A Perfect Organism (Alien:Isolation)

 When you sneak up behind a Xenomorph and try to pull her tail:

On the 1 Year Anniversary of Willow's Final Purr

It's been a year since my lovely Ms Willow Pussycat left this mortal coil and transformed into a spirit-feline (the true and most powerful form of kitty kats). I'm still finding fur and cat claws in my/our abode and, occasionally, I can hear a faint meow. So it is clear to me that Ms Willow is still lingering, which is comforting.

I will likely get another earth-bound cat one day, but for the moment I'm content just to have spirit-Willow. I can't take anymore photos of Ms Willow but that won't stop me uploading existing photos:

Infrequent Blogging May - or May Not - Continue/Adieu, 2020

Only a foolish, foolhardy fool would even attempt to predict the possible future frequency of blogging on this here Effulgent13 Blog. Clearly, Effulgent13 blogging has waned somewhat in recent times, and especially for the duration of this year. But, the blogging may yet continue (Lord Be Praised), for better or worse, and even without the help of New Year's Eve wine (which I may have started drinking a little early - and, yes, this blog is being written with the aid of a few wines). And I make no apologies for this - this year of 2020 is one which, very much so, necessitates the early drinking of New Year's Eve wine.

Of course, one does not have to blog whilst early NYE's wine drinking. But one can, and I am. And I'm feeling that I have neglected this blog of late; so if I can get one last, hopefully not too incoherent, but wildly meaningless, blog post written before the end of this year, then all is not lost.

So, since this is the final day of this year - the year of 2020 (Annus Covidus) - let me farewell thee; with grace, with compassion, with hope.

 

Dear 2020,

You were my final year with my beautiful pussycat Willow;

You gave us hard lockdowns - allowing me to justify excessive video game playing and excessive introversion;

You gave some succour to the flora and fauna (though not always to the humans) of earth;

You brought back long phone conversations (very Gen X);

You engendered face mask wearing - causing humans to realize how much we communicate with each other with just our faces(!);

You allowed the humans of earth to gain some understanding of the fragility of our existence (and, hopefully, to become more wisdomed because of this).

Vale Ms Willow Pussycat

1st December 1998 - 21st July 2020

(21 years 8 months)

You have been my furry buddy for the past twenty and a half years. It has been the most biggest joy to be your companion animal and your servant.You have brought me much comfort and solace over the years; during the ordinariness of each passing day and especially during my times of existential crises.

It was a privilege to be a crazy cat lady with you.

Rest in peace, my beautiful.

Fuck You, Grace!

[Special note to person's named Grace; I don't mean you...unless you are an asshole!]

"Grace" - from the (Australian Concise Oxford, 4th edition, 2004) dictionary -

• attractiveness, especially in elegance of proportion or manner or movement
• courteous good will (had the grace to apologize)
• an attractive feature; an accomplishment (social graces)
• in Christian belief - the unmerited favour of God/the state of receiving this
• goodwill
• delay granted as a favour (a year's grace)
• a short thanksgiving before or after a meal
• (Grace) (in Greek mythology) each of three beautiful sister goddesses, bestowers of beauty and charm
• (Grace) (preceded by His, Her, Your) forms of description or address for a duke, duchess, or archbishop

[For the purpose of the rest of this blog, I'm pretty much using grace to mean 'being nice to people' or 'not being a jackass'.]

Once upon a time, I believed that to strive for grace in all my actions and attitudes was a proper and noble endeavour, that being gracious (kindhearted, benevolent, civil, obliging, considerate, merciful, magnanimous, charitable) was the pinnacle of human humanity. Indecorousness; this is a word that never rolled off the tongues of my well-meaning mentors when I was growing up, as they tried to instill a sense of proper conduct into my existence. Well, the times they are a changing, and, quite frankly, I've had it with grace (though, not really) and I wonder if incorporating some elements of gracelessness (uncouth, coarse, crude, boorish, ill-mannered, unsophisticated, shameless, tactless) into my persona would be a sensible, if not liberating, path.

