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The Cozy Spot

September 19, 2008

Today's Blog Read: Psychotic Fiesta

I'm quite erratic with regular updates or blog segments. I start a segment, go off on a tangent, remember the segment, and think...ahhh...okay. But today, doing the web surf, Friday and all (waiting for the frigging treadmill to be delivered) and psyching myself up for a visit to my GP for a prescription update (to be asked why I didn't visit el Shrinko, "because I'm over it?"), I read Psychotic Fiesta by Bobby and it's a compulsive read. I'm not going to say anything more. You have to read it.

Psychotic Fiesta

A Job Like Any Other???

This post will probably have some sex workers up in arms. I don't really mind their profession; what they do is their business (preferably private), but it's quite strange to reconcile the fact that many of them expect their jobs to be viewed on the same level as other jobs when they're not like other jobs. To say, 'it's a job like any other job' simply doesn't ring true no matter how many sex work activists say it is.

What made me think about this? The rising popularity of 'hooker' television, the type that glamorizes the industry, and it did make me mentally explore a high school situation. It's a hypoethical situation, but imagine if a girl entered a career guidance counselor's office and said, "I want to be an escort/hooker/prostitute.' Imagine that? But is it possible in the future? Television tends to glamorize sex. There are no wet spots, fanny farts, butt farts and the sweat is carefully applied. There is seldom any male arse hair. There are no lop-sided penises, droopy boobs or occasional stretch marks. Thus, if a girl – after a constant diet of 'hooker TV' (like Secret Diary of a Call Girl) and the array of perfect-sex sex worker diaries/blogs – arrived at the real deal, what would she experience? Would she be shocked, horrified or disillusioned?

At UNSW, I had the misfortune of picking a general education topic in my third year.  It was called "Social Aspects of Deviance," and to tell you the truth, I hated this class after the first class I attended. Everything was so politically correct. Everyone knows that legalizing prostitution does little to persuade the average person. Call it the Madonna/Whore Syndrome, whatever takes your fancy, but people prefer to live life within clear lines; they have their work, they have their play. They have definitions. There is nice and there is naughty, and so on. You can legalize prostitution but you won't alter the inner definitions of the individual. Prostitutes may say (until they're blue in the face), "my job is like any other," but really, who believes that? I'm not going to pretend and say that I believe it, because I don't, because it's not like any other job or a conventional job. For starters, ordinary jobs don't require a person to show their short and curlies, or their waxed genitals. And that's just the start.

In some countries, there is a 'bring your children to work day,' or something along those lines. Now, don't tell me that you can do this in the sex industry. You can't. Hence, it isn't like any other job. It's not like you can explain the 'punters' or 'johns.'

"Why are you wearing that mummy?"
"Because he likes the texture of PVC, darling."
"But why are you carrying a whip?"
"He likes the occasional smack every now and then."
The child frowns in confusion.
"Is he naughty?"
"He likes to pretend being naughty."
"But what if I pretend to be naughty? Will you whip me with that?" asks the horrified child.
"No darling, this is a pretend whip. It doesn't really hurt. It's only for grown ups, now come along so you can see what mummy does for work." The door opens to an average room in a suburban brothel (if you think everything resembles a glam TV show, then you really need a reality check – most punters can't afford five star brothels).
"OMG…he's not wearing any pants. Ew…yucky!"
"Now, now…let's not be rude to the nice man."

It wouldn't really work would it? Average job like any other? Who are we trying to kid? Ourselves? But that's not to say that it's a morally 'wrong' choice. If a person can handle it, then sure, whatever works to bring home the bacon, but don't push the envelope up my ass and call it a 'job like any other.' Prostitution is about as ordinary as working in a S.W.A.T. team. Imagine bringing your kid to work during a hostage siege?

"That's a big gun!"
"Careful. Don't touch it! It's dangerous!"
"Is it like the movies? Are you gonna break the door and charge through like the Feebies?"
"FBI," child rolls their eyes.
"Are you gonna kill the bad guy, are you?"
"That all depends…"
"On what?"
"If he tries to kill us."
Kid starts crying..."I'm scared. You're going to die...We're going to die...I want my mummy!"
"Stop your grizzling! I can't concentrate!"
S.W.A.T. team parent thinks, 'whose idea was this stupid take your kid to work day?"


