from a place of wrath and tears
or thin air for that matter is a hobby of mine, dearest digiblips. So really, I'm not offended by the silence when silence is what I not only expect but partly also hope for.
In real life however I'm not so keen on silence, especially when silence is what I expect nor hope for. Also not so keen on people who support you all the way except for that last step. No stomach for that "yes yes go kill that dragon we're right behind you, really!" sort of situation, not when you're the finding all those supporters lacking when the dragon puts its beady eye on you. But, as a writer of unpublished shit, I'll give it a bit of spin and pretend it's a learning experience. And it is true, in yesterday's meeting of the fencing club direction I've learned quite a bit about group dynamics, about the courage of men, of how things are discussed and decided before and after the meeting but not during (what kind of crazy expectations is this silly blonde having anyways?), of how easy history is rewritten and how easy it is to get from SNAFU to FUBAR.
So, FUBAR got all over yesterday's non-review and it won't be for today either. We'll see. I must now take time and pour energy into separating those mountains that I can move, and those mountains I'll only ever be pretending to be moving. Because after yesterday's meeting it was clear that all the time and effort I've put into the club the last couple of months comes down to me desperately trying to fill my empty life and that honestly not where I thought I was. Stupid enchanted forests.
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What difference this day makes?
Well, this:
What you see here is the end result of a hard day's work and half a pumpkin, 5kg grapes and 3kg blackberries: Pumpkin Chutney (very fragrant and spicy stuff), Grape Jam with Rosemary (excellent with lamb), Grape Jelly with pineapple and pecans (smoked chicken here I come!), and Spicy Blackberry Jam (spicy with a drop of Strohrum, should be excellent for patés, and meatloaf and homemade Christmas pudding).
With the jam and jelly genius I am, it's hardly any wonder I just don't seem able to shake those kicking the nicotine habit pounds. Ach well, such is life.
Tomorrow I'll finish off the other half of the pumpkin, and then next week I'll work through more grapes and blackberries.
Jitterbugs
There's still some fallout drifting past from someone's misinterpreted brainfart, like snow or dandruff. Little things bug me in what people say in their fierce condemnation of said brainfart, because while most comments or open letters about said brainfart are quite thoughtful, some of those thoughtful people proceed to run into the same fail. Not race fail. Not religion fail. Word fail. Thought fail. In a discussion about morals and ethics, I consider that pretty bad shit, digiblips.
This afternoon, a bug bit me when Shaun Duke/SMD over at his blog, World In a Satin Bag, added some more beating of the dead horse by beating someone else beating a dead horse. But then I figured, hey, enough dead horses already, and who's going to eat all that?
Yet I couldn't refrain from skimming the reactions, where another huge bug but me while I read Dave Baxter's comment:
I still disagree with you, SMD, that Moon displayed politics worthy of a boycott (though they were faulty, I still fail to perceive the majority of stances you claimed she'd supported with that controversial post), but yeah, this guy's "If you boycott, then we'll boycott you" is the beginning of a Middle East style never-ending sense of victimization on all sides.
"Middle East style never-ending sense of victimization on all sides"? Does the Middle East have sole right, or enough right to make it a style, to "never-ending sense of victimization on all sides"? Why could he not have made that statement without adding "Middle East style"? Or supplant it with, oh, myriad of choices here.... Belgian style (Flemish-Walloon)? Irish style (Protestant-Catholic)? Eastern Europe style (Balkans, anyone?). Central African (ehm, go ahead, close your eyes and put your finger on a map of the area; I'm sure there's a story that makes it a perfect fit)... How about Cold War style?
Considering the context I think "Middle East style" is a really really really bad choice of words to voice your thoughts. And fuzzy: what Middle East we talking about? Israel/Palestine? Bahrain? Egypt? Iraq?
Then, closer to home: in the cached and saved and widely spread around comment section of Elizabeth Moon's post, a bug bit me in the ass when I read Rhipowered's comment:
The line-up confuses me. What do France, Belgium and Switzerland have in common, and, by omission, have not in common with the Netherlands, Germany, Spain, UK...?
Seeing how later on France's burqa ban is mentioned, I'm left to assume it's about veils and burqas. But even then I don't see the logic of the line-up. The discussion on a burqa ban has been raging in the Netherlands since late 2005. As far as I can see, the Swiss are also "just talking" about the issue. What about Denmark? They have partial bans in place...
True, the Belgian law concerning face-obscuring wear, still in the making I think due to the whole having no real government and overall there being more of a political jihad between Flemish and Walloon for over quite some months now, has in the media always been called the burqa law (and boy do I love the media!). I trust the senate to make sure there's no slanted letter or word in the law's make-up that could make it even in the most LSD infected interpretation a law against burqas.
