my car in reverse out of my driveway, so I can handle it, unless I've been drinking or am experiencing a severe inner ear condition or I've got my eyes closed)
♣ Reversing out of my driveway with my eyes closed. (9-10)
♣ Talking to neighbour about bin/driveway issue. (10)
(see here for previous driveway issue involving the same neighbour)
♣ Not obsessing about the driveway irritations of neighbour. (8)
♣ Not obsessing in general. (7-8)
♣ Accurately differentiating between healthy and unhealthy obsessing. (4-5)
♣ Using my powers of obsessing for good rather than evil. (5-6)
♣ Not obsessing to the point of freaking myself out. (3-4)
♣ Establishing a personality that is not easily freaked out. (5)
♣ Establishing a personality that is not easily freaked out by other people. (6-7)
♣ Establishing a personality that does not easily freak out other people. (6)
♣ Deciding whether or not to care about people freakage in general. (1-10)
♣ Finding a job commensurate with my ability to hold it down. (7)
♣ Determining my level of ability in the 'job holding down' arena. (7-8)
♣ Focusing on the positives rather than the negatives. (1-10)
♣ Maintaining high enough energy levels - physical, mental, emotional - to cope with everyday obstacles. (1-10)
♣ Not giving in to Asperger type tendencies. (7-8)
♣ Giving in to Asperger type tendencies. (1)
♣ Going to the supermarket. (1-10)
♣ Finishing blog posts. (1-10)

TARDIS as TEAPOT

The TARDIS (as seen in Dr Who) possesses many extraordinary capabilities - time travel, space travel, sentience, telepathy, babel fish like language translation, wacky dimensional manipulations and distortions. But one of its lesser known (though tremendously important) capabilities, is its capacity to manifest as a teapot:

I wonder if the TARDIS teapot brews vastly greater quantities of tea than its exterior size would suggest.

A strange, feline induced, time-space-teapot-TARDIS paradox occurred:

Mystical Dome of Impenetrability

It is not understood, either by Scientists or Engineers or, indeed, Mystics, how the Mystical Dome's scaffolding is constructed or from what materials it is made. What is known, however, is that in order for such a contraption to assemble and to function, an urgent and rampant need for isolation from danger, real or perceived, is required.

When activated, the dome (or, in some cases, capsule) (or bubble) will completely surround a person (or, in some cases, an animal) (not that humans aren't also animals) (you know what I mean) (clarification: we are ALL animals!). The dome (I'm just gonna call it a 'dome' cos I like the word) (though its shape is probably quite indefinable, even abstract) (also, it's transparent) (so who the hell knows what its freaking shape is anyway)...The dome seems to act as a shield or barrier to proximate unpleasantness. Its capabilities appear to be almost exhaustive; it can prevent sunburn on high-UV days or keep out lightening and rain during a storm, it can block a speeding vehicle and prevent squishing or deflect a meteorite shower from performing a skull re-sculpture. Furthermore, the dome allows the 'wearer' to continue breathing unaided for extended periods; this may be due to either the dome being able to produce oxygen via some unexplained mechanism or that the dome's substance is selectively permeable (making the dome not entirely impenetrable).

Possibly even more astonishing than the dome's physical abilities, are its so-called 'psychological' abilities. As well as possessing a faculty for material shelter, the dome also displays a kind of ethereal empathy. The Obscure-Translucent-Shelter-Psyche-Phenomenon, as it is known in academic circles, manifests as a capacity for the dome to latch onto, and sync with, the mental state of the sentient being (or, in some cases, bean) which the dome has enshrouded. This serves both to provide a generalized solace for the sentient being (SB), as well as to isolate the SB from any volatile emotional vagaries (VEV) to which the SB may be subjected (unless the SB has willingly chosen to be under the thrall of VEV). Experimental data has shown that an SB experiencing the influence of a mystical dome will display a biochemistry profile consistent with a state of tranquillity.

