I don't generally recognise anything in the M-B test, but you have to admit they have me pretty well nailed career-wise.
But "Mastermind"? Do you reckon?
The sentence that rings most true to me in that analysis is "Problem-solving is highly stimulating to Masterminds, who love responding to tangled systems that require careful sorting out." Having something finite to sort and smooth gives me a massive hard-on.
BED TIME ZOMG.
What occasioned this post was a request made to me by a writing partner a long time ago. I declined the request. You'll see why. "Ten years later" is pushing the definition of a snappy comeback, but this post is really aimed at other guys who might have this idea.
John Boy, as we'll call him, had a male character. His Vision™ for his character, he'd decided one day, included two children whom the character would raise. His request: "Mutt, will you write a female character who'll have these children for him and then hand them over?"
As it happens, the idea of writing female pregnancy gets into some deep problems for me, and I never intend to do it. I don't recall that I'd mentioned this to John Boy in the past, so he gets a free pass in this instance on the insensitivity front.
However, when I told him I would never be comfortable writing a pregnant woman, his suggestion? "Maybe she's from a species where she has to breed in order to become a neuter." OK, so... forcing a transgendered character to breed in order to line des gender up with des sex? That was insensitive. Chaps, we're all pretty smart here. Let's all agree never to suggest this to a transgendered person, OK?
Anyhow, those are my personal issues and we'll lay them aside. Now here's the response I wish I'd given all those years ago, to help John Boy understand why asking any writer to make up a woman character, in order to give your man character instant children, is somewhat on the odd side.
Actually, John Boy, my personal horror at writing pregnancy is not my only problem with this suggestion. The main issue is that you want a female character whose entire purpose in life, at least from your point of view and your plot's, is to have children.
I hope even you wouldn't remain unmoved if someone in real life were to say a woman's only purpose is to be a mother... but that's what you're asking here. I have to admit, I expected better from you.
Consider also that your gay Marty Stu is going to have to force himself to sleep with this woman – or, more likely in your universe, use hand-wavey magical insemination, so that he doesn't even have to touch her – and then he will expect her to give up the children and never bother him again. This doesn't sound like an attractive offer to any self-respecting woman.
John Boy, your offer is rejected firmly and without prejudice, and I hope if you think about what I've said you'll realise why. My advice to you is to write a frog woman and have them spawn in a pond, or, preferably, rethink the plot idea that requires a woman to bear your character two children and then disappear.
We'll leave our imaginary ten-years-younger John Boy alone now. We just gave him a lot to think about. We're older and wiser, though, so here's another point for you to ponder...
Do you know what pregnancy does to a woman's body and hormones? I don't have much idea, for the obvious reason, but I know it's huge. To take one example that might cause a particular problem with this 'plot' idea, women don't always want to give up their children.
Sound obvious? But really, they don't always, even if they were OK with the idea beforehand. This is not because women are nuts. Your mother was a woman. Everyone's mother was a woman. And that's rather the point. We humans evolved to what we are because mothers have a strong bond with their weak, helpless spawn, who remain helpless for about 6 years and weak for at least 8 more. You don't put up with a burden like that unless you love it, and this is where your hormones, leaving nothing to chance, make sure you do. Sometimes they'll go wrong or a woman will feel able to overcome the effect, but that isn't predictable.
This is why you will read in magazines about women acting as surrogate mothers, who find themselves unable to give up children they've carried for another couple. Repeat, this is not because the woman is nuts, or a liar. Chances are she had every intention beforehand of carrying through with the agreement. I doubt she really wants to bring up, on her own, the child of a man who's in a relationship with someone else. Not even for the child support payments (seriously, no woman who is in touch with reality ever gets pregnant because she thinks it'll make her rich). But you can't always help whom you fall in love with.
Conclusion: women don't always oblige by breeding and then handing over their children, even if that's what your script says.
This post only is: 
licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution to Herm Baskerville with an optional link back to this page. (The author would prefer that you link to this post, in case de edits or improves it.)
