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Things continue apace. I have been Productive, which is one of my keys to calm living (natural/ingrained laziness combined with a brain that equates laziness with Being A Bad Person makes life ... interesting. Yes).

Wrestlemania was AWESOME. /Miz
I am just so darn glad Undertaker won, because there would've been no point breaking his streak and this way Shawn gets a wonderfully dignified retirement. Of course if he turns up on TNA in two years still trying to be badass I reserve the right to revoke his dignity.

Tomorrow is Haircut Day. Photos shall be posted.
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... learnt from Rock Band:

- I have approximately the vocal range of Lady Gaga and exactly the vocal range of Debbie Harry. Only, you know, obviously without any professional training or fantastically kickass pop careers.
- I really really really hate Aerosmith.
- Rocking out is easier when pissed.
- J can get fantastically geeky about the technical quality of Jonathan Coulton songs.
- It makes total sense why drummers wear very little.

Here endeth the lesson.
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Ad for a Blackmores supplement: "ZOMG!!! NOT ENOUGH IODINE IN DIET! BABY BRAIN GROW STUPID!!!"

Moi: "Gee, it's almost like NZ soil has really really low levels of iodine, so our salt is iodized specifically to help us get enough! It's almost like we've demonised salt as one of the [many] OOGA BOOGA GONNA MAKE YA FAT foods!"

*goes back to ANTM* *is aware of irony*

Hijoto! HO!

Mar. 6th, 2010 04:45 pm
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Delayed-gratification presents are always the best.* Zum Beispiel, on my birthday I got to receive two tickets to an International Arts Festival New Zealand Symphony Orchestra ... WAGNER GALA.

And last night, I got to go to it.

I now have a ridiculous girl-crush on Simon O'Neill.

Feast your eyes on THAT bit of Kiwi-born Julliard-graduate helden-fucking-tenor crumpet, would ya?

I may also have purchased a CD. Y'all should be warned that visits to my house in the near future may involve gratuitously loud opera.

J would like to state for the record that he totally did not smuggle in our most cultured teddy bear into the performance. It was not thoroughly adorable.

*For a subjective value of "best", natch.
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Without meaning to spill too much geek all over the place, GUESS WHO JUST GOT A 50?

For the non-MMORPG crowd out there, suffice it to say it's a good thing, related to City of Heroes (like WoW, only, you know, fun).*

The day is thus looking up. On average. And now I have to go to bed anyway.

*I kid, I kid. Kinda.


Feb. 28th, 2010 03:03 pm
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Well I finished the week feeling like shit and looking forward to the weekend, and now I'm finishing the weekend feeling worse and definitely not peppy where "going back to work tomorrow" is concerned. What joy.
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Righto, people. I have already had the sheer genius to think of doing a wirework, bead/hardware veil to go with my steampunk fascinator.

Now I need y'all to tell me exactly what kind of veil.

Chief questions are: length of veil - above eyes, just below eyes, below nose?

Angle of veil - straight across the face, at a jaunty angle?

Fullness of veil - maximum poof, fairly tight to face, possibly shorter feature-layer of veil above?

Possible inspiration-pics:
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Steampunk-y shopping today was a success! Beads and feathers and hardware, oh my. Now I just have to find any kind of instructions or patterns for small hat-veils to be adapted to a wire/bead medium. Sometimes it is so hard being creative and original, let me tell you Internets.
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Jerry Springer is hosting Monday Night Raw. I'm getting my Edna Krabapel snort on.
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Brief, un-spoilery thoughts on the finale: awesome, yes, but ever so slightly tainted by the urge to scream "OH RUSSELL T DAVIES GET YOUR HAND OFF IT" every few minutes.
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Feeling very directionless. The Day of Meetings was not as bad as I anticipated, but after it was all over my motivation to do anything even remotely productive vanished into thin air. Roll on the weekend, please!
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J purchased Rock Band 2 today - possibly the last copy in Wellington, which he is by no means hugely smug about.

Wearing my vocal chords out with some NiN has certainly helped ease the stupid-induced tension I was feeling this arvo. I've hit the "oh thank God I'm only here for 6 more months, I can totally last that long if I just switch off my emotion chip" mark. Which is never a good sign. You'd think workplaces would give a toss about their staff being overstressed and undersupported, if only in the name of operational efficiency.

