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 |   A place where everybody can feel easily offended - my head! |
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I'm gathering quite a collection of blogs. "Invalid Item"  is a bit-of-a-rant. I've got a big gob, and it would be a shame not to use it. "Invalid Item" is just that. It's the product of the bits of me mentioned above  filtered through my subconscious."Invalid Item" dealing with all things to do with battling sexes, especially exes.Want to know something trivial or obscure? Not really bothered about whether it's right or wrong, as long as it's believable? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** WELCOME TO THE HUMAN GOOGLE!  I may never have mastered the art of tying shoelaces, but I win every time I play Trivial Persuit. Friends place bets on how many people I can, unintentionally, upset on a night out. I am the place where boundless enthusiasm meets embarrassing arrogance. Important Information - Please Read I realise some folk do not get Satire. I love a little baffoonery and believe, rather like the jesters of old, you can say quite a lot more than kings when people think you are an idiot. If you are literal minded, best not read on. If you can tell your arse from your elbow, and recognise when an attack isn't an attack then please read:
Heck, even if you can't tell your appendages from one another, read it anyway: who am I to tell you what you can do and what to take from my writing?  The XGC rating is due to the unknown content of many minds - it may be fluffy bunnies or....not! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED Welcome to my world! Acme  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** http://twitter.com/acmetweet Skype me at acmetoo template thing-a-ma-bob: {c:green}Write{/c}: {c:green}Edit{/c}: {c:green}Kids{/c}: {c:green}Relationships{/c}: {c:green}Physical{/c}: {c:green}FFF{/c}: |
Most of you who regularly read my blog... or my bio block, know that whilst I'm an absolute terror at taking the micky, I value manners above all else. Why? Well, since I started reviewing is one answer  I know it's a bone of contention, but really, how hard is it for some folk to grit their teeth and thank someone for a review? So what if a reviewee doesn't like what a reviewer has to say? A person can still thankful for time taken, even if they don't agree. That's the beauty of reviews; an author doesn't have to do a darn thing about them (except say thanks ) A friend of mine recently did a review just shy of 30k characters, and didn't get a kiss-my-arse, or nothing from the reviewee. I've felt like a dirty review whore before (some previous entry or other) when I've donated an auction package to support the community here, only to have finger silence back. I'm tempted to write a review along the lines of: "Nice. 3  s" But where would that get me? If people don't stop by to thank a reviewer, how does the reviewer know if the writer is getting what they want? Can't people like that see how they're knocking the confidence of a reviewers abilities, time and dedication to reviewing? It puts me off reviewing for myself, I can tell you, which is why I have a whole heap of fun doing the kind of reviews I want to do for one of my bessie mates on here. Reviewing in her port raid forum somehow makes it her responsibility to receive, or not to receive, thanks for my reviews. I'm still supporting my community, still reviewing with integrity, but I don't have the worry of investing myself in the hope of good manners ('cause let's face it, for some folk, that hope would turn to smoke). 'Thank you' is two words. Not too little, not too much. Just the right amount to encourage a person to carry on carrying on. It's one of the reasons I like contest judging; you're only doing what your position there says you're doing. In other words, if a person posts an entry, they are prepared to be judged -- against themselves and their peers. All the site items about reviewing agree on two things: write your review your way -- any feedback is better than none at all, and DO IT IN A POLITE AND CONSTRUCTIVE MANNER. So, it beats me when some author's think that responding to reviews don't have to follow the same train of thought. Play nice out there. There are people on the end of reviews, AND there are people behind the reviews. *has usual monthly rant and feels sated . . . until the next time  * |
"Ah, yes. I'd like one ticket to see the show with the nuddy girls with the tap-dancing camel, please." "Sorry, No Explicit Admission." "Right-oh! One ticket for the test match, then." I still don't know why Katwoman's entry bears that title. I'm not deep enough. I loved reading her entry in FtL, though. I share a lot of her sentiments about regret. I dropped out of uni too, for much the same reason... no, hang on, that's not true; my fear wasn't based around dorm activity (I chose a local U), mine was about the possibility of ending up with a degree. I might have got it, but I wouldn't have deserved it, and would have felt bloody rotten to my student peers who did know why they were there and what the wanted to do with their lives  The floaty musings of why I'm here and what I'm doing, if I succeed or fail, haven't bothered me as yet. I just bumble through life, like a pin ball, waiting for someone else to bat me in a new direction. I've always reacted to the path I've found myself shot down, and have never thought to tilt the machine. I know there's a saying about a life without direction being a waste of life, but maybe it's like Katwoman says, "I like walking slowly if I want to, or looking at the water while sipping