Until the discovery of the mystical dome, conventional wisdom had generally dictated that a suit of armour and a heart of stone were necessary to protect an SB from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but now it seems that this is not strictly the case. Certainly it is true that "armour and stonehearts" (as the saying goes) have proven to be very effective protection, but this method has been associated with some negative side effects: limited mobility, chaffing, and elevated levels of social disconnection. Moreover, anecdotal evidence indicates that this method may have a tendency to attract more slings and arrows than would normally be expected from ordinary outrageous fortune (perhaps the slings and arrows are attracted to the shiny of the metal armour).

So, if a requirement for shelter becomes apparent, and a mystical dome is potentially manifestable, then evidence suggests that the mystical dome method, with its many advantages, is the way to go.

Planet Earth! You Rock! (as well as being MADE of rock)

An observation (mine) has been made that the previous 3 posts of this blog have contained Planet Earth; as in, some kind of mention of or reference to, Planet Earth. Obviously (or not), it would be ludicrous to suggest that Planet Earth itself has existed within these blog posts, for that would be quite an extraordinary manipulation of the physics of the physical realm - I suspect even the most nimble Time Lord would experience some difficulty with such a space-time continuum defying manoeuvre.

However, it's not entirely illogical/crazy to say that some of the Earth resides in the blog posts. The screens upon which the blog posts appear contain material ripped from the Earth's body. Ouch! The server that stores the blog posts is made from Earth. The brains of people that see the blog posts (and hence, the blog posts are then contained within their brains) are made from, as Joni Mitchell says, "billion year old carbon" - though, actually from "stardust", but by the time the carbon gets to being brain, it's been 'Earth-carbon' for quite awhile. So, really, blog posts and Earth are an intricately intertwined, cross-linked, woveny basket (case) tapestry.

As is often the case with my blog posts, I have no idea what the point is, and this post is a prime example of this phenomenon. All I can really deduce is that Planet Earth is a part of all of us, and of this blog, and as such, at times, it will seep into our sub-concious and make itself heard. Also, the Earth kindly allows us to ride upon its 'back' as it travels through space, which is great for us because, without the Earth, we would most likely spiral wildly out of control and die.

So, in honour of the awesomeness of Planet Earth, and as a way to fill up more blog space, here are some pictures of Earth:

Normal Earth:

Rorschach Earth:

Post Modern Earth:

Maniacal Laughing Earth:

Will the Wonders of Masking Tape Never Cease?

I have repaired my computer mouse using the very latest high-tech specialist equipment:

[PS: This blog post was brought to you by I'm too cheap to buy a new mouse]

Alchemy Fail

It would appear that when I touch (or just stand within close proximity to) gold, it transforms into lead. I have the anti-Midas touch. I am the King of Lead.

On the positive side, though, lead will come in handy when there's a radiation leak. Or when I need bullets.


PS: This blog post was brought to you by Sparkles and Sunshine.

200 Litres

[Subtitle: Stay away from the solvent storeroom!]

[Also, the following account is COMPLETELY TRUE]

The methanol is staring at me: 200 litres of flammable liquid, encased in a steel drum. Through the uncapped opening I can see an eye; it’s eye. Floating in the metallic black liquid it seems to coalesce, then disperse, coalesce, then disperse. I can’t quite keep my focus on it. The light in the solvent storeroom is dim, and the room is full of shadows. An emergency siren sits on a near bye shelf, just out of reach. I am wedged into a crowded corner, surrounded by other drums of methanol; but they are capped and inert, I don’t need to open them.

Any moment my rational brain will calm me with it’s rational thoughts: the eye is only your reflection, when you blink, it blinks; see. The methanol is not sentient. It doesn’t think. Or know. Or want. Or manipulate.

Inside the drum, billions of molecules are vibrating. They are made from life-creating atoms - carbon, oxygen and hydrogen - but they cannot create life on their own.

