This is your microbiological public service speaking

Hullo.

If you worry abt germs in your home and how to best get rid of them, you have come to the right place.

If you don't worry so much and regularly enjoy bouts of diahrroea, stomach cramps and vomiting, well then, YOU HAVE DEFINITELY COME TO THE RIGTH PLACE. Stick around. [Ha! ]

[QUICK NOTE: I will answer all comments on prEvious post and elaborate further. What I have a hard time understanding, though it delights me for your immune systems - i.e. laughter boosts it - is what you found so funny abt it. Could you point me towards choice sentences? I'd really love to see what SO BLOODY MANY of you are seeing.]

While you're at it, review this. I'm neurotic like that, yes, I am. But chances are I won't die if I step on a nail.

My Psyche is a Fraud

I have just failed my exam. This means that I will have to study bacteria, viruses and immunology all over again. Plus the lab exam. I cannot stand immunology. Can NOT stand it.

Why did I fail my exam? I am so very glad you asked. Please read this first, it will help you understand. Seriously, it will. Then come back and I’ll tell you all abt the fraud.

Done? Good. See, that was not really my template. That was my psyche.

*Enter fluffy bunnies and frolicking sheep*

Once upon a time there was a girl, let’s call her Our Heroine (OH) who was really intelligent. REALLY intelligent. In fact, she was so intelligent that school had always been easy, too easy.

[Other than exact sciences, that is, Maths, Chemistry, Physics, Geometry - all very awful, her brain truly was not wired in a way that allowed her to fully grasp them. But she wasn’t worried, she wasn’t going to ever need them, right? [Ha.] And the way the educational system in her country was organised, she’d only study them till grade 9 anyway. Nothing but sweet humanistic subjects from then on: Psychology, Philosophy, Languages, History. In short, bliss of the highest degree. This was the sort of OH who till this day finds that doing grammar exercises in English is very much relaxing and GREAT FUN!]

OH went on to university and surprise!, it was all so very easy. An Anthropology degree? Please, daß ich nicht lache. She even got a 20 out of 20 in Maths bcs of her grade improvement paper on Alice in Wonderland and The Other Side of The Mirror (for Logic). Granted, studying the Omaha Indians kinship system was a bloody pain – and forever to be reminded as such - and it took her three whole hours to memorise it, can you imagine?? THREE WHOLE HOURS. All the rest was easy, even those subjects she couldn’t stand. For those she would read the absolute minimum and then make up the rest with general culture and personal inventiveness. It was perfectly all right to have 12 out of 20, gah, horrid subjects, she never wanted to see them again. The subjects she did like were something else entirely, it was a pleasure to read the course material, and well, it was all RATHER EASY. She’d more often than not NOT attend classes (unless she REALLY liked them, of course) and could also be found clubbing the night before the exams, much to her father’s dismay. Her mother never worried much bcs OH kept herself in the top 5% so the method, albeit puzzling, seemed most effective. And if she happened to have a grade she found UNWORTHY in the subjects she liked (e.g., Human Geography or Ethology) she’d retake the exam so she could improve it bcs quite frankly, 16 or 17 out of 20 were a bit shameful and why stop there when one can EASILY end up with a 19 or even a 20? Unsurprisingly, OH finished her degree with a 17 average and a 19 in her thesis.

*Exit fluffy bunnies and frolicking sheep*

Yes.

See, OH was luckier than she knew bcs it so happened that her brand of intellect was absolutely perfect for what this degree demanded of her. More understanding than memorisation. Emphasis on articulating related and sometimes unrelated bits and producing a coherent, innovative text. She loved reading and had read a million of books by then, many of them at a very inappropriate age, so her general culture was quite all right and she could, say, start answering each exam question by relevantly mentioning her mother’s sprout rice and Taran and the Magic Cauldron, respectively, thereby unwillingly but welcomingly impressing the pants off the professor. (Her antennae being what they are, OH knew exactly which teachers would value such things and which would not.) She loved writing, writing had always been her medium of choice, and she took full advantage of it. She was also quick to grasp everything and her intuitive mind, her greatest strength, allowed for leaps of thought that were convenient. And whenever she had to present something orally she’d find a way to have fun - much more bearable for all involved if, for her Tuareg presentation, she turned off the lights, turned on the desert music and entered the classroom donned in the garbs she’d brought from Morocco, carrying a tray with sweet mint tea for the front row. (Again, antennae, again, teacher’s pants.)

She was careful not to show that she thought it all REALLY, REALLY EASY, she’d found very early on that her little colleagues were not so fond of people like her. So she moaned and pulled her hair for all to see – and then went clubbing. Summers were always vast and worry-free. Life was good. OH was brain-spoilt, as it were.

Then tragedy struck. Shock, revulsion and horror, OH finds herself in vet school. VET SCHOOL! And pray tell, what the fuck is an algorithm? What the hell is the inverse of 107? Carboxyl what? What do you mean she simply must memorise 400 pp of rubbish? What do you mean, she must STUDY? As in what, sit down on a chair for hours on end, actually working at it? You must be mad, you must be deranged, this is OH you’re talking abt remember, OH does not DO studying! Go away you demented person, GO AWAY!