on a coffee. It used to be that the sights were incidental, but now I recognize the value in moving at my own pace and seeing what I want to see." I guess I walk around like that all the time. It reminds me of my hubby... ... He loves cities. Whenever we get the chance for a holiday, and I say I want a hermit's cave by the shore of a brown, angry sea, he smiles at me and books a city break. We went to Paris. A city that I feel comfortable with1 (I love the Metro). He hadn't visited the city before, and I wanted to take him to the bits I liked, but he wanted to see the proper sights. We ended up stood underneath the Eiffel Tower (somewhere I never felt the urge to visit on my trips to the city) and I fell in love with him. Again. You have to understand this about my husband: we are very different. For a start, he's romantic (writes love poems to me still). He is tall, lean, handsome, blonde, with a skin care routine that would rival Christian Bale's in American Psycho. Where I am sweet 'fro and nachos, he is delicate grace and good grooming. Whereas I have never thought before I spoke, or typed, he is so thoughtful that I often fear he won't act at all. Whereas I am annoying and brash, he is quiet charm and gentle manners. Yup, you guessed it, I have no idea what he sees in me, apart from my obvious talents with a tub of Mr Whippy and potato masher... and I'm pretty good in the kitchen too. Either way, imagine this cultured and considered man, stood beneath a clever feat of engineering, with hawkers and school tours brushing past us. I'm sat smoking a fag, watching him standing some way distant (because although he'd never say anything, he really doesn't like smoking). I'm watching him and he doesn't know it. In fact, all of Paris could be watching him and it wouldn't matter; he is completely outside of reality. He is gazing, open mouthed, like he's daft, the contents of his chocolate waffle are dribbling down his sleeve. Bless. I felt sure some tour group would scoop him up and take him back to the home... I love the way I have no idea what moves him so completely; he recognises the value of moving at his own pace, and sees what he wants to see. Ooh, hark at me! I'm all loved up Footnotes |
| Steve's a nutter... well, he has 'em, 'cos his blog indicates it I don't have nuts. Although, I did once have all the symptoms of prostate cancer . . . turned out to be a cold  I'm obviously not medically trained, nor would I want to be. I remember my dear dead Bill Hicks (erm, before he died) extolling the virtues of having opaque skin: (paraphrasing) "You wouldn't smoke if you could see what it did to you inside!" "I think I'd have fucking bigger things to worry about if I could see what I looked like inside." I miss that man. It got me thinking about the things I am glad I don't do for a living:  I'm glad I'm not Luscious Linda -- too much co-ordination required I'm glad I don't work in a morgue -- I would constantly expect to see one of the clients sitting up whenever I turned around I'm glad I don't fly commercial aircraft -- the temptation to dive whilst announcing to the passengers, "Let's see what this baby can do!" would be too great I'm glad I'm not a parapsychologist -- I'd get hit in the face for being a sarcastic bastard I'm glad I don't work in a zoo -- I don't want to end up in the papers, riding a walrus to freedomJust after I finished hosting the Writing Cafe today, I fessed up to my childhood dream job, and was rewarded with some funny looks (peculiar, not ha-ha). After the usual dalliance with Archeology, Train Driving, and being an Astronaut, I tried to sign up for Technical Drawing classes so that one day I could become an engineer... of bridges. I think that would be a smashing job. I still get a thrill when I see a particularly well designed bridge now So, my questions to you are: What did you want to be when you grew up? What job would you never do, and why? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| "Invalid Entry" = something that I'm not. Sure, I drive an old lady's car, listen to Radio 4 and work for the local Priest (all good clues to being hipless), but I never knew there was such a thing as a deodorant stone. I had to google 'em and found a site with pictures and instructions: http://www.deodorant-stone.co.uk/deodoran.html They look like pale imitations of the Philosopher's Stone in Harry Potter. Less trouble, one would hope. Adventures in personal hygiene may not make for bestselling material See, my mind won't stop, so when I read: CARING FOR YOUR STONE... our Deodorant Stones are salts and so will dissolve if left in water, all I can think is 'I bet I could make one with household ingredients for no cost at all!' It's always a dangerous thing when I threaten to use the stove as a Bunsen burner  , but surely it's a natural progression to turn the idea into some hygiene/cookery hybrid alchemy?After all, look at the list of ingredients: It is made naturally from USFDA food grade Kosher Certified Potassium Alum (mineral salts) and purified water. How about going a step further, and preserving your armpits with salt?  