Friday, July 28, 2006
A pacifist with a shotgun - just for fun
Well, now I’ve really gone and done it. My moral ground is crumbling beneath my feet. I went shooting yesterday. It was no ordinary pistol either, no B the pacifist chose a weapon fit for your average US crazy fundamentalist person, a real shotgun.I had on silly earmuffs to protect my hearing, hah, little do they know that my hearing is so bad already that I really don’t need such accessories! My two officemates looked very manly while pointing the gun at flying objects and sending them to kingdom come. Oh, the testosterone was raging in their department!
I however don’t think I look hot with a shotgun. Those things are really heavy and difficult to handle. Apparently shooting is relaxing but I was preoccupied with trying to hold the thing steady and not shooting my toes off. I must say that I achieved my goal of not hitting a single clay pigeon, would have been a crappy pacifist if I had actually shot the thingies… Maybe I would have been more professional like with a petite ladies shotgun, preferably a tiny little pink thing with bunnies painted on the shaft. Wonder if such things exist, a Gucci Il Assassino maybe? Today I’ve got nasty bruises in the area the ladies are supposed to hold the shaft of the gun, which is the bra strap area according to my professional gunfighter officemate. Thank god I wasn’t wearing a strapless one, that would have been disastrous me finks. I don’t think my talent lies in the gunslinger field. I would be better as a knife thrower as I am decent at darts.
This brings me to a conversation I had earlier with a friend in a fix. We were discussing break ups and whether there is ever such a thing as good way of breaking up with someone without hurting their feelings too much. I honestly think that there’s no such thing I mean what do you say? “Darling, I’m terribly sorry but I really don’t like you that much so I am breaking up with you. Love that top, is it new? Oooh, lets go for ice cream!” Wouldn’t the world be great if it were that simple? I think in light of my latest experience that a break up in a shooting range is not such a bad idea. One can bring his partner there and while loading the weapon just casually bring it up. This way the dumpee has the advantage of a heavy duty weapon and can let his/her anger out by firing at the dumper. Yup, I think that’s it! And then when asked why you broke up with the other person, you can honestly say: “ What do you expect! That loony shot at me!”
One thing though, before using this brand new method of breaking up, for the love of god, make sure that the dumpee is as shite at hitting targets as I am!
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Extra Extra! Read all about it!
If you are hungry for more today...this time me pondering on the single life check this out: http://itelli.blogspot.com/. I had a guest roll as a blogger there. Kind of like "Also starring".
Enjoy
Enjoy
British Wildlife
I am still having problems concentrating on my work. It's not all my fault though, the British Wildlife Federation has been literally bugging me. First a big fat black fly was buzzing next to me. That was really distracting, so I opened the window and let it out. Then a peacock butterfly dropped by to say hello and check on my progress. I told it to bugger off and let me continue writing about how natural disasters are a perfect study area because they demonstrate the weaknesses of the affected societies blah blah. Finally a long legged spider ran across my desk. It looked as if it had something evil in mind so I caught the little bastard in an old wine glass, named it Josephine and threw it out the window. I hate hate hate spiders, they are so sneaky and creepy eeeeeeew. Which reminds me that Spiderman 3 is coming out soon and since I haven't seen Spiderman 2 I'm not likely to run to the cinema when it comes out.
Which reminds me that Superman is out and I don't think I'll go see that either. Those films are cursed and I'm sure that the girl playing Lois Lane will end up in a loony bin at some point and pull out her teeth in order to hide from the Krypton creeps that are out to get her just like the previous Lois did.
The Superman curse reminds me of Wonderwoman. Now that was a cool chick and not cursed in any way. I actually saw 3 pairs of Wonderwoman knickers in New Look earlier today which reminds me of Superman..again. If I were to buy those knickers, do you think I would be able to switch clothes really fast in a phonebooth and moreover would I wear the knickers over my stockings or not?