View the original post at Black Dog Blog
One side effect of my recent inability to wake up in the mornings, even with Rock Radio Manchester blaring at me from the radio alarm, is some really weird half-waking dreams. Let's see, last night/this morning:
Main feature was that my brother had been kidnapped (and you should choose death rather than mess with my brother, because it'll be a lot less pleasant than the wrath I'll visit upon you. Just, y'know, FYI). I was heading out to sort this out.
This is Filibuster. The neighbours think they named him Fergus, but they are wrong.
In the front hall I passed one of my mother's work cases, which had developed a hole. Soil was pouring out of it with a dry wiffle noise. It later started spilling white powder instead. I wondered vaguely if this was a bomb chemical. (No more CSI for you.)
Otherwise the main event was to do with ladders. I declared that the flimsy rope ladder held up by safety pins, for dogssakes, would obviously not support my body weight. My companion, who was much lighter and possibly a cat, climbed up it to demonstrate, but then the tightrope unravelled under its feet and it was forced to conclude that I was right. We spent some time looking for a more stable way to climb to the upper platform. The purpose of this was never explained.
(Have just had to pause typing while I was summoned to come and see the neighbours' cat, whom I have named Filibuster, and who has shown up in our house this morning and begun falling over on everything hoping for tummy tickles. He is usually not disappointed.)
By now I've forgotten all the lesser dreams, but they were weird too. The other 'main' dream involved my somehow stumbling into a web forum frequented or run by Jack, my internets ex.
Jack was a writing partner and, well, I see no need to tell the whole story because the upset and hurt at our eventual split has faded to the point that I barely remember his existence, and indeed am surprised that my dreaming module does at all.
(Have just been summoned AGAIN to see the aforementioned cat trying to cram himself into a box half the size of a shoebox.)
Jack was present, along with his right-hand person who never showed up except when he was there (to the point that I used to wonder if they were the same person and Jack had invented them as a sock puppet to agree with everything he said! This was later disproved to my satisfaction), and some others I didn't know.
Jack had just posted a message (or written a note; for some reason handwriting was also involved) saying he'd seen I'd dropped by and everyone, this is Mutt [my handle, or one of them] and omg <3 and wasn't it nice of me. I cannot imagine Jack being like this.1
(All RIGHT, mother, no need to come in and tell me the cat is now sitting in the bath asking for a drink.)
I needed to reply, which for some reason involved instructing them not to use the wrong pronoun for me(!) and some other administrative issues. I was debating whether to tell them I'd been the one who saved their website from going offline by picking up the domain and hosting costs. (Honestly, reptile brain, web doesn't work that way.)
Judging by the overall tone, this dream was an indication that I'm empowered and free from all that past negativity and all that hippie stuff. All very fine and Oprah. I just wonder why I'm dreaming about him at all. I feel nothing towards him now. Encountering him again would be like getting to know someone new, not having someone grateful and pleased to see me like he was in the dream.1
The whole web-hosting stuff may have come from my re-registering a dropped IRC channel last night, mind you... and I do still keep our old domain name active, in case any old friends should look for us there. Oh well.
1 This would have been more believable.
Jack posted:
Oh, everyone, this is Mutt, the one I told you about who was so unfair to me when I disappeared from hir life without word for a year to play Everquest. I suppose you'll all like hir better than me. I'll just be in this corner, turning my face into the wind with my hand on my hilt. No, no, it doesn't bother me at all if you all turn your backs on me.
He wasn't that bad, most of the time, but he had a passive-aggressive, attention-seeking side and he expected to be taken as terribly seriously as he took everything else. Don't worry, I was a severely depressed teen when I knew him, so I was probably nearly as bad in my own way.
Anyway, basically, this isn't a portion of my life I'd decide to revisit out of the blue.
View the original post at Black Dog Blog
I'm beginning to suspect my comments on Zenbie's funny entry about students not knowing what "tyranny" means* are betraying some kind of old, deep-seated anger or trauma.
But I can't think what...
* It has been proven by highly scientific keyboard-bashing that the reason teenagers do not know what "tyranny" means is because they are encouraged to believe it means "having to obey the law", or indeed "not getting into the semis of X Factor".
The couple of lovely teenagers I know who are passionately interested in things like software freedom and doing quality work are unfortunately failing against the tide of vacuity sweeping what seems like most of the population of under 60s.
