Crossed Books
I seem to be updating this blog one time a month. Go me!
Anyways. I’m currently sorting through my books to select a fair few to be Bookcrossed. For those who think Bookcrossed is a silly made up word – well it kind of is.
Bookcrossing is a movement that launched in 2001. The idea is you take a book (one you own, please) and register it on the website. You are then given a unique BCID number (Book Crossing ID) to write in the book, along with a note to explain what the number is for and what to do with it. You then either leave the book in a public place (called a Wild Release) or you pass it on to someone else (which is a Controlled Release).
Anyway, I need shelf space and I do have a ton of books I will never read again. I am, actually, a chronic re-reader. I’ve got books in there I’ve read a hundred times. Some of them I can even recite chunks from off by heart. Picking out books to pass on is pretty easy, anything I’ve read and don’t want to read again, anything I bought for a hobby, craft or interest that I’m no longer interested in, things I’ve ended up with two copies of. Easy peasy.
Then there’s the books I simply MUST keep, and what an odd little collection that’s turning out to be. There’s the Snugglepot and Cuddlepie boxed set my Step Grandmother bought for me after Poppa died, picturebooks my Aunt had signed for me when authors visited her school, books that were gifts from my parents or friends that I won’t part with.
There’s the Clue storybook of the movie, the labyrinth picture book. A well work copy of “Eric the Wild Car” which was my absolute fave when I was a little tacker. Roald Dahl, Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams will all stay where they are because not having them accessible to me at all times is an impossible idea. There’s a section of witchcraft books from my time of interest in Wicca, which I shall keep because I still think Wicca is a pretty nifty idea actually – I even have a copy of the Malleus Maleficarum. I’m just that awesome.
For anything borderline, there’s the chapter one test. I read chapter one, decide if I can be bothered going through the whole story again, and then either reshelve it or toss it in the Bookcrossing pile.
You should totally join Bookcrossing – you can find it at www.bookcrossing.com and tell em Frogglin sent you. It’s a mad kind of random fun, very much a brilliant way to add some whimsy to the world.
An Open Letter to Fat Acceptance Bloggers
Dear Fat Acceptance Bloggers,
Believe me when I say, hooray for you. It’s great you’re working in any way to get all shapes and sizes accepted in society. As a fat gal myself, I appreciate the work that goes into this.
However, over the past few weeks I’ve seen some startling things in FA blogs, and frankly I can’t not mention this to you and to any of your readers.
I’ve seen claims that people should not try to lose weight. This is fair enough if a person is at their natural weight level, is eating well and moving enough. For some people that weight level is higher than for others, and that’s okay. Working to help people accept and embrace these larger sizes is fantastic, but blogging on the net doesn’t give you the right to guilt or harass people who – for whatever reason – decide they wish to lose weight.
I’ve seen claims that body weight cannot cause joint pain. Fact is, it can. For example, when I am at my heaviest, my knees and ankles are incredibly painful. My frame is not made to carry the weight I do, hence the pain. When I lose weight, no more pain. And before you say “but there might be another reason” I’ve had X-Rays and scans it’s simple trying to make my frame do more than it should. End of story.
I’ve seen claims that lifestyle is not a factor in weight. I’m sorry, but that is just out and out bullshit. Certainly for many people, it isn’t. For many people genetics, medical conditions or medications are the deciding factor, but at the same time you cannot tell me that someone who is eating nothing but junk food couldn’t be healther and, yes, thinner, if they changed their lifestyle.
Claims that are based purely on your own beliefs, with no medical or proven backup should be labeled as such. You are more than doing your readers a disservice by publishing your opinions as fact, you are being dangerous. It’s not okay to tell people to stay fat if their bodies are meant to be thinner. It’s not okay to enable unhealthy living, simply because YOU think it’s okay.
Body acceptance is important, I fully endorse the concept in every way, but there needs to be an understanding from you and from anyone else that all bodies are different, that some people are naturally fat and some people aren’t. By telling people that it’s really okay to just be as fat as they can be, you’re risking their health. It’s one thing to decide your own lifestyle, it’s totally another thing when your lifestyle choices are pushed onto other people as fact and the only way.
