Monica Dux tells women: yr doin it rong, lazy bitches

Could this woman get it any more wrong? Seemingly not content with telling hairy-legged saggy boobed lesbians that they should prettify themselves because they're putting off the young sexy women who'd like to be feminists but are too scared of being marginalised in the hairy-legged basket, she's now telling pregnant women off, for not "preparing" for birth.

The whole article is smug middle class from beginning to end. Like most middle class women, Ms Dux wrote a "detailed birth plan" (to which I give a great big "ha"!) And if you didn't, well, shame on you, tut, tut. You'd probably do more research about buying a car. Naughty women. If things go wrong it's your fault, you should have done more reading.

The fact that this woman calls herself a feminist is getting ever more laughable. If she's a feminist, where is the feminist analysis of a birth system where over a third of women end up with a c-section, twice the rate the WHO says is acceptable (and it's even higher if you go private)? Where's the feminist analysis of episiotomy - cutting a woman's genitals for (in the vast, vast majority of cases) no good reason at all? Where's the feminist analysis of why women accept intervention after intervention in a hospital setting, because when they try to question their treatment, the doctor plays the "dead baby" card - because how many women are going to insist they don't want a c-section yet when the doctor's saying "but your baby might die"?

Where's the analysis of what gets women to that point - they're "overdue" so they're induced. Because otherwise the baby might die. They're hooked up to an IV and monitors. You have to be monitored dear, or the baby might die. They can't cope with the unnatural pain of induction, because it hurts more than normal labour, and their waters have been broken, so it's all coming on really fast, and they can't move around like women naturally do in labour, so they're lying on a bed, and they ask for drugs. So they get an epidural, and then that makes the baby's heart rate drop, and they're told that the baby's heart rate is not "reassuring" so something has to be done, and if they're fully dilated then the doctor will cut them and pull the baby out, and if they're not, it's an "emergency" c-section.

Oh no, they should have "prepared". Honestly, the only preparation worth doing for a hospital birth with an average obstetrician is just what Dux says women shouldn't be doing: "waiting and seeing"... the only realistic approach. Why bother committing to a detailed birth plan when it will probably go wrong anyway?" Birth plan in an average hospital with an average doctor? You might as well write down that you're going to dye yourself purple, sing Cat Stevens songs throughout your labour and then give birth standing on your head while attaining a higher state of consciousness, for all the good it's going to do you.

Best way of planning for a natural birth? Make sure you have one-to-one care with a midwife you know. But does Dux mention midwives? Homebirth? Birth centres, even? Nope. Not a word.

Yeah, women are doing it wrong again. That's pretty much Dux's conclusion when it comes to anything related to feminism. We're all a silly bunch of bitches - it couldn't possibly have anything to do with the system yeah, you know, that patriarchal system that treats women like second-class citizens? Oh no, not the system's fault.

There's not a patriarchal medical system with an effective monopoly on pregnancy and birth care is there? No, according to Dux, it's a "widespread culture of passivity when it comes to labour."

Women's fault? Tick.

"Many of the medical procedures that are routinely offered — such as episiotomies, epidurals, and forceps — are significant interventions that can have consequences for the health of the mother or the baby, and for the progress of the labour. Waiting until the maelstrom of labour engulfs you is not the time to investigate whether these procedures are right for you. If you do, the likely result is that you will simply agree to whatever is suggested."

Or, Ms Dux, you could critique the system that's "offering" (or, in many women's experiences, not so much "offering" as "insisting") unnecessary medical interventions in labour and birth that are not evidence-based.

Are women supposed to "do our homework" if we need brain surgery, just in case we're "offered" a "proceedure" by the brain surgeon that we don't think is "right for us"? No?

Why not question why the fuck women are being "offered" unnecessary medical interventions in the first place? Or why the fuck we're told a hospital is the only "safe" place to give birth (despite the evidence to the contrary) or that medical interventions have "improved" things for women?

Have you heard of the patriarchy, Ms Dux?

Men's health ambassadors

For those who came in late, a couple of days ago Health Minister Nicola Roxon announced that we're going to have roving men's health ambassadors who, well, rove about the place explaining, um, stuff. They don't get a salary, but they get travel expenses paid. I'm picturing blokes telling other blokes all about how a meat pie doesn't constitute a balanced meal, and how a slab of beer a week might be bad for your guts, and stuff.

But you know, all for men's health. Apparently men aren't very good at stuff like looking after themselves, visiting a doctor, etc (contradicted entirely by the men in my family, who love nothing more than a visit to the doctor, or, better, and entirely unnecessary operation - my PU#2 has had at least three by my count) so anything that can be done to help fix that is a Good Thing.