It is a fact that OH cannot memorise things in bulk very well. It is also a fact that Oh is very tired from 4 years of non-stop studying, no holydays, no rest. Furthermore, it is a fact that OH has an appallingly poor visualisation capability and is spatially at a permanent loss, as we know. But the deeper truth is, OH RESENTS all this… this… this effort, for fuck’s sake, it shouldn't happen to HER, and so she still hasn’t learnt how to study properly. She will focus on the bits she likes/understand better and more often than not hope for the best. The best in vet school doesn’t often come along and she is therefore often confronted with *shudder* her ignorance. OH should know better but she, pretty much like that template, is still stomping her foot [OH is nothing if not mature] and repeating But it’s not fair! in a most unbecoming manner, refusing to accept that yes, sometimes in life things - unlike birds, yes? - do NOT come easy, and sometimes in life we are expected to work very hard at things we find most unpleasant, and self-boycotting for whatever reasons should have long lost its appeal, and please stop this life is not fair idiocy, it really ISN’T, what part of it could have missed PH’s psyche really, and kindly BUCK UP AND DO IT.

So see, it’s all rather sad really. People keep telling OH that she is so strong and she therefore politely enquires What the fuck? Does this sound remotely like strength to you, this It’s too bloody hard I’ll just pretend it will be all right if I close my eyes and skip a few chapters, shhh, no one will ever know. So when she sees the exam and it turns out that the questions are not quite as expected BUT SHE STILL KNOWS ENOUGH ANSWERS TO PASS never mind that, her psyche quickly translates it into I knew it, I knew I could never make it, it’s too bloody hard, I knew it, quickly, here’s a MIND BLANK so you can escape. And poof, gone is the knowledge. In its stead we can find a scene worthy of the Petunia Vase and the Sperm Whale, i.e., What is a Baccilus, help?? There was that unforgettable moment a few years ago when the exam blank included the unforgettable OhmyGod, whatdoesapiglooklikeagain??

OH did go and get a book after the exam, as planned, alas for comfort and not celebration, as hoped. OH was tempted to buy another one but then thought Why yes, why not reward an imbecilic psyche with TWO books, there’s a punishment. And, as always, OH ended up agitatedly gesticulating and berating herself aloud, much to the surprise of at least 4 different people, as the answers to the questions slowly slowly trickled back to her, as always much too late.

So yes, strength. Gallons of. Oh and courage, loads of that as well. OH has vowed something WILL change, if it kills her. OH finds the whole thing disgraceful and cannot stand herself today. So she'll smoke ANOTHER fag and sod it all for now, bcs a strong will is another of her endearing characteristics.

Rosa Louise McCauley Parks

This will restore the cosmic balance, yes? Writing this post after all that filth in the post below.

When Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man forty years ago on December 1, 1955, she was tired and weary from a long day of work.
At least that's how the event has been retold countless times and recorded in our history books. But, there's a misconception here that does not do justice to the woman whose act of courage began turning the wheels of the civil rights movement on that fateful day.
Rosa Parks was physically tired, but no more than you or I after a long day's work. In fact, under other circumstances, she would have probably given up her seat willingly to a child or elderly person. But this time Parks was tired of the treatment she and other African Americans received every day of their lives, what with the racism, segregation, and Jim Crow laws of the time.
"Our mistreatment was just not right, and I was tired of it," writes Parks in her recent book, Quiet Strength, (ZondervanPublishingHouse, 1994). "I kept thinking about my mother and my grandparents, and how strong they were. I knew there was a possibility of being mistreated, but an opportunity was being given to me to do what I had asked of others."
The rest of Parks' story is American history...her arrest and trial, a 381-day Montgomery bus boycott, and, finally, the Supreme Court's ruling in November 1956 that segregation on transportation is unconstitutional.
But Parks' personal history has been lost in the retelling. Prior to her arrest, Mrs. Parks had a firm and quiet strength to change things that were unjust. She served as secretary of the NAACP and later Adviser to the NAACP Youth Council, and tried to register to vote on several occasions when it was still nearly impossible to do so. She had run-ins with bus drivers and was evicted from buses. Parks recalls the humiliation: "I didn't want to pay my fare and then go around the back door, because many times, even if you did that, you might not get on the bus at all. They'd probably shut the door, drive off, and leave you standing there."

She wouldn't give up her seat on a bus and at the end of it all our world was cleaner and something we can be prouder of.

Rosa Parks

February 4, 1913 - October 24, 2005

Another giant gone.

*Singing* I believe the Children are our future UPDATE

Took a break from studying for exam on Frid. to urge those of you with children to consider buying them this fine piece of - of- oooh, words fail me, here are some excerpts from a song so appropriately called Victory:

Soon will come a great war, a bloody but holy day. And after that purging our people will be free, and sing up in the bright skies, a sun for all to see……. Times are very tough now for a proud White man to live.

