Now for something completely stolen from Luna Mooney's blog.
Firstly go to the comments section of this post. Then, read the word written by the most recent commenter and reply with the first word that comes to your mind.
You don't have to be registered to play, and you can comment as anonymous if you wish. You can also come back and leave another word, there are no limits to how many times you can play.
It is great fun!!!
18 October, 2008
08 October, 2008
Feeding Your Need for Stories
Since people seem to enjoy stories so much, and the blog story is not yet ready to see the world, I'm posting this. It's a gothic take on The Importance of Being Earnest.
Lady Harbury looked briefly down into her teacup. She returned her gaze to Lady Bracknell, who was still watching her intently, as if to suck information from her. Lady Harbury licked her dry lips, and Lady Bracknell’s gaze followed her small tongue as it wet her shaking lips.
“And so,” Lady Harbury continued in a small voice, “I have not seen him since.” She shifted her slight frame in the chair, tucking away a wispy strand of hair.
“Oh, no..well...” Lady Harbury rose from her chair and paced around the room, so she was standing next to Lady Bracknell. “Before Lord Harbury died...he said...he told me something...about Lord Bracknell-”
Lady Bracknell rose from her chair with astonishing speed and stood quite close to Lady Harbury, peering down at her face. “And what, pray tell, did he say?” There was no hiding her menace now. Lady Harbury looked up briefly, then, unable to meet the fury in Lady Bracknell’s eyes, returned her gaze to the polished floorboards.
“He said..there was...a reason..” Lady Harbury looked up at Lady Bracknell for a moment and let out a small cry. Her teacup dropped from her small hand, and smashed into a thousand pieces of china. Lady Bracknell stood, a small smile, a slash of red, across her face. And she reached down into the front of her dress, and from her ample cleavage drew a small, but very sharp knife, which glinted in the stream of afternoon sun spilling through the window. Lady Harbury stepped backwards, breaking more china with a loud crunch.
“Well,” said Lady Bracknell quietly. “It would be prudent, I think, if we ensure such damaging rumours that your husband may have inadvertently, I am sure, spread, are nipped in the bud, as it were.”
* * *
“Rotten lot of weather we’re having, eh Algy?” said Jack as he watched the rain dribble down the outside of the window.
“Yes, indeed. One could almost find it reason to get out of London,” replied Algernon with a smirk.
“Whatever do you mean, dear Algy?” replied Jack, turning around.
“Oh, I think you know just what I mean. Where have you been, Jack? You’ve not been in town all week. I suspect you’ve been off Bunburying again.” Algernon took a blood plum from a dish and bit savagely into it, red juice running down his chin in small rivers, staining his white Victorian collar crimson. “I must say, I am curious as to what you get up to on your little outings.” Algernon looked over at Jack.
“Oh, I daresay it’s none of your business. Why don’t you tell me what adventures you’ve experienced during your small wanderings, Algy?” countered Jack, raising his eyebrows.
“Well,” began Algernon, his mouth twitching into a smile, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever read the works of a French philosopher of sorts, by the name of Marquis de Sade?”
The doors of the small living room opened and a servant entered. “Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax are waiting outside. Shall I send them in?” He kept his eyes towards the floor.
“Yes, thank you Lane,” Algernon replied lazily. Lane turned and left.
“Algy, you didn’t tell me you were expecting Gwendolen!” exclaimed Jack indignantly. “How do I look, Algy?” He tried vainly to check his reflection in the mirror.
“Oh, the very picture of youth and respectability,” replied Algernon, watching Jack in a bemused manner. “It can at least be said you have good taste, Jack, whatever else you may be. Gwendolen is indeed a wonderful girl – she is much like a ripe peach, full of sweet juice as yet not enjoyed, skin soft enough to slice-”
At that moment Lady Bracknell entered the room, a tall imposing figure in black, her comparatively small and petite daughter Gwendolen hidden behind her. Gwendolen wore a white dress, with her golden hair freely falling across her small, fragile face, perfect and white as a porcelain doll.
“You must forgive my lateness, Algernon,” said Lady Bracknell. “I was obliged to call on Lady Harbury after her husband’s disappearance.” She paused to dab at her mouth with a handkerchief. “I was not aware that you would be here,” she said curtly, directing this last comment at Jack.
“Then I am sorry to have surprised you, Lady Bracknell,” replied Jack obediently.
“Oh, I am very rarely surprised, Mr Worthing. I have been on this earth longer than I may look, and I have indeed seen many things. Very few things could surprise me now. However,” she paused, a smile playing across her face. “I must say that Lady Harbury did surprise me somewhat. When I last left her she seemed remarkably unmoved by her husband’s death. Indeed, she did not even see me out of her house. But I suppose that is what one must come to expect from a widow, as grief can affect us all in different ways.” She paused then turned to Algernon. “My nephew, I wish to offer a suggestion in regards to choosing an appropriate wife. I have recently discovered the young Sarah Abbey, daughter of the Earl of Caversham. She is quite a fitting wife; obedient, simple, pretty and well connected.” Lady Bracknell gave a small nod of her head at each desirable characteristic. Jack looked desperately at Gwendolen, who briefly glanced coyly back, giving the tiniest smile, which seemed to make her face glow. The sun came out from a cloud and bathed the room in warm light, as the rain continued to drum on the roof. Jack looked down, took a deep breath and faced Lady Bracknell squarely, although he had to look up to look her in the eye.
“Lady Bracknell,” he began, then continued in a rush. “I love dearly your daughter Gwendolen, and would like to ask her hand in marriage.” He managed to keep eye contact with Lady Bracknell, her white face blanching even further. The room suddenly felt cold, and the sun disappeared. Though she did not raise her voice, the room seemed to grow darker as she spoke, each word saturated in anger.
“Gwendolen, you will stay and hear me tell this man; he is never to marry you. I shall not permit it. If your father were able to be here, he would take the same stance. Sadly, he is still suffering his bouts of illness.” At the mention of her father, a brief look of revulsion passed over Gwendolen’s face, before it was smoothed back into that of a docile daughter. “Gwendolen, we will go down to the carriage now, and leave without further words. I regret I was not able to stay longer, Algernon. Perhaps when we are not in the presence of gentlemen of such unsavoury character we can speak at greater length. Gwendolen, we leave now. Do I make myself clear.” It was a command, and with that she turned on heel, and walked stiffly to the door, followed by Gwendolen, who glanced back once at Jack before leaving.
There was a pause as Jack walked over to the window and watched the carriage in the street begin to move with a jingle and clip clop of horses.
“Hard luck, eh, Jack?” said Algernon, clapping him on the shoulder.
“No,” said Jack. “I refuse to give up. Algernon, kindly get your servant to fetch me a carriage at once.”