Can too much graciousness be stultifying? Unhealthy? Would a little more obnoxiousness pave the way to enlightenment? A socially inappropriate, expletive ridden, tantrum-fuelled rant might exorcise even the most tightly imbedded of demons; either those of a personal nature or the ones that emanate directly from Hell. If only such outbursts didn't upset proximate people; but there might be a way around this unpleasant side effect. Perhaps all people could have a screaming rant at exactly the same time, then no-one would have to listen other people's offensive diatribes but, instead, everyone would be able to simultaneously get things off their collective chests. A Universal Unburdening. We, as a society, could schedule regular therapeutic yelling - just like the people did in that wacky Orwellian novel...although it wasn't framed as therapeutic yelling so much as it was framed as The Two Minutes Hate:

"The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretense was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one's will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp."

[Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell, pg 17]

If an organized 'hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness' can contribute to a productive and accommodating society in a (so-called) dystopian novel, surely it can work in real life. After all, the novel does end on a happy note:

"But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother."

[Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell, pg 256]

And surely to love is the greatest state to which humans can aspire, so to love Big Brother surely must be super-duper. And if we can achieve this state (of grace)(see what I did), then we can know that War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength. And why has my seeming aversion to Grace led me to George Orwell? Maybe Grace is Vulgar. Or Grace is Obscene. Or Grace is Evil Incarnate. Or This Blog Post is Making Me Crazy...

"I'm Not Your Mary"

[This post was going to be some photos of Pyramid Head, James and Maria but it seems to have morphed into a (highly intellectual) dissertation of Silent Hill 2]

In the 2001 psychological horror video game, Silent Hill 2, gamers were introduced to the enigmatic creature named Pyramid Head. His name is somewhat self explanatory:

Pyramid Head has become something of an icon among horror gamers of Earth. Much wordage has been devoted to the deconstruction of "that red triangle thing" and especially to exploring his connection to the tormented psyche of the protagonist of the game, James Sunderland. Here is James, displaying his tormented psyche:

Many analyzes see Pyramid Head (as well as most of the monsters, certainly the 'bubble-head' nurses and 'legs' mannequins) as representing James' unsatisfied sexual desires and the resulting frustration he feels. The reason for his sexual unfulfillment being that he hasn't been getting any lovin' as his wife had been very sick and he wouldn't be unfaithful to her, and even after she died - apparently 3 years earlier - he hasn't been able to move on. Pyramid Head's seminal (albeit without any semen or, indeed, a penis) first cutscene appearance has certainly influenced this theory:

This scene is often referred to as the "Pyramid Head Rape Scene", though I question if 'rape' is the correct descriptor. If this scene does depict rape (or a representation of rape), does this imply that James has raped? Or contemplated or fantasized about rape? Given that the received wisdom - and specifically, James' statement before his final battle with Pyramid Head - is that Pyramid Head exists to punish James (for his weakness and transgressions), then it would be reasonable to link Pyramid Head's actions in this scene directly to James. But it may not be explicitly about rape.

The "rape" that's being witnessed in the cutscene may be more akin to a weird, and unsettling, sex dream. Are Pyramid Head's motions/gyrations during the scene actually violent or are they somewhat rough or 'violently' passionate or overtly dominating???? The distorted moaning noises heard during the scene evoke a sexual context, with a suggestion of pain - maybe James associates sex or sexual intimacy with pain (physical and/or emotional). But if this scene is sexual, it's not clear to me if the mannequins are consenting or not; Pyramid Head grabs their legs, which are flailing around, but that doesn't inherently mean that the mannequin's legs are pushing him away; maybe they're just kicking around with reckless abandon, without a specific purpose. When the scene ends, the mannequins are motionless on the ground; seemingly they are now dead. Did Pyramid Head rape them to death or (consensually) shag them to death? Either conclusion is pretty messed up. But are the mannequins even dead? The mannequins don't attack James once Pyramid Head is finished with them but I don't know if this is proof that they are dead, maybe they just lie on the floor once James/Pyramid Head has finished his crazy sex dream.

