changeling: (skinless)
This is the message I've been getting recently. First was PvP's recent comic "Bed Bath and Beyond Thunderdome" with this remark:
It's harder for women to make friends, okay? Women are competitive and catty and just generally unkind to each other.
...which is frankly untrue. I made at least two new friends on the weekend who were women, without trying very hard at all.

Then there was the hoo-ha that happens yearly at comedy festival time where it was said that women aren't funny. Ben McKenzie responded in an article on Crikey, "Angry Angry – Female Comedians can be Funny Funny", and you just need to read the comments to get an idea of the vitriol that gets hurled against women. I've lost count of the number of times when I've seen it explicitly or implicitly stated that a woman's job in her social group is to shut up, and put up with and laugh at the jokes of men. Some of those times have come from women's and girl's magazines on how to be popular or survive a first date. Some of those have been on sitcoms, where the female protagonists have been advised to do the same (and then usually mocked for complying poorly).

A quote from Ben in the comments of his article:
[T]o generalise that to “women aren’t funny” – even in an off-hand comment – is a symptom of a larger problem. This isn’t about women being funny; it’s about that opinion being part of the larger problem of sexism in our society. I think the only real reason people think “chicks aren’t funny” is the last one, that it’s a deeply ingrained understanding of how women are allowed to present to the world that leads to that opinion, so deep it takes some work to expose it.
The final point was made in the article "The Female Body", which makes very good points about the use of dead women in art and fiction for a whole bunch of purposes, and how this reflects our societal attitudes to women (and isn't as dry as it sounds from my summary). What struck me was this quote that was given:
Men and women don’t like each other very much. —Dame Rebecca West
So if you're a woman, we're told, no-one will like you. Other women don't like you (they view you as competition for their men and/or women), men sure as hell don't like you (this one still seems to be more true than the previous, unfortunately; the best you can hope for with some men is a sort of genial contempt, as if you were an amusing dog that had managed to walk on its hind legs), the media certainly don't like you, and advertising executives see you as some sort of magical money funnel without critical thinking skills (My three favourite words! It's on Sale! "thanks" for that, Diet Coke) or, alternately, sexual and passive set dressing to sell things to men.

It sure sucks to be a girl.
changeling: (sick)
I'm suffering rather at the moment from what my folkie friends and I have been calling Typhoid Kevan. Kevan came to the National Folk Festival (over the Easter weekend) with some sort of nasty respiratory infection and spread it around with every affectionate bear hug he gave, and he gave a lot. So I missed the last night of the festival because I was in bed by eight (but Cherie and I watched the first episode of the new season of Doctor Who together, so that was something).

The next day I had to help pack up camp and drive home with Jus – he kindly did most of the eightish hours' drive, though. I did about an hour and a half. Let me tell you: when you're feeling sick and wobbly, the last thing you want to do is stand in the cold and pull up tent pegs.

So then I stayed at home for two days. It was nice apart from a serious attack of Guilt from my Guilt Gnome, who doesn't really believe that I'm allowed to take sick leave, and is afraid that I'm going to be fired for it. There are Reasons for this, unfortunately, but I wasn't really feeling up to having a monster conversation with him/her/it about it yesterday.

Today I'm back at work. I have lots of things on my plate at the moment, the most immediate of which is processing our Annual Reprints. I came in to a desk entirely covered in the sodding things. Piles of textbooks, all with print-outs of corrections in place.

The interesting thing about reprints is that all the pages I have to check pretty much look the same. Some of them are printed and some of them are emailed PDFs, but the corrections should just look like the printed book except fixed. So if someone leaves a pile of books on my desk with no note and pages inside, I'm going to check them against the marked up book and notate my spreadsheet.

Guess what! The piles were just the reprints guy leaving a bunch of books I'd already done two weeks ago on my desk! AWESOME. Just wasted my morning.

I would like to go back to bed now, please.
changeling: (Default)
It is a slightly odd feeling to realise that you're happy. Deeply, unshakably, quietly happy. Just content with life.
changeling: (Default)
Reading Skybird, an Inception/White Collar crossover (shut up, three-piece suits are my crack).

One of the things I love best about the White Collar fandom is that so many of the fics finish with links to images of art. This is my new favourite piece from the first part of Skybird. It is apparently "L'Yerres, pluie" by Gustave Caillebotte. It just makes me want to wade into the river.