To come: my weekly roundup of my frustrated diary of a television viewer. Yes, housemate did it again. Stole the television to perve at Billie Piper, and I don't mind Billie Piper. Which woman carries a roll of cash?...but...that's for later.

When People Give Away Privacy Rights Without Realizing

Privacy. What does it really mean today? Not much. I can't say I'd feel sorry for people who whine about losing privacy but enjoy hacking into accounts, or media organizations that publish private correspondence to gain traffic.

There are many people that complain about governments interfering with privacy, but it's funny how people that defend the content on sites like Gawker don't really consider non-government interference. Incidentally, I read about Palin's email leak in a newspaper that didn't feature any email screenshots but when I read about the publication of some emails, I didn't believe it, so I had a look at the site that was named (Gawker) and had a look for myself, finding it quite incredible or unbelievable. I couldn't be bothered reading the content or the faux article/blog post.

Another SATC Couch Trip: The Carrie Diaries or Bullshit Ad Infinitum

I was reading an article in Australian Vogue about the Carrie Bradshaw phenomenon, namely the unrealistic example of a writer's life offered by this fictional character. The article is only available in the print edition of Australian Vogue, but if it can be summed up, it basically points out flaws in the Carrie Bradshaw world of writing. For example, it's completely impossible to go spastic in luxury fashion stores in Paris on a mere twenty thousand dollars; you can't buy four Chanel suits with twenty thousand dollars. There's more where that came from. Regular splurges on premium designer heels for a once-weekly columnist is completely unrealistic. In the Sex and the City film, one pair of shoes Carrie wears are quoted (in the film) with an incorrect price in the vicinity of five hundred dollars when the real pair is around nine hundred dollars.

So what the hell is going on? What is it with unrealistic characters? Do writers (Candace Bushnell) really believe that other writers are going to swallow the bullshit? Carrie lives in Manhattan, she writes a one-weekly column, she can afford to pay her rent, buy heaps of designer heels, go on spending sprees in Prada (a mere handbag averages two thousand dollars; Prada doesn't create dresses below five hundred dollars) and go nuts with her book advance (a paltry twenty grand) in Dior, in Paris. I'd believe if it there was any reference to a huge trust fund, but there isn't, which is why the character of Carrie Bradshaw is severely flawed.

The Vogue writer pointed out the disparities; she was unable to recall any similarities in her life. At one point she decided to increase her writing schedule and relied on her partner financially; she still couldn't afford designer trinkets. If you're single, have no additional financial support from a spouse or family, then you're on your own. People wonder why writers are –in a way- predisposed to bouts of depression. Well here's a clue: you're trying to write, balance writing with a full-time job, have no other form of financial support apart from your day job, and feel like you're going nowhere sometimes. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why some people find it discouraging or downright depressing, but in the world of superficial columns, fictional writers like Carrie can afford to buy nine hundred dollar Louboutins from the boutique.

Well there's more Carrie. Not to worry. Bushnell is planning the Carrie Diaries
. The first book in the Carrie Diaries is slotted for 2010. By then, are we going to be interested in a teenage Carrie? It's been years since the TV series finished, and by 2010, two more years would have passed since the film, and why would thirty-year-old women, or thirty-plus year old women be interested in reading the 'teenage' diary of Carrie? I mean, we've already read about the sexual incidents, have watched the show (which is absolutely nothing like the original book) and the film, and we're going to take a retro dive into Carrie's teenage insights? It's becoming like Friday the 13th; endless sequels of nothing-in-particular. Then again, I can see the appeal or corporate appeal behind such a character. Sex and the City is also about advertising fashion brands, and it has become more about fashion brands than a story. Can we expect a teenage Carrie to wear a bubble skirt, tube skirt or shoulder pads, Eighties style? (Insert Al Pacino Godfather III voiceover) "Just when you thought you got out (from the pile of shoulder pads, Choose Life! T-Shirts, Frankie Says Relax T-Shirts, bubble skirts et al) they (Harper Collins and Candace Bushnell) drag you back in."

When will Candace Bushnell ever grow up? By 2010, the aftermath of the financial crisis (around the globe), not to mention the recession that the US is in denial about, a character like Carrie will be out of synch or out of the times. I never thought I'd see the day where characters (book to television) would get up my nose but Carrie Bradshaw is a neck-and-neck tie with Belle (de Jour). I'm just waiting for the photo-finish.