The law is in fact the federalisation of what local law has been saying from olden times: your face must be recognisable in public. This ties in into Belgium's concept of privacy and public security, which might be difficult to understand in a country that goes apeshit each time something along the lines of an ID card is mentioned. See, in Belgium, the street is considered a public arena. As a citizen I have rights and plights in that arena. One of the plights is: I have to have my ID on me at all times. This is the means by which I can prove to the cops that I have rights as a citizen. I do not have the right to be drunk in public. I do not have the right to run around naked in public. Not sure about fornication in public, but in any case, the rule of thumb is: don't do things in public you don't want your mommy to find out, right? If your neighbour sees you humping someone who is not your wife in public, you cannot sue him for invasion of privacy, all right? I do not have the right to ask a fellow citizen for his ID, that's privacy at work, and if you catch me standing on a box to try to peek in through your window to see what you doing with that woman who is not your wife, you can sue me for invasion of privacy even if I'm standing in the street. However, I do have the right to be able to identify any and all people hanging around in the public arena. That is my security against burglars, rapists, and all sorts of people that hide their face in order to do wrong.
Sadly this upsets a handful of people that have no evil in mind. Some are burqa-wearing Muslimas (I've seen estimations of 30 to 100, this on 10 million Belgians), who will probably be confined to the house if and when the law becomes active. It will probably upset a biker or two who in his haste to buy cigarettes or sumfin' might catch a cop in a bad mood. That is the price they will pay to keep our public arena safe and equal. They might be asked for ID. They might be asked to explain themselves or get a fine. Just like drunks might. Or not. And yes, the public has to keep a really close eye on the workings of the federal police, because yes, there are sadly far too many incidents that smack of racism.
So, all this considered, I'd like to invite rhipowered to do his own homework: I'm sure in the UK that all people are equal, are treated equal, that classes are in more than just name a thing of the past, and everybody lives the happy and carefree life of equal citizens: not afraid from fellow citizens and not afraid from government or its servants.
And then I'll raise you a veil-wearing MP. Where's yours?
This afternoon, a bug bit me when Shaun Duke/SMD over at his blog, World In a Satin Bag, added some more beating of the dead horse by beating someone else beating a dead horse. But then I figured, hey, enough dead horses already, and who's going to eat all that?
Yet I couldn't refrain from skimming the reactions, where another huge bug but me while I read Dave Baxter's comment:
I still disagree with you, SMD, that Moon displayed politics worthy of a boycott (though they were faulty, I still fail to perceive the majority of stances you claimed she'd supported with that controversial post), but yeah, this guy's "If you boycott, then we'll boycott you" is the beginning of a Middle East style never-ending sense of victimization on all sides.
"Middle East style never-ending sense of victimization on all sides"? Does the Middle East have sole right, or enough right to make it a style, to "never-ending sense of victimization on all sides"? Why could he not have made that statement without adding "Middle East style"? Or supplant it with, oh, myriad of choices here.... Belgian style (Flemish-Walloon)? Irish style (Protestant-Catholic)? Eastern Europe style (Balkans, anyone?). Central African (ehm, go ahead, close your eyes and put your finger on a map of the area; I'm sure there's a story that makes it a perfect fit)... How about Cold War style?
Considering the context I think "Middle East style" is a really really really bad choice of words to voice your thoughts. And fuzzy: what Middle East we talking about? Israel/Palestine? Bahrain? Egypt? Iraq?
Then, closer to home: in the cached and saved and widely spread around comment section of Elizabeth Moon's post, a bug bit me in the ass when I read Rhipowered's comment:
The line-up confuses me. What do France, Belgium and Switzerland have in common, and, by omission, have not in common with the Netherlands, Germany, Spain, UK...?
Seeing how later on France's burqa ban is mentioned, I'm left to assume it's about veils and burqas. But even then I don't see the logic of the line-up. The discussion on a burqa ban has been raging in the Netherlands since late 2005. As far as I can see, the Swiss are also "just talking" about the issue. What about Denmark? They have partial bans in place...
True, the Belgian law concerning face-obscuring wear, still in the making I think due to the whole having no real government and overall there being more of a political jihad between Flemish and Walloon for over quite some months now, has in the media always been called the burqa law (and boy do I love the media!). I trust the senate to make sure there's no slanted letter or word in the law's make-up that could make it even in the most LSD infected interpretation a law against burqas.