But what if another atom had gotten inside? A radical. A wanderer. A nomadic particle travelling freely through the unexamined ether. An element maintaining its atomic integrity, despite massive dimensional distortions. Could it be a unique isomer of nitrogen? Maybe it became trapped between interstices, nestled into a polar channel, and forced to bond. What if a new amino acid has been created? A strange amine formed from mutated wood alcohol and incubated in a cavernous, metallic womb.

I know it’s there; I can’t deny it now. It glides easily through the cold fluid, finding gaps and dislocations, increasing the vibrational energy of the surrounding molecules.

And I can hear it. It calls to me. The liquid warble seeps into air and creeps closer, reaching into my ear. It weaves insidiously through my auditory canal, brushing against the fine hairs lining the inner membrane, giving them a gentle motion, a slow beat. The movement of the hair generates a beat of electrical impulses. From the structured calm of my inner ear, they move into the spongy chaos of my cerebral cortex. I am confused.

My confusion generates a clarity: The methanol is sentient. And it does want. It wants…it wants me to…no! (Matches). I turn my head away, but I can still hear it’s insistent voice. I need to move, to run. I try to shift my body but my hips won’t move, they’re jammed against the solid, metal drums. The drums are blocking me, holding me tight. I need help. I stretch out my arm; I can almost reach…the emergency…siren…no. I will have to scream…

But I don’t scream. I feel calm. (Flame). I can still hear the voice, the voice of the methanol. It is soft and fluid. My brain is soft and fluid. (Heat). My skin is buzzing. My epidermis is moving, undulating; a gentle motion, a slow beat. My bones have become soft; I am fluid.

Did Kyle Reese really have to come across time for Sarah Connor?

YES!

And thus ends this blog entry.

No, wait, there’s more…(a lot more)…

As a fan of the “time travel” subgenre of Science Fiction (eg Dr Who, Terminator series), I was interested in this Physics research. The article is a little heavy going, but, basically, the scientists are using a wacky quantum mechanics set-up in an attempt to subvert the Grandfather Paradox of time travel – ie that if you travel back in time and kill your grandfather (or your grandmother), you will no longer exist. Such an event would generate a series of convoluted time/existence paradoxes, which is never a good thing. [NB: Somebody who’s mean enough and/or stupid enough to travel back in time and kill a grandparent deserves to be caught in a convoluted time/existence paradox!!].

Something I found especially interesting in the article was the idea that slightly altered histories (or timelines) are created each time a person travels back in time (I’m not sure how/if this would work for forward time travel). So, in theory, you could go back in time and kill a grandparent, without disappearing, because another timeline would be created, and the (your) original timeline would still exist. However, this series of time events still posses a conundrum: If the grandfather is killed in the second timeline by his grandchild, the grandchild who doesn’t exist in this timeline, how can the grandchild be there? My guess is that there are “vertexes/intersections" between timelines, where things (people, events) in one timeline can affect another timeline. I suspect these vertexes would be very unstable and potentially catastrophic. I know it sounds a bit wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey but it does make sense. And I’m COMPLETELY serious. Time travel is not to be taken lightly – which is why it’s best left to the professionals, eg Timelords.

In regards to explaining the myriad time travel paradoxes created in the Terminator series, this theory of ‘time travel generated altered timelines’ works well. It’s especially helpful in The Sarah Connor Chronicles, where people and cyborgs are being sent back through time with alarming regularity. During season 2, a time-travelled character asks (with a degree of suspicion) another time-travelled character, “In what year did your apocalypse occur?”. The second character refuses to answer but the question has suggested the possibility of more than one timeline existing. This apparently contradicts the theory in the second Terminator film that only one timeline exists, but that it can be changed. Hence, at the end of the second film, Sarah and John Connor have (seemingly) destroyed every last piece of terminator metal and believe they have prevented the future rise of the machines – which they haven’t, ‘cos those metalfuckers re-appear in the aptly named, third Terminator film, The Rise of the Machines!