But the Minister's choice of ambassadors? Not so much. The media's been doing a Michael-Flatley-style dance about the Mighty Julia's hairdresser being included, but to that I say "meh". I'm sure he's a top bloke. I can't imagine Julia would go out with a drongo.

No, what we're really up in arms about within Teh Feminist Hive is the selection of two foaming at the mouth, anti-women god-hates-gays types. Fatherhood Foundation president Warwick Marsh and Lone Fathers Association president Barry Williams.

Check out their extra-creepy won't-somebody-think-of-the-children website. Don't you know feminism and teh gays are DESTROYING THE FAMILY?? Also, all sex education should be focued on getting kids to get married. That'll fix divorce rates, and then when we bring boys up to be boys and girls up to be girls, that will fix everything else, no-one will be gay any more, the drought will be over, climate change will stop, the economy will be endless prosperity from horizon to horizon, and we'll all be living happily in the 1950s. I'm picturing the town in Edward Scissorhands:

Anyway, Warwick Marsh has been fired by Barry Williams has recanted his anti-gay statements (so apparently it's still fine to be a raving misogynist and a men's health ambassador, as long as you take it back that gays are abhorrent). Of course the fact that he's recanted has nothing at all to do with the free travel on offer...

Anyway, since it's quite obvious that Williams should be fired too since he's a raving misogynist and shouldn't be representing the Government, I'd like to nominate our new pug, Casper, as his replacement. Casper is in pretty good health for his age, he's male, he doesn't hate women or gays, he goes to the vet if he's not feeling well, and he understands the importance of a healthy diet, regular exercise and getting enough sleep. Particularly getting enough sleep.

In an hilarious twist...

I have been prescribed (or more accurately, given a free sample, thanks Doc!) the exact same arthritis medication that the dog is on.

I was trying to work out whether I could take it with my dinner, then I realised the dog gets it *in* his dinner, so it's probably ok (then I looked up the instructions, to double-check).

Cute overload

Ok, so I've made an appointment to see Hugo's GP, Dr Hoffman (hi Dr Hoffman!) on Thursday to aks for a referral to a rheumatologist. And I've just realised that I keep starting blog entries with Ok, or So,

Oh well.

Anyways, I've just discovered the Pugs in Hats flickr group. Cute, in a very wrong way.

Peter the handyman is here, putting shelves in the cupboard, yay, and he talks and sings to himself constantly. Is quite amusing. By the time he leaves, the three shelves I found in the hard rubbish will be in the cupboard, along with the TV, the amp, the dvd player, the dvd/vcr recorder, and the HDD recorder. And our art work should be on the wall (I'll take a picture for your entertainment).

A general (Casper) update

So, we took Casper to the vet this morning, at vast expense to the management. VAST.EXPENSE.

$60 for a microchip (the council won't register him without it)
$88 for vaccinations
$65 for a heartworm preventative
$43.45 for arthritis medication.

Anyway, he was very good, and his heart is good, his teeth are good, his ears are good, his breathing is not so good (we knew that anyway - the NOISES!) and he has arthritis in one back leg (kinda knew that too). He's also two kilos overweight and should only be getting around 200g food a day (which seems so small, poor chap, but his breathing and arthritis are made worse by the excess weight, and being a pug, you can't walk it off him, because he can't walk very far).

He's now sleeping by my feet. And we have a certificate saying he's ten years old (geriatric, as the vet said) and so hopefully that means we get concessional registration, because he's unlikely to be chasing the laydees at his advanced age. Otherwise it costs approx a squillion dollars a year. And the really good news is that the vet said they generally live between 12-15 years, so we might have him a while yet!

Casper seems to be in better shape than me. I'm still exhausted, and achey, and need to find a new doctor. I'm thinking of aksing for a referral to a rheumatologist, because if what I have is rheumatoid arthritis (which I'm fairly sure it is) then early treatment is essential, and waiting six months for a repeat blood test like the GP suggested doesn't seem like a good plan.

We're living in a post-feminist world? Fat chance.

Two articles this week really got up my nose.

First, this article on anorexia in really young girls.