They'd be good for decades  Here are the original recipe suggestions from http://www.ehow.com/how_2288746_make-own-salt-pork.html and my own suggested tailoring is indicated in blue  Cut backfat strips into manageably sized chunks. Set aside. Don't do this. It will hurt. Ignore this step. Instead find an old bra (if you're a lady, or if you have man-boobs), or an old bikini. Pour one pound of the salt into the bottom of the crock and smooth to cover. Lay the backfat chunks on the salt. Use a bath, as a crock will be too small to lie down in. YOU are the backfat chunk. Lie on the salt. Lay the platter or other flat object over the meat. Add the weight on top to hold the platter in place. place surfboard/ironing board on top of yourself, making sure your arms are still able to grab the items needed for the next step Dissolve the remaining salt in 5 gallons of water. Pour over the contents of the crock. Make sure you have enough water to completely cover the backfat and platter. If more is needed, add up to two more gallons of water. If you are going for full body deodorising then you will need a snorkle, or straw. Cover and place in cool place, or the bottom of the refrigerator, for two weeks or longer. If extended storage is needed, remove from brine and freeze. erm... now that I think about it, David Blaine is possibly the only person who could have such stamina. Perhaps you could rig up some empty margarine containers with salt water and wear 'em under your pits like a modern day milkmaid ... either way, forgo the freezing stage and eat ice cream instead.If you do attempt the above I would love to hear how your experiments in human alchemy went! |
| Would you look at that! Without Follow the Leader blogging in my life I seem to have no reason to blog Not true, but I do function best when I feel committed to something. Jenn's commitment to avoiding jovial chaps in "Invalid Entry" was something else to me. I love the way she writes, because she conveyed her emotions and logic really well, but to end up so flummoxed by a 'pedestrian passing incident' got me thinking about the kind of pedestrian I am.I stop walking to pull drunk strangers off the road. I once got so creeped out by a leery gent walking toward me that I winked exaggeratedly at him and tapped my nose, knowingly. Why? Who knows. I have crossed roads to avoid people, but it has never bothered me if they know it or not. I tut when trapped behind slow people, and wiggle my ass when folk are trapped behind me. When stood at pedestrian crossings, I offer fellow travelers a cheery handshake... you should see their faces I always make sure that I smile and say hello to old folk and kids (15-39 year olds are just too jumpy and look as if you've said, "I'm an axe-murderer!" instead of, "Good morning!"). I comment on passers-by behaviour too. It gets me into trouble. "Scruffy bastard!" earned me an incredulous look from a litter-dropper, and "OMG! Is that a skirt or a belt?" saw me take an overnight stay in hospital with mild concussion. I never find money, but have an uncanny knack at locating dog-shit. I have been known to skip; it's faster than walking, but much more fun than running for a bus... oh, and the distance you can travel in seconds is phenomenal Sometimes I'll walk straight to the front of a bus queue, even though I have no intention of catching a bus, just to watch everyone express quiet indignant rage at my lack of queuing skills. Erm, I think that about covers it... Oh, I can get a little giddy with street furniture. After all, what's a metal post for, if not to swing around?** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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I've had a fantastic, if busy, Christmas eve. It all started with a lie-in (my first in a year!) I had some excellent, nutso, dreams (just like the old days nights: flying twigs, hiding out amidst porno movie shower-tray sets, fish races and, of course, the obligatory sword fight with French baguettes.) I had a headache when I rose at eleven am, but it was soooooooooo worth it  Then I chopped salsa, made sushi, and roasted some veggies for my starters at tomorrow's family meal. (Should sushi stink of fish, even when you haven't included any in the filling?) 4:00pm and it was time to go to the Crib Service at church. Thanks to no boys turning up, and every girl threatening to dissolve into tears at playing a male role, I finally got a major role in the nativity, after thirty-odd years of playing Second Sheep. I was Joseph! I went for it. After all, how many times in a life do you get to play such a pivotal role in the Christmas nativity. Okay, so I felt a little daft being the biggest kid there, but the parish priest was lovely and even told me to stay in the photos after (no, I do not have any ).Back at 6pm. Shower and out the door at 6:30pm. Arrived at Ruby and Yolante's house at 7:00pm for Yolante's traditional Lithuanian Christmas Eve meal. They have Christmas Eve as a family occasion and do not serve meat. They serve 12 dishes of fish and vegetables; my little belly is full of herring, salmon, whiting and beetroot Oh, and it ain't so little anymore... The whole banquet is served on a table strewn with straw that represents the manger. It was ace!Got home at 9:00pm, sprinkled glitter and grain on the lawn, so that the reindeer would know where to stop, and then put the kids in bed. Now I'm killing time until I wake them at 11:15pm to get ready for Midnight Mass; they are serving on the altar. I've still got to make starters, because I've now (2 mins ago) binned the sushi because it reeks. Ah, well, I'll mash up some pesto in the morning and make puff pastry parcels, with an olive on top! Happy Christmas to all. |