The women, they’ll smile, on Victory Day. And the children, they’ll laugh and they’ll sing and they’ll play. And the forests will echo our grace, for the brand new dawn of our Race…

You are my brother and in war we proudly sing. Our Cause shall never tire. Our gift to you we bring: A holy creed of Racial purpose, A mighty Race to defend. And when we fly our holy flag Their oppressive reign shall end….

And when we finally conquer, our people will be free. And all across this great land, the bold Truth we shall see. So as we march together, to avoid catastrophe, let’s remember always our sacred Destiny….

Oh, and that other song, what was it called? Ah yes, Aryan Man Awake.

Who sings this? The Children of the Corn, apparently.

Don't forget their DVD, PRUSSIAN BLUE - Blond Hair, Blue Eyes*. I'm sure the title is perfectly innocent and am inordinately proud of my phenotype right now. I so hope the little dahlings get their periods soon so they can start fulfilling the prophecy doing their duty. Can't you tell they'll be über**-fertile already? Yey! *claps hands gleefully*

.

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* Pay close attention to a) their chosen name b)the header font and c) the little heart over the ii further down - worlds within worlds within worlds, <> A-DO-RA-BLE!!! < /strike >
** HA!

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UPDATE: Oh it gets better and better. I made up that prophecy bit up there bcs it seemed, well, fitting. YES IT WAS! And DM pointed me towards this, Hitler Smiley T-Shirt. Caption reads: We thought these T-shirts in particular were funny. By golly who wouldn't! I'm laughing so much I'm near tears.

And Motilium is a girl's best friend - UPDATED

- Feel much much better today, thank you all. The mention of crunchy nut cereal *gulp* almost destroyed me but no worries, gut mostly under control now. [And I know you meant well, dahling. Our tastes are just unfortunately very disparate seeing as mine are normal - crunchy NUT cereal?? Anglos.]

- Nausea induces red meat craving, which I otherwise never eat. EVER. But no point in depriving the poor bacteria of their iron [ferrous, of course] simply because I'm ill was there, Organic steaks wre bought. They were eaten slowly but surely.

- Today I crave the freshness of fish - sushi, if I'm up to it. If wasabi doesn't kick the out of control microbial flora's arse back into shape I'm a platypus! [UPDATED TO ADD: I am a platypus. Can't bear to think of it yet, will stick to mother's grilled sole and rice for now.]

- Watched Southpark's The Passion of the Jew yesterday. Yes, Mel*Gibson = mad as a hatter, we knew that. When I grow up I want to own my very own church synagogue too but mine will be INSIDE the house, see? Much more pious.

- A colleague of mine yesterday reinforced my conviction that you should never volunteer to help any colleague in charge of the courses' material unless you know said colleague EXCEEDINGLY well - oh the drama! Life is much more pleasant this side of the power trip.

- Another colleague of mine rang me just a while ago and announced that the Microbiology exam I should be missing as I type this (don't feel like linking, see post below) was postponed till NEXT FRIDAY. That means I may yet reduce my course load by three.

- Am still feeling surprisingly feeble and headachy. BEHOLD THE WONDERS OF TOXINS.

- Speaking of behold, BEHOLD:

SMART PALADIN 55% Combativeness, 33% Sneakiness, 58% Intellect, 61% Spirituality

Valorous! Noble! Or possibly just a self-righteous jerk (but with the brains to keep you alive!)... You are a Smart Paladin! Paladins are holy warriors. They are valorous defenders of the light. Unfortunately, most of them are so ardent in their defense they tend to meet sticky ends faster than you can say "rampaging red dragon." Many people look up to Paladins, while others just consider them stuck up, overbearing, or self-righteous. Fortunately for you, unlike most Paladins, you're pretty smart. Which means that you're more likely to fall into the "admired" category, rather than the "obnoxious" or "dead" categories. Much like the crusades, you manage to combine violence and religion, though unlike the crusades, you add a healthy does of intelligence. You may be a staunch defender of the faith, a valorous champion of the weak, or the stuff that jihads are made of. Which ever one you are, just be happy that you’ve got the smarts to back it up and make it work.

The RPG Class Test

Aren't I awe-inspiring for a self-righteous maleish androgynous twat, despite the unbecoming colours? The stuff that jihads are made of- mother will be so proud.

Shabbat shalom.

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PS - Remember this? I've bought The Bone Collector. I'm so excited! And since I'm still feeling gutty, as it were, and cannot study (tiny, swimming letters), I envision a rather lovely soiree after kabbalat shabbat reading. Yey literacy!

PPS - DM dahling, please refrain from using the words cherry + flavour together, ichsa. Remember when Beth gave me those chewable cherry-flavoured thingies and I nearly died? Cherries are gorgeous, love cherries but much like nuts they must be eaten ON THEIR OWN.

