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Saturday, February 28, 2009
Facebook, fascism, fools
I like Facebook. I like the social networking thing: the way your friends' status updates pop up so you can see who's got a new dog or garden or book release. I like that my Twitter auto-updates my Facebook status, and that my profile says who I'm married to, with a link to his profile.
I like organising my book list on a virtual bookshelf application, with ratings and reviews for all the books I've read, plus links to buy them, link to other people who've read them, links to discussions about them...
I like the groups and causes you can join or become a fan of. Currently I'm a fan or member of the Smart Bitches, Samhain Publishing, Dear Author, Greenbelt Festival, the League Against Cruel Sports, Neal's Yard Remedies, Republic UK, and, um, The Hungry Caterpillar (love The Hungry Caterpillar!).
On the other hand, I am very much not a fan or member of the ridiculously named group (and please, note the quote marks here): "I Was Born In The Uk. So Why The Fuck Do I Have Less Rights Then [sic] Immigrants".
Great. You have the whole internet as your playground. You can play games and chat to friends and listen to podcasts and join in discussions and read reviews and compile fun lists of books on a virtual bookshelf. So what do you do? You start a xenophobic group based on a prejudice so OMGWTF stupid it makes me want to bang my head on a wall (seriously, Abstract works in social housing - immigrants do not get more rights than people born in the UK).
And you fail to spell "than". I'm not sure you deserve the rights you have got.
Admittedly, one of the anti-fascism groups I have joined misspelled "fascism" in its title. Which isn't impressive. But all the same, "fascism"? Much more difficult to spell than "than".
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| Saturday, February 14, 2009
Facials, critique partners and nudity.
We had friends over for lunch today - one of Abstract's ex-colleagues with his wife and two sons. I cooked corn-fed 'Freedom Foods' roast chicken, drunken potatoes, roast parsnips, broccoli, carrots and garlic, real gravy, real bread sauce; followed by heart-shaped (well, it is Valentine's Day) apple and butterscotch puff-pastry tarts. Accompanied by morello cherry and ginger-and-lemongrass drinks.
Then we went for a walk in the freezing cold, and came home to hot drinks and radiators.
I've just been getting on with a bit of Samhain-admin work (down to twenty-seven things to proof queuing up in my inbox). Now I'm slightly sleepy and think it's time to catch up with the blog.
So, what have I learned this week?
1. Facials are good.
I had one yesterday. The last facial I had was three or four years ago - we sent Abstract's mother to a spa for a treatment day and I had a mini-facial to try it out before entrusting her to them. But with being ill last week 1) my skin was not looking its best and 2) I really, really wanted to do something that was just pure luxury. So I booked an hour's deep-cleansing re-balancing facial, and it was heaven.
I was very nicely relaxed while it was being done, but I really noticed what an effect it had had when I was having a coffee in a supermarket cafe later and realised how incredibly tension-free I felt. I didn't even get hungry till late afternoon - it was as if my body had slowed down to a whole different pace. And unbelievably, I carried on feeling relaxed through grocery shopping, picking up Sparkler from school, picking up a prescription for Abstract, picking up Gloworm from school, doing laundry, clearing up the kitchen, doing some admin, picking up Abstract from the station, dealing with dinner and bedtime and going to bed myself. Yes, I know.
I then slept really, really well, and woke up earlier than usual on a Saturday feeling bright and cheerful.
I tell you, this is something I'm going to have more often!
2. Critique partners are wonderful.
Whenever I finish a story I've spent so long immersed in it that I can hardly tell whether it's even worth keeping. Which is pretty discouraging, because if it's not worth keeping that's rather a lot of wasted effort. Fortunately, that's when I send it off to MG Braden and Dayna Hart. Who, despite having seven children between them, and lives and houses and their own careers and lots of stuff that's not Immi's Writing, always get back to me and let me know what's wrong and what's right. And they help me with titles, too, for which I am very grateful.
3. The Sun has extremely predictable a) headlines and b) readers.
I knew this already, actually (intellectual snob? yes I am), but I realised it afresh this week when they used a photo of the Model Auntie in a mini-article in Wednesday's edition. The Model Auntie is (as you may have guessed) a model. Amongst other things she models for naturist documentaries and holiday brochures. Naturists are, I feel, very impressive in their determination to be naturists. As The Sun, bless it, has noticed...
Oh, the Model Auntie is the tall blonde, by the way. I look very little like her. Which is okay - I don't much like having photos taken of me, and if I looked like her people would be less willing to take no for an answer.
There's a comments section attached to the article. I would like to point out that, out of the fourteen comments relating to the Model Auntie's photo (it shares space with another article about health and safety, so some of the comments relate solely to that), ten have spelling or punctuation or capitalisation errors or gratuitous use of exclamation marks or CAPITALS???!!!##
My favourite is BIMBO'S THAT WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET NOTICED!!! followed closely by some women don't just have dignity and pride.