For the most part, fat acceptance bloggers are a reasonable and wise lot, but like any group on the internet, there’s rogues with their own agendas. I urge each and every fat blogger on the net to review their blogrolls from time to time. If you see dangerous or upsetting behaviour from someone on your blog roll, take them off. Don’t endorse them.
Finally, think about some full disclosure. Are you, FA Blogger, fat because of a medical condition, genetics, medications or something else? Let your readers know WHY you are over weight, so they can see where you’re coming from. If it doesn’t work for YOU to work out or whatever, that doesn’t mean you should discourage others from doing so, and it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work for anyone.
Thanks.
PS. I also know many of you delete comments you disagree with. Apart from obvious trolls, there’s no reason to do this at all. Certainly you have the power to do it, and it’s your blog and therefore your rules, but if you aren’t able to actually discuss your opinions, then there’s something wrong.
Confessions
I’m pretty harsh on young Justin Bieber. Mostly because he’s a no talent upstart with a legion of girlfans who consider him marriage material. However, it’s true that in the early teens and pre teens, a persons tastes are not entirely … developed. Would you like some proof? Okay.
Now, at 31 I would like you to know my tastes are highly refined and excellent. All of them. Who said Right Said Fred? Get out. (I love the Freds). But if we were to wind the clock back to around 1990, you’d find me adoring the following.
1. Corey Feldman.
Lord I was obsessed. Some magazine printed a list of all the movies he’d been in (there was no IMDB back then) and I kept it and highlighted them as I hired/copied them (VHS baby WHOO). We were going to get married. Totally. Yup. Gunna happen.
How did it end? I still think he’s alright looking, but it became increasingly apparent that he’s not a particularly good actor, and is also a total douche. These things, combined, put me off the corey train. I still love “Stand By Me” and “The Goonies” though.
Ratcat
I was in the fan club, I got up early to watch The Factory and Rage to see if they were on. I thought they were AMAZING. Maybe they were, my newly aged ears hear a lot of off key shouting, but that’s youth. Blind to the shouty lyrics. Cheesy too. Terribly cheesy, cliched and loud. Just like music should be, dammit.
How it ended. I think I just outgrew it.
3. Alex Papps
He’s the one in the red robe at at the start of that clip. He was DREAMY, even with mullet. He played Frank in Home and Away. I watched the Frank and Bobby wedding episode 9 million times, had the wedding poster on the wall. Oh Alex Papps.
How it ended. He fell off the television for a while and I moved on.
So that’s three. I was going to add Tiffany to this list, because I thought she was awesome. I Youtubed and guess what? I’m right, she was awesome. Also, as someone in the comments for the vid that’s coming pointed out “Oh wow, a teen singer who is fully clothed”. Those were the days, my friends.
If I had three million dollars…
Career racist Pauline Hanson was feeling a bit unknown a while back, so she had a major big tanty and said that because Australia was so multicultural it was now ruined, and she was moving to the UK (which has a greater cultural mix than Australia, so I’m not sure how long that will last). Oh the papers and TV were all over her, but like all small and not terribly important stories, it faded away.
So, desperate for some more attention, Pauline has announced that there’s no WAY she’ll sell her home to Muslims or immigrants. No way. Australians only, no matter what the offer is. Once more she’s all over the TV and can pretend she’s relevant for a little bit longer.
If I had three million dollars, I would buy her house. I would, it’s a nice place. Then I would rent it out as a Muslim retreat and have postcards printed to send to her. “Weather is beautiful, wish you were here!” with a bunch of ethnic looking people on the front, enjoying the high ceilings and amenities.
If you’ll excuse me, I have a lottery ticket to buy…
Screaaaaaaaaam
Despite being down with the kids and hip to the music of today, I hadn’t actually heard Justin Beiber sing anything. So I youtubed. I still haven’t heard him sing anything. Observe:
I hear a lot of autotune and see a lot of Upstart Not That Talented Young Man, but maybe I’m old, who knows? Okay okay so I’m not really the target audience for young Justin there, so perhaps my opinion of him is a wee bit moot, but I can still have an opinion on the kerfuffle that happened in Sydney.