PPPS - Do you lot know abt Postsecret? I must update my links to include it but go visit, I go every so often when I'm feeling not-raw. Very, very poignant. Bit sad, rather lovely.

Note to self-boycotting vomiting self

All right, all right, I understood you the first time:

1) No writing the exam tomorrow [enter 3 extra courses for this year, I'd love to have the NEWLY EXTENDED Immunology one, yes, on top of repeating ALL Microbiology]
2) No keeping down the used-to-be-lovely-but-now-cannot-even-bear-to-think-of-it mint ice-cream [enter need for new comfort food]
3) No burying under books bcs vomit centre seems to be located along the ophtalmic nerve as well and see #2 [enter no escaping misery]

Now stop it. Don't think I don't know what you're doing. Vomiting simply makes me want to vomit some more because it is absolutely vile and YOU KNOW I can never get rid of it all. Next time arrange for the flu again please, much more bearable. Puke don't come easy.

Oy.

Please, PLEASE shoot me right on the 15. Can't wait for this bloody awful month cum year to be over.

19th of October

fell asleep at 22.something holding my Microbiology book after 7 straight hours of classes and much bureaucratic running around

woke up now, 3.15, psyche won't be fooled

contemplating life and death, mostly the latter, moving on, nothing new to see here, psyche

jaw hurts a bit, must have been grinding teeth again

makes sense because:

dreamt of him yesterday, we were on the phone and he was pretty listless and seemed to have lost his ability to understand english, hebrew and portuguese bcs i kept repeating myself in all 3 languages in the hopes of something getting through. he was listless bcs his girfriend had died you-know-when. i had just been to eilat(!) where he now worked(!) on an animal shelter(!) and we'd missed seeing each other for some reason. i told him such a shame [haval][ha] that we missed each other. he said oh well and you could see his I-don't-care shrug through the telephone. i became upset bcs after all he'd been dead and i'd been desperate and now he was alive again and in eilat and i could have seen him again and he couldn't be bothered to even pretend he cared abt any of it - i said well fuck you, just like that, and then the housekeeper rang the bell and i woke up and then i was awake and rather mad at myself for wtf way to speak to people is that even in a dream, and this was him, and then i couldn't go back to sleep and was even madder bcs telling him to go fuck himself and having appalling conversations on the phone is so much better than my being awake again and him being dead again and i not hearing his voice again

[wish i could cry properly instead of all this is a river in egypt discombobulation of sorts]

i live in fear of losing my mobile, i do. i thought i had the other day and my stomach contracted and my mouth filled w spit and I thought i was going to experience the 2nd spontaneous vomit of my life. don't know how to upload the recording. wish i did. wouldn't mind paying a fortune to nokia if only they could help me. can't bear to ask in case they say they cannot

still haven't emailed lila. (created new skype account, in case you're reading, but have forgotten what username is again.) (and i'm sorry, i really am)(you know avoidance becomes me, yes?)

it's very hard to google old posts and then link to them and ensure nothing of said post is actually read by accident - accidents will happen

(thanks Udge but the whole category is verboten for now)

am trying to decide it's ll right not to ring his family today, will email instead

i really, really, REALLY, PLEASE NO! don't want to ring his family today, can't even bear to think of the conversation we would have. and it's not like it changes anything or even helps them is it. or me

have emailed instead

his older brother is getting married, his mum told me when i called a few weeks ago. i am also terrified we will eventually lose contact, see, i had to ring them to find out. if he were alive he'd have rung me immediately to tell me

there will be a wedding. a happy occasion. he'd have loved to see it. and then many a joke abt dysfunctional families and may this break the curse could and would have been made

his older brother is bound to have children himself - that would make uzi an uncle

except it wouldn't

(...) and all we need of hell

Rule Britannia

I'm in such pissy humour it's piçi really. I am not the least eloquent today and I can imagine this post will be offensive to many but see here, the beauty of me not caring is well, NOT CARING, all I feel like doing is hysterically scream Wednesday's approaching!!! at the top of my lungs but instead I must study bacteria and ways to sterilise lab counters and Petri dishes and oy, I feel so tired, so very tired, as the village Chief in Astérix would say after having been made to fall off his shield once again.

RELATED MUSINGS
I remember once reading abt one of the Gandhi women who said something along the lines of I've often thanked God for making me not pretty for I know that all I've accomplished in life was truly through my worth.

Good one, dahling! And so… believable. I hope they had good psychiatrists in India and that you availed yourself to one. Thinking abt that sentence though, it’s rather clear you didn’t for a) it’s rubbish and b) we all know that, as we say here, “much better to be healthy, rich and pretty than sick, poor and ugly”. Not to mention that the inference that everything The Beautiful Ones accomplish is due to their looks is more than a tad offensive. Of course they have it easier but at the end of the day they need to get off their arses as well, heart-shaped as they may be.]

And there’s this, who could forget abt Piglet?