Bimbos? Pff. The model photoed with my sister has a degree, my sister has a degree-equivalent at The Academy of Live and Recorded Arts, and they both - I am pretty damn sure- know not to spell bimbos with an apostrophe.
Although I suspect the latter comment means "some women just don't have dignity and pride" (because nudity at a naturist gathering is, ooh, so degraded), the way the words are arranged means it's actually conveying something along the lines of: "Some women don't just have dignity and pride but also have beauty, stamina, a remarkable resistance to the cold, and nice bottoms." Really, who can tell?
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| Wednesday, February 11, 2009
What is wrong with the Speaking Clock?
I don't know if there's something similar in America, but in the UK we have something called the Speaking Clock. You dial 123 and a nice voice tells you the exact time.
Way back when I was little, it was a man's voice, then later it became a woman's voice, and the "On the third stroke the time will be ten thirty-nine and ten seconds. Ding. Ding. Ding" became "On the third stroke the time sponsored by Accurist will be...".
Some months ago I phoned the Speaking Clock and was extremely surprised to hear a very high, excited, American-accented voice saying (and words cannot express the insane cheerfulness of this voice), "Hi! This is Tinkerbell! On the third bell the time will be...", followed by a very loud and discordant chiming noise.
It was actually a little sinister. I had a worrying image of a sharp-fanged Tinkerbell slaughtering the nice lady of previous calls and taking over the telephone lines. Possibly future callers of 123 would get insulted - "you silly ass!" - or maybe (worse) hear a strangely compelling voice telling them to kill the Wendy-bird.
I was also surprised for several reasons - beyond the obvious of why on earth was Tinkerbell doing the Speaking Clock (can she even tell the time? wouldn't she be more likely to, out of spite and mischief, tell callers the wrong time?).
First, why an American accent? In Britain, for a character created in Britain by a British author?
Second - and this is what my daughters pointed out - Tinkerbell doesn't speak, in any accent. So, you know, a job answering phones isn't exactly what you'd expect for her.
Well, it's not like I phone the Speaking Clock every day - I tend to do it periodically to make sure our clocks are agreeing with the world outside. So, on those few occasions when I needed to, I bore with Tinkerbell and her over-enthusiastic announcements.
Until today. Today I dialled 123 and met a (I assume) celebrity (I don't know which one), telling me that the exact time would be demonstrated by the third repetition of... Not a friendly dinging noise. Not a bell wielded by a psychotic fairy. A raspberry.
I had called a number - a number which will appear on my phone bill - in order to have a random celebrity blow raspberries at me. I do not feel entirely grateful.
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| Friday, February 06, 2009
Snow: proof in pictures
Out of the front window, soon after I took Gloworm to school:
And out of the back window:
Late morning, after I'd picked Gloworm up, we get a traditional visitor in the garden:
And then some non-traditional visitors:
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| Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Tenderised?
Last night, I had an early shower and got into my jamas and warm fleecy dressing-gown. Gloworm came to sit on my knee.
Gloworm: You feel softer than usual. Maybe your illness has tenderised you.
Hm.
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| Monday, February 02, 2009
Oh look, we have snow!
I just checked my Twitter feed for the first time today, and everyone in England (including Stephen Fry) is leaving snow-related messages. Oh the happiness!
Gloworm built a mini snowman on top of one of the wheelie bins this morning, and when I came home from the school run enough further snow had fallen that I was able to enlarge it. And he's still there, sitting on the blue recycling bin, with a stick for a nose, watching the snow that's still sporadically coming down from a clearing pale blue sky.
As you'll know if you read my grumpy Tweets/ Facebook status updates over the weekend, I spent most of it in bed with a horrible cold. Most of the horribleness was that I was so achey. I'm still taking painkillers for backache today, and I'm using up ridiculous amounts of tissues. Yuck.
My whole stuffed-up-ness and therefore inability to breathe properly led me to have a weirdly disturbed night, with those very busy frantic dreams where you're having to organise something very important and you can't quite manage it.
In my dreams I was extremely busy organising clans of vampires into folders in My Documents. I'd decided that would be the best thing for them, and had explained it so they were willing to go along with it (no small feat when it comes to uber-powerful vampire clans, I can tell you), and then when it came to putting them in their folders I realised I didn't actually know how to. Surprisingly, you can't double-click on vampires.
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Scented Danger
a Red Riding Hood Anthology story
from Drollerie Press
Within the Darkness
Blood of the Volcano
Shadow-Weaver
A Cloak of Feathers
Linked
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