Well, it's official, I never ever want to grow a heart...
...But one situation right now is awfully cute, and I'm happy for those involved.
(Enigmatic post, because it's none of our business really.)
View the original post at Black Dog Blog
Well, a little year-end status report seems appropriate.
Way back in December 2007/January 2008 I thought I'd have a stab at writing a poem a week throughout the year. I made it to half the total, 26. You can read them here. That total includes some I'm genuinely proud of, such as the sonnets (Railing is my favourite; here are some kitties too) and Wefty's little apology/self-hatred/guilt trip/mourning poem (I don't care that it met with general apathy and criticism; I'm proud of it), as well as some lighter ones I wrote to amuse colleagues and others.
Plenty about dogs, too. A late favourite of mine is Country Road Meeting... not exactly light, but definitely enjoyable to write, and hell, I find it funny.
What did surprise me, and is one reason I'm laid-back about the poetry target, is that I suddenly started artsing again. I honestly never expected to use my Wacom tablet for anything serious again, after going through a particularly horrible time of hating my 'art'—and this was serious; I can't tell you how severely without scaring you—and generally thinking I'd never make another visual thing. I can't explain why I was able to pick up the stylus again, or why I did so, but it's been fun. The first thing I painted was a giant crow made of insects, which won me pictures of Weft as a furry in return. (It's impossible to explain to those not in the know how incredibly funny this is.) I laid into some huge projects, too, including a parrot, an elf (half) and a grandmother.
Other artwork included owl, dog with furry (I like this one a lot, probably because of the boar piglet), red panda (I should definitely do more of those), dog jumping, dog-in-costume, Egyptian wolf, sketch wolf, inky-style sceptical demon and human (warning: human).
Here also are some (sort of) kitties for you cat-loving epic(fail)ures.
A lot later in 2008, we set a deadline for "the end of the year" to start our epic Profusion project, formerly the 'Great War', which we've now retitled to 'The Twine Wars' to make it a little more distinctive. And all right, I left it until the last minute, and yes, technically it was 2009 in NZ already, but nevertheless, for readers in any time zone west of Finland's, the very first Twine Wars posting did indeed go up before the end of the year.
Which is nice, very nice. My major characters aren't yet in play this early in the storyline, but I can already tell I'm going to have fun with Paraskive Taxidies ("parra-skeevuh tax-ee-dee-ess"), my viewpoint character for this region, who is also one of my comparatively rare female characters.
If Weft would stop cuddling Sweetoff and get in character, I have prequel short stories to write for both of them, long before they met. I might even have yet another stab at drawing one or the other of them, too.
I'm also fatass again after going nuts over the holidays (sigh), but that is soooo temporary. Diet starts tomorrow. Well, technically today by now, but I'm finishing this can of lychees before bed, because DUDE LYCHEES. OM NOM NOM.
View the original post at HellHound.net
The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008) was... strange. I'm going to get the original and watch it, because this was not at all as I remember the original.
The ending wasn't resolved very well (what happened? Why does clockwork suddenly not work? Whut?), there was insufficient justification for a change of mind, and the line, my favourite line, "Gort, Klaatu barada nikto" was conspicuously and tragically absent. (I thought I caught Klaatu saying it once or twice, actually, but you'd only have noticed it if you were expecting the line.) It also took away the main character's big moment, replacing it with a muddied and unclear moment of self-sacrifice or perhaps survival against odds (no way to tell!) for Reeves's character. I also expected the biological altruism angle (John Cleese's character) to be remarked upon specifically. The main character had an adopted child. They missed an obvious theme there.
Good things were largely the effects: Gort and the subsequent effects of its apocalyptic tantrum. I have a real weakness for metallic insects dissolving things and burrowing into people's veins. I liked that a lot. Klaatu's escape was quite stupid, but you couldn't help enjoying it with the technokinesis and the badass suit.