The law is in fact the federalisation of what local law has been saying from olden times: your face must be recognisable in public. This ties in into Belgium's concept of privacy and public security, which might be difficult to understand in a country that goes apeshit each time something along the lines of an ID card is mentioned. See, in Belgium, the street is considered a public arena. As a citizen I have rights and plights in that arena. One of the plights is: I have to have my ID on me at all times. This is the means by which I can prove to the cops that I have rights as a citizen. I do not have the right to be drunk in public. I do not have the right to run around naked in public. Not sure about fornication in public, but in any case, the rule of thumb is: don't do things in public you don't want your mommy to find out, right? If your neighbour sees you humping someone who is not your wife in public, you cannot sue him for invasion of privacy, all right? I do not have the right to ask a fellow citizen for his ID, that's privacy at work, and if you catch me standing on a box to try to peek in through your window to see what you doing with that woman who is not your wife, you can sue me for invasion of privacy even if I'm standing in the street. However, I do have the right to be able to identify any and all people hanging around in the public arena. That is my security against burglars, rapists, and all sorts of people that hide their face in order to do wrong.
Sadly this upsets a handful of people that have no evil in mind. Some are burqa-wearing Muslimas (I've seen estimations of 30 to 100, this on 10 million Belgians), who will probably be confined to the house if and when the law becomes active. It will probably upset a biker or two who in his haste to buy cigarettes or sumfin' might catch a cop in a bad mood. That is the price they will pay to keep our public arena safe and equal. They might be asked for ID. They might be asked to explain themselves or get a fine. Just like drunks might. Or not. And yes, the public has to keep a really close eye on the workings of the federal police, because yes, there are sadly far too many incidents that smack of racism.
So, all this considered, I'd like to invite rhipowered to do his own homework: I'm sure in the UK that all people are equal, are treated equal, that classes are in more than just name a thing of the past, and everybody lives the happy and carefree life of equal citizens: not afraid from fellow citizens and not afraid from government or its servants.
And then I'll raise you a veil-wearing MP. Where's yours?
Bloodsuckers
There's nothing so annoying as having to wait for sun- and hubby-up so you can organize the hunt on what surely must be the last of the summer mosquitoes.
Last of the Summer Wine
Good news: I'm not a drunk!
Turns out I mistook the beginning of a sinusitis for a hangover. Haha, ain't that funny.
See I'm laughing, so I'm neither as depressed as I thought I was.
Anyways, I figured I'd tackle this sinusitis thing before it swamps my head with all kinds of snot by being productive. First I went and plucked the last of the blackberries. It's not much, but they're real ripe and juicy.
And then you can go here for a non-review on Midwinter.
I considered being so productive as to post a thoughtful comment over at Mark Newton's Forgotten Tomes post, because, you see, I am terrible with books. I think it has to do with the way my brain makes stories. Finishing a book is to my brain as much catharsis as a nice dream with a solid ending. And then *poof* the story goes. When the stories are good, stuff sticks around. A name or two. A really good scene. Atmosphere. But nothing solid enough to be able to give someone a recap of what the book was about.
But since I've now written all I really need to say on the subject, why should I bother, dear digiblips? Reread the previous paragraph if you're addicted to my usual logorrheic self. Me, I've got a kitchen to clean, preserve pots to get up out of the cellar, some more fencing club stuff to sort out, and a ton of grapes to process. No really, I think I've still got 2 more tubs on the vines, but these will keep me busy all evening as it is:
Turns out I mistook the beginning of a sinusitis for a hangover. Haha, ain't that funny.
See I'm laughing, so I'm neither as depressed as I thought I was.
Anyways, I figured I'd tackle this sinusitis thing before it swamps my head with all kinds of snot by being productive. First I went and plucked the last of the blackberries. It's not much, but they're real ripe and juicy.
And then you can go here for a non-review on Midwinter.
I considered being so productive as to post a thoughtful comment over at Mark Newton's Forgotten Tomes post, because, you see, I am terrible with books. I think it has to do with the way my brain makes stories. Finishing a book is to my brain as much catharsis as a nice dream with a solid ending. And then *poof* the story goes. When the stories are good, stuff sticks around. A name or two. A really good scene. Atmosphere. But nothing solid enough to be able to give someone a recap of what the book was about.
But since I've now written all I really need to say on the subject, why should I bother, dear digiblips? Reread the previous paragraph if you're addicted to my usual logorrheic self. Me, I've got a kitchen to clean, preserve pots to get up out of the cellar, some more fencing club stuff to sort out, and a ton of grapes to process. No really, I think I've still got 2 more tubs on the vines, but these will keep me busy all evening as it is:
Pickled brains
Sort of sucks, since I don't remember drinking that much.