Mary George, spokesperson for Beat, an eating disorder charity, believes
children are developing preoccupations with their bodies earlier than ever.
The charity has seen a sharp rise in young girls with anorexia, and has
parents with girls as young as 10 phoning for advice.
“We carried out a survey on girls aged 8-10 and the results were shocking,” Mary explains. “When we showed them pictures of skinny girls, they described them as being popular and outgoing. “Worryingly they said larger girls were lonely and
unhappy.” [emphasis mine]

Those results aren't fucking shocking. They are completely as expected. We live in a culture that values girls almost solely for their appearance (and their uteruses, but we'll get to that in another post about single motherhood that I'm planning to write soon). And yet we're "shocked" when a survey of girls who absorb that message practically from birth think skinny girls are happy and fat girls are lonely and unhappy? Ferfuckssake.

I agree it's worrying, but that's patriarchy for you. Perhaps rather than constant harping about how five veg and two fruit (and yes, that's important, for all of us) will help you stay skinny and healthy, some messages about value being (a) something inherent and (b) extra value over and above inherent value being based on your works and achievements and not your prettiness might be in order.

And it's not actually the fault of glossy magazines with photos of skinny celebs that girls think being thin is the be-all and end-all of life. I mean, they're not helpful, but it's actually the fault of a culture that says women are only valued for their beauty and their ability to pop out a sprog (under certain patriarchally-defined conditions).

The saddest bit of the article was the fact that the anorexic 12 year old recovered not because through counselling she realised that she was a valuable human being, but because:

"I wanted to get better because my gums were black, my nails had broken off and
my face was drained of all its colour. For years, I’d despised my body, but now
I looked hideous. So I forced myself to eat".

Sad. She only wanted to get better because, oh noes, she looked hideous.

Second, this article (with the charming tagline "Broke, fat, sacked, women" - weird random comma included free-of-charge) on how sad, fat women are sad, fat and likely to be fired. This was what particularly ticked me off:

The results, released in the journal Preventive Medicine, showed those who were obese experienced more "stressful life events". .. Over the course of a year, fat women are more likely to face the death of a friend or relative, be fired or made
redundant or face financial troubles, according to the figures.

Cause you know, you being fat kills your friends and relatives... and also makes you fired and poor. I wonder what they think the mechanism for that is? Fat germs?

On an unrelated note, it hailed a bunch this morning. I'm sitting in the kitchen, typing away, with a small, gently snoring Casper-pug at my feet. I must say he's doing very well - he hasn't howled since day one, he politely akses when he wants to go out, he completely ignores the cat (who is getting used to him to the extent that she will get on the floor as long as she thinks he's not looking.

Slack blogger

I admit, I haven't been posting as much lately. It's a product of being so tired all the time - I'm not *doing* anything, so I can't *write* anything. Because if you don't do anything, what's to write about?

I went back to the doc for blood test results, and there are some weird numbers in there. I'm low in iron. Not so low I'm anaemic, but at the bottom end of the full-of-irony-goodness scale. Which colour me surprised, because I eat more meat than most people think is feasible. In fact, I don't honestly think I could physically ingest any more meat than I do already. Which to me says I'm not absorbing it properly. But I say this to the doc, who just goes "blah blah, stress. Blah blah, diet". And he didn't order tests for any other nutrients (and I should have insisted, but I'm too tired to do any insisting). And my rheumatoid something is right at the top of the acceptable scale, so he said I need re-testing in six months as I may be developing rheumatoid arthritis. Fun, fun. Two of my aunts have it, so it wouldn't be entirely surprising. Not to mention that I've been really bad with my diet over the past six months (partly because Hugo was sick, and it was all too much to deal with, and plus bread is tasty and there were too many other things to worry about). And there is some evidence gluten and possibly also dairy play a role in auto-immune diseases like rheumatoid arthritis, I know I'm intolerant to both, I already get excema from both...

And just now I realise there is actually a better test for rheumatoid arthritis than the rheumatoid factor (see here) (although it may not be available here yet).

And people keep (a) aksing whether I'm pregnant, and (b) telling me I've had a stressful six months. And I just want to scream, only I don't have the bloody energy.

On a positive note, though, Casper the friendly pug seems to be settling in well. He's learned to sit and stay before he gets to eat (who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?) and has almost got the hang of "in your bed" (whoever said you can't teach an old dog new tricks had not heard of strips of dried liver... mmm), didn't howl last night, and is ignoring the cat completely (although he will eat anything she drops on the floor). And I managed to make a little bag to hang on his lead so we can store plastic bags in to clean up his poo when we walk him, and boy does my sewing machine need a service...

Anyway, it's almost time to log off, go home, and lie down. And do nothing for the whole weekend.