That is probably the most sensible word I know right now. My head is mushed with Crimbo  I think I might still have a bit of shopping to do (erm, I haven't got hubby anything yet ). I'm not going out tonight though, because I've got to get drunk. Why? Because I have the sneaking suspicion that I may have finished work . . . I say suspicion because there's always the chance I'll have mucked up one of the Christmass Liturgies, and when I go into church tomorrow, I'll have to fix it. Again, I've checked and checked, but I found a 'peal' in one of the carols when there should have been a 'pearl', so I'm only one typo away from asking the congregation to 'Praise the Lod are Cod, Jesus Chris.'I've got to go in though, because it's the Crib Service, and the Acme kids are fighting over their roles as shepherds and angels. BA wants to be a Disney Princess. I told her they didn't visit the manger. She said, yes they did, because they were the daughters of the Kings and their daddies took 'em with them. Fair enough. It's better than the Pirate costume she wanted to wear. Talked her down from that idea by pointing out the ocean to sand ratio in Bethlehem. I'm also off to visit my sister in the early evening before she drives to Liverpool for the Midnight Mass at the cathedral. Her housemate is Lithuanian and she's putting on a bit of homeland tradition for us: 12 dishes in celebration of the 12 days of Christmas. When they saunter off to Liverpool, my kids and I will be off to my church for our Midnight Mass. Somewhere in between all of that I've got to rustle up a starter for 14 for Christmas Day. Ah, well toast looks ace when you cut it up into soldiers and take the crusts off. I think I've got some old sandwich paste somewhere too. Fake Paté starters for all |
| Right, let's get the widgies out of the way: I used to be able to see the two ploughs from my window at night: Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Now, where I live, sandwiched between houses, I can see Orion's Belt (if this is a plough, then I apologise -- I'm only an Urban Astronaut, not a real one  ).Okay, so I'm a little bit sex orientated, but even I can't help but notice that Orion has started to dangle a pretty big tail to his belt (dirty deity). First question: What constellation lives in your sky?Next topic: Oranges It was the yearly Christingle service at Church this evening. It was Baby Acme's first starring role. She sang a song with the rest of the 5/6 year-olds. I'm so proud For more Christingle info, see last year's blog about the meaning/itinerary of the service: "Invalid Entry" Fr David did his fantastic, interactive, retelling of the nativity as seen by the eyes of the Inn Keeper (much sprinkling of Holy water, sound effects and sweetie throwing abounded )Next question:  Do you have a moment when you know the holidays are coming?Final topic: Polar Bear I love Ice Road Truckers. We even have a billboard advertising campaign when a new season is broadcast on the History Channel. Those guys are great, and I am the biggest fan of Hugh The Polar Bear. He is the Ice Road to me. I annoy the kids with poor Canadian accents, and they both know to avoid disturbing me on a Thursday evening. It was the last episode tonight (double feature!), and hubby and I drank icy beers whilst toasting the men of the Ice Roads. How hauled the most loads? My Polar Bear, of course http://www.history.com/minisites/iceroadtruckers Completely rhetorical question:  Don't chya just love Hugh? |
I'm absolutely shattered  It's the thinkerating. I don't cope well with thinkerating. Actually, it's a culmination of thinkerating, rememberating, multi-tasking, and organising... Christmas is a busy time in the Parish, anyway, but because I'm self-employed, I have to try and squeeze more hours in because I'm off on holiday between Crimbo and New Year, so I don't lose hours/pay. Christmas also means more Christmasses, and the whole of the Christmas Octave, and the New Year's masses, and getting ready for the Priest's sabbatical... I have yet to get a complete Sunday's paperwork right. Why? Because my eyes are pants at proof reading one document stitched together from so many different resources. Here's an example: The Liturgy Which Sunday is it?That might seem like a pretty innocuous question, but it's my first minefield... Sundays can be in Ordinary Time (ordinary feast Sundays of the catholic calendar), or Saint's Days certain saints days occur on Sunday's, or are transferred from their particular days to take over a particular Sunday, eg. Ss Peter & Paul. Or, feastdays supersede the regular calendar, eg, Ephiphany, Christ the Universal King etc. There were questions from the pews when we stuck to Ordinary Time instead of transferring a particular festival earlier this year... What year is it?Again, not as simple as you'd think... The church year runs from the First Sunday of Advent, and the readings conform to a three year cycle, A, B and C. We've just started Year B... in Year 2? The numbered year relates to the two year alternative cycle of the midweek missal... oh, yes, not just three year cycles, but two year cycles too The Gospels of Mathew, Mark and Luke make up the main body of each year's respective readings, with John peppering the odd one, feast days, saint's days etc. What is the Opening Prayer?This is found in the Sunday missal, and again, I have to be sure to get the right day, and the right time of day! If there is a Vigil Mass the prayers and readings will be different to the Mass of the day. The right reading?This not only relates to the churches year, but also to the source. We use the Jerusalem Bible, so readings have to be specifically from there. Now, I can type these straight out of the missal, or use the online Jerusalem bible to copy and paste... which I do because it saves time. However, I then have to proof read for all sorts of stuff: missing quotation marks (these throw the readers in church), small gods (instead of big Gods), and punctuation (stop giggling )I have to make sure the right responses are in, and that the sung Gospel Acclamation is from the missal. Then I pop in the