We tried to go see Casino Royale last night (my uncle and I are pretty much the only ones in the family who HAVE to see James Bond flicks on the big screen), but the screenings were at stupid times. Sigh. We’ll try again on Tuesday (cheap night at Showcase).
The Ugly Veg Competition found this squid-shaped parsnip the ugliest in England. The tomato was quite amazing, too. Via Schneier on Security, although I’m not sure what vegetables have to do with security. Gas attacks?
I’m watching a programme on the teevee about boobs and I just saw a woman get her nipples pierced.
AAAAAUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHH. Especially the bit where the piercer CLAMPED the nipple. I hate the clamping part, it really, really hurts.
I am a big fan of piercing and tattoos in general, people should be able to modify their bodies as they please as long as no one else gets hurt. And a woman just lost a nipple because her piercing got infected or something. Bleeaahhh. (Also, she’s a nudist and is one of those pale Caucasians and she has tattoos as well, and I do fear for skin cancer in her case.)
As you can probably tell from this post, no nipples of mine have ever been pierced, nor have I ever contemplated the idea.
The rules: You can only type one word. No explanations.
1. Yourself: unwashed
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend: smelly
3. Your hair: messy
4. Your mother: singapore
5. Your father: fugitive
6. Your favorite item: camera
7. Your dream last night: weird
8. Your favorite drink: ribena
9. Your dream car: mini
10. The room you are in: lounge
11. Your ex: threatening
12. Your fear: unemployment
13. What you want to be in 10 years: working
14. Who you hung out with last night: boyfriend
15. What you’re not: ambitious
16. Muffins: okay
17: One of your wish list items: futuresex/lovesounds
18: Time: crawling
19. The last thing you did: eat
20. What you are wearing: fleece
21. Your favorite weather: cool
22. Your favorite book: garp
23. The last thing you ate: homecooked
24. Your life: changing
25. Your mood: ambivalent
26. Your best friend (s): here
27. What are you thinking about right now: job
28. Your car: none
29. What are you doing at the moment: surfing
30. Your summer: hot
31. Your relationship status: contented
32. What is on your tv: countdown
33. What is the weather like: cold
34. When is the last time you laughed: dunno
There was something on Channel 4 about Middle Child Syndrome, and whether or not it exists. I think it does, to some extent, but how we end up really comes down to how individuals choose to deal with it.
That’s not what I want to whinge about anyway. It doesn’t matter if you’re the middle child, as long as you’re not the first-born you’re STUFFED. My mother had these Baby Progress Charts for my older sister and I; my sister’s is filled out very completely, with every little thing noted. Mine was filled out for, oh, maybe a couple of months. And Older Sibling has three, THREE full photo albums watching her every move from newborn to toddler. I have ONE that covers the same period. It’s like the parentals thought, Oh, we’ve seen all this before, let’s just summarise.
But WHAT ABOUT ME? I have massively fewer humiliating baby photos to review! It’s not fair, you know. I remember reading something in a book by some comedian, saying pretty much exactly this. Us second-borns get a real bum rap in baby documentation.
And this thing about the first-born blazing the trail? Bullcrap! All my sister did was pave the way to my going to Zouk underage. That place has sucked much of my pocket money. I made sure the revelation of her tattoo received nothing more than a “ho hum” (I already had many more) and I was the first one with a boyfriend, too (I was wondering what all the fuss was about, this dating thing). I took the heat, I tell you.
Not exactly a recipe, but a great cheap and cheerful brekkie / brunch. Especially since I don’t cook — this is for my mother, who assumes that I may actually start cooking just because I’ve moved. Ha!
Sliced bread, preferably a bit thicker than your normal Gardenia sandwich stuff, what you see here is Scottish Plain
Cheese, not the pre-sliced stuff, and the stronger the better
Cracked pepper to taste
Turn on your grill.
Slice cheese thinly, arrange it on your bread so it’s pretty even.
Once the grill is hot enough, stick the bread on it.
After the cheese has melted sufficiently, take it out, sprinkle pepper on it.
You may want to cut it in half so it’s easier to handle.
Neil calls it roasted cheese, I called it an open-faced grilled cheese sandwich. Sounds posher.
I’ve been semi-fuming at this all day: Payments for prison ‘cold turkey’. For those who haven’t heard or read the news, basically, convicted criminals were suing the Home Office because once in prison, they had to go cold turkey. It was claimed as assault and a breach of human rights. The case was settled out of court, to “minimise costs to the taxpayer.”
FUCKING HELL. These convicts should try spending some jail time in Singapore. I wager that any prisoners who tried this stunt in Singapore would be laughed out of court and their lawyers threatened with punishment for wasting the judge’s time. Prison is not a drug rehabilitation centre, nor is it a holiday resort. Prison is meant to be punishment, isn’t it?
(I know it’s meant to rehabilitate as well, but let’s be realistic.)
I cannot believe that public money gets spent on this kind of nonsense. At least I’m not paying for it yet.