A subsequent cutscene involving Pyramid Head and another monster (officially known as a Lying Figure, though I call it a Puker) is further amped up, with the moaning noises sounding extremely orgasm and pain but with more ambiguity - to me at least - as to what the hell Pyramid Head is doing:

I think that a definitive interpretation of Pyramid Head in these scenes is not entirely possible and any analysis is greatly reliant on the subjectivity of the analyzer. But in terms of James' response - in both cutscenes, upon witnessing Pyramid Head's actions, James is visibly distressed and attempts to flee the situation - it is clear that the part of James' psyche from which these scenes have been extracted and distorted is very frightening to James and he would prefer to run away, or hide in a closet:

Then there is The Maroon Menace, or as she is actually named, Maria. James keeps mistaking Maria for his dead wife (named Mary). It happens, we've all been there. Maria looks like Mary, sounds like Mary, but in James' mind, she couldn't possibly be Mary because Mary behaved and dressed like a nun, whereas Maria is a total skank. And, for good measure, Maria is a dancer (though not a reggae skank dancer) at Heaven's Night, Silent Hill's very own nudie bar. Here is Maria, explaining to James that she's not his Mary:

The whole Mary/Maria thing is a bit too virgin/whore, in my opinion. I would prefer that a doppelganger of my dead spouse (if I had one, either dead or alive) be more nuanced (though I wouldn't mind him being sexually available to me whenever I wanted! as Maria seems to be implying she is to James). Maria is another manifestation of James' (somewhat sex-obsessed) psyche but she also exists to punish him. [Spoiler Alert: It is eventually revealed that James actually smothered his Mary with a pillow after years of watching her deteriorate, both physically and mentally, and being subjected to verbal vitriol from her]. Many releases of Silent Hill 2 contain a sub-game titled Born From a Wish, where the protagonist is Maria. Maria has been created purely for James to interact with, and her manifesto is to be totally for James. Here she is, following James around with total devotion (and possibly checking out his butt):

Of course, such single minded devotion to another is not healthy and it takes a toll on both James and Maria. James (and when I say 'James', I mean me when I'm playing as James) starts to get a little creeped out by Maria's over familiarity with him and unnerved by her constant hovering. Maria, meanwhile, is doing what James' psyche created her to do, ie clinging to him, yet he keeps pushing her away and mistaking her for Mary. Fuck you, James! What a cunt. Don't you realize Maria is the embodiment of "Be careful what you wish for"? Maria, quite understandably, starts to lose her shit at this impossible and unfair situation and lashes out at James:

And lashing out at James is exactly what Mary used to do, though presumably only when she was dying and she was angry about dying and maybe the disease physically affected her brain (I'm not completely clear on this last point). James became torn between loving Mary and resenting, even hating, her. As James' journey through Silent Hill draws to an end, and after dodging or killing or maiming many manic monster manifestations (!), James eventually finds a video tape which reveals to him that he killed Mary (up until this point in the game he had been in a disassociated state believing Mary had died from her illness, three years earlier). It is also worth noting that at various points during the game, Pyramid Head 'kills' Maria (Maria keeps reappearing, though, 'cos Fuck You, James!), hinting to James the ultimate shocking truth. James, quite understandably, freaks out after finding out how Mary really died:

James finally has a conversation/confrontation/battle with a Silent Hill version of either Maria or Mary (depending on the player's actions during the game), which is then followed by one of three possible endings (on a first play through): Leave, Maria, In Water.

Leave sees James accepting what happened and moving on with his life and away from Silent Hill.

In the Maria ending, James decides he wants to be with Maria (I take this to mean he'll be continuing to live in some kind of delusional state of mind) and the two of them appear to be walking away from Silent Hill when Maria starts coughing, just as Mary had at the beginning of her illness. I had initially felt this to be a creepy ending, but upon reflection, I decided it could act as a form of therapy for James, still in a very fractured state, whereby he explores his demons with Maria, maybe eventually overcoming them and moving on. It could form the beginning of a healing process, though it could also send him insane.

For the In Water ending, James takes a wild, and presumably suicidal, ride, driving his car into Toluca Lake to 'be with Mary' (a commonly held belief among Silent Hill 2 enthusiasts is that Mary's body is in the back seat of James' car - so, by driving the car into the lake, with Mary's body in the car, he can be with her both on earth and in the afterlife...unless they're not going to the same place...).