Jack stepped past the large iron gate, peering up through the fog to the large mansion on the hill. He cursed the driver for taking so long to find it, for he was sure Gwendolen would have arrived home much earlier. He straightened himself up, adjusted his collar and coat, and marched down the path to the looming mansion, gravel crunching underfoot. He was panting slightly when he reached the large double doors at the front of the house. He hesitated, then knocked briskly. He waited and listened. There was no sound, except for a raven in a nearby tree that cawed loudly, as if to alert the house to his presence. He waited. There was still no sound from inside. He paused, yet it was cold outside, so he opened one of the doors and stepped inside.
He found himself in an entrance hall. There was only cold pale light from outside, which failed to reach most corners of the room. He paused. Then he heard something. A movement up the set of stairs on the left of the hall. He breathed a sigh of relief. Someone was home. He started up the solid staircase, stepping lightly on the luxurious pale carpet which covered the floor. He placed a hand on the wrought iron stair rail. It was cold and metallic. He continued, and had almost reached the top when he gasped. Just ahead of him, the carpet was wet and sticky, a deep red. He knew somehow that it could only be blood. He looked down the corridor, and saw it continued, pooling up in some areas, and leaving a dark streak running further down in other areas. He continued down the narrow corridor, noticing that the blood became more and more as he walked. At the end of the corridor was a closed door. He crept up closer to it and heard a voice.
“I know it’s been ever so long, darling, you must be famished. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy this old withered handbag almost as much as you did her husband,” said a familiar voice, a ring of cold humour in her voice. She laughed as if sharing a private joke with someone. Jack looked back down the corridor, then opened the door.
“Lady Bracknell, I don’t know what you think-” Jack stopped and stared in pure horror, before dropping to his knees. Before him he saw Lady Bracknell, kneeling before a woman lying on the floor. The woman was dead, and her wispy hair was stained with her own blood. Her dress had been removed, and she lay in her undergarments, her white corset soaked with more blood. Her throat was cut, the slice quite oddly visible, a gaping cut against her white neck. It was then Jack realised Lady Bracknell was sponging her, as if cleaning her wounds.
The room was completely dark, with the exception of a small slice of sunlight escaping through a gap in a curtain. He vomited onto the carpet, then wiped his mouth and staggered to his feet.
“What?” Jack stammered feebly, clutching at a table for support.
“I thought I made it quite clear you weren’t welcome here, Mr Worthing,” Lady Bracknell said, calmly getting to her feet. “Darling, could you please close the door,” she said, looking over Jack’s shoulder. Jack spun around. He saw a man walk out from the shadows behind him and begin to close the door. As the door closed, he caught a glimpse of white down the dark corridor, and saw Gwendolen standing at the end. She began to run towards him.
“Gwendolen!” cried Jack. The door slammed shut, and the man bolted it, then turned to face Jack. He was tall and thin, like Lady Bracknell, but there was something different about him that Jack couldn’t place. His eyes seemed to gleam red with hunger and passion which ignited his emaciated face. Jack heard something bang into the door on the other side.
“Papa, no! No! Stop! No, Papa!” Gwendolen was screaming hysterically, hurling herself against the bolted door in desperation.
“Oh, how rude of me,” laughed Lady Bracknell casually. “Mr Worthing, this is my husband, Lord Bracknell.” Lord Bracknell smiled, and Jack realised his teeth were white and sharp, and almost glowing in the darkened room.
“Please, Papa, please! Mama!” Gwendolen continued to plead, tears choking her cries, still attacking the door with all her force.
Lord Bracknell began to walk slowly towards Jack, a smile stretching his thin white lips. Jack stepped back, running into a chair. Lord Bracknell grabbed hold of him with a thin, but surprisingly strong arm. Jack tried to wrestle free. He tried to speak, but his mouth was completely dry. Fear had incapacitated him. He just saw his own reflected terror through Lord Bracknell’s searching eyes. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his lower back. “I told you that I would never allow you to marry my daughter. But I’m glad you made the effort to come out here, Mr Worthing,” whispered Lady Bracknell in his ear from behind him. Jack felt everything was blurred, his hearing slowed down, everything slowed down. He fell forward, and collapsed onto the floor, landing with a loud thud. There was silence in the room, and on the other side of the door, Gwendolen burst into tears, moaning softly.
“Well,” began Lady Bracknell, “that’s dealt with that. I must say I am rather glad we are rid of him. He would never have been an ideal husband for Gwendolen. Yet whatever his faults were, he should make a good feast for you. He is a healthy enough young man.” She looked down at Jack’s body. “Well, was, anyway. And it would be a shame to waste him. Shall I prepare him for you darling?” She looked at Lord Bracknell, then knelt down and began to prepare Jack for feasting, while the last rays of the red sun crept through the dusty curtains.
23/08/1875
Dear Diary,
I have finally done it. I left Mama and Papa. I ran away the day they killed Jack. Having barely known Jack, it has naturally been a serious shock to me, yet I find I have worked through my grief remarkably quickly. And though there are serious doubts on my social prospects without parents, I have for the time being found refuge with the sweet and good natured though somewhat common (although in all honesty she cannot help it) Cecily Cardew, whom I have found was Jack’s ward, and now call my sister. I am having to learn new skills away from my city life, and yesterday I learnt how to use a spade for the first time. With dearest love to you my diary, who has always been with me,
Gwendolen Cardew
Lady Harbury looked briefly down into her teacup. She returned her gaze to Lady Bracknell, who was still watching her intently, as if to suck information from her. Lady Harbury licked her dry lips, and Lady Bracknell’s gaze followed her small tongue as it wet her shaking lips.
“And so,” Lady Harbury continued in a small voice, “I have not seen him since.” She shifted her slight frame in the chair, tucking away a wispy strand of hair.
“I am sorry for your loss, Virginia,” said Lady Bracknell coldly. “Perhaps your manservant could fetch us some more of those crumpets?”
“Oh, I am sorry,” stammered Lady Harbury. “He has left for the market. I expect he shan’t return for a good two hours at least.”
“Hmm,” frowned Lady Bracknell. “I always believe that the efficiency of one’s servants is indicative of that of their master or mistress, as the case may be.”
“Hmm,” frowned Lady Bracknell. “I always believe that the efficiency of one’s servants is indicative of that of their master or mistress, as the case may be.”
She replaced her cup of tea and sat her unusually tall and slender body into the chair. She pursed her lips, a splash of red against her otherwise pale face. Her black hair was pulled back neatly into a bun, daring not to rebel against its mistress. Black glittering eyes remained focused on Lady Harbury. There was a pause as Lady Harbury looked down, then glanced over at the grandfather clock by the door. “You are pressed for time, Virginia?” demanded Lady Bracknell lightly, yet with steel behind her voice.
“Oh, no..well...” Lady Harbury rose from her chair and paced around the room, so she was standing next to Lady Bracknell. “Before Lord Harbury died...he said...he told me something...about Lord Bracknell-”
Lady Bracknell rose from her chair with astonishing speed and stood quite close to Lady Harbury, peering down at her face. “And what, pray tell, did he say?” There was no hiding her menace now. Lady Harbury looked up briefly, then, unable to meet the fury in Lady Bracknell’s eyes, returned her gaze to the polished floorboards.