It's funny how my thoughts go in circles and always seem to wind up in the vicinity of Superman's pants.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
On the importance of pampering
Wow, what an incredibly philosophical title of a blog entry. I know many great books have the title On something and something although I can't remember one at the moment because the heat has incapasitated (looked that word up online) my brain momentarily. I tried looking one up on Amazon but "The Dangerous Book for Boys" by Conn and Hal Iggulden (freaky freaky names man) was what came up over and over again. Hence I give up my search for examples of intelligent books that start with On the... Your'e just going to have to take my word for it.
Anyway, I am very much looking forward to the return of the man who is the inhabitant of this Suntandrews flat. He was just absolutely fab on my return to Lets-get-out-of-here-ville, a masterchef who won't let you do the dishes and feeds you alcohol as you play couch potato in the living room with a remote control in hand and refuses to accept any dosh towards groceries, let alone help cleaning the house.
I must say that I was very much in need for pampering (not much of that on my rock in the North Atlantic Ocean). I have mostly been pampering others for the past month whether it be teenage family members, an elderly mum or a cat named Shoemoon. I have gotten used to this pampering and was therefore absolutely devastated when the masterchef left for Londonium to chill with a Norwegian oil sheikh.
I will however try not to get too used to this regal treatment since there's little hope of such measures on my return to "real life".
The moral of this story is that being pampered occasionally is necessary to one's wellbeing or in the words of philosophus maximus the Austrian modern times Freud: "I'll be back"!
Friday, July 21, 2006
Feels like a heatwave...
The news about the heatwave pestering the Uk-ians is not a lie! My online weather Bible tells me that it's 24 degrees here in Smallville. To me that's melting point and even worse...upsets my summer routine. You see, I have a special dress code for summer. It comprises of a traditional Icelandic pullover and/or a thick fleece jacket. Not being able to wear these items here in the Uk-aine is unacceptable, absolutely unacceptable.
The worst bit is that I am unable to use my main tool of how-to-scare-Big-Europe, the socks-in-sandals combo. I recently bought a special pair of red knee high socks with blue diamond shapes up the leg just to wear with my Moshulu sandals to shock the hell out of those orthodox Europeans/Americans. The no sock fascism upsets my liberal way of thinking so it is my own little personal rebellion.
Alas, the heatwave has destroyed my cunning plan of world domination through sock/sandal scare tactics. It's just too damn warm to be bothered to wear the socks, sweaty toes are not comfortable so I have been forced to do what the Romans do (like in the saying..).
I feel betrayed and bewildered and my feet are suffering, you see, my delicate sock clad Icelandic feet just aren't used to the touch of the rough suede inside of my sandals. Oh, the horror!!
By the way, the picture of Hector has nothing to do with this entry although I am sure those clever Trojans wore socks with their sandals all the time... I just put him in there to show that bearded guys in dresses or drag as some choose to call it are absolutely desirable.
Go beards- Go drag-dudes!
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Panic!!!!!!!
What can I say that my lovely a-sexual friend Morrisey hasn't already said more brilliantly than me?----
Panic on the streets of London
Panic on the streets of Birmingham
I wonder to myself
Could life ever be sane again ?
The Leeds side-streets that you slip down I wonder to myself
Hopes may rise on the Grasmere
But Honey Pie, you're not safe here
So you run down
To the safety of the town
But there's Panic on the streets of Carlisle
Dublin, Dundee, Humberside
I wonder to myself
--------
You see I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. My thesis that was supposed to be such a bloomin Louvre masterpiece is still just a Japanese tourist instant cam snapshot and a fragmented one at that! I have discovered that only a tiny bit of the bloody thing is ready and the rest is in the form of notes. It's due 2 and a half months from now and I am already panicking...
But there's Panic on the streets of Carlisle
Dublin, Dundee, Humberside
I wonder to myself
--------
You see I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. My thesis that was supposed to be such a bloomin Louvre masterpiece is still just a Japanese tourist instant cam snapshot and a fragmented one at that! I have discovered that only a tiny bit of the bloody thing is ready and the rest is in the form of notes. It's due 2 and a half months from now and I am already panicking...