First, Sunrise decided to have an open, unrestricted concert. Secondly, 87 million teenage and preteen girls hung around all night waiting for Justin to do something. Third, there was so much hysteria that when someone shouted he’d arrived early, the crowd surged forward, injuring some of the girls and causing some others to pass out with hysteria.
OKay so, I get that these girls are just DYING for Justin and they’ll never ever love anyone as much as they love HIM OMG. When I was 13 I was seriously going to marry Corey Feldman. Thankfully I didn’t, coz he’s a bit of a dick these days. I digress. IF, at the age of 12 I had said to my mother “I’m going to be out all night waiting for a concert in the morning, see ya!” my mother would have said “No you’re not, go to bed”.
I’m 100% certain that there must have been SOME parents there, surely. Not every parent of a teenage girl in Sydney would have allowed their offspring out alone all night – even with friends. Whatever parents WERE there were probably away from the crowd due to screaming and hysteria that went on all night.
On one hand, I’m disgusted that parental supervision was so lacking. The police have said sternly that with more parents in the area, the concert would have probably gone ahead due to better crowd control.
On the other hand, it’s deeply amusing to me that every single one of these girls will, in 5 or 10 years time, be past this Justin Beiber obsession and will probably not even tell people they were in Sydney at the time. Unless it’s to make people laugh.
Carte Postale
Around 2 years when I started post crossing, I kept a stash of around 10 cards at any given time. Over the months, this grew to.. well I don’t even know how many blank postcards I have now. I bought about 3 kilos worth while away last year, and I tend to buy boxed, booked and well any old card I can lay my grubby hands on. Some of them end up in my own collection (though I do prefer them written on) and the rest are set aside for Post Crossing requests. If someone wants sunsets, boats, camels or anything else, I would dig through my stash to find something. After a while I got tired of that, and sorted the cards into categories for easier findering. Here’s the old system in action:
It worked pretty okay, but had some downsides. For one, this house is pretty much full of millipedes who like to crawl into boxes and die. Also the cards get bent up and dusty. ALSO the boxes tend to attract other bits and bobs that are not cards. ALSO unless i kept something in there to prop them up, the cards tended to all fall over all the time, which for some reason seriously annoys me.
I just finished sorting out the stash – including all the random things that weren’t in the original boxes – into these drawers. Ideally, I’d like to replace these with wooden drawers at some point, but for now the plastic is okay (and cheap). Plus sides are that the cards are stored flat, away from dust and bugs. The only downside is that oversized cards don’t fit, so I’m trying to think of something to do with those (apart from send entirely oversized cards to people for a while).
It’s odd how good I feel about finally sorting out the pile of cards. I also had a really good clean out of the cards I got in bulk a year or so ago, tossing the ones I’ll never send. Well not tossing, putting in a box to decide what to do with. I SHOULD throw them into the recycling, but I might collage or something with them. You never know.
My god this blog is fascinating, isn’t it?
Hooded and Hot in all the wrong ways.
It’s around 31 degrees in Melbourne today, which is about 87F for my backwards friends. Warm. Hot, in fact. A good 11 degrees over my happy place. Most everyone is wandering around in the lightest clothes they own, apart from the poor guys working for the council in their council issue overalls.
Mama and I did the grocery shop and as we got back into the car (inside temp of car: Approx 7,000 degrees) and we looked up to see a family of three crossing the road. Two teenage boys and their mother were heading for the cafe. One of the boys was wearing shorts and a singlet type top, the mother was wearing a sundress. The other boy? Shorts… and a fleeced hooded jacket, zipped to the top, hood up. Under his bleach blonde hair, his face was the general colour of a tomato. Obviously too hot, and the heat escape which normally happens from the top of the head was blocked by a layer of thick grey fleece. No lightweight hoods for this guy!