THE STORY
In the summer of 1997 I laid my hands on a copy of a book by Tom Sharpe and soon after starting to read it I prostrated myself on the floor and prayed for a long, healthy, prolific life for him, and possibly a peerage. [So many less deserving got one, yes?]. Tom Sharpe is, if you like British humour at its best, an absolutely fabulous must.

Funnily enough, that book was Ancestral Vices, a story abt a PC social researcher [they're all terrible] who goes to a quaint English village to - well, let's say that at a certain point he takes lodgings at the house of a dim-witted woman who is married to a dwarf. Only, our hero being PC, he calls him a PORG - Person Of Restricted Growth.

I remember I thought Tom Sharpe was brilliant, PORG indeed, what a naff thing that is, how terrible if the world turned into a place where people used such expressions in all seriousness.

Ha!

I was listening to the radio a while ago and found out that in England a theatre group is rehearsing Snow White And The Seven Gnomes. *Shudder* Why gnomes? Because an association officially complained against the use of the word dwarf, an association comprised of – and then I hear this in Portuguese: People of Restricted Growth and I quickly translated it into English, PORG’s. So the PORG’s got together and managed to have the play censored.

Let’s all savour this for a moment shall we: censored. CENSORED.

And here we are, Tom Sharpe, the visionary.

I'm sorry, but what the fuck? If you're short you're short, not vertically challenged. If you're fat you're fat, not panicularly-challenged. You're black, white? Guess what. You're blind? Yes, sorry abt that but at least you're not invisual, as we say here.

There are all sorts of dwarves and they are medically defined. So now on the one hand we have dwarves who decide that they are not that at all, they just suffer from a certain lack of verticality (I’ll say) and are mortified that people will refer to them as such. They are the PORG’s, which is a far more dignified and honourable way of referring to someone. On the other hand, you have dwarves who protest recent advances in genetic testing and techniques which will allow for the genes that cause dwarfism to be altered/removed. This would create a healthy embryo – but it’s disrespectful to them, see? Because very soon, say, achondroplasia may actually be removed from the genetic map and then where would those healthy children be, deprived of the right to lead a life made that much harder by prejudice, genuine physical suffering, so much loneliness in some cases?

Hullo, I am the Lioness and I used to have psoriasis, which is a pain in the ass in general, and a pain in the knee in particular, and it’s vile-looking and makes my skin hurt when it’s very cold and causes people not too infrequently to behave as though I bring the plague and has had an impact (negative at that) on every aspect of my life. But I no longer am a psoriatic! No, as of now, I shall be known as a POAK – Person Of Abnormal Keratinisation; or a PORDH – Person Of Restricted Dermo-Health; or a POSAONSCDBOBMWABMHHVMS - Person Of Such Abundance Of Neutrophils She Cannot Donate Blood Or Bone Marrow, Which Actually Breaks Her Heart Very Much So.

*Phurballs*

I am not saying that it is a bad thing to be a dwarf. I am not saying dwarves cannot lead excellent, happy, fulfilled lives (though I can tell you in all honestly I am happy I am not one). I am saying that they have it so much more difficult on all levels. I am saying that to consider it a crime that I may choose to give my child a healthier, longer, less complicated life is just bullocks and actually demeaning. I have accomplished a lot in my life but believe me, having psoriasis has not made me any more noble, on the contrary. Suffering doesn’t really do much for our good character, suffering corrupts, and those who believe it makes them better are compensating as effectively as Gandhi Girl was. I am a good person DESPITE my psoriasis, it has afforded me no end of opportunities to be mean and bitter and envious and sullen.

Cystic Fibrosis, blindness, deafness, asthma, diabetes, dwarfism, psoriasis, glycogen metabolism diseases, would I get rid of the genes behind them if given a choice? Without a second’s hesitation and amidst much grateful crying. You want to have children with genes that code for all sorts of pathologies and conditions, even though that no longer needs to be the case nowadays? It is well within your rights as a parent, much to my chagrin. Just please don’t act as if anyone behaving differently is taking part in some novel Eugenic experiment. You were born blind and lead a tremendously happy life? Good for you, and not knowing what you are missing is bound to help (but then again, we also lack the overdevelopment of the other senses, we cannot echolocate to save our lives, or ride bikes on curvy roads with our eyes closed). You were blinded as an adult? Of course your reaction will be I wish it had happened sooner, I could have grown so much more as a human being, too bad I didn’t loose a leg and an arm as well!

CONCLUSION
If you’re a dwarf, it wouldn’t cross my mind to make fun of you just bcs of it (unless I were telling a very un-PC joke, that is, fair game and all that). But if you’re one of these silly dwarves, oh dahling hold on to your knickers bcs the force of my gale laughter might just blow them away. You happen to be unforgivably dumb and well, it is my birth right to mock you mercilessly. Also, your dangerous dumbness seems to be infectious and spreading, and I am personally offended by the world you are – effectively, it would seem - trying to create. [And do tell, if you happen to be Jewish, how do you live with yourself, you PORG?]