“He said..there was...a reason..” Lady Harbury looked up at Lady Bracknell for a moment and let out a small cry. Her teacup dropped from her small hand, and smashed into a thousand pieces of china. Lady Bracknell stood, a small smile, a slash of red, across her face. And she reached down into the front of her dress, and from her ample cleavage drew a small, but very sharp knife, which glinted in the stream of afternoon sun spilling through the window. Lady Harbury stepped backwards, breaking more china with a loud crunch.
“Well,” said Lady Bracknell quietly. “It would be prudent, I think, if we ensure such damaging rumours that your husband may have inadvertently, I am sure, spread, are nipped in the bud, as it were.”
* * *
“Rotten lot of weather we’re having, eh Algy?” said Jack as he watched the rain dribble down the outside of the window.
“Yes, indeed. One could almost find it reason to get out of London,” replied Algernon with a smirk.
“Whatever do you mean, dear Algy?” replied Jack, turning around.
“Oh, I think you know just what I mean. Where have you been, Jack? You’ve not been in town all week. I suspect you’ve been off Bunburying again.” Algernon took a blood plum from a dish and bit savagely into it, red juice running down his chin in small rivers, staining his white Victorian collar crimson. “I must say, I am curious as to what you get up to on your little outings.” Algernon looked over at Jack.
“Oh, I daresay it’s none of your business. Why don’t you tell me what adventures you’ve experienced during your small wanderings, Algy?” countered Jack, raising his eyebrows.
“Well,” began Algernon, his mouth twitching into a smile, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever read the works of a French philosopher of sorts, by the name of Marquis de Sade?”
The doors of the small living room opened and a servant entered. “Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax are waiting outside. Shall I send them in?” He kept his eyes towards the floor.
“Yes, thank you Lane,” Algernon replied lazily. Lane turned and left.
“Algy, you didn’t tell me you were expecting Gwendolen!” exclaimed Jack indignantly. “How do I look, Algy?” He tried vainly to check his reflection in the mirror.
“Oh, the very picture of youth and respectability,” replied Algernon, watching Jack in a bemused manner. “It can at least be said you have good taste, Jack, whatever else you may be. Gwendolen is indeed a wonderful girl – she is much like a ripe peach, full of sweet juice as yet not enjoyed, skin soft enough to slice-”
At that moment Lady Bracknell entered the room, a tall imposing figure in black, her comparatively small and petite daughter Gwendolen hidden behind her. Gwendolen wore a white dress, with her golden hair freely falling across her small, fragile face, perfect and white as a porcelain doll.
“You must forgive my lateness, Algernon,” said Lady Bracknell. “I was obliged to call on Lady Harbury after her husband’s disappearance.” She paused to dab at her mouth with a handkerchief. “I was not aware that you would be here,” she said curtly, directing this last comment at Jack.
“Then I am sorry to have surprised you, Lady Bracknell,” replied Jack obediently.
“Oh, I am very rarely surprised, Mr Worthing. I have been on this earth longer than I may look, and I have indeed seen many things. Very few things could surprise me now. However,” she paused, a smile playing across her face. “I must say that Lady Harbury did surprise me somewhat. When I last left her she seemed remarkably unmoved by her husband’s death. Indeed, she did not even see me out of her house. But I suppose that is what one must come to expect from a widow, as grief can affect us all in different ways.” She paused then turned to Algernon. “My nephew, I wish to offer a suggestion in regards to choosing an appropriate wife. I have recently discovered the young Sarah Abbey, daughter of the Earl of Caversham. She is quite a fitting wife; obedient, simple, pretty and well connected.” Lady Bracknell gave a small nod of her head at each desirable characteristic. Jack looked desperately at Gwendolen, who briefly glanced coyly back, giving the tiniest smile, which seemed to make her face glow. The sun came out from a cloud and bathed the room in warm light, as the rain continued to drum on the roof. Jack looked down, took a deep breath and faced Lady Bracknell squarely, although he had to look up to look her in the eye.
“Lady Bracknell,” he began, then continued in a rush. “I love dearly your daughter Gwendolen, and would like to ask her hand in marriage.” He managed to keep eye contact with Lady Bracknell, her white face blanching even further. The room suddenly felt cold, and the sun disappeared. Though she did not raise her voice, the room seemed to grow darker as she spoke, each word saturated in anger.
“Gwendolen, you will stay and hear me tell this man; he is never to marry you. I shall not permit it. If your father were able to be here, he would take the same stance. Sadly, he is still suffering his bouts of illness.” At the mention of her father, a brief look of revulsion passed over Gwendolen’s face, before it was smoothed back into that of a docile daughter. “Gwendolen, we will go down to the carriage now, and leave without further words. I regret I was not able to stay longer, Algernon. Perhaps when we are not in the presence of gentlemen of such unsavoury character we can speak at greater length. Gwendolen, we leave now. Do I make myself clear.” It was a command, and with that she turned on heel, and walked stiffly to the door, followed by Gwendolen, who glanced back once at Jack before leaving.
There was a pause as Jack walked over to the window and watched the carriage in the street begin to move with a jingle and clip clop of horses.
“Hard luck, eh, Jack?” said Algernon, clapping him on the shoulder.
“No,” said Jack. “I refuse to give up. Algernon, kindly get your servant to fetch me a carriage at once.”
***
Jack stepped past the large iron gate, peering up through the fog to the large mansion on the hill. He cursed the driver for taking so long to find it, for he was sure Gwendolen would have arrived home much earlier. He straightened himself up, adjusted his collar and coat, and marched down the path to the looming mansion, gravel crunching underfoot. He was panting slightly when he reached the large double doors at the front of the house. He hesitated, then knocked briskly. He waited and listened. There was no sound, except for a raven in a nearby tree that cawed loudly, as if to alert the house to his presence. He waited. There was still no sound from inside. He paused, yet it was cold outside, so he opened one of the doors and stepped inside.
He found himself in an entrance hall. There was only cold pale light from outside, which failed to reach most corners of the room. He paused. Then he heard something. A movement up the set of stairs on the left of the hall. He breathed a sigh of relief. Someone was home. He started up the solid staircase, stepping lightly on the luxurious pale carpet which covered the floor. He placed a hand on the wrought iron stair rail. It was cold and metallic. He continued, and had almost reached the top when he gasped. Just ahead of him, the carpet was wet and sticky, a deep red. He knew somehow that it could only be blood. He looked down the corridor, and saw it continued, pooling up in some areas, and leaving a dark streak running further down in other areas. He continued down the narrow corridor, noticing that the blood became more and more as he walked. At the end of the corridor was a closed door. He crept up closer to it and heard a voice.