The science throughout, however, was atrocious. Animals need plants. Something hitting the planet at a tenth the speed of light would destroy a large area, never mind any helicopters flying towards the landing site (WHAT WHY ARE YOU IN THE SKY AT THE PREDICTED IMPACT TIME WHY?), and let alone what it'd probably do to the atmosphere before it got to Manhattan (WHY ALWAYS FREAKING NEW YORK WE LAUGHED SO HARD AT THIS). Also, aliens with DNA? Puhleaze. DNA isn't 'genes': it's Earth's implementation of the concept of genes, which are a pretty good idea in themselves. It's possible that aliens would have genes. But their genes would, I imagine, be overwhelmingly likely not to be DNA. To take another example: aliens having computers, definitely possible. Aliens arriving with computers that run MacOS, impossible. Oh, hang on a moment, WILL SMITH, I AM LOOKING AT YOU, XENU BOY.
More reviews (with spoilers) from IMDb here. I agree with pretty much all the criticisms—except that Keanu Reeves playing a blank-faced alien is, IMO, the role he was born for.
Ah well, so I can still say Klaatu barada nikto and leave people none the wiser.
After the film, the three of us (dad, Slen and I) went to eat, and I told my father about my change of name. I think he took it well. (Well, he thinks it's an extremely eccentric choice, which it most definitely is.) His lack of knowledge of Shakespeare is very much mitigated by the fact that he knew who Diogenes was.
Ah, Diogenes, my hero. Is it pathetically sad that I've been really tempted to register tubphilosopher dot com for some time?
We also chatted about other stuff, like my intention to go for publication with Mews, the possibility of Slen getting a job, and, yeah. Stuff. A good, normal catch-up type chat after the main news. I don't think I could've hoped for that to go any better.
I was most nervous telling him about the surname, of course, because I still had his name. My mother changed her surname by usage some time after they divorced, many years ago; I chose not to at that time. I still think that was the right decision for me at that point. I wasn't ready. I didn't particularly want to make such a change then. In addition, there wasn't anything I wanted to change to—any other name I chose wouldn't have been mine either.
Baskerville is mine. It's unquestionably English with a decent pedigree (which is important to offset the unusual abbreviation "Herm"), it's a reference to giant Sherlockian monster dog and it has overtones of John Baskerville's attractive, old-fashioned-looking typeface. And it has an enjoyable rhythm and sound. First syllable stress and a skuh in the middle.
The fact that it's a B name is pure coincidence, really, but there are a few of those in the family. On my mother's side, anyway. Dad's side has a few Ps. I don't think I'd ever have plumped for another P; it's too plosive. Anything I can't say to a gerbil without causing it to flinch is just mean.
View the original post at HellHound.net
Work Christmas lunch yesterday, at a place in Castlefield called The Ox. It was tasty, the place was not crowded and the service was good. Also, apple and melon J2O is too delicious (albeit a bit too sweet) and should be banned.
So. BBC Backstage/GeekUp party on Saturday at the Pitcher and Piano in Deansgate Locks. A great deal of fun. I helped out with BBCish stuff for a few minutes, but I was really there as a guest and had a good time. There were drinks paid for by Cubic Garden (yay!) and food laid on by the Beeb. There was a Wii that a room full of geeks couldn't get working properly (oh how I LOLd) and a Skype/Twitter link-up to London, where the other Backstage bash was happening simultaneously.
We were also invaded by Santas in the form of a fancy dress charity pub crawl.
edit: Pictures here. I don't see any of me, thank dog.
So I hung out with GeekUpprs and had free non-alcohol cocktails (Apple Mint, MMMM) and life was good. I sneaked my GeekUp Secret Santa gift/s in and left them by the food, anticipating that this would get them found quickly. The main gift was a picture of the recipient being mauled by Gemma's polecat, which apparently really happened. I found the details in the GeekUp archives. (I do my research, you see.) I didn't go over and introduce myself, but I saw the picture being passed around to general amusement, along with the little rhyme I wrote for the tag. I had help laminating these beforehand, which was a wise precaution. Plastic-wrapped is good when alcohol and free food are flowing.
Speaking of free food, yes, the diet is on hold and I am back in the grip of Brute Hunger. :-/ Have already bounced back up to 80kg. I must carry on the rest of this week as though I'm still on the sachets/green veg regime, or, knowing too well the raging animal that's under my skin, I'll just balloon. And that would be shit. Very, very shit. Because, to be honest, I like being less fat. I like it a lot.