The Dick Smith Porno Mobile Phone: The Sequel on Ebay

Yesterday I blogged about the porn cell phone ("Customer Service: Free Porn on Mobile Phone), the case involving unethical employee conduct that can be called 'stupidity'.
The student who bought the phone, unaware of the candid sexual images (courtesy of Dick Smith staff), is planning on selling the phone on Ebay - the place to earn more than the value of the item. I checked. The phone isn't listed yet, but if you want to track the outcome, try searching for " "the original Dick Smith scandal mobile phone."
As for the company investigation? Staff at the store have been interviewed but no word on the culprit. I'm sure that whoever buys the phone from Ebay will no doubt think of dollar signs as they reveal the images - and when that happens, the entire world will (no doubt) see the amateur 'porn stars'.
What a way to get back at a store assistant/company for bad (lazy) customer service.

Now, if you were the boss of the store, CEO, whatever, wouldn't you just give the woman a state of the art mobile phone as a replacement? It's logical isn't it? Give the woman an iPhone for Christ's sake, and continue with your investigation. But no, an investigation is required first...the news gets out...It's enough to make the namesake of the store (who no longer owns the franchise) spit a few dummies, and I don't blame him. If customer service skills today, were a film title it would be -Customer service: The Rise of the Incompetent and Clueless or The Erosion of Common Sense. And that's coming from me...a CS wunderkind. You wouldn't think it (this blog is my other side), but I've been a CS star on many occasions only to reach my limit due to the increase of idiots that fail to comprehend that the customer is right, regardless.

My New Lolcat....

funny pictures
moar funny pictures

Click the pic and vote for my kitties!
I took the above image in the early hours of yesterday...round about 3AM when I heard little Zelda squirm (with gusto) in a paper shopping bag in the kitchen.

September 18, 2008

My CSI Idea: Fish in Penis

Candiru I read a newspaper article and I started laughing. Before anyone thinks I’m cruel or callous, I laughed that “you’ve got to be kidding,” laugh. It wasn’t a malicious laugh, but I couldn’t help entertain thoughts about God. Now if you take God as a literal creator, then you’d arrive at the conclusion that God would be female after this scenario:

A boy in India was taken to hospital after experiencing agonizing pain and dribbling urine. Doctors found a teeny weeny fish in his bladder.

It may seem like a Ripley’s Believe it or Not story but it’s true. Further reading took me to the usual corner, Wiki, and yes, there is a fish that has a nasty habit of going for the genitals. It’s called Candiru and it’s a parasitic freshwater catfish and it tends to swim into the vagina, penis and get into the bladder via the urethra, and the fact that it has protruding spines adds to the agony. It’s a tricky little fish; its translucence makes it difficult to see. The reason behind its attraction to genitals? Its attraction to the taste and smell of urine. The fish behind the Indian incident hasn’t been confirmed as Candiru (Candiru lives in The Amazon), but it’s similar to a Candiru attack.

You could definitely see this parasitic critter having a starring role in one of the CSI episodes:

Betrayed female (spouse, lover, girlfriend, stalker) seeks revenge, abducts the love of her life, and in a scene that could be straight from Hostel (even though it has never appeared in Hostel or Hostel II), plunges him in a bath filled with Candiru fish. Weeks later, after the fish has caused its host to hemorrhage (its spines rubbing against mucous membranes and the fact that psycho female hasn’t sought medical help for her victim), a body is discovered on a beach, the body is taken to the morgue and the medical examiner is perplexed. The dead man hasn’t drowned, and he hasn’t taken a dip in the sea water. What could have killed the poor bugger? And in a scene that is as gross as the itty-bitty alien bursting through John Hurt’s abdomen in Alien, the medical examiner hears a slight gurgling sound from the  man’s nether regions, and to his/her horror, sees an eel-like micro-fish wriggling out of the man’s half eaten urethral opening. Now, if it is the medical examiner in CSI: Miami, she’d say something like, “ooh baby! What’s this little fishy doing down there?” If it’s the medical examiner in CSI (Las Vegas), he’d be stoic, but his eyes would widen somewhat - this dude is so experienced, nothing fazes him, not even a scary little penis eater.
This is followed by the traditional gallery of macro forensic shots charting the possible entry of the parasite: penis, urethra and bladder - in order. After the medical examiner delivers the cause of death, you either have Horatio or Grissom (only because I think CSI: New York is boring with a capital B) frown in amazement (and slight revulsion, after they realize that the fish was in the dead man’s penis), step in  and order the other CSI grunts to look into every Candiru shipment that entered the United States.