Our new baby (or new little old man)

This is Casper:

He's a fat, arthritic, ancient pug. I don't think the photos really do how fat he is justice. He's now on a diet, as the fat is clearly making the arthritis worse (he was so stiff this morning, he was practically dragging one back leg). He's a bit confused, because his elderly owner died last week, he's been shuffled to four different houses since then, and he's really not sure what's going on. He howled when I left for work this morning (but he has Hugo at home looking after him, and giving him a bath this morning as he's pretty smelly!)

He's sweet, and friendly, and wants to give you kisses and cover you in much pug hair.

He smiles, and makes the most bizarre noises you've ever heard. I could hear him snoring when I woke up during the night, but as he's sleeping downstairs and we're upstairs, it's not quite loud enough to keep us awake.

See the grey around his nose! He's quite ancient!

And the curly tail!!!

He's mostly ignoring the cat, who is a tad freaked out, but hasn't weed on anything (yet). We'll take him to the vet on the weekend to have a check up and see what we can do about the arthritis (I assume asprin, but what the correct dose of asprin for a pug is, who knows?)

On language

Yesterday in my work I came across this charming if nonsensical sentence:

This thing is all kind of building up and on the right hand side on the pointy
end, so even though what you do appears fundamentally straightforward from a [xxx] point of view, it is still complex.

Oh yes, the well-known right-hand side of the pointy end. I struggled with the document for quite a while before stamping it with my WTF stamp and returning it from whence it came. (The xxx represents a word, which can not be included as it might reveal for whom I am working).





Anyway, then Princess Rebecca-with-two-Cs from our stitch and bitch group sent a link to an ABC story about "meh" being added to the Collins Dictionary. Meh, I say to that - who uses the Collins for heaven's sake? I use the OED at home and Macquarie is our standard at work - Australian spelling! (Note you can also access the Oxford online by registering as a State Library of Victoria website, if you live in Melbourne, which totally rocks - it costs, like, £900 a year, which equates to approx. eleventy-three thousand Australian dollars) But I digress.

And while I'm digressing, it's interesting to note that "meh" clearly comes from the Simpsons, but d'oh actually doesn't - the OED has a usage history for d'oh dating back to 1945, which as any fule kno predates the Simpsons.

The ABC story's comments are closed, frustratingly, and I found a Groniad story with the same problem, but with some excellent comments, like this one -

"thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on"
I'm sure that means kebabs ...

Yeah. Totally.Strange.Flesh.

Anyway, I have to go write our weekly client newsletter now.

Ahoy, me Lady hearties...

My most excellent and creative friend Bec needs your vote in this competition (click on the link, it should bring up her picture to rate) so she can make more films about Lady Pirates.

It takes a lot of ink and imps to make a pirate movie, and the world does not have enough of them (and especially not enough movies about Lady Pirates, forsooth).

So click, vote and support the Lady Pirate industry of the future. Pieces of eight! Fifteen Ladies on a deadperson's chest!

UNSAVOURY BLOG PERSONA

There's been a discussion happening on LP about the article on the philosophy of shoes, which featured yours truly. I've been arguing with a bloke who's repeatedly called me stupid, who's used words like "harp" and "tantrum" to describe female behaviour (and who doesn't get why that's sexist) and who, it turns out, doesn't believe in the patriarchy, so I'm not arguing with him any further, as there's clearly no point.

And I have admittedly also called him stupid (and I'm about to sound like I'm about four, but he started it).

Then someone who calls themself "Mary Bennet" came along and said:
"As it ever occured to Rebekka that Adrien might not be addressing her as a sheilah, but as a - quite unsavoury - blog persona or even as a second wave feminist."

I'm pretty sure sheila doesn't have an 'h' on the end. And I have no idea what she's talking about - I assumed Adrien (the sexist bloke in question) was addressing me as a woman, a feminist AND as my unsavoury self, but oh well.

I do love the description. I am hereby claiming it as my own. I am UNSAVOURY. My "blog persona" (i.e. me, but with a couple of bits that are none of your business left out, like the terrible dream I had last night about Neil Diamond) is UNSAVOURY. Fuck being savoury. I am proudly un. I think, however, that much as I am proud of being a feminist, and a radical feminist at that, I can not lay claim to second-wavism, given that I pretty much wasn't even a twinkle in anyone's eye at that point.

Zero-waste village

I just came across this - a Japanese village where EVERYTHING is recycled.