And, of course, there is always a kind of reverse Grandfather Paradox hanging over the very existence of John Connor. If the machines don’t rise, they won’t build a time travel thingy, which means Kyle Reese won’t be able to travel back through time and get it on with Sarah, which would result in the non-existence of John Connor. However, this paradox can be fixed if someone else, maybe John Connor himself, is able to build a time machine. In fact, there is probably a timeline where John drives himself to complete mental and physical exhaustion building a time travel thingy so that he can send his father back through time and allow himself to exist. Lordy.

By the time we get to The Sarah Connor Chronicles (when John is about 16-years-old), it’s fairly clear that there will always be “metal”. Sarah and John continue their valiant, and, at times, morally ambiguous, struggle to rid the world of any computers/machines/metal that might evolve into Skynet (or a variation thereof) and thus bring forth the apocalypse. But it’s a matter of constant vigilance rather than any conclusive victory. There’s an unspoken acknowledgement that the machines will never be eliminated; the fight will only ever be about containment. There is also the charged issue of possible alliance with the cyborgs, as the existence of the cyborgs becomes increasingly inevitable. John from the future again sends back a reprogrammed “protector” terminator (as he did in the second film – in which the terminator also acted as a father figure to John). The relationship between John and the terminator of TSCC is extremely complex. The exterior of this terminator (named Cameron) is that of a young female - about John's age. She and future John had a very close and secretive relationship, one which caused some concern to the humans working with John. This strange (and fraught) relationship continues with present day John.

It’s a shame TSCC only lasted for 2 seasons. The first season was cut short due to the scriptwriters strike, and the second season set up a number of interesting and complex themes and storylines (presumably with an eye to future seasons), only to be axed. Argh! Though, the ending of season 2 was BRILLIANT, AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL. Sigh.

So, in answer to the question posed by the blog title (I know I already answered it but I’m going to re-answer it), perhaps, in the space-time continuum, timelines can be changed, but certain events always need to occur in order for a timeline to exist. For John Connor to exist, Kyle Reese absolutely has to come across time (for Sarah). This also concurs with the laws of time as stated in Dr Who, that there are fixed events in time which are so deeply embedded in history that they cannot be changed.

I Didn't Bleed for Nothing

Yeah!

Let me explain:

I was feeling very well on Tuesday afternoon, when I donated blood. On Tuesday night I started sneezing and felt tired (probably due to blood loss). Throughout Wednesday I continued sneezing and by Wednesday night I was knee deep in congestion, sore throat and infection by rhinovirus (common cold). Now, I'm not one to cower in the presence of a rhinovirus, terrifying though they may be (see below for illustrations), but I was feeling a little distressed. There there was the possibility that, if I had something more serious than a cold, the bloodbank would not be able to use my blood and it would have to be discarded. I was somewhat disheartened to think that I'd bled 470mL of my lovely blood for nothing. But, thankfully, when I rang the bloodbank on Thursday, the "medical person" ("I'll put you through to a Medical Person") I spoke to seemed to think my blood would be okay to use. Hurrah!!!

Background Information: After a person donates blood, they have to monitor their health for a week. To quote the bloodbank: Should you become aware of any reason why your blood should not be used for transfusion, please call us...In particular, if you develop a cough, cold, diarrhoea or other infection within a week after donating, please report it immediately. The Medical Person (I assume it was either a nurse or a doctor) I spoke to asked if I had a fever or diarrhoea and wanted to know when my symptoms had developed. It seemed as though the main issue was whether or not I had a fever and/or diarrhoea, which, I guess, could be indicative of a more serious infection that begins with cold-like symptoms. The bloodbank does routinely test donated blood for hepatitis B and C, HIV-1 and HIV-2, HTLV (I dunno what it is either), and syphilis (which I thought had been lost to time with the demise of pre-Enlightenment royalty), but I guess it's best to err on the side of caution, ie to have more people ringing the bloodbank for non-serious infections, than to have less people ringing in and potentially miss a serious infection.