Horatio would say: “Aquariums, museums, labs…get on it now. This little sucker gives me the creeps.”
Grissom would say: “Interesting…” (then he’d head to his personal library and read up on Candiru).

We then enter a maze of illegal fish imports, mysterious disappearances that involve gambling (“which poor sucker can outlast the Candiru? Taking bets now...) and the odd scary parental tale told to kids, “don’t stay in the bath tub too long…the Candiru will get you!”

It’s one way to shorten bath-time…

Suggested title for my imaginary CSI episode:


Yeah…it’s a killer huh?

Ps: if you’re thinking of holidaying along the Amazon, don’t even think about skinny dipping or any kind of dipping - the Candiru will (most likely) get you. Me, I’d rather have a case of the crabs…I told housemate about my CSI idea. He told me I was sick ("only a sick person would think of a story like that" "it may be sick, but at least it's a little different from your garden type variety crime". Seriously, how many more serial killers and gunshots can one tolerate?), you know, like it's not sick to see bludgeoned bodies on a crime show? Hello? You can see a bloodied/battered body on prime time television, but a boob? No chance, and I'm sick?

The Scat Question

I'd like to say that my life is cushier now that I've been away from the behemoth corporation, but this is not so. I'm in the process of renegotiation life, and I don't mean that in a morose or suicidal sense. Far from it. I mean it from reorganizing everything from kitchen pantries to the spare room (that'll house the new treadmill); it takes me forever to do these things.

Today, after running errands (bills, the coffee stopover, restocking on notepads and getting my son a new scientific calculator for school), I returned home, thinking 'ah, a second coffee.' As I stirred my strong beverage, housemate returned from wherever he was, and started. It was 'Ask Ana a silly question' day.

"OMG, how can you stand it? When are you going to change the kitty litter?"
Having two cats is a challenge. Kittens (little Zelda) go through growth spurts, which means extra food, and there are days when even I can't keep up with the shit; I put on a baby voice and ask Zelda how she generates that much poo but she purrs and eyes her mouse toy.
"Give me a moment, I just got home," I said.
"But you had time to make a coffee. How can you drink a coffee (with the faint aroma of eau de cat crap)?"
I didn't know where to begin. I mean...this is coming from a person who knows me for more years than my mother. This is the person who'd have a near aneurysm each time I returned from anatomy labs at uni, telling me, "Don't you dare put your lab coat in the washing machine!"
What do you say? Or what do I say in response?
"I'll do it in five."
"You mean you can sip coffee and act like it doesn't bother you. Can't you smell it?"
He acted like we had the cat crap equivalent of Mt Everest. Then again, he is a queasy dude.
"Look," I began, "I actually can't smell it."
He stared at me, mouth agape, questions plaguing him to hell and back.
"Jesus Christ, I've cleaned shit in nursing homes for four years, then there's two solid (pardon the pun) years of baby shit, that makes six years of shit. You become desensitized to it after all of that, surely!" I said with added eyeball roll.
He responded with two words:

"You're mad."

"It took you more than a decade to figure that out?" I replied sarcastically.

Big Brother Virgin Auction: Non Millionaires Should Not Apply

Vvirginbull She's sultry, Italian and claims to be a virgin. She wants to earn money to buy a house and take acting lessons, and the idea of legitimate work hasn't entered her mind. If I am honest, and say that I doubt the virginity of this girl, based on her age and the fact that being a devout 'Catholic' means little in the virginal stakes, then it would be viewed as politically incorrect, but what the hell right?