I am sure, my dear readers, that you recycle like mad. But in case you didn't know, here's a list of some extra things (Melbourne-based, for the most part) that you can recycle, other than the basics in your collected recycling, and where/how:

• CFL lightbulbs - take them to Ikea, they have a collection bin. It's important to recycle these, as they do contain mercury (small amounts, and less overall than using conventional lightbulbs, because our electricity in Victoria is mostly from brown coal, and burning brown coal for electrickery releases mercury into the atmosphere)
• batteries - take them to Ikea, or to your local Battery World. Better yet, start replacing them with rechargable batteries. We've been doing this gradually, as they run out.
• computer stuff - the good people at Dell will recycle your non-working computer equipment (any brand) - and they even pick it up (at a small price) - click here for details. But there are organisations that refurbish your old stuff and give it to the disadvantaged/disabled/other assorted worthy causes - and reusing's better than recycling, m'kay. Computer bank has a fantastic program where they turn your (working) bits and pieces into new computers that they sell to concession card holders for just $15. There's a list of other charities that want your old computers here, and there's pretty much one in each state - if it works, give it to someone who can use it.
• mobile phones - most phone shops participate in mobile muster, the industry's recycling service, and you can just drop your phone off (although if it works, stick it on freecycle, someone will probably want it).
• other electronics - MRI recycle other electronics (and also computer equipment) and they do Australia-wide.
• furniture - if it's usable, call the Brotherhood of St Laurence or the Salvos and give it to a good cause - they'll pick it up from you. If it's too crap for them, seriously stick it on freecycle - you will be surprised the junk people want (like our old, icky, non-working shower screen - who knew someone would want that??)
• clothes - take them to your local op shop. Don't put them in charity bins. Even rags can go to the op shop - our local op shops both have a rag bag out the back, and the rags are recycled into cleaning cloths. Although before doing that I'd use them for cleaning, or for scraps to make cool crafty things out of.
• books, toys, etc - take them to your local op shop.
• bedding and towels - if they're not good enough for people to use, the RSPCA or your local animal shelter will probably jump at them.
• magazines, cardboard tubes, egg cartons, etc - see if your local kinder or childcare centre wants them. If all my stitch & bitch princessi have already read them, I often take my magazines to the doctor's surgery and just leave them there (there's several years more recent than anything else they've got!) Egg cartons are also in big demand from people with chooks. Ours largely go either to my PUs' grumpy old friend Ian, or to the guy at the pub Hugo gets our eggs from (although I'm currently saving them for Bec, who is going to soundproof her podcast studio with them).
• plastic bags - there's a bin at your local supermarket. Don't put these in your recycle bin at home, they can't be recycled through your council program!
• CDs and DVDs - if you have old data discs or discs of any type that are damaged and don't work, you can send them to:
  EcoDisc
  PO Box 590
  Lindfield NSW 2070.
  All it costs is the postage! And they recycle here in Australia and use the plastic here in Australia, so it's a winner of a program.

And check out http://www.recyclingnearyou.com.au/ for anything you need to recycle anywhere in Australia.

If you've got a specific question about how or where to recycle something, aks in the comments and I'll do my best to answer it for you. Make sure you tell me the area where you live.

It's only 40 recylcing days til Christmas (and how to recycle old CDs and DVDs)

CDs and DVDs of data frequently end up in landfill. The information's out of date, no-one wants it anymore, bye bye disc.


Of course the best thing is to avoid using them in the first place - use a USB drive to store data temporarily, or a CD-RW or DVD-RW so you can re-use it.

And before I start trying to recycle, I'm going to give upcycling a go and try to make something like this:

(from Nigel's eco store, very eco if you happen to be in the UK! More from Fair & fabulous, also in the UK).

Apparently, if you soak them in hot water, you can cut them quite easily with scissors - instructions here. I'm probably going to use a sharp craft knife, cause I think it will be more accurate.

I was thinking of bird shapes to hang in the garden, they'd look pretty and CDs are supposed to be good for scaring birds out of your fruit trees (not that we have any fruit trees yet).

But anyway, if you have made a plethora of ornaments and bird-scarererers, and also possibly used some as drink coasters (perhaps glue some felt to the bottoms?) and still have some left, apparently you can post them to:

EcoDisc

PO Box 590

Lindfield NSW 2070.

All it costs is the postage!

I have e-mailed the company that runs the program to make sure it's still going, and I haven't heard back yet but will update the post when I do. I have heard from the company, they are definitely still running the program, so send them your old CDs/DVDs (including the plastic cases) and they will recycle them. They use the recycled plastic here in Australia as well.