Silent Hill 2 is a very narrative driven game (maybe 'game' isn't quite the right word...perhaps 'experience' is more apt). It poses some tough moral questions and has provoked much discussion and theorizing about James' actions, the imagery and noise of the monsters and of the environment, and the themes the game explores. Its underlying story is very real and very human. James' real world ordeal and trauma is not outlandish fiction. Near the end of the game the player is shown a note from Mary which states that despite James' apparent surly demeanour, he is actually very sweet. I suspect this is true. I imagine that James, being a man, especially a young man, would have been subject to notions of tough guy masculinity, and so could likely have believed that he was expected to cope with whatever the world threw at him and not admit his distress or pain or seek help or counsel. And even if he did admit that he wasn't coping and tried to seek help, where would he go for help? I wonder if James had been older, with a bit more life wisdom, he might have found the reserves to endure his "long three years" (it is revealed, in the 'Maria' ending, that Mary was actually sick for three years), but if he had endured, then we wouldn't have this beautifully disturbing image:

🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻


Special End Note: For a maximum high level psychological horror experience, Silent Hill 2 should be played on a pink PlayStation 2 console (with bonus pink memory card):

I am a Goddamn Giant!

I am no longer accepting my long held belief that I am small, nor am I accepting my long held belief that other people are big - even, and maybe especially, those people who seem quite strongly convinced of the enormity of their existence. However, despite the heading of this blog, I am not proposing that I am now exceptionally large, either objectively or in relation to others. I feel that I am reasonably and appropriately sized for the tasks assigned to me. But I suspect that the wisest and safest mindset, in regard to people size in general, is to understand that we (ie ME and everyone else) are all eminently and immensely minuscule.

The Fullness of Living Each Day to the Full

The final line of my high school anthem (aka School Song) was:
Live each day to the full!

We, the students (and probably some of the teachers), didn't really know the rest of the lyrics - something about seeking Christ and seeking wisdom, and possibly seeking wisdom in Christ (yes, it was a Catholic school) - but at school assembly, upon being instructed by our charismatic leader (aka the Principal) to sing the school song, we would mumble our way through until the last line, whereupon we would raise our voices in glorious chorus to proclaim our hive-mind intention to "Live each day to the full!!!". It was quite the invigorating experience. Say what you will about the evils of propaganda and mind control and whipping a crowd into a frenzy with apparently inspiring song lyrics and elevated levels of oxygen in the blood ('cos of having to take a really deep breath before the last line to make sure we 'sang' it as loud as possible), but I always felt kinda good afterwards and had more inclination to do some book learning.

However, I harbour some skepticism towards the popular notion that a person must 'live each day to the full'. It's a notion that seems to ascribe a moral duty to people to 'make the most out of life' - whatever that means, especially given that the fullness of living is subjective. Extrovert fullness would be going to every social function, travelling to every country, having many relationships. Introvert fullness would be avoiding every social function, staying in one place as long as possible, having a minimal number of relationships. Adrenaline junkie fullness would be skydiving, rock climbing, swimming with sharks. Not that I want to generalize or put people into restrictive categories or ignore the nuance and complexity of the human race (as satisfying as that may be), but it is possible to allocate people, to a degree, into different groups based on common behavioural and psychological traits. And these different groups have differing expectations and goals: 'loud' or 'quiet', many or few. Or no expectations and goals at all. Sometimes just getting through the day/week/year/century without too many catastrophes is a life well lived, goddammit!

It often seems as though a 'proper' expectation or goal should be loud - big and showy. And that if a person doesn't achieve, or attempt to achieve, they will be (should be) filled with regret. You'll never know if you don't try...You may never get this opportunity again...you only live once. I think I have enough self-insight, imagination, and wisdom to know that the thing you're berating me to do is something I do not want or need to do and that my life will be quite fulfilled, thank you, without having 'achieved' this annoying activity. Plus, this (at times, overbearing) insistence seems to be more about the person doing the insisting - maybe they have a domination power fantasy - than about the person being insisted upon. Also, and (possibly) most pertinently, there are many expectations and goals that are likely driven more by ego-fulfillment than by existential-fulfillment. Much like this blog post.