Rhinovirus:



Adorable (and terrifying) Rhinovirus:

[Source: Handmade Gypsy]

The Face in the Mushroom Cloud

This picture was taken during the first full scale testing of a hydrogen bomb. The bomb was codenamed "Ivy Mike" - I think "Humanity is Fucked" would've been a more apt title. The testing took place in 1952 on the small Pacific Island, Elugelab, part of the Enewetak Atoll. The bomb yielded approximately 10 megatons of nuclear energy and destroyed Elugelab. A 1.9 km wide by 50 m deep crater is all that was left.

It's a breathtaking photograph. The swirling cloud formation created by the explosion is beautiful and eerie and terrifying. Emerging from the wispy, radioactive cloud, is a human-ish looking face. The face is in profile, looking to its left. Its mouth is held in a tight, painful grimace, and its brain appears swollen, as though it is infected. The eyes are masked: Is the creature too frightened to look at what it has created or has it strategically covered its eyes so as not to give away its true purpose? Whatever the case, the eyes, the "windows to the soul", cannot be seen, and, therefore, neither can its soul. However, there does appear to be, very faintly, a pair of eyes hovering just next to, or possibly just above, the creature. The eyes are located on either side of the creature's brain and appear to be looking directly at the camera, even as they seem to hide behind the creature - are these the eyes of the satanic puppet-master?

Don't try this at Home...or in a Laboratory

There are many obvious dangers associated with working in a laboratory. For example, in a microbiology lab there is the risk of being infected with a hideous disease, in a histology lab there is the risk of losing fingers while using a microtome, in a physics lab (say the Large Hadron Collider) there is the risk of creating a black hole, in a chemistry lab there is the risk of poisoning from horribly toxic chemicals. All good fun. But a particularly sinister - and hidden - danger, and one that is common to most laboratories, is the presence of a gas cylinder, and the potential for the gas cylinder to "torpedo" if the regulator (pressure gauge) is knocked off. [I'm using the term "gas" to mean a substance in its gaseous phase, eg a gas cylinder containing nitrogen].

The theory is that if the regulator (which covers the opening of the steel cylinder) is suddenly removed from a full gas cylinder - eg if the cylinder falls over and the regulator gets knocked off during the fall - the gas, which had been under pressure, will be expelled, with great force, away from the cylinder. Due to Newton's third law of motion*, the cylinder will also be "expelled" - away from the gas - with the same amount of force, resulting in an out-of-control airbourne steel cylinder, capable of destroying most, if not all, of a laboratory, and the scientists contained within.

As someone who has worked in chemical laboratories, and has been a little sceptical about the "gas cylinder torpedo" theory, I was pleased (and a little freaked) to discover that those crazy funsters from Mythbusters have tested - and confirmed (this is what freaked me) - this theory. [The video I've embedded is a cutdown to show the actual torpedo; I haven't seen the whole episode so I don't know if they tried anything other that complete shearing of the regulator on a full cylinder; for example I don't know if they tried just loosening the regulator and/or using a partially full cylinder.]




*Newton's Third Law of Motion : To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction; or, the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts.

"There's No Verb In This Sentence!"

Recently, as I was clearing out extraneous material from the big, extraneous material containing, wooden chest in my lounge room, I came upon some of my prac reports from University. I had a bit of a peruse through them whilst remembering 'the good old days' and was ASTOUNDED to find, inscribed in the margin of one of my reports, in angry black ink, the words: There's no verb in this sentence! "Hah!", I thought. "No verb? My ass! (hahaha) I would never write a sentence without a...wait a minute...*reads sentence from prac report*...[which reads as: "Also retention of these groups in the products and decarbonylation (scheme 1)"]...*notices distinct lack of verb*..."