More instructions on making Christmas decorations out of used materials here, some good eco-tips for Christmas here, great gift ideas here and here, buy your Christmas tree from Oxfam (in Melbourne), or send Christmas cards that support a charity. Put your Christmas tree in a window (like they do in England, it looks so pretty from the street when you can see all the trees in the windows) and use solar LED lights with the collector out the window - we did this last year, it worked really well.

Hi, grieving for a loved one? Excellent, give us your money, kthxbye

I went to a funeral yesterday (of a colleague of whom I was quite fond). It struck me again as I was sitting there in the church how strange the whole Christian religion actually is. Imagine trying to explain it to an alien.

"... but they ate an apple so God decided to punish all of their descendents for ever ... yeah and then God drowned nearly everyone, including all the animals except for six each of the clean ones and two each of the unclean ones, because they were wicked... yep. And then sometime later this guy called Jesus was born, even though his mother had never had sex, and he died but then he came back to life, and if you believe in him he can make you live forever... but if you don't, you go to a nasty place called hell, where you get poked with pitchforks and burned for all eternity. God is a god of love. And sometime in the future nearly everyone will be branded with the number 666, a monster with ten heads and seven horns on each head will arise from the sea with the whore of Babylon riding on its back, and everyone will die except for 144,000 people who will be saved. Did we mention we're a rational species?"

Also, it struck me that he would have hated his funeral. And apparently he had a big white angora rabbit, which I wish I'd known because we could have talked about our bunnies.

Anyway, I was then thinking about the horrors of the funeral industry (as ably documented by Jessica Mitford, and I don't think much has changed). And the horrors of people who claim they are "psychics" and then charge the grieving huge sums of money for "messages" from their "loved ones". And it's all on a continuum of despicable behaviour, preying on people at their absolute most vulnerable. And then I was reminded by Eleanor posting a link on making diamonds out of tequila (go figure) that you can have your dead pets and dead relatives turned into tasteful diamond jewelry.

Which, really, is about as spectacularly tasteless as it gets. Check out the words from the LifeGem® website:

Love. Life’s single greatest risk. Life’s single greatest reward. Love
captures your heart in a second and holds it for eternity.

You have experienced a love without equal. You have had someone truly
special in your life and mere words simply will not do.

In other words, PROVE that you REALLY loved the "dearly departed" by FORKING OVER HUGE SUMS OF CASH.

Because that way your love will "live on". And clearly, if you let them be really dead, you didn't really love them. WE CAN HAS YR CASH.

I also like this line: "LifeGem diamonds are created individually from your specific carbon source in our patented process".

SPECIFIC CARBON SOURCE?

And this:

If you desire an everlasting connection to the one you have lost, the LifeGem®
is right for you. Each LifeGem®, as a celebration of life, tells a unique
story and represents a new beginning. With the closeness offered only by a
LifeGem®, you will have your loved one with you and in your life at all
times. And of course, as the LifeGem® is a one-of-a-kind diamond, it will
be a treasured heirloom in your family for generations to come.

Hi honey, we made this ring from your great-granddad's dead body (or as we call it in the industry, your granddad's specific carbon source) - now I want *you* to have it. Or perhaps you could get great-granddad re-set as a tasteful pendant?

And of course for those of us who don't "desire an everlasting connection to the ones we have lost", LifeGem® would be wrong.

Or, you know, also for those of us with taste.

Fame, fortune and fickleness

So, didja see me in the Sunday Age yesterday?? I'm not unhappy with how the whole thing turned out, as the spirit of what I'd said was accurate (although the words were not - I don't think I said a single thing they quoted me as saying - and especially not "females" rather than women, the word "girly" as used to describe my footwear, or the juxtaposition of "old England" and "Ancient China" in the one sentence - I have a history degree. We do not describe things as "old England". Or practices that were still occuring in the last couple of hundred years as "Ancient"). But anyway, the essence of it was what I'd said. Other than the walking-down-the-aisle-in-flats thing as I specifically said I had no intention of ever getting married (and even if I did, there's no "aisle" in the registry office, right?)

Anyhoo. I've been feeling NQR for the last couple of weeks, extremely tired and my joints ache, so we didn't really do anything on the weekend. Yesterday I managed to drag myself up and down the pool eight times (I spend the time thinking about home decorating, yesterday's swim was devoted mainly to cushion covers for the spare room sofa bed). But then I had to retire to bed for the entire afternoon. I got up briefly for dinner, and we watched the Wallace & Grommit film that was on Saturday night (which I recorded) and then went back to bed.