Bedtime now.
changeling: (skinless)
Dear nervous system,

Please stop having my pain signals set off for no good reason. Why do my ribs hurt again? It's not a strain this time. And I doubt I have costo again. Stop it. Also, there is no reason for my right ankle to twinge. Especially when I am not using it.

Please stop with your attention-seeking behaviour and I will get you more sleep next week.

Love,
Me.
changeling: (skinless)
I love being a girl.
I can feel what you're feeling
as you're feeling it inside
the feeling
before.
I am an emotional creature.
Things do not come to me
as intellectual theories or hard-shaped ideas.
They pulse through my organs and legs
and burn up my ears.
I know when your girlfriend's really pissed off
even though she appears to give you what
you want.
I know when a storm is coming.
I can feel the invisible stirrings in the air.
I can tell you he won't call back.
It's a vibe I share.

I am an emotional creature.
I love that I do not take things lightly.
Everything is intense to me.
The way I walk in the street.
The way my mother wakes me up.
The way I hear bad news.
The way it's unbearable when I lose.

I am an emotional creature.
I am connected to everything and everyone.
I was born like that.
Don't you dare say all negative that it's a
teenage thing
or it's only only because I'm a girl.
These feelings make me better.
They make me ready.
They make me present.
They make me strong.

I am an emotional creature.
There is a particular way of knowing.
It's like the older women somehow forgot.
I rejoice that it's still in my body.

I know when the coconut's about to fall.
I know that we've pushed the earth too far.
I know my father isn't coming back.
That no one's prepared for the fire.
I know that lipstick means
more than show.
I know that boys feel super-insecure
and so-called terrorists are made, not born.
I know that one kiss can take
away all my decision-making ability
and sometimes, you know, it should.

This is not extreme.
It's a girl thing.
What we would all be
if the big door inside us flew open.
Don't tell me not to cry.
To calm it down
Not to be so extreme
To be reasonable.
I am an emotional creature.
It's how the earth got made.
How the wind continues to pollinate.
You don't tell the Atlantic ocean
to behave.

I am an emotional creature.
Why would you want to shut me down
or turn me off?
I am your remaining memory.
I am connecting you to your source.
Nothing's been diluted.
Nothing's leaked out.
I can take you back.

I love that I can feel the inside
of the feelings in you,
even if it stops my life
even if it hurts too much
or takes me off track
even if it breaks my heart.
It makes me responsible.
I am an emotional
I am an emotional, devotional,
incandotional, creature.
And I love, hear me,
love love love
being a girl.

Eve Ensler

Eve Ensler at TED India
changeling: (Default)
I think I need a whole new set of icons.

I am also exhausted & have no interest in playing around on a graphics program right now because — TA RA! — I have tendonitis in my dominant wrist. Because my body loves me like that. Eugh.

Hmm.

Guess I'll just be dissatisfied with my present crop for awhile longer.

Addendum:

Jan. 20th, 2011 10:35 pm
changeling: (skinless)
Can I add Lucy's comic The Maze to things from today which are awesome? This is partly how I felt post-breakup, when the grief wasn't too debilitating. So many options of things I could do! I was my own person again!

I met Lucy at Lawrence & Fyodor's wedding reception, but I was slightly drunk and too shy to introduce myself. I mean, "Hey, I'm [livejournal.com profile] delirieuse! We used to talk sometimes online but I haven't really been around for a few years. Also I think you're awesome and I love your art"? No.

But I still regret, a tiny bit, that I never even tried to have that conversation.
changeling: An image of Hermes, painted by Dali (magic)
I finally got paid today, which was very relieving due to the fact that I was stony broke, due to unfortunate circumstances, slight mismanagement of money, a folk festival and CHRISTMAS. I also forgot, between the delicious organic BBQ chips & nachos for dinner that if I have too many chips with their salty goodness, I get a headache. But it was almost worth it.

Besides work, where I am working on a book I do not love, with software programs I really do not love (Dear Microsoft. I haaaaate you. And everyone who worked on PowerPoint. Ever), today was pure awesome.