That's bad, innit?
This means I'm going to postpone my non-review till tomorrow. I guess by then I'll have figured out which title to tackle.
Snipping off all of my beautiful grapes that won't be ripening much more in the weakening sun: also for tomorrow. We're talking a whole lot of grapes. And since they'll probably be somewhat sour with all the crap weather of August, it'll mean the official start of preserve season. Together with the giant blackberries from the freezer, and the pumpkins people tend to send my way. Need to clean kitchen first. And lots of pots. And the oven.
Also, I postponed reading Kiernan's Red Tree because a story about a depressed writer all alone in the sticks is not quite working for the current headspace. I'll get back to it when I feel more solid about being depressed. Or solid about being less depressed. Or shtuff, or sumfing.
Some good news during the weekend: the dishwasher was just acting up and not really broken.
I think. Could be my magic touch, though. See, sometimes I just touch broken tech and it works. It runs in the family. But since it's not a constant power, it can be quite infuriating. And, by touching things one doesn't learn as much as actually taking tech apart and putting it together again. Although, I could tell you some funny stories about that too...
The frizzled main computer has been replaced, because you know, I used all my touch&fix mojo on the dishwasher and the old motherboard I'd laying around for emergencies sort of died over the years. Or it's a power problem, and since it would be the third power supply to frizzle I'm quite right to consider the whole box jinxed. All I still need to do is salvage ram and whatever else is still useful for this computer. That's on hold though until my mojo's been replenished.
The prefab from Packard Bell wasn't even as expensive as I thought. It comes with Windows 7, hence I was all set for the required wrestling match with Bill Gates' spawn to get it all configured to *my* preferences. Even that turned out a breeze. Just the regular "I'm not talking to my older brothers" attitude that, let's be honest, anybody dealing with microsoft is well used to. Somewhere this week, when the pickled brain is over and other stuff that needs doing is done, I'll start the the maddening quest for a working peer-network.
Read through the Tiger of Opal draft. I'm a genius. Some spots still need polish, and the end needs some more work, I think. Wondering if some of the cryptic shit isn't too cryptic. Needs beta-reading.
Was also going to say something about devious digital blips, but I forgot what exactly. Sun hurts eyes. Need to soak brain in mixture of hot water and scented salts now.
That's bad, innit?
This means I'm going to postpone my non-review till tomorrow. I guess by then I'll have figured out which title to tackle.
Snipping off all of my beautiful grapes that won't be ripening much more in the weakening sun: also for tomorrow. We're talking a whole lot of grapes. And since they'll probably be somewhat sour with all the crap weather of August, it'll mean the official start of preserve season. Together with the giant blackberries from the freezer, and the pumpkins people tend to send my way. Need to clean kitchen first. And lots of pots. And the oven.
Also, I postponed reading Kiernan's Red Tree because a story about a depressed writer all alone in the sticks is not quite working for the current headspace. I'll get back to it when I feel more solid about being depressed. Or solid about being less depressed. Or shtuff, or sumfing.
Some good news during the weekend: the dishwasher was just acting up and not really broken.
I think. Could be my magic touch, though. See, sometimes I just touch broken tech and it works. It runs in the family. But since it's not a constant power, it can be quite infuriating. And, by touching things one doesn't learn as much as actually taking tech apart and putting it together again. Although, I could tell you some funny stories about that too...
The frizzled main computer has been replaced, because you know, I used all my touch&fix mojo on the dishwasher and the old motherboard I'd laying around for emergencies sort of died over the years. Or it's a power problem, and since it would be the third power supply to frizzle I'm quite right to consider the whole box jinxed. All I still need to do is salvage ram and whatever else is still useful for this computer. That's on hold though until my mojo's been replenished.
The prefab from Packard Bell wasn't even as expensive as I thought. It comes with Windows 7, hence I was all set for the required wrestling match with Bill Gates' spawn to get it all configured to *my* preferences. Even that turned out a breeze. Just the regular "I'm not talking to my older brothers" attitude that, let's be honest, anybody dealing with microsoft is well used to. Somewhere this week, when the pickled brain is over and other stuff that needs doing is done, I'll start the the maddening quest for a working peer-network.
Read through the Tiger of Opal draft. I'm a genius. Some spots still need polish, and the end needs some more work, I think. Wondering if some of the cryptic shit isn't too cryptic. Needs beta-reading.
Was also going to say something about devious digital blips, but I forgot what exactly. Sun hurts eyes. Need to soak brain in mixture of hot water and scented salts now.