Went to see Jeanette Fitzsimons' valedictory this evening. It was ... good, but obviously sad. Especially when she brought up Rod Donald. I did NOT get teary in the House of Reps, no sirree.

Tomorrow my term deposit expires and I will have a crapload of money sitting in my savings. I am not stressing out from sheer responsibility-aversion at all. Nor am I in any way worried about starting sentences with "I was talking to a Wealth Advisor at the bank and ..."

Shan't be grown-up. SHAN'T I SAY.
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William Shatner is guest-hosting Raw. He just performed a series of spoken-word poetry pieces ... of WWE theme music. Kill me now, my life is complete (at least until they do a Divas tagteam match with all the contestants painted green, then there will be a new definition of "complete").
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Today was a Grown-Up Day. I had a meeting with a financial advisor. At my bank. About savings and investment.

It was a bit weird.

But on the plus side I was praised and told that my existence (as a young person with concrete/achievable savings goals, a set-but-flexible budget and no credit card) made someone very excited. Which has really left me feeling much more relaxed about things.

Now if only my brain would get the message so I could stop waking up at 4.28am every morning in a panic because I haven't filed enough sleep in the correct folders of the work document management system, everything would be lovely.

PS. Dear Wellingtonians, I would be ever so obliged if you would respect my desire to be a Sevens-Free Zone. The Sevens is not sport, nor entertainment; it is a vortex of evil and a vital link in Satan's plans for bringing about Armageddon.
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Soooooooooooooooo that whole "mood" thing is at a spectacularly low ebb today. General low-mood-ness which is usually just background noise, but throw in a pile of money-stress and job-conflict and we have a doozy. If anyone needs me I will be on the couch, listlessly reloading blogs on the offchance they (a) post something new and (b) the new thing is miraculously interesting enough to inspire activity on my part.
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Hey, Wellingtonians, remember how last weekend we had godawful weather and I may have regaled some of y'all with how our house got surrounded by cloud?

Proof! 2 pics )

Also, some pictures of immensely twee things I have created. I demand praise/constructive criticism/gibbering awe of my talents as you prefer.

Adorable stuff! 10 pics. )
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... for she has given unto me the most fucking fantastic piece of literature ever written by mortal hand.

Those of you who were there when she presented this gift to me may have thought you understood its sheer, galactic levels of awesomeness. But oh holy mother of Bel-Shamharoth were you wrong.

I speak, of course, of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters.


... towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret one memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the rare appearance of sunshine in the claustrophobic gloom of their surroundings. Margaret was insistent on trekking to the centre of the island to ascend Mount Margaret and find the source of the column of steam she still swore she had seen, and Marianne was pleased to oblige. This opportunity, however, was not tempting enough to draw the others from their pencil and their book; Mrs Dashwood sat composing short verses about sailors dying of influenza, whilst Elinor drew again and again a cryptic five-pointed symbol that had appeared to her in a fever dream on the night they first arrived in the islands.

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Watching the remake of The Day The Earth Stood Still, which is surprisingly un-craptacular (at least compared to my epically-low expectations of it).

BUT my major gripe? The classic bloody plot device of Child Who Is Too Young To Understand Situation But Comes To Learn Valuable Lesson after acting like a right self-centred prat for half the film. Oh but we're meant to feel compassionate and understanding because they Lack The Lost Innocence of Childhood.

Which is great until that child character is a cynical modern kid with his own laptop and WoW account, whose dead parent was a military engineer but somehow left the kid with the idea that "killing things that are different" is a good instinctive response to have.

If my children can't understand things like "tolerance of difference" and "diplomatic solution first you bet your ass they are not getting unrestricted and unmonitored internet/MMORPG access.

Also, they just had to add the side order of Child Of Dead Parent Constantly Brings Up Dead Parent As Justification For Actions but of course as soon as the long-suffering surviving stepparent says "Look, your dad isn't fucking here, okay?" it's all big eyes, wobbly lower lip, Oh His Tiny Child's Heart Is Broken. And we're meant to think oh the poor little guy he just misses his dad so much of course he has to constantly bring up his being-dead-ness to criticize his current living parent's actions.

It may all be well and good and realistic but goddammit it's irritating, it's overdone, and I am bored of seeing it in my sci fi.
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I have but one wish, dear peeps: stop talking about your weight.

Let me explain why I'm not actually being a tremendous bitch. [Editor's Note: Okay, on reflection that's probably a lie.]