My Secret Santa also gave me my gift on Saturday night, anonymously delivered in a jiffy bag by one of the employees. It is a Diet Coke bottle top and a roll of Mentos. XD If you don't know what happens when you put Mentos in Diet Coke, YouTube it.
Also, my hair is now short again. A bit shorter than I'd intended, even. That doesn't matter. It'll grow back - all too fast, no doubt.
What else? Finishing off birthday present for father. Almost all other presents are done. It's just the ones coming from overseas that I've still to receive and wrap.
View the original post at HellHound.net
I read somewhere that happiness is contagious, so take this! Ker-pow, right in the kisser!
I now fit a 36 waist comfortably. (Even smaller, if I hadn't inherited my figure from my father's side.)
I have a beautifully-wrapped present on the desk next to me, ready to send to the Laaaaahndoners. It contains dark chocolate ginger (grandmother's fave) and something-coated crystallised pineapple from health food shop, plus slices of fruit cakes and some posh crisps from the posh bak'ry along Oxford Road, in a nest of shredded letters and bank statements for protection. Classy.
I'm acing work just now, dropping good ideas left right and centre and generally making pages nicer whenever I touch 'em.
I've made a good start on the thing for dad, found an absolutely perfect public domain photo I can use for reference for the back part, and I still have lots of time, including this weekend, to finish it.
Speaking of this weekend, Backstage/GeekUp party on Saturday. Then Multiplatform team christmas lunch on Monday and Religion team christmas lunch on Tuesday. Also, I might go along to the Drupal UG this Thursday... although I haven't played with my installation at all, not even upgraded to 6.
I've had two responses so far to my offer of free piccies. Sadly both from kitty lovers, but what can you do... ;)
Life is pretty good. And I've just remembered I forgot to take my meds this morning, so it isn't even the chemicals talking.
View the original post at HellHound.net
I think I officially weigh less than I ever have in my adult life. My BMI is heading downwards and parts of me are shrinking. I think I'm also thinner than I managed on the last diet, judging by belt tightness, and although it's disheartening to realise that I'd gained girth in the interim even though my weight was holding constant, goshdarn it's good to need new trousers again. I also don't have any of the horrible mystery symptoms I had after coming off the diet last time, which suggests either that eating green veg and popping B12 this time around is being helpful for my health or that those symptoms weren't connected to the diet in the first place.
In other random news, I have discovered the joys of microwaveable wheat bags, which I like much more than microwaveable gel packs—although my feet have their own appreciation of the latter. The recent weather hasn't been as cold as that two-day freeze snap at the beginning of December. It's mainly grey and drizzly. Over the weekend I caught some winter sun for my solar-charged watch and then put it under a full-spectrum bulb for the evening, with the result that it's back on high battery instead of medium. I miss having a large windowsill at work that caught the afternoon sun!
Tonight I hope to get the last of my Xmas shopping done, along with the bulk of the remaining wrapping, provided that I can find some non-horrible paper (I'm thinking gold and green this year, but not holly, because I use the same paper for birthdays too. Abstract stripes or squares are far nicer anyway).
I will be spending every evening this week fighting my recalcitrant Graphire III to get somebody's present finished off, and then, providing some things I've ordered online get here in time, I'll have Christmas done, dusted and wrapped. How disgustingly organised!
So, to celebrate this, here's an offer. Would you like a picture from me for Christmas? Ask me before... let's say the 18th December 2008, British time for the sake of argument, and I'll give it a shot. I will draw anything you like, as long as it's either a non-humanoid animal or a machine. It will be a quick picture—probably something like this, which took me two and a half hours—and may or may not include background or props. Obviously, if it's not something for which I can find reference photos on the web, give me as much information as possible, preferably including picture links if you have any. Let me know if it's intended as a gift for someone else.
Terms and conditions: One picture per body. Open potentially to anyone. I'll show your picture off as I please afterwards. You can do whatever you want with it too, as long as you credit me as the artist. If a huge horde of randomers starts asking me for stuff, I'll give priority to the people I know. I'll do my best to make good on this offer but no guarantees. I'm doing this for fun and generosity, so don't abuse the spirit of the offer.