Obligatory Snuggly Winter Photo

Ms Willow sleeping in Dad's old jumper:

 

As You Wish, My Master.

Last night Ms Willow Pussycat jumped on top of the answering machine and erased the greeting message. I was surprised, as I had thought she was okay with the message, given that I'd included her in the message and put her name before my name, ie:

"You've reached WILLOW...and Nicole's answering machine. Please leave a message."

I now realize my unforgivable, and extremely egregious, foolishness. I have re-recorded a new message, one which better reflects the truth:

"You have reached the answering machine of the great and powerful WILLOW...and her imbecile servant, Nicole. Do not deign to leave a message unless you are someone of immense significance. Now leave me to my nap."

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.

The Path to Serenity is Paved With Rectangular Vessels

There are few things that bring me as much existential joy as having my tights/leggings/stockings drawer completely full:

Meanwhile, Ms Willow finds inner peace sleeping in my documents container (who knew envelopes could be so comfy):

Willow vs The Computer

"How does this infernal contraption work? Perhaps if I just keep staring at it, the cat videos will appear."

Fake Blog Post for June

Blogging doesn't seem to be happening this month, as witnessed by the absence of June blog posts. So I'm posting this fake blog post instead. Sure, I may be calling this too early, given that there is still another week and a half of June to go, but I sense a definite inability of my ability to finish a blog post (I have, in fact, been able to start blog posts, as evidenced by the plethora (two) of partially written blog posts sitting in my drafts folder, but completion of these posts remains wanting). I will also be needing to direct my energies - mental, physical, spiritual, gravitational - to attending to the upcoming Winter Solstice and its requisite celebrations; ie alcohol drinking, sugar/lard consumption, dvd-a-thon. (Winter Solstice celebrating necessarily takes place indoors as it's too cold and too dark to be going outside - naked pagan dancing beneath the moonlight is for Summer Solstice, and Stonehenge, and somewhere away from where anyone can see me). So, it does seem, on balance, that a PROPER June blog post is unlikely to occur. However, that this is a FAKE blog post doesn't mean that there can't be a photo of Ms Willow Pussycat (sitting on her car):

And The Mark of The Library Catalogue Code Shall Be Upon Her Forehead

The librarians from my local library have been very cunning in their placement of the item catalogue code on this dvd:

And it's very fitting, given that the markings are on the forehead of the governess from Henry James' The Turn of The Screw; a character who is either subject to an evil haunting or is suffering from evil insanity (there are probably other interpretations but these are the two most common/obvious ones).

NB: Of course, there aren't many other options for placing the item code, as most of the dvd is dark. Perhaps across the children (who are wearing light coloured clothing) or across the governess' face (though this seems a little disrespectful, even if she may be a bit of a psychopath).

Manizer (fictional)

Manizer is, of course, the accepted term for the female version of womanizer. Yes? No. Obviously, having 'manizer' as part of everyday vocabulary would give too much moral elevation to the concept. Instead, the accepted iniquity and malignancy of a woman slutting from man to man is encapsulated in terms such as harlot, floozy, strumpet - all of which are kinda cute words, despite the massive double standard they embody (emwordy?).

But I digress.

I think I may be a manizer. At least of imaginary men. A fictional manizer. I just can't settle on one (made up) man. I usually last a few months in love (lust) with one of my figments of my imagination, but then another one forms in my mind and I forget all about the previous one. It's like I have ADHD of the invented love (lust).

I worry about the trail of imaginary broken hearts left in my wake. I struggle with the notion that I've transformed into some kind of Dr Frankenstein of the mind, creating thought-lovers to satisfy my own nefarious desires, then tossing them aside when I've finished with them, leaving them to roam - alone and untethered, innocent and childlike - in the brain fiction realm. It's terribly immoral, but as I'm evil - being a woman and all - it's inherent in my nature to do naughty things. So don't ask me to stop, because I can't (won't).