Now, I know that the pants around the knees and hoods and whatnots are coming to our shore from the US, and I also know that suburban Melbourne and downtown Chicago are practically identical (I know I sometimes think I’ve passed out and been smuggled to the states when I drive through our suburbs), but there’s got to be limits to how much one will do for “cool”.
Back in High School I had some Goth friends who scurried from shelter to shelter in order to avoid getting any sun on them. One day a bunch of us went to the beach, and I listened in hysterics on the way home as one of the goths complained bitterly that he’d got a tan, despite the frequent and massive application of sunscreen.
This same guy once spent a 35 degree day in black leather pants, a black longsleeved shirt and boots up to his knees. Also black. He must have downed about 5 litres of water that day, and spent it looking rather red and bothered rather than cool and interesting.
I’m not knocking people’s fashion alliances, if you want to be goth, hoody, emo or whatever else is around now, then by all means do and enjoy, but maybe make sure your wardrobe contains a few things for different weather. You can’t just not go out in summer, and sweating like an old ham isn’t really that pretty. Also, it makes your makeup run.
Let’s talk about chests.
Boobs, tits, jugs, devils dumplings, fun bags, bazoombas, norks, The Girls, yabbos, dirty pillows, ding dongs, breasts, boulders, mozzie bites, milk bars.
Let’s talk, universe, about the female chestal area. Nature has seen fit to provide women with a means of feeding babies – just as all mammals do – with milk. Thankfully, we skipped the 6 nipple variation and went with two. For whatever reason, breasts are also a sexual thing which I don’t deny, even if I can’t explain why. Women spend hundreds of dollars on bras that lift, support, separate, squish, enlarge or flatten their mammaries. Other women just like them held in place. Some women, curse them, don’t even need a bra. Of course, some of THOSE women wish they did need a bra, so really no one is that happy with what nature gave them.
In many cultures (as any teenage boy with a copy of National Geographic can tell you), women are not required to cover their breasts. I suppose it’s just never occurred to them that boobs are evil and must be stopped, so they get about with a bit of a belty thing and a basket and all is good. In western culture, where we don’t have to worry about things like getting enough to eat, we have ample time to be concerned with the ampleness ladies carry about. Apart from the occasional topless beach, or nude beach, or commune or whatever, women are expected to keep their top half covered at least enough to prevent any public nipple exposure. While some places have no laws to say women can’t go topless like men, other places would explode in a blast of horror if a lass got her goods out in the street.
Which brings me, eventually, to the two things I found very super interesting. One of them is quite old, actually. I would have blogged it at the time but I was taking a nap. Anyway, in 2006 (told you), a magazine called Baby Talk featured a cover photograph of a baby being breastfed. The outcry was immediate and intense. Women complained it was “gross” and “disgusting”. Many women said they had destroyed the cover before their husband or sons could see it. It wasn’t the act of breastfeeding which was upsetting them, it was the fact there was a breast on the cover. You can see the cover here, where you will note there is no nipple and not really even a lot of breast.
According to this article, the concern was that men – being the animalistic dorks they are – would see this picture of a baby feeding and instantly be turned on to the point of passing out. Which is a load of old balls, if you’ll pardon the expression. Not wanting your husband to see it? Has he never seen a boob before? Not wanting your 13 year old to see it? Honey, the internet is full of boobs and I assure you, your son has seen a few by now. The fact is, that while they are very sexual, they are basically milk delivery systems, that’s the point of them even existing, so if the idea of someone seeing a picture of a baby feeding at the breast is so disgusting, then clearly something is not right.
Moving along swiftly to the website Cute Overload, who recently posted a photo of a hamster tucked inside his owners bra while she cleaned his cage out. You’d honestly be amazed at how much rage there is on a blog dedicated to adorable animals in the first place, but this really pushed a ton of people over the edge. More “gross!” and “disgusting!” and “Ewww!” with a few “Get over it!” thrown in for good measure, but the overwhelming feel from the comments on this page is “Breasts are nasty, let us never speak of them again”. The owner of said breasts came in and told everyone off, and the owners of the site repaid stupid comments in kind, so kudos to them.