Okay, I admit, ONE time I wrote a verb-less sentence. Call the grammar police! Send me to command-of-the-English-language prison! Make me read "Grammar for Dummies"! I mean, it was a Science report - I got the Science right (mostly), isn't that the main thing? Is it sooooo important for Scientists to write coherent sentences? No way! Adequate, even expansive, communication skills are for the Arts; they can have their verbs and their adjectives (if they're feeling creative). But Science is all about the facts, it doesn't have time for meaningless distractions like cogent report writing.

But all of this is by-the-bye because I meant for that sentence to have no verb. Oh yeah. I was experimenting with Avant Garde Science (not to be confused with Fluffy Science), which allows for some degree of "lateral" report writing. Those Science Academics have no imagination! (Hmmm, must check the meaning of "contradiction".)

Multitasking is Not an Option

As someone who tries to fit the least amount of activity into her life, I was very excited to discover I'm not the only person who likes to just hang out. I've discovered The International Institute of Not Doing Much - a website devoted (when they can be bothered) to slowing down. They live by the "slow manifesto":

"...Some are born to slowness - others have it thrust upon them..."

I have to confess, I used to be a busy(ish) person. I was a skilled, and motivated, multitasker. In fact, I often enjoyed seeing how much I could get done in the shortest amount of time. Apparently, being that I am of the female persuasion, this is quite normal, even expected. There is some thinking, out there in the 'thinking ether', that women are better equipped for the task of multitasking - something to do with their (our) brain structure; blah, blah, blah. I'm not convinced. I've seen men get crazy (ie accomplish) doing many tasks and I've seen women barely able to complete the one task in an allocated time (currently, I would fall into this latter category :). I believe the human brain is reasonably malleable; we can train it to do a thing we really want it to do, and, conversely, not allow it to be trained to do something we really don't want it to do. (Obviously within reason - I mean, sometimes I would like to move heavy objects using only my brain or connect with people telepathically...which doesn't mean someone would want to return my telepathic connection...I'd also like to control people, so that they want to connect with me telepathically!...I don't care how immoral that sounds or, indeed, is...okay, I care a little bit...OKAY, controlling the world to my liking is really, really evil).

I will admit that I've probably taken the "slow down" decree very seriously in recent months, occasionally a little too seriously, but I'm okay with that - it's a lifestyle I'm comfortable embracing right now. But it's not for everyone. For some, too much down time might actually be stressful; extroverty and/or high energy people usually need some degree of tasking to keep them calm, even if they've decided to take things slower. And, to be honest, I also need some activity, if only so I, and others, don't think I've died.


Note: This blog post was written without haste, as are all my blog posts, even if sometimes they read as though they have been.

Why???

I had a question, as many of us do (probably not the exact same question...it's just that we ALL have questions...). The specifics of my question are not important to the tale that is this blog post. My question began with the word "Why" - not an unusual starting point for a question. In seeking an answer to this most vexing question, I went to the most sage of sources...google. I got as far as typing 'Why' into the google search bar when google, in its infinite wisdom, gave me a list of why-questions most frequently asked by other seekers of knowledge. Here is a selection:

• Why do men have nipples?
• Why is the sky blue?
• Why can't I own a Canadian?
• Why do dogs eat poop?
• Why did the chicken cross the road?
• Why do cats purr?

I became completely distracted by these questions, and one in particular. Which one? I hear you ask. Hmmm, let me confess now that I'm not overly proud of the scatological (hint!) direction in which my curiosity took me...

...Why do dogs eat poop?

I guess, given the number of dog owners across this vast planet, and this seemingly bizarre affliction of man's best friend, it's not surprising this question has been so frequently asked.

OK, OK, I won't keep you in suspense ANY longer...Here are the top 10 (actually 8) reasons a pooch will consume poop:

• Dogs are neat animals, so if they poop in their crate or kennel, they want to clean up their home.
• A dog may eat feces because of parasite or worms.
• Dogs may be hiding the evidence because they have gotten into trouble previously for pooping where they shouldn't.
• A mother dog may eat her puppies' poop so predators won't know there are puppies available
• Young puppies may experiment tasting it since it's there
• A dog may watch his owner pick up the poop and think that it's a good idea and do it himself.
• A dog may not get fed often enough, and is hungry.
• A dog may be trying to get his owner's attention.

source: dogs.suite101.com

So glad I have a cat - although she does like to clean her bottom whilst sitting on the coffee table.