Communion Antiphon, Prayer After Communion, and finally, traipse over to church for the book that contains the Solemn Blessing/Prayer Over the People. Once I've popped in a bit of appropriate clip art, I can say that the first part of the liturgy is done and move on to the Order of Service. The Order of Service lists the hymns, where to stand up, sit down, and all other information for the Mass to run smoothly, and the congregation to follow it. Which Hymn?Hymns come from multiple sources. New English Hymnal (the main book that Parishioners are handed), Laudate, Hymns Old and New, Mission Praise, etc. If it isn't NEH, I have to type. The Priest and the Organ Master decide the hymns weeks in advance, sometimes months, and all other music. This is popped onto a table and issued to me. The table says things like NEH, LAU, HOD, MP, along with the numbers in the book and the first line, so that I can resource them. One typo with my numbers and the choir sing alone What else are we singing?I have to pop in the right tunes/words to the sung Mass. This means the Penitential Rite, Gloria, Gradual Hymn, Gospel Acclamation, Sanctus & Benedictus, Memorial Acclamation, Agnus Dei -- They all change weekly, and sometimes they change in their own content, eg, the Agnus Dei we use has alternative verses following liturgical seasons. The one I'm using now in Advent will change for the Christmass Octave... Then it's back over to Church to find the book that contains the Prayer of the Faithful. Again, I need to get the right year and include the prayer response for the intercessions. While I'm there I pick up the intercessions list from the previous week so I can use any handwritten additions to the sick list and recently departed in constructing the following Sunday's intercessions. The Pew Sheet This is the leaflet that is issued electronically, and paperishly, to those not so up-to-date. It contains all the church notices: events, socials, Mass times, memorial lamps and floral dedications. It's like a mini-newspaper and if any event is ticketed, I have to make the tickets for it too. Oh, the fun of getting a time wrong on a batch of 100 tickets . . .This is where the majority of my mistakes occur. Ten to one, a Mass on a Thursday in June has a time change from 7:00pm to 7:30pm and I forget to include it. Or, the loved one being remembered at the Lamp of the Blessed Sacrament is mistakenly listed under the Lamp of S. Chad, or there's an 's' missing from their name, etc., etc., etc., I hate mucking up dedications, because there are people at the end of those intentions, and families who miss them dearly. I check and double check, but mistakes do happen. I pick up the information on the Lamp listings in Church and sometimes I really can't read the handwriting that the person has used. It's horrid, because I can only do my best, but on two occasions I've been approached after Mass, and can do nothing more than apologise; I feel awful  Well, that's what I've been trying to do for the past two days, amidst telephone calls, invoicing, Parish Christmas cards, letters to Baptism families, poster making, notice board updates and photocopying extra editions of the Parish Magazine . . . which reminds me, I really have to get a wriggle on with the February edition (deadline is 11th Jan). Anyway, I thought you guys might be interested in what an Acme does when they're not at WDC. This one is off for a shower and some food! |
| We're writers. As such, hundreds of people walk around our skulls on a permanent basis. The only reason we don't get dosed up and locked up is because we call 'em characters and that seems to satisfy family members. But seriously, is it any wonder that artistic types are at the forerunners when it comes to making a crisis out of an identity. If I've said it before, I'll say it again. I know who I am at the time that I am being that person. All bets are off that I'll remain that way for any given period of time. I refuse to choose one identity and stick to it. In fact, when I first started on WDC there seemed to be such a hoo-har if folks thought you were pretending to be something that you weren't. Acme, eh? Don't want to tell us who you are, eh? Are you a girl or a boy, eh? Shit! Like that's gonna effect the quality/type/style of my writing And, anyway, what's it to ya?I was delighted to find out that the pressure to BE ONE PERSON is still prevalent. Poor Alan Philps  . She even gets deeply personal questions from ignorant folk who want to know her sexual orientation . Bollocks (erm, I'm swearing, not making a point): having tits, or a willie, does not effect the way a writer holds a pen.There! I feel better already. It's weird that Lorien's Follow the Leader entry talks about privacy. I hate pack mentality that says 'don't you dare have any secrets from us.' With writers lambasted for not being open and honest in their choice of handles, and all but a couple of Lorien's classmates not having Facebook addresses, I think it's such a bullying tactic to try and coerce people into being what other people demand of them. Why? Seriously, I just don't understand anyone that says, 'This may cause you personal distress, and fuck with your own moral codes and concepts, but you gotta do what we do, or we'll turn on you and bite your face off... because it's different anyway, and WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO HIDE!' I hate to speak ill of the departed (from site that it, not life), but it was Kathy (katherine76) who always used to laugh at me for being Acme and not myself. She just didn't get the fact that being Acme was being myself. I still miss her, but I remember it used to drive her insane with laughter that I wasn't more forthcoming with her. I ended up writing a Choose Your Author item for those who were determined to put me in my place. Excellent, everyone's happy:
Oh, and I daren't google myself. Lord knows who'll I find |
| Having felt moved to lyrcs in Kay's blog, I shall continue to blog via the medium of song: Oh, what a night. Why'd it take so long to see the light? She's shopping for kicks, got the weekend to get through. Keeping the rain off her Saturday hairdo, she stops for a coffee, she smiles at the waiter. He winks at his friends and they laugh at her later. Who said lied I'd to her ? Oh, who said I'd lied because I never ? I get knocked, down but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down (Pissing the night away, pissing the night away). It's Monday morning 5:19, and I'm still wondering where she's been, cos every time I try to call I just get her machine. And now its almost six am, and I don't want to try again, cos if she's still not back then this must be the end. Its your imagination. End of the conversation, darling. Something in his heart told him to come clean -- he was not who he claimed to be. Something in his genes told him to pretend twas something for the weekend. Who's sorry now? Whose heart is achin' for breakin' each vow? Who's sad and blue, who's cryin' too? Just like I cried over you -- right to the end. |
| j's head is a great place to visit. I like the way her thoughts jump through hoops to get to where she's going. I guess we all do this to a degree, but I'm a pretty one-subject-at-a-time blogger, so I'm going to take a leaf out of her book and attempt to multi-blog Christmas Works do: Got pissed in the Vicarage with the other Youth Leaders. Had a delightful time and thought the taxi driver home was most accommodating... turned out, after a long chat about life, the universe, and everything, that I got a lift from a collegue I was unceremoniously poured out of their car and into my husband's laughing arms. Ah, well. They can't hang you for it, and even Jesus liked a water-butt full of vino, on occasion... Reviewing of something entertaining I never watched Life on Mars, which was a must watch programme of hubby's, so was pleasantly surprised to be blown away by the acting skills of John Simms in the recent Chanel four screening of The Devil's Whore. I love a bit of history; the more badly handled the better! So, that heady period of world revolution around the 17thC was a great backdrop to the demise of King Charles I and the subsequent rise of King Oliver. It was ace telly, with a love story that knocked my socks off. Top Notch. Here's a link for internet viewing if you fancy a good four parter: http://www.channel4.com/video/brandless-catchup.jsp?vodBrand=the-devils-whore Presents I'm such an arsehole. I used to spend so much time and thought in buying pressies or my family (hubby got a piano one year -- something else to dust), but now I just don't know what to get them, so I've turned into my nan: all the kids get money and all the old foggies get a box of choccies. As I wrapped my measly hoard, I made a decision to try harder . . . next year |
| 'cor! I loved reading Katwoman's entry, because I just wouldn't have the attention span or patience to write like that. I remember doing the Dream Journal for Turn-a-rounds, "Invalid Item" , and thinking that it was such a shame that I kept tripping over my fingers, as well as the English language; it would have been easier to draw the dreams than write them. I'm lazy. Imagery, metaphor, simile, editing... they are all things I spend my energy on in poetry, because it's short, immediate and over quickly. NaNoWriMo was a big test for me to write beyond 10kb, and oh boy, did it feel like it I just don't have what it takes to write beautiful arcs of prose, so I don't -- I play to my strengths, and they don't include much narrative description. Take, for example, my latest story, for the Short Shots contest, "Invalid Item" , I couldn't describe my protagonist, because I had no idea what he looked like. STAY WITH ME! I could, however, tell you what he smelled like, how/when/where/whowith he popped his cherry, and what his ablution routine is of a morning. Heck, I could even tell you his favourite pot noodle is, but the colour of his hair? The width of his waist? Nope, no idea. I think it is natural to admire other people's talents, and Katwoman's entry was dripping with opulent descriptions. It's like Mavis Moog 's poetry, zwisis's Zimbabwe recollections, and femmedragon's bone baring blogs -- these are the joys of reading, which I could never, nor want to, write myself.I am entertained, and left in awe. Is there any better place for a reader to be? Nah! That's why I love WDC. I get to read some of my favourite authors for free. Ooh! And stalk 'em too, without fear of a court case Hurrah! |