The “Breasts are disgusting” mindset is dangerous for three reasons (mine gott but this post is getting long. Feel free to grab a cuppa).
1. Teaching women that boobs are disgusting and should be hidden away from the world and never talked or thought about means less of a chance these women will be doing breast self exams. The key point of breast exams is not just finding lumps or bumps, but it’s spotting changes in your breasts. Women who consider breasts to be evil or dirty are far less likely to be watching for these changes, and that is a dangerous thing. Every female from the teens onwards should be checking regularly for changes, and yes young women do get breast cancer. There needs to be open acceptance and discussion of methods, times and what to do if you happen to find a lump or a change, not a blanket “Ew, icky, let’s talk about daffodils”. Women need to be familiar with their breasts, and the changes in shape, size and texture that happen throughout the month.
2. If the concept of breastfeeding is seen as nasty or gross, or something to be ashamed of, less women will attempt breastfeeding. Now I’m not saying that every woman SHOULD breast feed, for some women it’s not possible for a variety of reasons and there’s never a reason to shame or blame these women. However, those who are able to should be encouraged to do so. Nature grants human babies with the ideal food, and telling women they should be ashamed of taking advantage of that is a terrible crime.
3. Women have long been taught that their bodies are wrong and disgusting anyway. Natural things like cellulite, body hair, padded hips etc are held up as signs of disgrace and ugliness. Surely we deserve a break, and if that break is boob shaped then so be it. Regarding the Cute Overload drama, my boy said “It’s amazing how many of the offended people are women”, and it’s true. A lot of the people screaming “Gross!” on both the CO post and the magazine cover are women. Women, far more than men, are being taught to be ashamed of their bodies unless they are able to meet an impossible ideal. To add breast hate to that list is just too too much.
I’m not saying that women should wander the world topless, but I am saying it’s time we dragged our arses out of the dark ages and realised that breasts are just skin and fat. They were not sent by the devil to tempt men, they were not designed to cause the downfall of society. They exist, on a purely biological level, to assist in the raising of babies. And, in my case, to get in the way a lot, but that is a blog post for another time.
Who’s for a cup of tea?
Icy and snow
The Winter Olympics are Olympicing, and it’s quite nice to see Australia compete in something we are so effortlessly terrible at. Australia is not generally a snowy place, except in the mountains and then only in the wintertime – not for us the year round snow of some places, or the slushy streets of others. So therefore, a wintery sporty person is pretty unusual, and our standards are uniformly low.
I don’t want to cast aspersions upon our Aussie Athletes, mostly because doing so would result in my being deported. We are, for some reason best known to someone who isn’t me, a Sporting Nation and therefore we Glory in Sport in a way that would be creepy if it wasn’t so damn National Pridey.
Coverage of the games over the last couple of days has focused almost entirely on one of our sporting gals who landed herself a gold medal by not falling over while landing, which is nice for her. Well done lady.
I enjoy the winter games usually, because it’s stuff we don’t tend to see, and there’s a far higher chance of amusing falling over than there is in say, cricket. Nothing warms my heart like a lass in a tiny dress landing on her bum on the ice. I’m a terrible person, but you knew that. Sadly, coverage this year is mostly things we’re okay at, with miffed commentators barely holding their dismay as we are placed 9th.
Really, as a nation, we should be happy they even let us play. Since most of our wintery sports people train outside Australia most of the time (due to the aforementioned lack of snow here), much of the population has never heard of them. The only reason anyone remembers the gold medal of Bradbury is because he got it when the rest of the field fell over.
The commentators of the ice skating are so amazingly bias toward Australia too, which is part hilarious, part irritating. A flawless skate by another nation might be greeted with a “excellent” or “well done”. If they fall over, the commentators will scream “Oh they’ve lost it, they’ve lost it!”. Our skater lands on her arse and slides practically off the ice and we hear “Slight slip up there”.
I’m having terrible trouble finding a highlights package of the falling over bits though.