Too Much Free Time

After watching quite a bit of footage of heavy metal band, Metallica, live on stage, I began to notice some things - interesting things (trust me). The band used the delightful expression "motherf**ker" quite a lot in their younger days (but then so did I, and possibly still do), the year of a performance can be determined by the state of James Hetfield's hair (both on his head and face) and by the number of his tattoos, Kirk Hammett doesn't appear to age. But the thing that really struck me was how movable they are on stage; they run all over the place, with their guitars (except for the drummer - although he certainly moves alot within (and without) the confines of his drum kit). So I started thinking: why don't their guitar cords get tangled? And then I realised, they don't have guitar cords. So how is the electrical guitar string vibration signal thingy reaching the amplifier? They must have some kind of transmission antenna setup somewhere, but where? Well, I did a little investigative investigating and I came across this photo of James Hetfield:



I suspect the "head-antenna" attachment is usually better camouflaged; this was the only photo I found in which it could be seen.

[Also, I offer no apologies to James Hetfield for rendering this photo of him adorable.]

The Atomic Symbol for Heavy Metal is...

...Metallica...

...which is a little difficult to squash onto the periodic table...



Yep, I'm still experiencing a latent obsession with heavy metal band Metallica. I've been re-watching the 2003 documentary Metallica: Some Kind of Monster (which I watched about 3 years ago). This time I watched all the bonus material, then watched the documentary, and THEN watched the documentary 2 more times with the audio commentaries from the band and the film makers (Bruce Sinofsky and Joe Berlinger). AND THEN, just when I thought it was all over, I turned on the television to see what was showing on "Hot Docs" and...(you'll never guess)...it was...Metallica: Some Kind of Monster!!! So I started watching it, again, but after about 20 minutes I'd had enough.

So now I'm trying to get hold of an earlier Metallica documentary: A Year and a Half in the Life of Metallica. It's about the making of their most commerically successful album, Metallica (also known as "The Black Album"), which was recorded in 1990-91. It's also the only Metallica album I have. Some heavy metal fans feel this album was the beginning of a move away from "true" heavy metal for Metallica. As I haven't listened to any of their other albums, and I'm not a heavy metal fan, I feel completely qualified to dive into this heated debate and say this: "uh, dude, I like the pretty electric sitar at the beginning of 'Wherever I May Roam', it's really heavy", to which my imaginary heavy metal fan replies: "you crazy fucking hippy!". But seriously, anyone who believes Metallica have lost their edge obviously hasn't seen this photo:




As I couldn't find the 1991 documentary in either of the 2 stores I went into, I'm attempting to watch it in 10 minute installments on youtube (it runs for 4 hours and I have dial-up internet connection - I may not make it to the end). But, in the meantime, while I'm waiting for my downloads, I've invented an absorbing mind-game. I've called it: Which Member of Metallica Would You Take With You to a Desert Island? (I'm only choosing from band members from 1987 onwards). I've listed all band members in order of least likely to most likely:


Lars Ulrich (Drums):


Get the fuuuuuucccccckkkkkkk outta here (anyone who has watched the 2003 documentary will understand this). I could probably take him in small doses but that might be difficult to obtain when we're trapped together on a desert island.


Jason Newsted (Bass Guitar):


I don't really have a feel for him as there wasn't much footage of him in the 2003 documentary - he left the band before filming had really started. Still, I've kind of warmed to him.


Robert Trujillo (Bass Guitar):


I had a similar problem with Robert as I had with Jason - not very much footage. Nevertheless, what I did see of him I found to be very groovy. I definitely warmed to him.