View the original post at HellHound.net
Cold today, indoors and out (less so indoors now I've complained to the appropriate person and she's apparently fixed the overzealous air con). The Metrolink was buggered earlier today; the machine they use to clear ice off the tracks was broken, according to t'radio.
I haven't been in a very good place mentally since Slen moved out. Things have been tense at best: not an improvement, and I'd say overall worse. Frankly, I've felt bullied on a number of occasions - nothing a normal person would consider omg awful, just being forced into stress situations (eg loud noise) and suppressive atmospheres (eg "shut up or you'll get extra chores"), and generally belittled (eg "oh, complaining again are you").
Perhaps I miss him, too. I won't know that until next time I manage to interpret a hint of emotion in my thoughts. It's a bit awkward being autistic. Rather than one day feeling "man, I miss so-and-so", you have to wonder "do I miss so-and-so?" and wait until you find yourself thinking of them, perhaps try to estimate the ratio of positive and negative thoughts you have towards them, and then work out what that means. (For example, when I miss someone I don't idealise them; I remember irritating things about them and fantasise about telling them exactly what I think of them. I also remember irritating things about people I am glad I don't see any more, and fantasise about telling them exactly what I think of them. You see the problem...)
I hadn't got to see very much of him recently anyway. It's still a bit of new girlfriend syndrome, and she seems every bit as obsessive and disorganised as he is. (She is only relatively young, though.)
Paul's off in Ireland for most of this week, too.
Lost hardly any weight over the last week, which was expected because I've been trying eating green vegetables as well as the sachets and imagine I've put plenty of weight of chlorophyll and water into my formerly empty innards. However, if I don't lose much during this week I'll know something's going wrong. I have to admit that eating until I'm satiated is a relief. I'm eating once a day and as much as I feel like (because, come on, it's cabbage, sprouts, spinach and green beans, could we get any more lapine?). Plus hot food is definitely helpful, because I'm so cold all the time. I wish I could still wander outside barefoot in the snow, but that's evidently the price for losing so much of my body weight over the last couple of years.
I feel like nothing much is moving on other personal fronts. Everything's stalled. Oh, except that I awkwardly 'came out' as neuter-critter on a mailing list. One or two of the people on there met me IRL, so I thought it wise to take the opportunity when the subject (of gender options on forms) came up on-list. As usual, I think I made a pig's ear of it, but am most heartened that nobody much has reacted.
At least writing stuff feels like it's going better. Laffent Ferrl's brother introduced himself to me properly this morning and offered his services as an occasional viewpoint character (i.e. I like him and he'd be fun to follow), and I even remembered what I had been planning to call him. I don't always write this stuff down, because I come up with it at random moments, so I had known his first name at one point and then forgot it.
Laffent is a seven-foot, beautiful, blue, curvy, longbow-wielding, soldierly, proportionately muscular woman. (A very nice specimen of orchood, if you happen to like that sort of thing.) She got the looks and the brains in this family. Her brother's the charmer - and a bit of a redneck, if one can use that word about people whose skin colour is determined by their literal blue blood.
View the original post at HellHound.net
MASS VANQUISH continues! I'm below 82kg this morning. I'm only overweight now, not obese, according to this.
It'll be a long, cold road to Xmas, but I have the willpower. It's just rather annoying that this isn't as easy as last time. I'm ravening and my cravings are flickering over the range of caninely-edibles faster than plasma tendrils in a little glass ball.
I don't know how much of the problem is depression, mind. I always was a comfort binger.
As long as I have enough electronics to keep me distracted I'm ok. The problem comes when there isn't an internet connection, console or video recorder, and I'm alone with my cold, unhappy mood and no dog. That's when I want to attack a point cabbage/bag of cashew nuts/Quorn roast/pot of natural Greek yoghurt...
I could combine the first three with some onion and be a very very happy alpha. Nevertheless, I do have the willpower. Good to know I still have, I suppose.
The plan remains! 60kg or until so ill I'm told to stop! Woo! (Actually, mid-60s is more sensible, because 60 is on the low end for someone as short as me. Either way, like all right-minded people, I want to bid the 70s goodbye.)
View the original post at HellHound.net
Art for Vinchers on the Jack forum art exchange.