The Waterboys sing Old England Is Dying. As far as I can tell, seems like the Modern One isn't doing so well either.

EDITOR’S NOTE
Regarding this coming Wednesday, the 19th… Uzi would have turned 29. I don’t know how I will be, don’t know if I’ll disappear or write 10 posts. If I do disappear you’ll know why. You also know I always reappear. On Wednesday you can also go round to Cat’s, who is still having excellent news, and wish her and the kitten she’s carrying a wonderful birthday. Cat is lovely, she’s started the Butterfly Report, whenever she sees one she’ll send me an email describing it.

This post took close to 4 hours to write which means I cannot now be bothered to think of a title

[EDITORIAL NOTE: Am behind in answering comments, sorry abt that, but delighted that there are so many new people! Welcome, where are you all coming from?? Also, am flabbergasted by your response to my ranting at the end of previous post. If you knew what I felt like writing you’d realise I wrote in a rather benign and neutral manner. And if you knew the whole story you’d laud my restraint, especially considering the very recent naff cat postcard accompanied by a criticising, self-serving letter masquerading as contrition and I hope this was the last of its kind – any kind really.]

CuTEnEss!!!
Yesterday Ana and I finally – FINALLY! - managed to meet. She is almost unbearably cute with her simultaneously tiny and humungous belly. Too ready to pop, Ana is. [Think kind vaginal thoughts for her please ] She brought her daughter along, much to the child’s dismay. I was obviously a stranger and did not remotely look like green grass, which was what she wanted to play with, nor did I show much of an inclination to join her on the floor where she diligently kept perfecting an already flawless breaststroke. Furthermore, I seemed to feel the need to eat, thereby influencing her mother to act likewise, instead of calmly explaining to the mother why she should be leaving with her much neglected offspring already. Ana was exactly what I thought she would be like, only free range and with a voice - most disturbing.

SAUGUT
Saugut [see sidebar and The Needy Pig] is a private joke, just between me and every German-speaking person. It means "sow good", "swine good", which in turn means "brilliant!" in German. See? I AM hilarious. [Udge - no one else speaks German, right? Lurkers? - I'm surprised you didn't remark upon it, little Saugut didn't quite catch your fancy?]

VE-VE-VOOM!
I have been lured by the charm of Veronica Mars. I started watching and thought Oh no, not another series abt teenagers and their angst-ridden wardrobes big cars Gucci bags lives [the 2 OC episodes I watched in horror *many a furball* still being very much on my mind] – and then it turned into Oh. Oh. That’s interesting! – which was then further replaced by Bloody hell why haven’t the other episodes downloaded yet, GO VERONICA!

OPEN LETTER TO CAT
Cat, wake me up again at 6 am.
No, seriously.
No, go on, WAKE ME UP AGAIN AT 6 AM if you want to co-write Misery: My Life As A Migrant Invalid.

HOW THE LIONESS GOT HER *insert as needed* KICKED
Yes.

Contact Combat indeed. Krav Maga, remeber? KM is how Jen.Lopez managed to defeat Rotten Hubby in that one movie, remember how precise and lethal are movements looked? [Here are some videoclips, I’ve never watched them but they are bound to be interesting]. I've started lessons and if my belly doesn’t soon end up looking like this there will be much grief all around. In the meantime there is pain, there is a whole array of pain and on so many different levels.

General Pain Level:
For you to fully understand this you must realise that I haven’t done any sports since I stopped riding, which must have happened around 1992. Gah. I am in horrible shape, I AM IN HORRIBLE SHAPE! I am in the worst shape you could imagine. I seem to be using my lung capacity better now that I’ve quit smoking but I have no stamina, no muscle definition, I AM AN AMORPHOUS SACK OF AMORPHOUS BLOBS CONNECTED BY AMORPHOUS BLURBS!

Did you know that before starting the ass-kicking itself one needs to warm up? I’d blocked all that from my mind and instead chose to believe I’d be urged to softly rotate my joints, careful not to displace any tiny microscopic creatures worthy of our respect that may be nesting there.

[Chorus: Look here, there will be running you know. That’s what combat sports’ warming up is all about.
Lioness: Oh rubbish! I shall not run.
Chorus: But you must. There will be running and sit ups and push ups.
Lioness: Me?? NEVER! Shows you how much you know.]

I nearly collapsed. Who runs?? I mean, WHO THE HELL RUNS?? And why would people do it willingly? It hurts! It robs you of your breath and your pride and it builds up far too much lactic acid. This was on Monday and on Tuesday I could barely move, I am not exaggerating, all of my muscles, even some I am sure I am not supposed to have, seized up. Go look up Muscle Diagram and there you'll find me. I have to be helped out of sofas and couches and walked poorly, if at all, top opf my head parallel to the ground.

Specific Pain Level
Liberally sprinkled between the two of us you can find one bad wrist [bovine origin], one bad knee [psoriatic origin, one fears], one bad ankle [Me-No-Feel-Pain-Me-No-Need-For-Medicine-Man origin]. Therefore, we are the poster couple for ankle support, hand wraps and knee support.

