serialdeviant.org(y)

… and is gonna attack!

The Soundbike that laughs more the harder I pedal. The perfect way to freak out all the insane pedestrians and drivers who don’t seem to know that roads have rules.

Mark and Kristen, we received your Christmas package in the mail today. Everything will remain safely wrapped as long as I can keep them from Neil, but he insisted on opening the chocolates to “make sure they were up to standards.”

The one chocolate biscuit I’m eating right now tastes very good, and if Neil has it his way, he’ll inhale the rest before I can even think about trying another one (i.e. gone by tomorrow).

I tried to convince him to wait till Christmas, but he was vehement that they would go off by then, so we had better eat them now. Sorry, but his restraint only lasted an hour or so.

Does the porn video industry shut down when a stomach bug hits the actors? Surely no one’s penis wants to go near a bum that poos sludge all day.

(I’ve had a mild case of food poisoning and have been pooing sludge all day.)

Which is worse, pain from constipation or pain from diarrhoea?

The tiger’s eye and mother of pearl choker is exquisitely not girly enough to make me gag nor chunky enough to make me feel I’m hauling a weight around my neck.

Terry really, really wants a butt face soap bar for Christmas.

The bloody hilarious Shaun of the Dead made even more side-splittingly hilarious when creatively re-enacted with knit dolls. Via wurh.com.

Deng Jianlan and Deng Silong were killed when their tobacco-smuggling truck was waylaid by the authorities, who were enforcing a tobacco monopoly. The official account states that the men, who were hiding on top of the tobacco, jumped forward off the moving truck, only to be tragically crushed by the wheels. The driver saw, heard, and felt nothing.

Hmm. Sure.

Now, Chinese people (at least those in Xiamen) can be kind of… blind and clueless when it comes to crossing the street, driving, or riding their bikes, but I highly doubt they’re complete imbeciles. And the local authorities had a small riot on their hands when their version of the story came out.

Something about this headline makes me mildly uncomfortable: Bush seeking compromise on CIA torture ban: aide.

McCain, who was tortured as a prisoner during the Vietnam War, said “I won’t. We won’t,” compromise on torture, but said he was in talks with the White House about other aspects of the matter to try to reach an agreement.

And what might these other aspects be? If they don’t try to destroy him during the next presidential primaries, he will reach an agreement with them?

What, me cynical?

If the White House says there’s no chance that any American government-controlled group would torture, why is there a desire to exempt the CIA or oppose altogether or compromise on a ban on “cruel, inhumane and degrading” treatment?

Airius Bioheat Winter Cycling Gloves, because it’s too bloody cold to be using fingerless gloves this time of year. Goddamn, my fingers were frozen this morning.

• went to the cinema (!) to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, in English (!!)
• dropped by The Londoner
• slept way, way in (and no, there was no drinking to be blamed — just stayed up late)
• computered
• had dinner at Pattaya with Ben, his pal Neal, Wayne, Cory, James, Dan, and Neil (I think I’m getting better at eating spicy food, though I still don’t like chilli — everyone save Neil and I was sweating whilst drinking the tom yam soup)
• went to The House for a bit
• watched two episodes of Carnivale, season one
• had a late lunch with Martina and her pal on Gulangyu
• went to buy DVDs
• watched four episodes of Little Britain (truly strange)
• had barbecue for dinner
• watched Napoleon Dynamite (truly, truly strange)

So, not only am I not 100% comfortable in front of a camera, my tendency to not talk when I’ve got nothing to say (another thing I consider a torture is making conversation instead of letting it flow naturally) is rumoured to be seen as stuck up.

If I was a stuck-up snob, I wouldn’t be working my arse off producing a free magazine for the expatriate community for no pay. Or any magazine, for that matter. I’m a quiet person, that’s just who I am. I’m content with silence, especially companionable silence. If that makes me a snooty bitch, this snooty bitch doesn’t care — she’s too busy.

TuTu thinks there is a resemblance between myself and the mad typist on one of my ‘more frenzied days at the brain box’.

“You don’t look natural enough.”

“Can’t you sit more like him? He looks natural.”

“(Under breath) He’s not the one being photographed, is he?”

I agreed to be interviewed for this Chinese magazine because 1) one of the editors is a friend and needed someone easy to access for questions and photos, and 2) she is very keen on promoting the print edition of What’s On Xiamen, and promised to do so in the interview.

Every issue I (well, the company that publishes my little rag) put out invariably has me searching for a photo of myself to include in the editor’s note. I’m not necessarily the most comfortable in from of the lens, despite years of enduring my dear sister sticking her camera in my face. You know how people sometimes look pained, or dazed, or just plain cheesy in those instant passport photos? That’s always me. I don’t know how to arrange my features for that optimal photo-taking expression, and please don’t tell me there are classes for that.

So I’m not good at being photographed. I’m not painfully shy, but I’m no ham for the camera either. The team from the Chinese magazine came over to our flat to photograph me ‘doing my thing’ last week, which meant photographing me and my sock dolls, me and my magazines, and using my computer (I lead such a full life). The photographer let me look at the shots when he was through (the wonders of a digital SLR), and I have the usual ‘this is slightly torturous’ half-smile on my face while posing with the sock dolls and the first first issue of What’s On Xiamen. The shots of my surfing the Internet on my laptop were a small problem, because I sit at a desk to work and the wireless router is plugged into my computer so there’s no chance I can be mobile anyway, especially if Neil needs to be online too. Sitting at a desk trying to keep my back somewhat straight and resting my arms on the armrests so my trapezoids don’t cause me agony: not natural. Sitting cross-legged (as in a semi-lotus position) on the sofa, pretending to surf while using Neil’s laptop (I was looking at Google Earth): not natural. Neil, his arse practically grafted to the sofa, also sitting cross-legged (but in a more manly way): perfectly natural, according to them. I can’t help it if the way I sit and work is not what they would conceive as natural, can I?

Then there were the outdoor shots. The lanky photographer ran ahead to snap me walking along a busy shopping street — “Look natural, don’t look at the camera!”

Eh. It’s kind of hard to pretend someone’s camera isn’t there when it’s constantly pointed at your face. I only managed to stick my tongue out at him once before I was admonished for looking into the camera lens. I’ve either got to be more… er… media-friendly and learn that a camera isn’t going to capture my soul like in that dumb horror movie we saw most of at The House last week, or stay away from more photo shoots in future. So while it appears he got hundreds of shots of me, I’m not sure if enough of them are usable, and if there aren’t enough, they’ll have to schedule another shoot and that will probably make things worse because I’ll be so aware that I wasn’t natural enough last time that I will be even less natural next time and it will all be shit.

Because, you know, the camera could capture little bits of my soul, and I can’t afford to lose any weight.

I only just managed not to forget about Christmas and the run up to that special day. My 2005 Advent calendar is up and ready. Just.