It's an attempt at her style with a little bit more realism, which I don't think was very successful. You still can't tell he's a raccoon, but if I'd been much more realistic you wouldn't be able to tell it was Vinci. So much for characters with very defined styles. I considered pulling back and showing the tail too, but went for a closeup on the breath instead. The idea for the fog and nose smears comes courtesy of Piper. (That cat is surprisingly helpful with ideas. I just recently used his typical eating habits as a model for Yavu, a starved street boy.)
I've already lost a decent chunk of weight (around 4.75kg, depending whose scales you use), which I'd expect in the first week. It helps being an old hand at this. I can tell myself from experience that the hunger (on Saturday I informed my bro I could dismember and eat a cow) disappears rapidly. And I'm detecting the bad breath, which means the hunger has indeed gone. *pops Listerine Active breath strip things*
An unwelcome return of the random discomfort down my right side that shows up whenever I'm walking, which I'd forgotten about. And I do want something to chew. They make flapjacks as well as the shakes. I may get some next week.
Been craving fruit in particular and other sorts of food, but I am maintaining a pretty philosophical outlook: "there'll always be quiche, there'll always be onion rings, there'll always be grapes marked down on special offer and there'll presumably always be stalls full of pomegranates and custard apples and figs oh my gods I am going to kill all humans". I'm taking B12 this time, as well as keeping up with vitamin tablets and some oil capsules, so I think I'll be fine nutrition wise.
Also enjoying informing certain parts of my body that they are to be "mass vanquished". Whatever gets you through the day.
Self-googling meme:
( Read the rest of this entry » )View the original post at HellHound.net
I'll probably start privlocking these update posts, don't worry. I know diets are terribly boring for those who aren't involved.
But I was either 86.4 or .6 this morning, can't remember now, and thinnnnngs can only get better.
I think the reason I do well with the shakes is that not eating at all is, to put it bluntly, a rock hard thing to do... whereas eating salads is the realm of pansies, girls and metrosexuals, none of which I am, at least full-time.
(Actually I like salad—or salad components eaten separately, depending on the component—but the canteen at work changed hands and the food there is rubbish now.)
Now, fun with anamagrams.
Herm Baskerville:
"Leash Verb Milker"
"A Berserk Hell Vim"
"Barks Eviller Hem".
Herm Diogenes Baskerville:
"Barking Redeems Evil Holes"
"A Berserk Helldog, Semi-Vein"
"Barking Heeds Eviler Moles"
"Love Lies, King H B Redeems. Ar!"
"Hell Rover Debases Mike. Gin!"
"A Helldog Ember Rives Skeins"/"A Helldog Ember: Knives Rise"
"Hell Rover Singed Iambs. Eek!".
My favourite: "Hell Rover Bandies Geekisms".
(Weft suggests "Tutor is Achieve" or "I Teach Vitreous" for Ice. Ice suggests "T' Few" in a Lancashire accent for Weft. Weft suggests "alien stab" for Basaltine. Basaltine suggests "Fake it twisty" for Weft. Weft is now not speaking to Basaltine.)
View the original post at HellHound.net
I'm back on the Lipotrim sachets as of this morning.
This time I'm breaking 60kg... or getting so ill trying that I have to stop.
I'm feeling quite happy about the choice, which was made last night under circumstances to which we'll come shortly. I've kept steady at 85kg, which is where I stabilised soon after coming off the diet last time, for—however long it's been. *looks it up* Since July last year. Just recently, though, it's been creeping up and I've found myself unable to lose those stubborn 2kg, 3kg... 4 this morning.
I think part of it is the cold weather, made worse at work by evil air con and at home by evil non-working boiler. Coupled with carrying a lot less weight than I'm used to, this is making me hungry for very much the wrong things. My willpower's also crap recently, which is annoying because I've been damned good for a year.
But yeah, the weekend was double plus ungood. A doubly bad day on Saturday cost me most of a tub of Häagen-Dazs (never let it be said that I deal with my problems in a mature, head-on, adult way) and on Sunday, although better than the previous day, I just hadn't the heart to cook up a mess of vegetables, and then the brothers were getting pizza and yeah. "Fuck the diet," I said to myself, "the diet starts tomorrow."