So, some exercises I don’t do at all (push ups, wrist will have none of it) and everything that is knee-related is on a Let’s see how this one goes basis. On Wednesday I didn’t participate in the warming up session with quite the same enthusiasm, thereby reducing the amount of pain I live in (Ana can atest to the truth of all my pain statements, having been there to watch me try to get up. Repeatedly. She was the heavily pregant one.). But then we fasted, so – oh well. There’s always something.

Pride Pain Level
On Wednesday the Instructor watched me do this and actually shook his head and sighed! I told him I would worry abt elegance at a later date but WTH?? I am the only person not achieving instant coordination and gracefulness, is that it? He’ll see, give me a few months and he will see. Anyway, I bet he can’t dance salsa AT ALL. So there. *sticks tongue out*

Now, there are only 3 females, the rest of the class is populated by penises and their attached humans. This caused the Instructor (are they also called Master in English?) to advise the new men to avail themselves to that which has been described as perhaps the quintessential homoerotic ritual robe because, just as it enshrines the symbol of the myth of masculinity, so too the straps that originate in the top elastic circumscribe the buttocks and disappear in the anus, bringing us to that place where masculinity meets its mythic undoing. And so, as suggested by the versatility of Apollo, there are two sides to the jockstrap that symbolize the homoerotic paradox: the pouch in the front as the shrine of masculinity joined to the straps in the back framing its mythic violation. Hysterical, yes?

Funnily enough, no word was said abt us, the 3 females, and do we not bleed? Do we not have boobs? Do we not need this:

I truly don’t know if we will need these. You may think I am overdoing it. Let me I assure you there’s a fairly good chance that I am not. Let’s examine why:

[Here]

Now, picture me on the right, holding a shield for the first time; A big male looking pretty much like the girl on the left (only bigger and fiercer, of course); my left eye; a blur; and a lesson in the indirect effects of testosterone on the female body.

This Krav Maga thingy may yet rearrange my anatomy in most surprising ways but I promise I’ll go kicking into the night. HA!

[Shabbat Shalom, dahlings]

Kippur

I have loads of news but will not address any of it today. Today is all abt the Day of Atonement, and atone we must. Yom Kippur starts this evening, and I am getting ready to eat now and then wither and die. Not that I've ever [died from fasting, that is] [or even withered] but every year I become convinced that this is the year that fasting will drive me absolutely batty. I've spoken abt this bfr, it's not that I am not eating, it's that I am TOLD not to. How dare...!

*furball*

So, in the spirit of the holiday, I apologise if I've offended any of you, it wasn't willingly 95% of the time. The remaining 5%... Well, see my second post, I think it was. I truly am sorry that I reserve the right to be bitchy for that means I will eventually end up offending yet another batch of souls by stating that people who [insert as appropriate] and [insert as appropriate] are bleeding gits. If this was you, well, sorry abt that and may I suggest you stop reading or we will meet again next year.

Norway, I apologise for being forced to tell you to go to hell, you and the mare you rode in on, and for not even being bothered to explain.

This is a bit of a disgrace as apologies go - I apologise for that as well.

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[If you are the bleeding git who STILL HAS NOT GOT THE MESSAGE, Yom Kippur or not here we go: I am sorry you still have not got the message. I am sorry that you were vulgar and tried to blame it on me. I am sorry that you then wrote me an excruciating piece of filth and sent it to me hoping it would hurt. I am sorry that you don't seem to understand English but I will try again: STOP BOTHERING* me and my friends. I am sorry that you refused to listen when I abundantly said some things cannot be undone regardless of how much/to how many one whines post-act. I am sorry I no longer think you're a good person for good persons do not act the way you did and that I have therefore no desire to remain your friend. Buck up. BE GONE.

*Don't leave my friends comments; don't send my friends emails; don't leave me comments; don't leave me anonymous comments; don't leave my boyfriend anonymous comments; don't send me emails; don't send me postcards; don't send me letters. ]

I cannot believe this shit; I do not wish to believe this shit; but apparently I must - UPDATED

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

I know it's a new year and I should be having wispy, curled-up-by-the-fire thoughts lalala but IT'S STILL OCTOBER isn't it and what good could come out of it - therefore, this shall be A Post Where Words Such As Sod Off, Bloody Wankers And For Fuck's Sake Are Used And Yet I Do Not feel All That Much Better.

I am fit to burst many a blood vessel, I absolutely cannot believe this [found it through Sandmonkey, in Cairo]:

Dudley Metropolitan Borough Council (Tory-controlled) has now announced that, following a complaint by a Muslim employee, all work pictures and knick-knacks of novelty pigs and "pig-related items" will be banned. Among the verboten items is one employee's box of tissues, because it features a representation of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet.