This morning I went to the doctor, who asked me:
Are you pregnant? No.
Are you sure you're not pregnant? Yes.
Have you had a virus or the flu recently? No.
Are you absolutely sure you're not pregnant? Yes, 100% positive.
Because the symptoms could be pregnancy. I'm not pregnant.
Ooh, perhaps you have Ross River Fever. Have you been in the country recently? No.
Do you eat vegetables? Yes.
Red meat? Yes.
Perhaps it's something tropical. Have you been overseas recently? No.

Anyway, I have to go back for blood tests on Wednesday morning. It could be a deficiency. It could be something weird and obscure. I was pretty sure that a doctor wasn't going to be able to tell me what's wrong with me - but blood tests, that's another matter.

Speaking of blood, I read Sunshine by Robin McKinley on the weekend - I rather thought that I couldn't read anything vampire-related because clearly Joss Whedon has done it all and there is nothing further to say on the topic that could possibly compare to the genius that is Joss. I stand corrected. Sunshine is a ripping read and highly recommended. I also read the first half of The great feminist denial, which is somewhat less annoying than Dux's opinion pieces (I will blog on it in detail once I've finished reading), The Secret Garden, a bit more of Magician (I just finished re-reading the Servant of the Empire series, which I heart more than the Magician series, but Magician is still good, just not quite as good). We finished watching BSG season 4. Am now (a) very upset that there's no more and (b) completely convinced the President is the final Cylon. And did anyone else notice that Jane Espenson was a co-executive producer (or similar)? (And just now when I looked at her website to link to it, I realised she's written episodes of DS9 as well, which is also one of my fave ever shows). Anyway, she clearly has TALENT. That's most of my favourite shows she's worked on.

Where was I?

Oh yes, books I read on the weekend and TV shows I watched. I also started reading Neil Gaiman's newy, The Graveyard Book, v. good so far.

I also took a bath, and ate about eleventy-three pikelets (non-paleolithic, and bad for my itching, but v tasty).

So, you know, my life is very, very exciting.

Thank you, O Nature Strip Gods

Last night on my way home from the station, I noticed some chunky shelves, thoughtfully placed on the nature strip as an offering to the Nature Strip Gods (have I mentioned before than when in kindergarden, my sibling unit thought that the words to Advance Australia Fair included "Our land abounds in nature strips"?)

Last year, when we moved house, I bought a child's wardrobe on ebay that is just big enough to fit our TV and assorted other stuff with wires in it, so that we can shut it all away and our living room won't be dominated by TV and stereo equipment, but will instead be lovely, peaceful and feature our Art. I called our handy man, wonderful chap by name of Peter, a few weeks ago to (finally) organise for him to come and re-jig the inside of the cupboard so we can put everything into it. And because I didn't want MDF (I get enough formaldehyde kthx) I was horrified to find that plantation pine was going to cost a squillion or so dollars (or if you insist on accuracy, around $1000).

Anyway, I hauled three enormous heavy shelves from round the corner to in our living room yesterday, then called Peter today who had - phew! - not purchased any timber yet, so hurrah and huzzah we will have (admittedly ugly, but they'll be *inside the cupboard* so who cares) free shelves instead of squillion dollar shelves. Plus have saved shelves from landfill so I am v. virtuous.

And here's a cool link - http://wastedfood.com/

And something that's inspired a project for the weekend (we have some windchimes that have lost their ringer bit in the middle.

These shoes were made for walkin'

I believe the article about the philosophy of shoes, for which I was interviewed a few weeks ago, is going to be published in Sunday's Age. Complete with a photo of me. Possibly looking extremely grumpy and sounding like an Amazonian who mates with men and then eats their livers. But hopefully just sounding like a reasonable woman with well-thought-out feminist opinions. It's just... it's the media. I'm hopeful, because Belle, who interviewed me, was really nice.

Anyway, in celebration of my impending feminist fame, I thought I'd share with my lovely readers the mecca of shoe fabulousness that I found when I went to buy my Halloween vampyre teeth. The Walking Company. As the name suggests, they have shoes (and boots) that you can actually walk in. Not a heel to be seen (actually there seem to be a couple of pairs of Docs on the website with heels, but I didn't see them in the actual shop).

Also, there was a v. cool fellow customer in there who looked at my Buffy t-shirt, which says "Buffy will patrol tonight" and said "But Buffy won't patrol tonight, it's Halloween!" True story. Speaking of TV, I have a new theory re: BSG. The President is the final Cylon. It would explain the whole Opera House thing. Although Hugo reckons the Truth of the Opera House is that Placido Domingo is going to appear and start singing...



