Stomach sailor knot

This morning there was a feature on autism in females on the BBC World Service. I can’t find it online, but there’s something in the Independent about the issue.

Apparently one trait that is a symptom of autism in females is when someone is talkative one-on-one but super-quiet in a group. I’m definitely not autistic (at least I don’t think so), but that social awkwardness one of my defining personality traits. At least people with autism have a medical reason for being different, I’m just difficult.

But tonight we’re covering criminal profiling in my psych class, and that’s pretty cool. I’m sure I share way fewer personality traits with serial killers. Because I’m not a psychopath, I’m just difficult (hehe).

Boo-yah

Maria got my postcards and wants to share.

I have a penpal in Knoxville who I write to on an extremely (disappointingly) infrequent basis. She’s a lot better than I am at it.

So I write on this site and a lot of copy as part of my job (the wonders of marketing). They’re all on hard drives. Sometimes I note things down on a little notebook — even though I have a fancy phone that I can make notes on (it’s got a QWERTY keyboard, I think I love this phone). Somehow the act of picking up a pen and writing something down seems more final, like I’ve made a decision about something.

(I sound like a teenager. Hitting the DEL or backspace key is too easy, so the physical act of writing feels more permanent, even if you cross something out. The thought was there.)

Is this the time for more letter-writing? I think so. I’ve accumulated loads of postcards in my years of “Oh that’s cute I might use it some day” hoarding, so I’m going to start writing to some of my friends, the ones I think I’ve got current addresses for, and let them know I’m thinking of them. Without poking them on Facebook in a randomly irritating fashion. And wouldn’t you know it, some of my pals don’t actually have Facebook profiles!

(Does anyone poke anymore?! It seems quite old-fashioned given all the weird apps you can get there now.)

It’s all in the wrist

Neil and I saw the Mastercrafts episode on green wood craft last night. It was really lovely to see people pushing themselves to acquire a new and very cool skill (Neil didn’t have anything too troll-like to say, which is an indicator of a good production).

I’d love to say that I’d like to go on one of these programmes to learn something new, but given that these first three novices had already proven some competence with woodworking — either as a hobby or profession — I believe I’m a bit fucked. I can barely look after myself in a world filled with modern conveniences. I’m ridiculously accident-prone. And I don’t think being able to sew sock monkeys and crochet ducks are skills that would be highly prized when The Shit Hits The Fan and we end up in some Dark Angel-like dystopia.

In other words, if the apocalypse is comes and there are a finite number of people you can save to re-populate the human race, I would advise against selecting me.

Whispery branches exposed

Nothing like a new theme to try and make up for crappy non-writing-ness.

A hermit’s life for someone else

Fame beckons. The Culture Show (BBC 2) featured an interview with the boss, and they came to our office to shoot some extra stuff (meetings, the office, our books). After years of having a camera stuck in my face (thanks, Chuen), I’ve become very good at deliberately ignoring cameras.

The shot through the office features a slightly out-of-focus me in my favourite stripey cardigan, horribly hunched over at my PC. It’s only a second but my mother would be very disappointed that my posture is so incredibly poor.

Only a week to lose your hair

My dream mobile phone (someone please make one and I’ll buy it if it’s unlocked and not ridiculously expensive):

  • Runs Android (of course)
  • Amazing battery life
  • Great call quality
  • Address book function
  • SMS function
  • QWERTY keyboard (not touchscreen)
  • Access to the App Market
  • A killer browser like Opera
  • MicroSD storage
  • Tri- or quad-band
  • 3G, Wi-Fi

I don’t need apps or widgets to bloat my phone and I bet I’m not alone in this. I just need a good, secure browser so I can access my email, calendar, Facebook, RSS feeds, and other websites as needed. And if I decide I want mobile applications, I can download them from the Market.

What about the The Devil in the White City

At my psychology class last night, we digressed a little into criminal psychology when talking about adult cognitive development. The tutor asked if we’d heard of Jeffrey Dahmer, and then remarked, “There’s always someone in my Psychology class who’s into serial killers — I find this a little disturbing!”

I’m glad to report he wasn’t looking at me when he said it. There was a middle-aged woman sitting in front of me who was grinning (only slightly sheepishly). Bwahahahaha.

(And I haven’t managed to enrol myself in the criminal psychology course because it’s already full. Other serial killer obsessives are clearly more obsessive than I am.)

Run report: Urbathon

blue-footed booby

10.30am: Sticking myself in the back of the ‘intermediate runners’ group, so I am still ahead of the beginners and the walkers (people walking, not Zimmers).

11.00am: First batches of runners head off — first obstacle, a bunch of bales of hay (the rectangular ones). They don’t look big from where I am.

11.30am: And we’re off! I no longer own a watch with a stopwatch, so I’m going to have to guesstimate my time (until the chip timer people record everything and let us know).

First km: hay bales are no problem, no heroics with jumping or anything.

Second km: we hit the first trail portion and I turn my ankle. Twice. ‘Boot camp’ obstacle of press ups and jumping jacks breaks up the excitement of twisting my ankle (i.e. twist, press ups, let’s twist again). And the trail is uphill. Walk through the ache, walk through the ache.

Third through fourth km: ah, Queen’s Park Drive, I know you well. A bouncy castle type of obstacle (climb up, slide down) results in ankle twist number three. I skip the second portion of the obstacle (climb up bouncy castle thing and slide into foam) since twisting my ankle a fourth time will mean CERTAIN DEATH.

(Skipping obstacles is completely allowed in this race.)

Fifth through sixth km: nothing really of note, we’re just running along Queen’s Park Drive. I make up a bit of time at this point, I think. Then there’s some weird ’slide across car bonnets’ obstacle (the nod to parkour?) and ‘run over some tree stumps and jump over some stacks of (fire)wood’, which I do slowly.

(By the way, I may not have all the obstacles listed in the right order, but it was something like that.)

CHSS medal

Seventh km OF DOOM: up the Radical Road to the ‘fantastic view’ (who’s looking when they’re trying not to fall off and die) at the top of the Salisbury Crags — on the way up, I pass someone who’s right on the edge of the path (avoiding us weirdos) and practically dancing his way down. Bastard.

Eighth km: there’s the ‘go over the first hurdle and under the second hurdle’ obstacle, both of which are at an, er, awkward height. Man shouts encouragingly, “Only two kilometres left!” I answer, “It’s not the two kilometres I’m worried about!!”

Ninth and tenth km: Road running is obviously highly underrated. Running on grass may be better for your knee joints, but it’s hell on a twisted ankle. There’s another obstacle, one of those ‘crawl on your belly under this camo’ thingamajigs. It’s high enough for me to crawl on my hands, forearms, and knees, bum up (I’m stealthy that way). A kid scooches down and stares at me. Oh goody.

Finally, I cross the blow up FINISH arch, get my goody bag, a bottle of water, drop off my chip timer, and the FINISH arch falls over.

Job done.

(I’ve got a rash on my forearms now.)

Update: my official time, according to ChipResults.co.uk, is 1:18:46. I was 399th out of 466 finishers. Considering I was limping and had a climb up two trails (once again, I don’t do hills), I think I did reasonably well. And I wasn’t last (which is usually my only goal).

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