“I know it’s been ever so long, darling, you must be famished. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy this old withered handbag almost as much as you did her husband,” said a familiar voice, a ring of cold humour in her voice. She laughed as if sharing a private joke with someone. Jack looked back down the corridor, then opened the door.
“Lady Bracknell, I don’t know what you think-” Jack stopped and stared in pure horror, before dropping to his knees. Before him he saw Lady Bracknell, kneeling before a woman lying on the floor. The woman was dead, and her wispy hair was stained with her own blood. Her dress had been removed, and she lay in her undergarments, her white corset soaked with more blood. Her throat was cut, the slice quite oddly visible, a gaping cut against her white neck. It was then Jack realised Lady Bracknell was sponging her, as if cleaning her wounds.
The room was completely dark, with the exception of a small slice of sunlight escaping through a gap in a curtain. He vomited onto the carpet, then wiped his mouth and staggered to his feet.
“What?” Jack stammered feebly, clutching at a table for support.
“I thought I made it quite clear you weren’t welcome here, Mr Worthing,” Lady Bracknell said, calmly getting to her feet. “Darling, could you please close the door,” she said, looking over Jack’s shoulder. Jack spun around. He saw a man walk out from the shadows behind him and begin to close the door. As the door closed, he caught a glimpse of white down the dark corridor, and saw Gwendolen standing at the end. She began to run towards him.
“Gwendolen!” cried Jack. The door slammed shut, and the man bolted it, then turned to face Jack. He was tall and thin, like Lady Bracknell, but there was something different about him that Jack couldn’t place. His eyes seemed to gleam red with hunger and passion which ignited his emaciated face. Jack heard something bang into the door on the other side.
“Papa, no! No! Stop! No, Papa!” Gwendolen was screaming hysterically, hurling herself against the bolted door in desperation.
“Oh, how rude of me,” laughed Lady Bracknell casually. “Mr Worthing, this is my husband, Lord Bracknell.” Lord Bracknell smiled, and Jack realised his teeth were white and sharp, and almost glowing in the darkened room.
“Please, Papa, please! Mama!” Gwendolen continued to plead, tears choking her cries, still attacking the door with all her force.
Lord Bracknell began to walk slowly towards Jack, a smile stretching his thin white lips. Jack stepped back, running into a chair. Lord Bracknell grabbed hold of him with a thin, but surprisingly strong arm. Jack tried to wrestle free. He tried to speak, but his mouth was completely dry. Fear had incapacitated him. He just saw his own reflected terror through Lord Bracknell’s searching eyes. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his lower back. “I told you that I would never allow you to marry my daughter. But I’m glad you made the effort to come out here, Mr Worthing,” whispered Lady Bracknell in his ear from behind him. Jack felt everything was blurred, his hearing slowed down, everything slowed down. He fell forward, and collapsed onto the floor, landing with a loud thud. There was silence in the room, and on the other side of the door, Gwendolen burst into tears, moaning softly.
“Well,” began Lady Bracknell, “that’s dealt with that. I must say I am rather glad we are rid of him. He would never have been an ideal husband for Gwendolen. Yet whatever his faults were, he should make a good feast for you. He is a healthy enough young man.” She looked down at Jack’s body. “Well, was, anyway. And it would be a shame to waste him. Shall I prepare him for you darling?” She looked at Lord Bracknell, then knelt down and began to prepare Jack for feasting, while the last rays of the red sun crept through the dusty curtains.
23/08/1875
Dear Diary,
I have finally done it. I left Mama and Papa. I ran away the day they killed Jack. Having barely known Jack, it has naturally been a serious shock to me, yet I find I have worked through my grief remarkably quickly. And though there are serious doubts on my social prospects without parents, I have for the time being found refuge with the sweet and good natured though somewhat common (although in all honesty she cannot help it) Cecily Cardew, whom I have found was Jack’s ward, and now call my sister. I am having to learn new skills away from my city life, and yesterday I learnt how to use a spade for the first time. With dearest love to you my diary, who has always been with me,
Gwendolen Cardew
05 October, 2008
End of Holidays
I have been neglecting this blog of late, as holidays have taken up the large part of my attention. And for this I am sorry. I can only hope you have been enjoying your holidays so much that the absence of my blog has not left you dejected and miserable.
I also am well aware that the story installment is late, and will be posted sometime this week. Yesterday I was required to dress up as Harry Potter and deadlock doors against naked drunk men as part of a birthday obligation.
Thank you in advance for your understanding and cooperation.
I also am well aware that the story installment is late, and will be posted sometime this week. Yesterday I was required to dress up as Harry Potter and deadlock doors against naked drunk men as part of a birthday obligation.
Thank you in advance for your understanding and cooperation.
24 September, 2008
SMACK
Is it ok to smack children?
Three children, who were taken from their mother as she could no longer care for them, and were living with their grandparents when the grandmother smacked the boy for playing in a drain.
The Department of Community Services then removed the children from the grandparents, and, unable to find a suitable place for them, separated them into different homes.
Full story here: http://www.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/story/0,22049,23177403-5001021,00.html
And then the Community Services Minister himself, Kevin Greene, admitted of his own parenting that "There were times when our judgement has been that it was appropriate to smack the children. But we've moved past those days of toddler tantrums and disobedient kids." Just a tad hypocritical. Of course, this raises the question, did the DOCS (Department of Community Services) do the right thing?
Certainly there have been cases in the last year where children have died, after authorities being unaware of child abuse. So perhaps this could explain the hastiness to do something. Yet was it useful at all to SEPARATE the children from one another? No doubt this will only teach the children that they shouldn't tell people the truth (for the child said, when asked whether their grandmother smacked them, 'Yes, she smacked me last week.')
And of course it raises the old debate about whether or not it is ok to smack children. Often parents do it out of sudden anger and fear about their child's behaviour, and this is justified by that.
But its the holidays and I really wrote this post simply because I don't want you all to run away to other blogs, as the waning poll votes would indicate.
Three children, who were taken from their mother as she could no longer care for them, and were living with their grandparents when the grandmother smacked the boy for playing in a drain.
The Department of Community Services then removed the children from the grandparents, and, unable to find a suitable place for them, separated them into different homes.
Full story here: http://www.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/story/0,22049,23177403-5001021,00.html
And then the Community Services Minister himself, Kevin Greene, admitted of his own parenting that "There were times when our judgement has been that it was appropriate to smack the children. But we've moved past those days of toddler tantrums and disobedient kids." Just a tad hypocritical. Of course, this raises the question, did the DOCS (Department of Community Services) do the right thing?
Certainly there have been cases in the last year where children have died, after authorities being unaware of child abuse. So perhaps this could explain the hastiness to do something. Yet was it useful at all to SEPARATE the children from one another? No doubt this will only teach the children that they shouldn't tell people the truth (for the child said, when asked whether their grandmother smacked them, 'Yes, she smacked me last week.')