Jess and I went down the street for lunch, where we sat outside in the shade and ate burgers, and got amazing gelati to eat on our walk back. I got lemon and blood orange, and the blood orange, MMm. Doing that again.

And then, on my way home, I read this fic recced by Copperbadge. I've never watched Merlin (or been a BNF in any fandom), but this isn't about Merlin. It's about fandom, and my gods. I've been part of LJ fandom since first year (of uni), which, for those of you that are counting, was ten years ago. I may not be active anymore, but these? These are my people. <3.

I got home, and did a half-arsed job of unpacking the groceries, and I watched the latest White Collar while making "dinner" and soup for later. AND LO, IT WAS AWESOME. Peter on a horse, people. This episode was everything I love about White Collar rolled up in a tight package and then dusted with, I don't know, crushed vegan tim-tams or something. (I've been eating them all week with my tea. Don't judge me.) SO GOOD.

And then, and then? The December edition of Omikuji by Cat Valente was in my inbox. And it was so amazing. My heart grew three sizes. Just, wow.

Also, I got a message from my girl today. And that was lovely.

See, I knew there was a reason I put on my pretty purple silk dress, and my favourite seamed stockings and my straw cloche hat today, despite being under the weather. Some days just need you to dress up.
changeling: (writing)
Am I the only writer who feels like she writes plays, but with stage directions and acting directions hastily hidden as description?
changeling: (Default)
Went to dinner with my immediate family last night for my mum's birthday, and I got given some DKNY perfumes. This is not (just?) because I'm awesome, but rather because it's always been a tradition in our family that anyone going overseas is required to bring back tribute in return for not being thrown out of the cave for abandonment. Since I rarely see my parents these days, despite living in the same city, this gift was unexpected and largely without context.

So. Four DKNY perfumes. I'm not really a brand-name perfume wearer unless that brand is L'Occitane or BPAL. This gift came packaged in a clear plastic box, as I assume is standard. Each small vial of perfume was in a clear plastic display stand within that box. The stand was balanced on four small cardboard boxes large enough to hold the small glass bottles.

The hell? I thought. Well, I hope I like these perfumes, because it seems there's two of each.

No. There wasn't. There was four small empty decorated boxes for each perfume, and four bottles sitting ON TOP of those boxes. This seems both pointless and wasteful to me, but since I shop at small indie shops online and in vintage (=expensive, slightly less shitty op shops for the middle classes) shops, I think I'm sufficiently far removed from being their ideal customer that their ideal customer may as well have had an AVO out against me demanding I stay one continent away at all times.

On a related point, Jess told me that the defence "I don't have a TV" doesn't wash anymore, since my housemate does. Well, yes. She does. But 1) it's roughly the size of two shoeboxes glued together, 2) I keep forgetting the thing exists and 3) even if I remember, I'd rather watch TV shows via DVD where there aren't commercials that alternately enrage and befuddle me.

I'd rather play inappropriate music on my cello, anyway.

ETA: Oh, I was going to add that I assume the tiny boxes are for gifting friends and relations the individual perfumes, but this is either an extremely crap and scroogy present (they're only 7ml for Christ's sake) or I have completely underestimated how much this stuff costs.
changeling: (writing)
It's almost NaNo time again, and I'm getting twitchy. I have lots of good ideas.

I could write the second draft of Shadow Boys.

I have several YA ideas I want to write, including a British boys-own style series of adventures with a young female protagonist, as yet unnamed. Things like "Ruby Tuesday and the Martians!" and "Ruby Tuesday and the Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea!" ... where "Ruby Tuesday" is our protagonist (only with a better name, of course). Sort of like Tom Swifties. I think they would be Fun. And dude, I would have consumed these like enormous boxes of Haigh's chocolates, had they been around when I was small. I didn't want to be Dirk Pitt's girlfriend. I wanted to be Dirk Pitt. (OK, I read the James Bond books, too. But they were less awesome because they didn't have SHIPWRECKS and HISTORY. Also, Bond was less funny than Al Giordino with his ability to sleep anywhere and his stealing of the Admiral's cigars. I wanted to have tousled black curly hair and turquoise blue eyes and live in an aircraft hanger filled with classic cars!)

(...dude. that's an insight into part of my subconscious I didn't even know about.)