But back to shoes, that shop is the shop of awesomeness.

Everything lost is found again

Hugo found my camera (under the couch), I found my phone (in a pile of washing), I found my plug-in charger for my iPod (under a giant pile of reviewed documents on my desk) and my copy of The Great Feminist Denial arrived in the mail (so far, it's not as annoying as Dux's op-ed pieces at least). The only thing yet to appear is the digital camera I won last month - no sign of that and I'm still suspecting the guy from the front apartment has fenced it. I'm also wondering whether life might be easier if things were a bit, er, neater. But that's Hugo's department - I am not responsible for housework. Although the giant piles of stuff on my desk could possibly use some attention. If I ever had time.

I am now trying to send the most urgent of urgent emails to our graphic designers - we have to get a brochure finished and printed on glossy card this afternoon because it has to be on a plane to New Zealand tonight. And do you think I can get bloody Outlook to send? I hate Bill Gates, all his little wizards, and all of their crappy non-working software. Given half a choice, I'd just use gmail for everything - it's fast, it works, and I don't get constant bloody messages that my mail box won't send because it's over its size limit, which apparently is due to the inbuilt limitations in how many mailboxes and what size can fit on one exchange server.

Anyways, I must go and get some lunch before my stomach starts eating its own lining. That can be fatal. True story.

Halloween pictures (scary, whooooo)

I'm a vampyre, creature of the night, etc*. Note mysterious crypt-like background and excessive use of fog machine.


Ditto. Hello, Creature of the Night.



Here's Hugo, fierce Viking warrior, and me, with the teeth of the vampyre, before I had to take them out as I was unable to consume tasty beverages or party snacks. Also, I looked much better with the teeth out. And let this be a warning to you, youngsters, to brush and floss your teeth with great regularity - I stuck the teeth in with denture glue, and it tastes disgusting. And the texture. Ugh. You SO do not want to be going there.

Consider yourselves warned, kiddies.



*Please imagine this commentary was brought to you in the voice of Andrew, in Storyteller, Buffy season 7 episode 16.

Get stuffed, the lot of youse

We had a great time last night, sitting round at Paul's watching the election results on CNN having a serious intellectual discussion about the book we'd all read for our Higgins book group.

It was so amazing to see such a momentous change happen in the world.

I must say though, disappointing that proposition 8 wasn't roundly defeated (let's hope the courts strike it down as unconstitutional). Bigots. That's all I have to say about it. Well, almost all. I may just add that marriage as a patriarchal institution has been used to oppress women for hundreds, nay, thousands of years. But I'm all for other people getting married if they want to - and I couldn't care less whether they're men, women, something inbetween, one of each, two of one or both of neither. And to say anything else is just plain bigoted. And if it destroys TEH FAMILY in the process, whoopdefuckingdoo. Again with the patriarchal oppression. And anyway, a totally illogical proposition - as if letting two women or two men who love each other get married will stop or somehow detract from a woman and a man who love each other getting married. It's just not logical, captain.

Also, I wonder if this blogger isn't feeling a tad foolish about her wild conspiracy theories this morning.

But while momentous change was happening in the world, a shitload of work has been happening with me, which explains the paucity of posting, sorry. It's got to the point where I am losing my mind - I put things down and can't remember where. Like my mobile phone. And my camera. I know the mobile is in the house somewhere. It's run out of battery so I can't call it. It's very frustrating, as normally my memory is very, very good and all I have to do is think about where I last saw something, and (unless H has moved it) there it is. At the moment, I work, I dream about work, my head is full of nothing BUT work, and I can't remember another damn thing.

Thank goodness I have a house Hugo to deal with all the washing, cleaning, cooking etc, or I'd truly lose it. And thank the Lords of Kobol we have 11 days in Port Douglas at Xmas, and will miss all the family palaver celebrations. I'm still pissed about last year, when my PU#1 told me that Xmas lunch would just be my PUs, Hugo and me, and H's PU, and it turned out to be one hundred and eleventy three people, all making too much noise, getting in my personal space and being annoying and peopleish. Grrr. Anyway, none for us this year. We're leaving on the 22nd December, returning on 3rd Jan, and missing anything that could remotely be construed as Xmas. Instead we plan to spend a lot of time by the pool, reading.

And if anyone could let me know where I can purchase old lady bathing suits (with skirts) and old lady bathing caps (with flowers), please let me know. I want to swan about the pool in my be-skirted suit and my flowery cap, gazing at the blue sky through my blue prescription goggles. It's been a hard six months.