And of course it raises the old debate about whether or not it is ok to smack children. Often parents do it out of sudden anger and fear about their child's behaviour, and this is justified by that.
But its the holidays and I really wrote this post simply because I don't want you all to run away to other blogs, as the waning poll votes would indicate.
18 September, 2008
"I Was Raped By My Exam"
Well, its almost the end of the week, the end of the term, and a temporary end to school. And of course the school knew we'd want a trial exam for our VCE subjects (they really do think of everything). And of course, after the trial exam, there was the obligatory conversations:
"OMG, DID YOU SEE QUESTION 12? WAS IT C, WITH THE HAPLOID CELLS..."
"Was it just me, or was there hardly any "d" answers for the start of the multiple choice? I don't want to have gotten them wrong"
and then you get
"I WAS TOTALLY RAPED BY THAT EXAM!"
"It was worse than a touchy feely groping Santa with a sackful of Rohpynol"
"The exam paper just held me down and sexually violated me"
Which raises the question, (apart from the rhetorical one, "can an exam paper actually do that?") is it ok to take a word with such strong and horrific meaning as rape and use it to describe someone's disappointment with their performance in a TRIAL exam?
Sure, we do it all the time with murder - "I'd kill for an ice cream", and its generally accepted to be "a figure of speech". So then it would logically follow that flippant asides such as "lol, I raped that exam" will become accepted in the same vein. But does that make it ok?
I don't think so.
Firstly, its just stupid. Exams do not have any sort of autonomous will of their own. They can neither initiate nor object or respond to any sort of sexual activity.
Secondly, to connect a strong performance in an exam to one of the most evil and degrading acts a human being can commit on another is a gross trivialisation of the trauma, feeling of victimisation, and long term psychological issues which surround rape.
And by trivialising the issue, we create a subconscious acceptance of the term "rape", and we are desensitised to it - as many of us already are to hearing about murder and suicide.
So if you hear someone say it, just tell them they're idiots. And if they don't listen to you, just give them a jolly good rogering for their own benefit.
"OMG, DID YOU SEE QUESTION 12? WAS IT C, WITH THE HAPLOID CELLS..."
"Was it just me, or was there hardly any "d" answers for the start of the multiple choice? I don't want to have gotten them wrong"
and then you get
"I WAS TOTALLY RAPED BY THAT EXAM!"
"It was worse than a touchy feely groping Santa with a sackful of Rohpynol"
"The exam paper just held me down and sexually violated me"
Which raises the question, (apart from the rhetorical one, "can an exam paper actually do that?") is it ok to take a word with such strong and horrific meaning as rape and use it to describe someone's disappointment with their performance in a TRIAL exam?
Sure, we do it all the time with murder - "I'd kill for an ice cream", and its generally accepted to be "a figure of speech". So then it would logically follow that flippant asides such as "lol, I raped that exam" will become accepted in the same vein. But does that make it ok?
I don't think so.
Firstly, its just stupid. Exams do not have any sort of autonomous will of their own. They can neither initiate nor object or respond to any sort of sexual activity.
Secondly, to connect a strong performance in an exam to one of the most evil and degrading acts a human being can commit on another is a gross trivialisation of the trauma, feeling of victimisation, and long term psychological issues which surround rape.
And by trivialising the issue, we create a subconscious acceptance of the term "rape", and we are desensitised to it - as many of us already are to hearing about murder and suicide.
So if you hear someone say it, just tell them they're idiots. And if they don't listen to you, just give them a jolly good rogering for their own benefit.
17 September, 2008
Awwww
Did anyone else catch the front page of The Age this morning? For those of you who missed the photo which went with a story about Malcolm Turnbull's leadership:
Malcolm Turnbull: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA, FROM THE DARKNESS I HAVE COME TO TAKE WHAT IS MINE!!!
RISE, MY MIDNIGHT MINIONS WHO HAVE RESURRECTED THEIR MASTER INTO SWEET LIFE GIVING FLESH AND BLOOD!!!!!!!!!
Oh, and did I mention that I'm a salt of the earth Aussie battler - we even RENTED a house at times, you know.
Nelson: .......*stoically sheds a tear...........
Well anyway, I thought it was quite a funny picture, and that Malcolm looked like a vampire, but maybe its just me...
Malcolm Turnbull: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA, FROM THE DARKNESS I HAVE COME TO TAKE WHAT IS MINE!!!
RISE, MY MIDNIGHT MINIONS WHO HAVE RESURRECTED THEIR MASTER INTO SWEET LIFE GIVING FLESH AND BLOOD!!!!!!!!!
Oh, and did I mention that I'm a salt of the earth Aussie battler - we even RENTED a house at times, you know.
Nelson: .......*stoically sheds a tear...........
Well anyway, I thought it was quite a funny picture, and that Malcolm looked like a vampire, but maybe its just me...
13 September, 2008
A Meandering Ramble, or Meamble
Firstly, an update on the last post. "anonymous" eloquently made an excellent point in commenting that as Sydney is so urbanised, it is in the outer suburbs such as Camden that a large school would have to be built, serving as a central Muslim school for all of Sydney.
Which really makes a lot of sense and makes me feel that I should have done that Town Planning elective in Year 10. So there we go, no excuse for not building the school. Camden is just messed up.
And I know I keep mentioning it, but I promise this will be the last time (until we get to 50 votes) that I mention the poll. We did get past the 20 votes mark, so well done to you all for voting. I'm posting the story a bit earlier today, since I'm looking forward to seeing a school play tonight.
And I finally got around to seeing "Hole in the Wall", the Channel 9 game show that has been torn apart by generally everyone for being astoundingly crap - so naturally I had to see it. And I can verify that it is really bad. Not even in a "its so bad its good". Just bad. And boring.
Which really makes a lot of sense and makes me feel that I should have done that Town Planning elective in Year 10. So there we go, no excuse for not building the school. Camden is just messed up.
And I know I keep mentioning it, but I promise this will be the last time (until we get to 50 votes) that I mention the poll. We did get past the 20 votes mark, so well done to you all for voting. I'm posting the story a bit earlier today, since I'm looking forward to seeing a school play tonight.
And I finally got around to seeing "Hole in the Wall", the Channel 9 game show that has been torn apart by generally everyone for being astoundingly crap - so naturally I had to see it. And I can verify that it is really bad. Not even in a "its so bad its good". Just bad. And boring.
06 September, 2008
More Stories
It was nice to see some politeness restored to the shoutbox today, and I am beginning to wonder how I ever misjudged "Guest"'s integrity of character. Now that order and peace has been restored, here is the next installment in the epic saga of Margaret and Mittens. And thank you everyone for your voting and contributions.
For those of you who might not have read the story so far (and can't be bothered, though I assure you its well worth the effort), Margaret tried to make a milkshake, but the power went out. She and her cat Mittens subsequently fleed a strange man, finding refuge with Emily, a Harry Potter fanatic who speaks using dialogue from the novels, and tries to live in the world of Harry Potter. Margaret was seeking an escape from this situation when we last left her...