I could write both! Simultaneously! While doing three hours of bellydance, one hour of zumba, four of morris and one of swing dance per week! And having all my weekends be busy with morris commitments!

Yeah.

Maybe NaNo's not for me this year, despite my beliefs to the contrary.

But on the plus side, I actually want to write again. And I'm having ideas for plots and things. In the final days of the Previous Relationship, that really wasn't happening.

I should rouse myself from my misery on the couch (why, hello there, Chronic Pain! You've not been so omnipresent in my life for ages!) and pack. Tomorrow, I go to Adelaide and see my girl!
changeling: (Default)
I got to the train station this evening three minutes after a train had left. Since this meant that I had almost twenty minutes to wait until the next one, I pulled out my melodeon (Friday night is jig practice night).

I practised a few things, including Banks of the Dee (which I've never practised before, just fudged my way through at performances, which is not particularly cool). Then I decided to try something new.

There's a few people who jig and play an instrument to accompany themselves simultaneously. I've seen a video of a man who did that with a violin. Richard and Dave, both friends of mine, reportedly did a double jig with a whistle – one whistle, that they passed between them as they swapped over (wish I'd seen it).

So I decided to try it. There wasn't anyone on either my platform or the one opposite. No-one to see if I stuffed up. I tried Highland Mary, because that's one of the jigs we're learning at the moment, and I really need to get better at remembering the tune.

And I fumbled my way all the way through just fine! I was actually able to keep playing while I danced, even if a bit creakily, with more wrong notes than usual and much more stilted than usual, but I have proven to myself that I can, in fact, play and dance at the same time (this is the morris equivalent of rubbing your belly and patting your head, only much harder. Many of us struggle to be able to talk and play melodeon simultaneously). I have found this so exciting and encouraging that I may keep practising when I have time. I am nowhere near being able to dance out doing both, of course. But the fact that I can do it at all I find very impressive. It will take a long time until I'm doing much more than stepping through the dance rather than properly dancing it, though, of course.

It was funny, though. My housemate was out when I got home, so I had a go in our music room, which has a mirror on one wall. There I am: lovely scoop-neck top, strings of pale pink beads, a large rose pinned in my updo, and dark lipstick ... with a melodeon strapped to my front, attempting some very unladylike moves. It made me feel much more like myself after some 'girly' make-up shopping this afternoon.
changeling: (writing)
Wow. This is strange.

I've scarcely been on LJ & DW properly in ages. Years? Maybe. But I'm still ShinyAndNew at the new job, which is resulting in a fair amount of time sitting around waiting for my boss to get back to his desk so I can get more work to do.

So I'm finally reading my LJ & DW friends lists, and I've been semiregularly posting for a month or two now. I am hopeful that this state of affairs may continue, since I suspect I will have a small amount of downtime at work, even after things pick up. Life is getting back to normal, if by normal you mean 'the way things used to be when I only worked part time and was at uni'.

I also just started a major revising/rewrite of Shadow Boys, AKA 'that fucking novel'. Since I made a pact with Jess that we'll both finish our novels by 1st September 2011, this might not be 'that fucking novel' for much longer. This is a good thing.

I wish I had painkillers and/or a hot water bottle today. I believe my womb is testing out its punk credentials by trying to kick its way out through my lower back with its cherry-red Docs.
changeling: (writing)
I had such a fabulous evening. I met up with Connie (lj: connikins still? Maybe?), and got the BPAL from her I requested months ago, and we briefly geeked out about clothing.

Then I went to swing for the first time in months, and we worked on 40s charleston (YAY).

Afterwards Jus and I walked to Elizabeth St (I love walking and talking with people, it's one of my favourite things). I told him about the fact that I'm changing an important detail in my novel which will require rewriting the whole thing, but that I was resistant to it, and why. Then I went to sit in Hungry Jack's (I was early for drinkies) and begin the rewrite...on my phone, which was the only writing equipment I had. I started to get a ways in, and I feel like I finally KNOW Rhiannon (a character who had previously been a bit of an enigma) and like her (another first).

I tore myself away from writing (because I knew I'd be there all night otherwise) and went to meet Chris at 1806 (one of my favourite bars) for his farewell drinks, as he's moving to Canberra. In attendance was Mme Omega, who is always fantastic to talk to, and we geeked about clothing and steampunk and geekery in general. Another of Chris's friends appears to know many amazing bars that I have never visited, and I now have a few more to make pilgrimages to. I had a Twentieth Century cocktail and it was marvellous and almost perfect for what I wanted.