Unfortunately though, brain creating is potentially quite dangerous, given that, under the right circumstances, brain creations have been known to take corporeal form. It's possible one of my creations may become flesh, hunt me down and seek vengeance upon me for my transgressions. Though, it's also possible one of my creations may become flesh, hunt me down and seek to explore new transgressions with me. Or previous transgressions. Or both previous and new transgressions. Or no transgressions, and instead we'll have a cup of tea and a chat. Maybe some cake. (All my brain creations like cake).

I've Gone MAD with Christmas Festivity!

For so many years, I've steadfastly abhorred Christmas and its requisite, sadistic spirit of celebration. From the beginning of December until Boxing Day, I would be a seething mass of humbug. Christmas Day would often find me blind drunk before breakfast - having gotten up extra early to make sure I imbibed as much "Christmas Cheer" as possible, in order to get me through the Yuletide Terror. So it came as quite a shock to my person (aka me) to discover this in my lounge room:

Someone (aka me) decorated the wall heater in a frenzy of tinsel (turning off the pilot light first, for safety) and put cheerily wrapped presents underneath/in front of it. And look at all those Christmas cards.

Feliz Fucking Navidad!

Willow in Red

Not to be confused with the Lady in Red (the one dancing cheek-to-cheek with the highlights in her hair that catch her eyes...not that the highlights in Willow's fur don't also catch her eyes):

Up close:

Willow prefers to be naked rather than wearing constrictive clothing (of any colour), and she finds dancing to be undignified, especially when it's cheek-to-cheek, which is a little unhygienic.

Special blog post note: Most of this blog entry only makes sense if one has both listened to, and been creeped out by, the song Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh. However, in defence of Chris de Burgh, his other song, Don't Pay the Ferryman (don't even fix a price...until he gets you to the other side!...aaah aaaah, ah aaaaah...), is awesome.

PS: Yes, I know Chris de Burgh has more than 2 songs, but since I don't know any of his other songs, they don't count.

Contemplative Kitty Lounging on Wooden Chair

Due to the rampant (and entirely justified) popularity of black and white photos of cats (start here, also here), this blog finds it necessary to include such a photo (see below). Note the masterful use of sunlight and shadow and chair (and cat). The unused power socket symbolizes disconnection.

[Model: Ms Willow]

Clash of the Titans (aka Home Appliances)

The history of White Goods is, of course, also the history of epic battles. Since the dawn of the first refrigerators and stoves, there have been long and bloody mechanized white plastic conflicts. The Great War of the Washing Machines, which lasted nearly a decade, saw massive destruction both to the machines themselves and to the households that had become so reliant on these extraordinary creatures.

In recent times, some modicum of civility has infiltrated the ongoing frays, and White Goods interactions have witnessed less violence and more diplomatic methods of negotiation.

But vestiges of the brutal old ways still remain in the polymeric cross-linking (ie "DNA") of the appliances, and flare-ups, though increasingly rare, continue to be a feature of these modern conveniences. Recently, I was privy to such an altercation between two kettles in my kitchen:

The new kettle (on the right) was brought into the kitchen to replace the old kettle (on the left) which had been experiencing difficulties with its water-boiling functions. Foolishly, I placed the new kettle onto the bench without first removing the old kettle. I wandered off for a brief interlude and when I returned I encountered a savage display. Lids were raised in fierce rage, pouring spouts glowered with fiery fury, water boiled angrily from inside the kettles despite neither kettle being connected to an electricity outlet (nor having been filled with water). It was a bestial scene.

The teapot and the coffee-maker, kitchenware known for their enduring pacifism, huddled together in apprehensive anticipation of the outcome. The toaster (to the far right) sat in the corner with Zen-like stoicism, not giving a damn.

Denouement: There wasn't a true victor for this battle, mainly because I broke up the fight before it got too gory (not that I abhor violence, it's just that I prefer for it not to occur in my kitchen). The new kettle is now my everyday kettle, a position it has earned by its consistency in both heating water to boiling point and switching itself off when reaching this point. The old kettle received a thorough soaking in diluted vinegar, which removed all the gunk from its element, thus allowing it to regain its ability to boil water, but it is unable to switch itself off and so it is now relegated to being my emergency kettle. The old kettle now lives in the cupboard under the sink, an arrangement which should hopefully deter it from interacting with the new kettle and thus prevent any more kitchen brawls.