For those of you who might not have read the story so far (and can't be bothered, though I assure you its well worth the effort), Margaret tried to make a milkshake, but the power went out. She and her cat Mittens subsequently fleed a strange man, finding refuge with Emily, a Harry Potter fanatic who speaks using dialogue from the novels, and tries to live in the world of Harry Potter. Margaret was seeking an escape from this situation when we last left her...
03 September, 2008
It's Spring
Yep, the title pretty much says it. One month of blogging and we've already reached Spring. For the record, my birthday is on the 23rd of September, and I like hand made cards and picnics.
We have 10 votes on the poll, which isn't too much - but I'm anticipating a last minute "HAVE TO VOTE ON GELATI GECKO'S BLOG" rush which will no doubt crash my server through the 2 or 3 people clicking away frantically. So please vote, you don't need to have an account or anything. And in other news, we will no doubt be a little saddened to hear that boooo, or mk, has decided to stop posting in an attempt to bring some balance by challenging my incoherent babbles. I don't think mk will actually stop, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
We are always hearing about the joy that Spring brings, giving birth to new life, starting nature's cycle anew, rejuvinating the fields, etc. And it does make you wonder what the other seasons must think when it comes around to Spring...
Winter (seeing Spring skipping gaily along, approaching from a distance): Oh look, its Spring come to take my place.... clearly the favourite....why do I even bother...
Spring: Hello, Winter! Been a cold and wet one?
Winter: No, its been dry and hot. What the fuck do you think?
Spring: .....well, I'm sure its been great weather-
Winter: You know what people say?
Spring: No, I expect they-
Winter: "What shitty cold, rainy weather. At least its something for the farmers."
*awkward pause
Spring: Oh, come on, I'm sure they're just joking arou-
Winter: Just shut up. You're pathetic. I hate you. Go die. Seriously. Go. Fucking. Die.
*Autumn enters
Autumn: Oh...its you, Spring. (melancholically) I will never compare to your splendor....
*Autumn trudges away sadly, scuffing dead leaves.
Winter (under breath): Autumn's just as pathetic. Go die. Go. Die.
*Winter leaves. Spring shrugs, and cartwheels into place with a beaming smile.
I know, I know, I have far too much time on my hands. Actually, that's not true. I have very little time on my hands - I simply waste it on this. There, don't you feel priveleged?
*Note: I'll probably regret this post later...but I've written it now so, as Macbeth would say "to go back were as tedious as to go o'er"...
We have 10 votes on the poll, which isn't too much - but I'm anticipating a last minute "HAVE TO VOTE ON GELATI GECKO'S BLOG" rush which will no doubt crash my server through the 2 or 3 people clicking away frantically. So please vote, you don't need to have an account or anything. And in other news, we will no doubt be a little saddened to hear that boooo, or mk, has decided to stop posting in an attempt to bring some balance by challenging my incoherent babbles. I don't think mk will actually stop, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
We are always hearing about the joy that Spring brings, giving birth to new life, starting nature's cycle anew, rejuvinating the fields, etc. And it does make you wonder what the other seasons must think when it comes around to Spring...
Winter (seeing Spring skipping gaily along, approaching from a distance): Oh look, its Spring come to take my place.... clearly the favourite....why do I even bother...
Spring: Hello, Winter! Been a cold and wet one?
Winter: No, its been dry and hot. What the fuck do you think?
Spring: .....well, I'm sure its been great weather-
Winter: You know what people say?
Spring: No, I expect they-
Winter: "What shitty cold, rainy weather. At least its something for the farmers."
*awkward pause
Spring: Oh, come on, I'm sure they're just joking arou-
Winter: Just shut up. You're pathetic. I hate you. Go die. Seriously. Go. Fucking. Die.
*Autumn enters
Autumn: Oh...its you, Spring. (melancholically) I will never compare to your splendor....
*Autumn trudges away sadly, scuffing dead leaves.
Winter (under breath): Autumn's just as pathetic. Go die. Go. Die.
*Winter leaves. Spring shrugs, and cartwheels into place with a beaming smile.
I know, I know, I have far too much time on my hands. Actually, that's not true. I have very little time on my hands - I simply waste it on this. There, don't you feel priveleged?
*Note: I'll probably regret this post later...but I've written it now so, as Macbeth would say "to go back were as tedious as to go o'er"...
02 September, 2008
Perspective
The other day we had some grandparents visiting because someone in the family had passed away and there was a funeral (seems about the only time they DO come down and stay with us, which is a bit sad...). And it reminded me how elder people seem to have such a strange sense of perspective. It's like this:
Things concerning babies: Breathing, walking, eating
Things concerning toddlers: Thomas the Tank Engine sets, sandpits, hand paintings
Things concerning teenagers: School, relationships, their own self centred sense of disillusionment with the world
Things concerning adults: Jobs, money, families, responsibilities
Things concerning elderly: How to make the perfect flourless chocolate cake (use less egg yolks apparently), whether the begonias are flourishing as well as they should (or should we use extra rainwater collected in the new rainwater tank?), the name of the new presenter from Better Homes and Gardens that was doing the Japanese style pagodas.
Can we see a trend?
Older people can often get bogged down in the smallest details. It can be quite funny when your grandparents are insisting they couldn't eat more of the green beans at dinner (which were probably a tad overcooked anyway), or asking if it might be possible for the television is free at 7.30 so we can watch the episode of Jamie Durie's makeover show where they put the pizza oven in.
And funnier still when they tell you about how they went to someone's house and they were served up some muffins/cake/miscellaneous foodlike comestibles, and they were incredibly tough/tasteless/dry, and so then they didn't want to offend the friends so they ate it, but "oh, it was tasteless as anything, I tell you!"
Or the latest expedition to ALDI, the cheaper supermarket store that stocks only one brand of each product. A good 10 mins was spent discussing the 'adventure' and thrill of ALDI. And then you have the conversations like this around the family dinner table (I changed names, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental):
Mabel: "We went to ALDIs, didn't we George?"
George: "Yep."
Mabel: "Oh, and they have SUCH a selection, didn't they? No, they really do. I honestly and truly believe they are really, really, good, high quality, good value..."
*ticking each off her fingers as she speaks
*obliging nods from people round table
Mabel: "We told the McPattons to go there as well, didn't we? And what did she say to us? What did Mary say to us?"
*blank looks
Mabel: "She said "MABEL, I can't believe it! I bought all this" and she had all these tins of tuna, didn't she, and it was tuna with good quality olive oil - you can't get that in other supermarkets now-"
*everyone thinks "Yes you can" but doesn't say it
Mabel: "And she said to me, "Mabel, that is the best buy I've had in YEARS!" Didn't she?
George: "Yep, she was pretty happy."