If I were a zillionaire bidding for this woman's immaculate vagina, I'd require medical examinations from at least two gynecologists, to validate her virginal claim. Then again, what is a virgin? To me, a virgin is someone who is completely naive/innocent/ignorant of most sexual acts, fellatio included. In short, a person that has no awareness of these acts. I don't see how a person can claim to be a virgin if, for example, they've performed a glut of oral sex. The idea of being a virgin based on vaginal penetration is silly to me. A person can have anal sex as a substitute. And it's not really about the acts, it's about the mindset behind the acts, or following sexual desire through. That, to me, is what defines a virgin from a non-virgin. Virginity to me, is more than a hymen.
There are positives and negatives, depending on your ethical stance, behind virginity auctions. The negative, I guess, relates to the outright commercialization of sex. It, regardless of how it is viewed, is a form of prostitution. It can be said that people prostitute themselves in other areas or fields anyway. The idea of earning more than a million dollars for defloration can be a double edged sword. Following the logic: if one can earn so much from sex alone (primarily based on looks, because let's face it, looks are a factor as well as age) then it follows that they can earn more without putting in the hard yards. Then again, it depends on the female. The positive, which probably outweighs the negative, is that the female gets something for getting her cherry popped, and this is a positive change from the 'nothing' that can arise after awkward first times that don't see a relationship blossom at the end of the rainbow.
Lastly, only a careless man would bid for virginity. The fact that this Italian babe is publicising her alleged virginity also means that publicity will follow the bidder, and it doesn't make for a positive image. She expects a million dollars, which means that ordinary blokes cannot apply to bid, but not only this the bidding would have to be conducted via an agent of sorts, and the bidder will have to provide some surety. Imagine accepting a bid, for the winning bidder to be a complete pauper on Social Security? Wouldn't that be ironic? The man bidding for virginity would have to be assured complete privacy, and I doubt that a public figure/millionaire would bid on such a thing. The risk is too high. What would people think of a known 'millionaire' (or billionaire) if they found out he was the winning bidder? Some people would undoubtedly think, 'how desperate' or 'how foolish'. In this day and age, there is no such thing as a completely 'innocent' or 'virginal' person; most female virgins are aware of the birds and the bees, some of them compensate by accepting oral sex as a substitute and others make do with anal sex. In short, they're not full (sexual) virgins.

The idea of an Italian babe saying she's a virgin is hilarious to me, and I don't mean that in a negative way; Europeans are freer with sex. They don't fret about pre-marital sex as much as, say, WASP's do. Sex isn't a stigma or a determinant of personality, values and/or ethics. But if the girl wants the money, hey, why not huh - even if a vagina is just a vagina in the end?

I guess Raffaele Fico is cheaper than a David Hirst shark in formaldehyde, and aesthetically appealing as well.

September 17, 2008

2 Days and 250 Million Dollars Later...

It's quite naive to think that artists are the sole creators of their work. They have an idea, but if they have a large team of co-workers, or preside over a team of people, is it all about them? But as is always the case, the 'head artist' is the one that is blessed with fame. David Hirst, to me, may differ from Andy Warhol in terms of style, but they're both similar in the way they create art - by having 'staff' to help them create it; it's very difficult to admit a dislike for Andy Warhol's work, but I don't think Warhol a big deal and I can understand why whacko feminist Solanas tried to shoot him dead - when she didn't fit into his 'clique' and cast her aside, she didn't know what to do. I've never liked his work and loathed high school art classes during my teacher's Warhol moments. When I told my art teacher in my senior year in high school, she thought me a philistine, but I couldn't see the art in recreating something like a Campbell's Soup can. Warhol didn't create the design but because he reproduced it, it was 'oh wow,' and made artsy New Yorkers wet their pants. I guess many of them hadn't visited The Louvre. Such artists take the credit, and others that work beneath them remain anonymous, and I guess this part of art irritates me because art, unlike other industries tends to focus on the individual (artist). It's not like the fashion industry, let's say, where one designer takes the credit after sweat shops put clothes together and/or assistant designers do the grunt work.

The latest update (total financial tally) on the David Hirst sale at Sotheby's boggles the mind, but the other thing that caught my eye was this:

"Last year the artist, who works with a team of about 200, sold a platinum skull encrusted with 8601 diamonds for £50 million in a private sale. It is thought to be the world's most expensive piece of contemporary art."

Ergo, it takes 200 people to make David Hirst, David Hirst, and it's now, after months of reading interviews with art curators, some of whom have critiqued his work, that I can see the portion of critics do have a point. Did Picasso have 200 people working under him? Did Dali? Did Vincent Van Gogh? Did Henry Moore? Did Leonardo da Vince or Michaelangelo?

Another quote from the SMH article:

"Not everyone was happy with this week's auction. The Stuckist art movement, which promotes figurative art as opposed to conceptual art, said buyers were mad to buy Hirst's work at such prices."