The Brits, my God, the Brits I love so much are beginning to sound like radical American christians! Soon there'll be a movie abt this and they'll call it Chopped! - oh wait, no, they're beginning to sound like extremist Muslims, when did THAT become an acceptable role model? And people tell me I'm too extreme in my extreme and ever-growing distrust and fear of Political Correctness? Listen to me: the world IS coming to an end, the world as we know it, and if you still take your civil liberties very much for granted you are either extremely naïve, extremely in denial or extremely dense. I, for one, am extremely scared.

This is Piglet, PIGLET, the gentle one, remember? The one that teaches us that it is all right to be different and not so brave, sometimes afraid, always shy and self-conscious but also unexpectedly valorous and always good and loyal. It’s Piglet for fuck’s sake, little Piglet!

.

.

A Muslim woman is offended by Piglet? I’m offended by her, sod her and the mare she rode in on, why is Britain licking the collective Muslim arse and allowing the sub-enlightened to rule? Will the demented and brain-washed part of the world’s Muslim population be more considerate towards [the infidels, burn maim kill them all] the rest of the planet now simply because Britain has decided to position itself on all fours on the world’s carpet and holler I’m all ready for some heavy-duty impregnation now, please fuck me till my gut spills out of my ears, please sir can I have some more sir?

.

.

Go be subversive, immoral, disrespectful and inhuman now and read Winnie The Pooh and The Te of Piglet. Read To Kill A Mockingbird and Catcher in the Rye. Oh, throw in Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn and the likes of it while you still can. Top it off by re-reading Animal Farm and force a chuckle over the Pigs being more equal than all other animals – the pigs, HAHAHA, get it?

This is horrendous.

Speak out for Piglet. We are all pink and timid and easy to slay.

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UPDATE: read what Nadz has to say abt it. [I have FINALLY discovered Arab bloggers!] She also pointed me towards this, another fine piece of mental health. Oh, and him, him looks good as well. It's abt time I helped put the normal back in Muslim, my intuition and common sense indeed speaking louder than my prejudices.

RE-UPDATE: I've just realised, reading Dany, that I did find out abt this on the 2nd. I even commented on the post - and yet remember none of it, NONE. Am seriously worried abt my mental health now and contemplating the need for a cat scan. But go here for a good example of bias of the most surprising sort.

Enjoy this:

adopt your own virtual pet!

Our heads we hang in shame

I know you want me to speak of my almost-bum injuries but I’m afraid I won’t just yet. I’ll talk abt something far more serious. October, October, it’s that sort of month, and we’ve only just begun.

Literally, we’ve only just begun – it’s the first day of Rosh Hashanah, our New Year [you can hear the Shofar here], full of possibilities and responsibilities. Judaism is nothing if not thorough and joy should be accompanied by introspection and evaluation. Nakedness. And this is October, that sort of month, the month that will increase my heartache so much I feel nauseated simply writing this, and I still haven’t emailed or rang Lila, and it’s coming, it IS coming and no amount of calling Israel beforehand will help me, whatamIgoingtodowhatamIgoingtodo, so, as much as I am trying to rejoice and feel hope, and as much as I've had a fabulous first day at the university, as much as I feel this year will be academically easier, I feel serious and sad and soul-heavy and buoyant in that very frightening way (the tiniest slip and you’re gone, you’ll float away and be gone forever).

I have spoken before of the resolute way we have inflicted our magnificence upon others, yes? [Oh it’s not all horrid, you must see their smiles. You will love it, I promise – as a bonus you will be able to see a truly raw post HTML-wise, I knew not what I was doing then. I have come a long way.]

So.

Let’s start with this, maybe:

Gorgeous, I know. It’s in Cape Verde, one of our former colonies. I’ve never been there but I want to visit. Capeverdeans are famous for their beauty, you may even be enjoying her music right now, the archipelago is famous for its beaches, and these gates?

Ahhh, through these gates you enter its famous concentration camp:

Sand macht frei, it would seem, and our political prisoners were in dire need of liberty, as established by our dictatorship and enforced by our secret police. This camp had an added bonus, The Frying Pan, so called because it did exactly that, see, it fried the men it held within its walls. Our government honoured them today.

You can see its entrance in the picture below.

One of the prisoners (the white man; the black men were also prisoners there but during the colonial war) describes it thus:

It was a concrete cell, a cube with an iron door, a little slit above, a concrete ceiling and no roof. It was an oven in this tropical climate.. It was suffocating… there were days when the temperature approached 45º/113º… We sweated all day long and had to be naked… At night it all condensed and fell on us like a shower…

He survived The Frying Pan for 70 days, setting an absolute record. He was encarecrated when he was 18 and spent 16 years in prison. His father was there with him. His mother, his father's wife? I don't know. How do you survive something like that? How do we survive, full stop? And I am abruptly left without anything else to add so I'll just say, without the slightest trace of irony or cynicism

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE

May this be an easy year to all of us, with nothing but gentle night ponies and fragrant flowers.

[Pics 1+2 from a blogspot Blogger, boneca*de*papel without the asterisks; the others taken from the net]