What is happening in the universe of B? Why is it that I over-read? Why have I become a chronic note-taker and can't transform my knowledge and notes into proper chapters?
Then there's the constant sinus headache that keeps bugging me not to forget the unending notion in my belly that feels like I have a friggin beehive in there.
At least this trauma has given me an idea for the 2nd part of my auto-biography " On the verge of a nervous breakdown on the verge of the known world".
The good news is that I am leaving for a sunnier place, a warm place in the deep south, a place called... Sun-Tandrews. The last holiday I had there was lucrative; I got a hell of a lot done.
OK, I will seize panicking now, as le Morrisey says Barbarism begins at home... and I have Hofflander to keep me sane...
Next writing session will be from the UK headquarters.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Have nothing to say
That's why I choose to share one of my pictures with you. This one's taken at night on a loch on the way to Mallaig. I have forgotten the name of the loch, but it nevertheless sticks in my head as one of the prettiest places I've ever seen. If you want to find this loch, or may have an idea about it's name, all I can tell you that it's somewhere between Mallaig and the Glenfinnan viaduct (you know the pretty railroad bridge thingy from Harry Potter). I would recognize the name again though, just can't be bothered to find a decent map of this area when I should be writing about agricultural economy in 18th century Iceland.
Back to work now...
Monday, July 10, 2006
WHY?
What an incredible game yesterday. The family was screaming and jumping up and down on the couch and we almost had to toss a coin to decide which unlucky sod had to prepare dinner (of course it came down to my brother in law to handle the barbecue; it's a man's job baby). I put some money on Italy winning, but after watching the game for about 2 seconds, my feelings towards Le Bleu just came out of the closet and I started humming Le Marseillase. Alas, the hero of the game became the villain in the 110th minute. What was he thinking? What an idiot, that son of a silly person; the Marseillase soon became more like me chanting repeatedly: "Zidane, you goddam moron, why why why?" What a shameful way to end a terrific career.
I am shocked at his behaviour even though I should perhaps not throw stones in a glasshouse when it comes to shameful behaviours, having threatened to kill a senior citizen that cut in front of me in a bakery the day before the game... I am just tired of rude, old people; well actually rude people in general. Hmmm, maybe Zidane shares my feelings and that other fellow Materazzi was being rude?
In any case, neither me nor Zidane should be threatening death or head-butting people..it's just not nice, and should rather be done in the dead of night when the bakery customers or the world are not watching...
Monday, July 03, 2006
The real reason Iceland was settled
I did a little roundtrip with a wee tent recently. The destination was beautiful Scotland. During my two year stay in this magnificent country I have often wondered why those silly vikings abandoned the warm and fruitful hills of Caledonia for a windy and freezing cold rock in the middle of the North Atlantic. It simply didn't make sense and I came to the conclusion that my ancestors had a nasty attitude and a bad sense of humour; I mean, Iceland isn't exactly the land of milk and honey if you catch my drift. On day two of my camping trip however, it dawned on me that Hagar the horrible and the rest of them were just a clever, clever bunch of murderers and villains; living in Scotland defies all logic! The real reason for the vikings' departure wasn't the militant natives or anything of that sort, it was the midgies. Those little bloodsucking creatures made my camping experience a living hell! They are tiny little flying bastards and they sucked me dry every darned day (I swear I heard them giggle as they flocked around me and poured poison into my bloodstream). Thirty bites on my forehead alone is just ridiculous! And the itching, oh, the itching, I can't even begin to desribe how miserable I was, sniff sniff. Being an environmental historian, I have always been opposed to bug spray and weed killers, but after the nights of a thousand midgies I say DDT 'em all!
I have the utmost respect for the Scots who have survived with theses miniature vampires for thousands of years and my experience has made me re-appreciate my native land; a land that is too cold for flying pests like midgies. I thank my viking ancestors for making life fly free and cold for their unborn offspring. Give me locusts, give me wolves, give me a thousand Loch Ness monsters; all of them put together are just a joke in comparison to the real Scottish monsters...
Alas! My legs will never be the same again.