Mabel: "And we were there just the other day.....oooh....what did we buy....we got those lamingtons, didn't we? They were nice lamingtons. About this big" *shows us how big with hands. And we got some of those Italian biscuits, didn't we?"
George: "Yeah, they're big biscuits" *shows with hands
Mabel: "Oh, and they had ice cream - not lite ice cream, proper vanilla ice cream - we didn't get any though because you're not meant to eat ice cream, are you George? Remember what the doctor said? What did he say..."
and so on for ninety billion years.
I suppose its the gift of living for so long and putting up with life. It must be nice to wake up and only have to wonder whether or not they still stock your favourite Assorted Biscuits at Coles.
Things concerning babies: Breathing, walking, eating
Things concerning toddlers: Thomas the Tank Engine sets, sandpits, hand paintings
Things concerning teenagers: School, relationships, their own self centred sense of disillusionment with the world
Things concerning adults: Jobs, money, families, responsibilities
Things concerning elderly: How to make the perfect flourless chocolate cake (use less egg yolks apparently), whether the begonias are flourishing as well as they should (or should we use extra rainwater collected in the new rainwater tank?), the name of the new presenter from Better Homes and Gardens that was doing the Japanese style pagodas.
Can we see a trend?
Older people can often get bogged down in the smallest details. It can be quite funny when your grandparents are insisting they couldn't eat more of the green beans at dinner (which were probably a tad overcooked anyway), or asking if it might be possible for the television is free at 7.30 so we can watch the episode of Jamie Durie's makeover show where they put the pizza oven in.
And funnier still when they tell you about how they went to someone's house and they were served up some muffins/cake/miscellaneous foodlike comestibles, and they were incredibly tough/tasteless/dry, and so then they didn't want to offend the friends so they ate it, but "oh, it was tasteless as anything, I tell you!"
Or the latest expedition to ALDI, the cheaper supermarket store that stocks only one brand of each product. A good 10 mins was spent discussing the 'adventure' and thrill of ALDI. And then you have the conversations like this around the family dinner table (I changed names, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental):
Mabel: "We went to ALDIs, didn't we George?"
George: "Yep."
Mabel: "Oh, and they have SUCH a selection, didn't they? No, they really do. I honestly and truly believe they are really, really, good, high quality, good value..."
*ticking each off her fingers as she speaks
*obliging nods from people round table
Mabel: "We told the McPattons to go there as well, didn't we? And what did she say to us? What did Mary say to us?"
*blank looks
Mabel: "She said "MABEL, I can't believe it! I bought all this" and she had all these tins of tuna, didn't she, and it was tuna with good quality olive oil - you can't get that in other supermarkets now-"
*everyone thinks "Yes you can" but doesn't say it
Mabel: "And she said to me, "Mabel, that is the best buy I've had in YEARS!" Didn't she?
George: "Yep, she was pretty happy."
Mabel: "And we were there just the other day.....oooh....what did we buy....we got those lamingtons, didn't we? They were nice lamingtons. About this big" *shows us how big with hands. And we got some of those Italian biscuits, didn't we?"
George: "Yeah, they're big biscuits" *shows with hands
Mabel: "Oh, and they had ice cream - not lite ice cream, proper vanilla ice cream - we didn't get any though because you're not meant to eat ice cream, are you George? Remember what the doctor said? What did he say..."
and so on for ninety billion years.
I suppose its the gift of living for so long and putting up with life. It must be nice to wake up and only have to wonder whether or not they still stock your favourite Assorted Biscuits at Coles.
25 August, 2008
Colourful Comments
As you can see, I've changed the colours of my blog yet again to accomodate for some of you (one of you) who voiced distaste for the previous scheme in the shoutbox. Speaking of which, reader participation has never been higher, so thanks to everyone for contributing their own little bits. It warms my heart on these cold winter nights when I sit down to write here.
Olympics are over. Its sort of funny that China won the Olympics. Seems a bit like inviting a large group of friends over to your house, beating them at a series of board games, hiding all the rubbish in cupboards around your house until you wave them away with a smile - and "wasn't that good fun everyone?"
Almost as much fun as nude and naughty nuns in the beauty pageant planned by Reverend Antonio Rungi. This priest wants to give nuns a chance to prove they're not all "old and dour". The "Miss Sister 2008 Pageant" plans to allow Catholic nuns to enter themselves in an online voting competition. Of course, while "being ugly is not a requirement for becoming a nun. External beauty is a gift from God, and we mustn't hide it", they will remain in God's favourite attire for Brides of Christ, the humble habit....
Olympics are over. Its sort of funny that China won the Olympics. Seems a bit like inviting a large group of friends over to your house, beating them at a series of board games, hiding all the rubbish in cupboards around your house until you wave them away with a smile - and "wasn't that good fun everyone?"
Almost as much fun as nude and naughty nuns in the beauty pageant planned by Reverend Antonio Rungi. This priest wants to give nuns a chance to prove they're not all "old and dour". The "Miss Sister 2008 Pageant" plans to allow Catholic nuns to enter themselves in an online voting competition. Of course, while "being ugly is not a requirement for becoming a nun. External beauty is a gift from God, and we mustn't hide it", they will remain in God's favourite attire for Brides of Christ, the humble habit....
23 August, 2008
Radical and Crazy New Idea
Ok.
I am about to suggest something so crazy, so...absolutely life changing for each and every one of you...that....well, just prepare yourself.
Because I am constantly seeking for new ways to interact with you, my band of faithful occassional readers, I thought we could play a little game. Yes, a game. So here's my idea. Because on Saturdays I have an illusion of more spare time, I thought I could begin writing a story. So I write the first entry, and then...wait for it....I CREATE A POLL SO YOU CAN SELECT WHERE THE STORY GOES THE NEXT SATURDAY. Think of the possibilities. YOu can also suggest through comments if you have a particular idea. Then, the next Saturday, much like Big Brother, the most selected suggestion will be written out. So its sort of like a choose your own way adventure.
The poll I have now would have to be closed, so I think I should sum up in a blog entry the closing results. By a large lead, it would seem most people deem it appropriate to give up your seat if the train is crowded and there are elderly/disabled people needing a seat, on 13 votes. 5 votes for giving up your seat because it just makes you happy (and good for you!). 4 of you object to giving up your seat based on the "concession ticket holder" status, and lastly, 3 of you would wait for someone to ask (on the logical assumption that if they want a seat that badly, they'll ask). So thank you to everyone for voting.
Ok. I'll have each story entry as a separate post to avoid confusion. And its up to you to see where it goes!
I am about to suggest something so crazy, so...absolutely life changing for each and every one of you...that....well, just prepare yourself.
Because I am constantly seeking for new ways to interact with you, my band of faithful occassional readers, I thought we could play a little game. Yes, a game. So here's my idea. Because on Saturdays I have an illusion of more spare time, I thought I could begin writing a story. So I write the first entry, and then...wait for it....I CREATE A POLL SO YOU CAN SELECT WHERE THE STORY GOES THE NEXT SATURDAY. Think of the possibilities. YOu can also suggest through comments if you have a particular idea. Then, the next Saturday, much like Big Brother, the most selected suggestion will be written out. So its sort of like a choose your own way adventure.