I know a lot of you out there are eating differently,* or exercising more, or taking up a new activity, or making other changes to your lives.

Your lives are your lives and your choices are your choices and your changes are your changes.

But I beseech you. Can it with the fucking weight talk. Stop with the ephemeral irrelevant subjective bullshit that is "weight".

It's a fucking number on a fucking scale - and for God's sake, as a planet we can't even pick ONE scale to use.

Do you want to have more energy? Do you want to be able to run a certain distance or lift a certain weight or achieve a measurable change in your body's biochemistry? Do you like working up a sweat thrashing out to 80s hair metal? AWESOME.

Now some of these things might also make you lose weight. And some of them might make you gain weight. And they might have no effect on your weight at all. But as long as you have the energy or make the time or have the strength who gives a fuck about a number?

You may honestly want to turn around and say "well, the *number* is what makes me happy!" I am sorry to be a tremendous bitch: if you are seriously basing your happiness and self-esteem on a number you may never reach and will almost certainly not maintain, you need to re-evaluate your concept of "happiness", because it looks like "self-acceptance" isn't on your list.

Side Note: On the Fitting of Clothes

Of course there's always "I gained weight over Christmas so my clothes don't fit".

Notice how we say our clothes don't do something, and then automatically assume the solution is to change our bodies?

This was a realisation for me, so I vaguely apologise for the forthcoming shouting:


This is not just "sizes are different between brands", and it is not "vanity sizing", and it is not "XYZ cut their pants differently". This is, no piece of fabric, however pretty or expensive, is the boss of your body. If it doesn't fit, it is wrong clothing. *It*, and not imaginary overnight-inflation of your hips, is what needs to go.

If only because at the end of the day, your body is the thing you're going to be living in for the rest of your life, and it will change. It will sag, it will wrinkle, it will get bigger or smaller and clinging to those dream size-12 pants will not stop it from doing this.

Easy choice: get hung up on a number (weight or size) that will change and is ultimately meaningless,** or do what you enjoy and buy clothes that fit.

Further Reading

Disclaimer: Obviously, a shit-tonne of white middle-class able-bodied privilege here. Not everyone has access to Western supermarkets and clothing stores, much less full-time work or a disposable income, or even scales to throw away. You are reading this post online, from a computer: the mere fact you have electricity and spare time makes you part of the elite.

Further, there are people who do need to know their weight, and do need to monitor it, and that's because it could literally kill them to lose weight. And a lot of those people? Have been told they're lucky, or that at least their illness "comes with benefits". That is our society's attitude to weight, people. Don't participate in it.

*And some of you are pretending it's not a diet, but that's an issue that *would* involve me being a tremendous bitch.

**My weight? 98kg - I know because the doctor weighed me and I'd chickened out of arguing, deciding I'd only pick a fight if the BMI got mentioned. My size? perfect XS at City Chic, 12 at Zebrano, 14-16 at Farmers, 16-18 at Max/Bendon, perfect 18 at Jacqui E, 20 at Kooky. I could care about this, or I could be a happier person. Ask J.

People lie

Jan. 8th, 2010 07:01 pm
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Okay, a somewhat downbeat post for what has generally been an upbeat week.

People lie.

I read a comment a while back that basically stated "the big problem with a lot of the Left is that they assume the Right are sincere, good people just with different beliefs to me". The fact is, a lot of them don't, and this is true for a lot of ideologies and movements and organisations.

And that can be hard to accept in a big, deep, true way.

Which is why a lot of the time you'll hear people say "Oh I'm sure there's something else going on that they just haven't publicised" or "There must be more to the story."

It also ties into privilege, because if someone's saying "I'm sure the Police have reasonable grounds for this" they are very likely white and middle class, and if someone's saying "I'm sure the protesters really just think they're doing the right thing" they are very likely a man who will never have to even think about walking a gauntlet of abuse to get a cervical smear.

Sometimes? The Police do just arrest people for no lawful reason.
Sometimes? Prolifers really do just not give a shit about anything beyond forcing their will on women.
Sometimes? The Right do just want to pillage our economy on behalf of their mates.

Sometimes there is no more to the story, there are no mitigating factors, there is just a wrong being done, and being done deliberately and knowingly.

And the people who are actually doing things because they believe in them cannot progress until they really know it in their bones and figure out how to take the gloves off without compromising their ethics.


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Boxing Day Baby

December 2010

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