Now, if I refer to my previous post, especially the final sentence, I wouldn't say 'mad' but stupid. One would have to be stupid (or pretentious to the point of stupidity) to fork out nine million pounds for a shark in formaldehyde. The irony is such that these ridiculous purchasers think they know about art because of the money they have to buy it, or they follow what pooncy gallery staff tell them is art (because the commission is stupendous - it beats working in a call center or a boutique ferrying clothes to socialites). Imagine the commission on a nine million pound shark in in formaldehyde?

I'm still toying with the idea of menstrual art; sticking an adhesive sanitary pad on a canvas and titling it "Day One: The Red Sea". (note: if you're an artist and you've read this, and it's tickled your mind and you copy it, I'll hunt you down and kill you).


It could be called art...After all, didn't that other idiot create 'Piss Christ'? What the hell was that all about? He didn't need urine to do it. Photoshop could have sufficed, but without the urine there is no controversy is there?


Customer Service: Free Porn on Mobile Phone

Jeez, I don't know...I mean, people get free porn and they're unhappy about it? What is wrong with them? Actually, this is serious. I shouldn't be making fun of an incident that occured via a Dick Smith electronics store in Cairns.

A woman purchases a mobile phone. It is the last phone in the store, a display phone, and she finds that the earpiece doesn't work properly, and subsequently finds 49 images stored on the phone
. When she accesses the images, she sees the following:

"a woman naked from the waist down lying on a bed performing a sex act, a man holding his penis and consecutive shots of the woman in her bra and pulling her pants down."

There is another twist. The woman in the photographs is a store staff member.
It's not what you'd call perfect customer service.  True to corporate form, an investigation is underway, with the female staff member on 'mute,' until the investigation is over, but man, it would be difficult to deny things if there is photographic evidence. What I don't get, after every single celebrity sex film/video and photograph, is what a portion of today's women (those who still take intimate photographs to have those photographs exposed) don't get. Are they silly? Are they stupid? I mean...49 images on a store display mobile/cell phone?

Maybe companies need to review their recruitment processes. In my previous post I discussed the rise of oral sex, but the real problem in society isn't the oral sex, it's the rise of stupid people.

Having Sex Without Having Sex?

I'd like to blame Bill Clinton for what I'm going to discuss, or refer to, but it's not that simple. It's the rise of oral sex in Australia, particularly among teenagers according to a SMH article. I think that oral sex has always been viewed this way: it's not 'full sex'. The only type of penetration that it involves is oral penetration and since that doesn't involve potential reproduction, then it's not considered a huge deal and yes, these sorts of newspaper articles or sexual articles (that appear in the mass media) focus on heterosexual adults or teenagers.

The SMH article relates to the rise of oral sex as a form of abstinence, which doesn't make that much sense really. The idea of oral sex not being 'sex' doesn't make sense either. It still falls under the category of sexual intimacy. Don't let any Rhodes scholar tell you otherwise - it's still a sexual act. If oral sex isn't a sexual act and more in line with a platonic greeting, like a handshake, then we'd be going down on everyone instead of shaking hands.

I've always thought of oral sex as sex or a part of sex/intimacy. I can't separate or decant it. Then again, I've never been kind enough to give a bloke the full pleasure. Maybe I'm selfish, but those porn films depicting women being satisfied by fellatio only are all bollocks to me. I think bukkake is a (pornographic) commercial prop. I've seen films depicting women giving oral sex and acting (because that is what it is - acting) like they're in the throes of ecstasy, having multiple orgasms via fellatio alone. But the idea of oral sex not being sex is beyond me. I mean, does this idea relate to the theological and moral/social value placed on genitals or what?

According to the article, people have a tendency to think oral sex safe, and it's not safe without a condom and the idea of sucking on latex isn't erotic either, artificial flavors can only last so long and if you don't have flavored condoms, then it sucking on a condom - pardon the pun - sucks.

The New Agenda

There were new domestic developments this week. For one, I decided to return to writing longhand. This business of writing everything on a computer from first go doesn't work for me as I don't feel a mind/hand connection as I type. Sometimes typing is much too fast for me and if I slow down or force myself to slow down (I type at more than eighty words per minute), it seems too slow or slow to the point of falling asleep or losing my motivation altogether. So I went out, bought a few thick notepads and decided to print out the forty odd thousand words within a file.