| Prosperous Snow's lead blog saw her reminiscing about comedy Christmas songs. Now, I like comedy, I like Christmas, and I like songs, so you'd think I'd be a shoe-in for liking the whole Christmas Comedy song thing... but no. I do, however, like to know a lot of crap. One of those piles of crap I like, is the one with all the Christmas number ones from the UK charts Just because it's been a while since I compiled a Top 10 list, I thought I would list my favourites out of them (and NO Bryan Adams did not make the cut )Ten Jona Lewie, Stop the Cavalry Okay, so this never actually made the #1 spot, but it is a favourite, because:  I like the brass section and the um-pah-um-pah-um-pa of the keyboard/accordion sound A forerunner of Kassabian (bear with me), there is a non-singy-voiced front man going on about being war and wearing a uniformhttp://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=EOe18JcatZo Nine Flying Pickets, Only You Back in 1983, accapella (sp?) singing was a new thing to the eardrums of a young Acme, but the scary man's facial hair won me over that Christmas http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=qgDKtLPp46s Eight The Pretenders, 2,000 miles I'm starting to think I have a leaning toward 'Miss you...' songs Anyhoo, I liked the imagery in this one, especially the diamonds in the snow bit. Oh, and this never made a Christmas #1 slot, but God Bless Chrissie Hynde  http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=y-QZFEu7SPc&feature=related Seven Boney M, Mary's Boy Child, Jesus Christ Kettle drums in a Christmas song What's not to love? Seriously ace showering song I always felt a little uncomfortable about the tight white pants on the bloke at the back, but it was outweighed by my joy of seeing such angelic women singing around him. I was five, and remember asking my Granddad if the guy was God, just because of the angels. I can't remember the answer... *racks memory*http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=7BVtzu59feY Six Human League, Don't you want me I loved the new romantic singers. Oh, the joy of embarrassing my mum by asking if they were girls or boys, loudly, in public, in front of priests, etc. But that's by the by, as Phil Oakey Stole me heart as soon as he batted his mascara at me 1981 may not have had a Christmassy #1, but it sure had a good one http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=arUqoKjU3D4 Five Pet Shop Boys, Always on my Mind Whether it was because one of 'em was from my home town of Blackpool, or because Joss Ackland was in the film... oh, fuck the excuses I just love the 1987 # 1 for it's lovely campness, BIG electronica and smashing video http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=M2pNF_IXfyI Four Audrey Hepburn, Moon River Okay, so officially it was Andy Williams (not Danny Thanks Nada) who romped home with this song in 1961, but, let's face it, it's a lot more fun to look at footage of the lovely Aud http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=BuoP67paOgk&feature=PlayList&p=1B9633BA77306B02&in... Three Slade, Merry Xmas Everybody Brummie, ginger, and hairy... again, what's not to love. This Youtube link sounds like the batteries were going on the tape machine, but that's why I wanted to include it; it's been too long since I heard that sound {e:nostalgiaformixtapes} http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=niIJ9Yb-xwQ Two Shaking Stevens, Merry Xmas Everyone I never really understood the appeal of Shakey, but still, he did come up with a jolly Christmas #1. Yes, I know what you're thinking, She could have chosen Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Queen, or Johnny Mathis -- what's she playing at?, but who doesn't want to be grabbed under the mistletoe and kissed by candle light? http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=iF86nM8g8Jw One Cliff Richard, Mistletoe and Wine Aww, come on! It had to be the undisputed king of Christmas! He had his first Christmas #1 in 1960 and even when BBC radio one banned his songs because he was too old to be trendy, he still knocked the pretenders (erm, not Chrissie...) off the top spot another two times. http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=asq7TW4bRBU&feature=related Think you could do a better list? Here's a link to all the UK Christmas #1s since the charts began: http://news.bbc.co.uk/cbbcnews/hi/music/newsid_2580000/2580729.stm |
| Well, it's obviously a prompt and sod all to do with me I do like a good epitaph though, and here's one I made earlier: No more the daily grind for him his work is done his time has been 'To Acme!' raise your glass and weep now rests this soul that Angels keep Unlike the pebble on the shore I doubt we'll see his like once more So this is it - poor Acme's gone but don't be blue he sure had fun written during the reign of that other fabulous lunatic, terryjroo, who is remembered often at Casa Acme for her 21 Days of Poetry. The Beer is Dead, Long live the Hangover. I do love reading femmedragon's blog, but am one of those statistics that rarely leaves a comment. The reason is simple: I never know what to say. I'm the same for her Follow the Leader entry, the title of which I've donned on this blog entry. One thing's for sure, I hope she exceeds the expectations of the Ouija board. Death, like the prospect of old age, is one thing I seldom worry about, on a personal level. Unlike taxes, it is the one certainty that I am unlikely to fuck up. Now, the reason behind this is an odd one, so you might have to bear with me... heck! I might have to bear with me too I'm going to use a word that Mavis doesn't like, but is all I can come up with: belief. What follows may not be a truth to you, but it is to me, and I'm pretty confident I'd pass a lie detector about it. I believe ... that being dead is being. Okay, so it's not life. I get that. But being doesn't have anything to do with life; being brave, being a door knob, being universal, being, being, being. Being is. I remember my existence before life. It could have been eons, it could have been a fraction of a second, but I remember not being born, and it was orangey -- like when you look at the sun through your eye lids. Was I in the womb? Was I part of the cosmos? Who knows? All I know is that I existed; I was being. Take it, or leave it. This is my truth. |