And now I am home, and have made Drunk Food (although I was only really tipsy). Since I just bought cheezly it is fantastic junk food: little tubes of white pasta (it's not macaroni) with garlic, dill and chive pesto, spinach and cheezly. And a little bit of Massel's "chicken" stock for salt.

NOM NOM NOM.

And now, to bed, to virtuously get up far too early for work tomorrow. But at least it will be Friday! So yay!

In conclusion: So much awesome for just one night. Especially when I was home by 11.
changeling: (skinless)
Feh. I've done my house move, and unpacking books to put away in my bookshelves, and I found my book on handfastings and wedding rituals. I just took out all the bookmarks with little notes left in it by my ex, my former fiancee. "I really like these vows", "Maybe we could have this idea as gifts".

Not fun. Wish I wasn't alone in the house right now. I could do with having my housemate be cheerfully around the place.
changeling: (writing)
So, I went to Bluestockings, the feminist bookshop yesterday (I'm pretty sure it was yesterday, my sense of time is all out of whack, possibly due to travelling alone, possibly due to SO MUCH FUN) and I was talking to the cute redhead behind the till (I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to say that since she has a girlfriend. Platonic cuteness, yes?) and somehow it came up in the conversation (I forget how) that I had a Livejournal, and so did she, and we swapped usernames.

IT WAS LIKE BEING IN 2001 AGAIN. Remember when everyone new & awesome that you met had an LJ? What happened to that? Oh, Facebook became ubiquitous. And Livejournal sold out to the RUSSIANS. Or was that a James Bond film?

Regardless, there will be some actual posts soon, about New York, with PICTURES (because I promised Cherie I would). There will also, probably before that, be a post with my Inception essay that I'm writing for the Spinifex blog that I promised I'd do before I finished up there & left for NY. Promised I'd write a blog post, that is, not promised I'd write one about Inception.

Also the next posts will probably be written at a sane hour and will abuse parentheses less. Probably. But knowing me and my habit of parenthetical asides, whether set off with brackets, en- or em-dashes, or long series of commas, or compound sentences cemented together with semicolons, probably not.

One can only hope that one's grammatical quirks are charming.

One can only hope that one's grammatical

AHAHA ohgod

May. 3rd, 2010 11:33 pm
changeling: (skinless)
Had a shitty evening. Friend said something about the fact I jig that upset me; circumstances meant jig-writing brainstorm with Sean was only ten minutes instead of an hour, which was just long enough for me to decide everything I'd done so far was shit, but not long enough to discover if any was salvageable; while teaching my dance, I discovered I've misunderstood a term due to never having had it explained, just used in context, which made me feel like an idiot. Happy things: my dance is coming along well, and I think I was a better teacher this week than last week.

All in all, felt like hanging up the boots this evening.

And then, when I was trying to post about how everything sucked, Facebook wouldn't let me post. Which just seemed very appropriate, really.
changeling: (Default)
What I want

To go have a swim at the local beach again, like I did yesterday.

[But I have all these things I should be doing!]

How this could work

Commit to only making one dinner this afternoon. Making easy pasta for (tonight's) dinner.
Taking the writing I have to do with me, and doing some of it on the bus there and back, and some on the beach.
Working out the latest I can leave the beach before I go, and taking a change of clothes for bellydance.
Being OK with the fact that I washed the fabric and may not get the entire dress cut out and sewn today (along with everything else I was doing??). Setting a 30 minute alarm and beginning on the dress.
Doing Dance of Shiva at the beach, in the lovely cool water.

Tired

Feb. 11th, 2010 11:54 pm
changeling: (Default)
Wow. I planned my evening to be a short bit of gaming and then an early bedtime, but instead I did 1 1/2 hours of volunteer work (just emails, alas) and then a fantastic 1 1/2 hour conversation with my housemate that started quite mundane and wound up being one of those 2am intense & open ones. I love those. Only way evening could be made better would have been convo over large pot of tea and not having to get up tomorrow morning. Or Saturday morning, come to that.

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