And so this morning I nodded affably at the scales that so rudely told me 89.0, strolled along to the pharmacy I pass on the way to work, and sweet-talked them into letting me start right away. Cha-ching.
Also, Slen has moved out and now has a house of his very own! (Well, rented.) This deserves more than a footnote in an entry that's all "me me me", so I'll give you the skinny, pun intended, later on.
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Today, probably vaguely spurred on by having read a few reports of people getting ink, at which I generally roll my eyes, I asked myself what I'd get as a tattoo if I absolutely had to get one. Rolling my eyes at myself, I proceeded to apply logic.
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"Me" questions in this meme refer to the person you got it from. In my case this is: Charlycrash.
01) Are you currently in a serious relationship?
I have lots of serious familial and friendly relationships, thanks.
02) What was your dream growing up?
I've never had any idea what I want to Do With My Life, only what makes me happy moment-to-moment. And that's weird to say, because most people for whom it would be true live lives completely opposite to mine. I don't bungee jump or go clubbing or take drugs or anything.
03) What talent do you wish you had?
I was thinking the other day of something I wished I could do... I can't remember. Maybe accents. Or general hearing acuity; I'd like to be able to tell what a schwa is or when something's out of phase. Hell, just not falling asleep to the sound of certain specific people's voices would be most handy in meetings and presentations...!
04) If I bought you a drink what would it be?
How would I know? If you know my drink preferences, it'd be something like grape juice with peach, lychee juice, melon juice or things of that nature, although I'm quite happy with apple. A virgin strawberry daiquiri if you're really trying hard. Please talk me out of ordering the carrot juice; I keep forgetting I hate it.
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Changed my mind about a fundamental thing concerning the thing I'm working on, which is not a great idea as it's already two days late. I hope it works. I completed part of the bottom bit this morning. Various family members have needed the family computer over the last few evenings, which, yeah, not great. At least it's Friday now, so I have the weekend.
Indeed, the weekend looks like being completely taken up with art things. I'd like to get the thing done for CoworkerD (which will probably only be a head sketch, or series of three, but I have NEVER DONE A HEAD SKETCH BEFORE IN MY LIFE so that's no guarantee of anything). And will finish the fuzzbok picture really roughly because (apart from the fact that I told the recipient I would finish it), as I've said before, at some point I'm evilly going to take out the central figure and put in one of my own, thus making it a me-niverse picture with minimal effort. So it's worth shading the hairy people's fur.
Hopefully will have time for gaming with unbrother too.
I've been dreaming really random everyday things, like my mother letting the Professor (neighbouring cat) into the house, or noticing my brother's bed empty in the morning. They aren't details that would worry me or stick in my mind, which is the weird thing; it's more along the lines of "Didn't I see you petting him in the kitchen yesterday? Weird, must've dreamed it..." I know my dreams are always fundamentally unscary, but they aren't usually dirt boring. It's just so domestic, my dear, it's positively Canis lupus familiaris.
Well, why deny my roots, right?
I'm going through a few-months-long phase of mentally roaring "I'm going to rip your throat out!" at old memories that pop up and bother me. Assertive, see? It sort of partly works ok... except when I find myself muttering same under my breath. This is a point at which I should probably change tactics. And increase my meds.
Unrelatedly, I seem to be getting fanfiction somehow. (I don't mean the evil mindscrewy fluffy stuff I write when I'm bored, either.)
Also unrelated, lulz at the MTV Awards. The best bit is how the linked article... well, you'll see.
I have today added "unboxing" to my vocabulary. It's the geek equivalent of stripteases, in which people film themselves opening the boxes of their new gadgets and show the contents. Here's a new Samsung phone, for example.
I love Lemmings.
Take care all. Peace out.
P.S. "UP" IS NOT A VERB.
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I didn't get at the computer tonight, which sucked rather because I wanted to ask a couple of people a couple of things, not to mention making a start on one or more of the items on said list.
P.S. No, the entry title is not emo. It's sung by someone with a Sarth Afrikan accent at about 300bpm, i.e. is DragonForce and very happy metal indeed.
Long questions meme from Altivo. (Lunch break, didn't do news this morning, so you get rambles instead.)
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