| Right. This is my third attempt at writing a blog entry that doesn't involve shagging. I'm doing well, so far If there's a boy you want to snog, and no one is cheating on anyone else's snogfest, then snog the boy if you like him. Feck the fact you've got a hideous cold. If it's that bad, he'll notice, and then it's up to him if he still wants to snog someone with snot oozing out of their orifices. Right. Now that's said. It's time for Red Magic... or, should I say BREAD Magic I've been chatting in Scroll with aeroshika and Alan Philps . Aero's been telling us all about lovely Pakistani, spicy Eid food, and Ann's been on about all the baking she does for Christmas. Lovely to listen to, but not when hungry. And not when I'm hunting recipes.My favourite Hanukkah treat is latkes. I love the fried food that is traditionally served up for this festival of light... and oil But I've never made my own. Sure, I've made dips, like apple sauce to serve up with 'em, but I'm pants at making them. My potatoes always go black, are too watery, and the little cakes I do make don't stay together, and are usually uncooked in the middle Does anyone in Blogville have a foolproof (or Acme proof) recipe for latkes? Yours hungrily, Acme-the-wasting-away |
| Ooh, it isn't Christmas until you've had a bit of Bavarian ompha-pha music blasted down your eardrums. Served, of course, with mulled wine by the stein I love the Winter Concert at church. The whole matriarchal line turned out today. So there were four generations of Acmes watching the Lydgate Brass Band Father made his infamous mulled wine -- guaranteed to clear sinuses, wheezy chests, and probably drains. I missed out, because I was dolling out orange juice and biscuits to the school choir But, I did have to drive the Miss Marple Machine later on, so maybe it's a blessing in disguise ... Where there's muck, there's brass. Aye, and where there's brass there's usually a mucky looking Acme |
When I grow up, I wanna be a Bond villain, I wanna be a bad guy, I wanna look like Yul Brynner. When I grow up, I wanna kidnap scientists, I wanna be like Moriarty, I wanna work for SPECTRE2 Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it . . . http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=TcEZrEPDV9k I got brought up on Bond villains. Oh, 007 may get to play with cards, cars and the ladies -- and one has to admire that -- but my real admiration was for those men of determination, dedication and steel: his enemies. I couldn't help but feel sorry for those thwarted visionaries. They were at the cutting edge of technological development, and all they wanted was more funding for their research. Just think where some of those scientific advances could have propelled humanity. Not to mention the tidy appearance of a well turned out, practically attired henchman... Real life dictators are horrid. They kill ideas, as well as people and countries, but Bond villains are a class of their own. They take our nightmares and look on the brightside; sure, they're mad dictators, but they are mad dictators with a willing and well cared for workforce, decent living conditions, and good medical plans. Horrid real-life madmen hang onto power while their people suffer the unconscionable consequences of crumbling infrastructures and other numerous atrocities leveled against them. At least all a Bond villain's henchman has to worry about is Bond causing a fracas . . . and cleaning out the shark tank. http://www.mi6.co.uk/sections/villains/spectre.php3 So, when you grow up, what do you want to be? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Footnotes |
| Words are daft. In the mouths and pens of the bumbling, they never seem to satisfy. I think that's why I like poetry so much. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm completely useless at writing it, but I do love reading it. To me, when done well, it is one of the best forms of communication there is. It's kind of spiritual; like one soul touching another's. Now, I'm a hard poetry fan; the kind that likes TS Elliot instead of Sir Whimsy-Romantic-Fou-fou. I don't know why this is. Perhaps it's because the first emotions that ever really spoke to me were the harder ones. I find it easier to relate to sideways imagery than I do frosted glows and Vaseline lenses. I am the kind of person who squirms when lovers kiss, mocking them with kissy faces. Porn? No problem. Hand holding? look away! Save yourself! I read akiery's entry and thought what a beautiful romantic she was to want to share so much with someone who meant a lot to her. I also thought her significant other to be a beautiful romantic too; I think he did a darn decent job of listening as she communicated, although he may have been a bit bumbling himself, when it came to trying to find the right way to convey his connection to her. I'm useless. I don't mind saying it. Communication is not as easy as it looks. My problem is that I'm a sarcastic bastard. It means that even when I'm being genuine, I feel as if everyone is flaring their nostrils at me. I also have to take into consideration that being direct, clear and concise are sometimes not the best form of communication -- people can get confused: ACME: I love you. Wanna shag? HUBBY: (smile, shake head, chortle, back to current task) ACME: I'm bored. Wanna shag? HUBBY: Not now dear, but I'd love to spend some time with you later. Why don't we run a bubble bath and share a massage? ACME: Are you saying I smell? HUBBY: No. I want to touch you, love you, pamper you. ACME: Ace! Let's shag! Ah, well. Them's the breaks Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; ~ TS Elliot The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20220 |
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