James Hetfield (Lead Vocalist, Rhythm Guitar):


Despite the whole sensitive-new-age-red-neck-bad-boy-alpha-male thing he has working for him, I don't think James and I would find harmonious togetherness on a desert island. I think we have fundamental differences in our approach to existence. For example, James would want to seek mastery over the island's flora and fauna, especially the fauna (probably by hunting and killing it) - whereas I'd want to befriend the fauna, and I would find tranquility in the beauty of the grains of sand ("Crazy fucking hippy!", is what James would say to me).


So, of course, that leaves only one band member to accompany myself to a desert island...the one, the only, the most beautiful...


Kirk Hammett (Lead Guitar):


Where do I begin? Well, firstly, I like his hair and his brown eyes and his lovely smile:) But it's more that these surface qualities that have drawn me to Kirk (after all, an attractive appearance will only get you so far when it's just the 2 of you and an island covered in sand and palm trees and coconuts and exotic wildlife and, quite possibly, pirates). He's seems to be an introvert, he's interested in the occult/horror, he lives in a house full of skulls and bones and books and dogs and cats, he's a tiny bit goofy, he's a vegetarian and he's not egotistical - a list of qualities that I would look for in a desert island companion.

Blood Sucking FIENDS...

...MUST DIE!!!

Obviously I'm referring to those soulless creatures from hell...fleas! The bane of those who share their homes with a fury animal (I'm guessing those who keep only fish as pets don't have flea infestations, although fish-tank algae might be issue - but at least the algae don't jump from the tank onto humans and bite sensitive human flesh, as far as I know).

Flea season has come early this year, and with lethal force (climate change? - too much hot and humid weather in November). I have to de-flea my kitty manually with a flea-comb because she has an allergic reaction to flea-collars. And, given her allergic reaction to flea-collars, I'm not willing to risk putting other flea-killing chemicals onto her skin. I'm keeping on top of the flea infestation but I have to run the flea-comb through her fur at least twice a day (those suckers breed like...rabbits? Fleas?), which is kind of a pain. So, I'm wondering about other tactics; maybe the things that kill those other pesky blood sucking fiends - vampires - would work on fleas; direct sunlight, holy water, stake through the heart (or whatever passes for a heart on a flea)? I wonder where I might find a 0.5mm wooden stake?

Yep, those bastards better watch out: into each generation is born, a chosen one, one with the strength and skill to hunt and kill the forces of darkness, she is: "The Flea Slayer".


Flea trivia: Fleas can jump 200 times the length of their bodies.

Too Old, Too Ugly, Too Boring...

...for anything. I was going to say "for love" but then I thought "why limit this self-pitying negativity to only one aspect of existence when there are so many aspects to which such a substantive maxim can be applied":
...to go and check the letterbox
...to go to the supermarket
...to answer the telephone
...to go to the cinema
...to get dressed
...to go to work
...to have fun
...to write a blog entry...then why am I writing a blog entry?...actually, the "too old, too ugly, too boring" mania had possession of my being yesterday and so I was unable to successfully complete (or indeed start) a blog entry. But my morbid, pessimistic depression (as opposed to my jolly, optimistic depression) seemed such a fascinating topic that I decided to write about it today - now that I'm feeling quite chipper...well, not too bad.

I think I've narrowed down the causes of my self-absorbed misery - other than being human. My period came early (the beginning of pre-menopausal madness (??) a little sooner than expected, but why the hell not!) which didn't allow my psyche its usual "lead in" pre-menstrual crankiness (which makes way for during-menstrual crankiness). So I think, on Tuesday, I had double menstrual crankiness. Plus, on Monday, I had quite a bit of sugar (I even had a bit of a sugar high head-buzy-ness on Monday night), which probably resulted in a proportional "low" on Tuesday. Yep, it's difficult being a sugar-loving, possibly pre-menopausal, menstruating woman (try saying that quickly 10 times without biting your tongue).

[I think I might have overused the prefix "pre" in the previous paragraph.]