The next item on my agenda arrived by freak chance. I've considered adding a treadmill to the house for a few months now but always put it off because I'm not into the idea of buying one outright. It's a hefty investment, but during an afternoon out, running an errand in a Westfield shopping centre, I came across a treadmill display and it didn't involve forking out a considerable sum on a treadmill. The only thing I had to do was place a small deposit and pay it off weekly. So I caved in, organized that and am eagerly awaiting its delivery this Friday. It's difficult to get any sort of decent outdoor workout in my area. Jogging is out of the question; I've never been able to do it and to be frank, I hate it, loathe the sensation of my tits bobbing up and down and my lungs feeling like they're sprouting little legs, readying to sprint out of my chest a la Alien. It's been like that for as long as I can remember; I was never one for running, jogging or sprinting in high school. But I can walk, but in my area, you can't maintain a regular pace due to the traffic and all the roads. You have to stop and wait for the lights every five minutes, which tends to be a pain in the ass but the weather hasn't been anything exciting either: rain, sun, rain, wind; where weather is concerned, Sydney has become Melbourne. Four seasons in one day. I can walk like a maniac, walk on an incline and so on, but running/jogging/tit-bobbing is torturous, not to mention undignified (if you see me running, you'll know why - pretty goes right out the window and I think or "This is hell!" is written on my face). I'd rather have anal sex five times in succession than have to run or jog around the block - and I don't like anal sex, which goes to show.

I've been a slacker where my own writing is concerned, typing here and there on Micro Word, sitting there staring at a screen, and it's not a block, I don't believe in writer blocks. To me, they translate to other things, like:

  • I'm shit scared.
  • The longer I spend on a project the more time to avoid sending it out.
  • I can't face possible rejection
  • I can't fail
  • I really don't feel like writing regularly

And so on... 

Me, I've been able to do a little bit every day but it's not enough. Typing has stalled the pace and it's not like I haven't noticed it, I have, but I tried to go against it. I thought, 'well I can type straight away, why write longhand?' but it hasn't worked that well for me because I'm accustomed to writing longhand before typing. Working the other way around feels unnatural for me. It may work for others, but it's difficult to get into a rhythmic flow.
I've been tossing all the above in my head for a few weeks now, thinking it spring, and time to give myself a bit of a spring clean after the last shitty year. After all, I no longer have a crappy office/cubicle to look forward to in the mornings (thank Christ), so I may as well make the most of it now. Deep down inside though, I doubt that I'll ever set foot in a corporate office ever again. 

September 16, 2008

The Irony of Finance

The sharemarket is experiencing a millennial nightmare. The NY stock exchange is reeling, this is affecting other global markets, but worry not, the world of art is thriving. Such is the irony of life, money or the artsy fartsy?
Hirst_shark Damien Hirst, he of the diamond encrusted skull, is making a killing. Today, his works were reported to earn 45 million pounds in 90 minutes; has Bill Gates made that much in ninety minutes? One of his works, a tiger shark in formaldehyde, sold for 9.5 million pounds.

The disparity between the financial world (stockmarket, etc) and the art world can't be more noticeable. A little food for thought.

Depression as an excuse for underage sex?

There are moments when I think that the Internet is just the Internet, and there are days when I think that this realm can be bizarre, making one question everything there is to question about conduct.
A 36 year old woman starts playing Runescape, and starts flirting with a 15 year old boy but it gets worse; she travels halfway around the world for sexual encounters with the teenage boy. The defense lawyer says it's all because of her depression. It all makes one wonder. Since when is depression a valid excuse for under aged sex?

"Prosecutor Patrick Southey told the court Ms Case knew the boy, who was only two years older than her son, was underage.

She had taken photos of the boy naked and asked him if it was ok if they had sex, Mr Southey said.

Mr Southey said the boy told police he was a willing participant in the intercourse and had refused to make a victim impact statement

"She seemed like a nice person. I was also excited about the thought of having sex with Barbara. She made me feel happy. She made me feel like a somebody" the boy told police."

There's the issue of parenting. There's the issue of online usage. There is the issue of adult irresponsibility on behalf of the 36 year old woman. So many issues. For a teenager to think that a virtual person will make them feel 'like a somebody?' The virtual trap. His parents will be questioning their parenting abilities, and it may not be a case of parenting. As parents, they'll expect that this woman is jailed - as many parents would.


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© Anastasia Mavromatis 2005 - 2008