The poll I have now would have to be closed, so I think I should sum up in a blog entry the closing results. By a large lead, it would seem most people deem it appropriate to give up your seat if the train is crowded and there are elderly/disabled people needing a seat, on 13 votes. 5 votes for giving up your seat because it just makes you happy (and good for you!). 4 of you object to giving up your seat based on the "concession ticket holder" status, and lastly, 3 of you would wait for someone to ask (on the logical assumption that if they want a seat that badly, they'll ask). So thank you to everyone for voting.
Ok. I'll have each story entry as a separate post to avoid confusion. And its up to you to see where it goes!
19 August, 2008
What We Learn in School
Firstly, I would like to say thanks to everyone that has commented in the shoutbox. Now I have more joy in my heart as I sit down to waste time writing. But enough about the wasting time. I'll assume we all know that by now.
During my usual meander through the back pages of "The Age", I came upon an article which discussed the comments made by Mark Lopez, a teacher in the English system who recently stated that the English texts chosen were biased towards the left wing "politically correct" ideologies (wonder what he'd say about the "culture" films we get exposed to in French...)
He also made the proposal that half the books should be chosen by "right wing" thinkers, and half by "left wing" thinkers. Surely books cannot be summed up as "right wing" or "left wing". Authors of books often deal with many complex themes, and to simply summarise an entire work as "right" or "left" seems ridiculous to me. This battle of ideologies would only cause conflict, and encourage the opposing sides to propose more and more comprehensive books illustrating their "political bias", until educational value is overlooked entirely.
Brave New World, for example, is a book which paints a portrait of communism, where there is one society, where everyone fits into the larger part. While the right might hail this as a challenge to the apparent bias in schools, I think that Brave New World does not attempt to pass judgement on the world, it simply shows. We see John the Savage does not fit in at all with the values of this society, but he is not glorified into a conservative valued hero. (I, for one, would gladly live in the society of Brave New World - after all, I'd be conditioned to...)
We can use books to demonstrate anything. It is often quite easy to staple meaning to books that were completely unintended by the author, yet plausible. And to attempt to classify literature into "barracking" for different ends of the political spectrum seems to me very wrong.
In Catcher in the Rye, for example, did anyone else notice Holden wore a RED cap? Or that clearly Algernon and Jack's Bunburying in The Importance of Being Earnest was a thinly veiled metaphor for satisfying the individual, and rebelling against authority (as was no doubt the highly organised political agenda of Oscar Wilde?)
Ok, so WE SHOULDN'T USE ALL LITERATURE AS MASCOTS OF DIFFERING POLITICAL FIELDS. Wow, these rants are really addictive. But probably pretty boring for you..."just shut up and give us links gelati gecko".
During my usual meander through the back pages of "The Age", I came upon an article which discussed the comments made by Mark Lopez, a teacher in the English system who recently stated that the English texts chosen were biased towards the left wing "politically correct" ideologies (wonder what he'd say about the "culture" films we get exposed to in French...)
He also made the proposal that half the books should be chosen by "right wing" thinkers, and half by "left wing" thinkers. Surely books cannot be summed up as "right wing" or "left wing". Authors of books often deal with many complex themes, and to simply summarise an entire work as "right" or "left" seems ridiculous to me. This battle of ideologies would only cause conflict, and encourage the opposing sides to propose more and more comprehensive books illustrating their "political bias", until educational value is overlooked entirely.
Brave New World, for example, is a book which paints a portrait of communism, where there is one society, where everyone fits into the larger part. While the right might hail this as a challenge to the apparent bias in schools, I think that Brave New World does not attempt to pass judgement on the world, it simply shows. We see John the Savage does not fit in at all with the values of this society, but he is not glorified into a conservative valued hero. (I, for one, would gladly live in the society of Brave New World - after all, I'd be conditioned to...)
We can use books to demonstrate anything. It is often quite easy to staple meaning to books that were completely unintended by the author, yet plausible. And to attempt to classify literature into "barracking" for different ends of the political spectrum seems to me very wrong.
In Catcher in the Rye, for example, did anyone else notice Holden wore a RED cap? Or that clearly Algernon and Jack's Bunburying in The Importance of Being Earnest was a thinly veiled metaphor for satisfying the individual, and rebelling against authority (as was no doubt the highly organised political agenda of Oscar Wilde?)
Ok, so WE SHOULDN'T USE ALL LITERATURE AS MASCOTS OF DIFFERING POLITICAL FIELDS. Wow, these rants are really addictive. But probably pretty boring for you..."just shut up and give us links gelati gecko".
18 August, 2008
Another Time Wasting Game
Yep, I've not got much motivation to write, but nevertheless I will (you can thank me in the shoutbox at right - which now has THREE entries, only two of which are me). So here's another small internet game that has been floating around:
http://www.onemorelevel.com/games/avoider.html
Basically you move the mouse away from the small animated thingy trying to clutch it with its chubby little paws.
http://www.onemorelevel.com/games/avoider.html
Basically you move the mouse away from the small animated thingy trying to clutch it with its chubby little paws.
17 August, 2008
I Hate, You Hate, and Yet We All Procrastinate
Ok, I'm going to make this short because I have a story to write that's due in tomorrow...so, a few admin things to consider:
The Poll seems to be going quite well. I think that all of the scientists among us can observe a 'trend' developing, towards the answer that giving up your seat is somthing that you would do on a crowded train. And yes, to the maths people, I know the numbers don't add up. That's because people can select multiple options when voting (see, don't say I don't give you freedom). But we'll wait and see how that ends up. So, good work on voting everyone. Hearty and well deserved rofls all round.
Secondly, the shoutbox has gotten off to a bad start. I spent a good 10 mins getting everyone that box, so USE IT. This is Australia. We don't have the right to bear arms, but we have the right to shout our worthless opinions from every possible media outlet. I am, so why don't you? It costs nothing, and you can remain completely anonymous. Enter in a different name, say what you like. Here's your project, people, I want at least 3 comments in that shoutbox, positive or negative, before the week is out.
Secondly, or perhaps thirdly if you're going to be pedantic, I feel like I should give you some internet links, after looking at much more concise and entertaining blogs than this one (feel free to to contradict me and compliment my blog in the shoutbox). So, here is a link a friend gave me to some simple, yet addictive games:
http://www.ferryhalim.com/orisinal/
The mouse game is particularly good (top row, second last column). So, go waste some time (you know you don't do it enough!) and enjoy!
The Poll seems to be going quite well. I think that all of the scientists among us can observe a 'trend' developing, towards the answer that giving up your seat is somthing that you would do on a crowded train. And yes, to the maths people, I know the numbers don't add up. That's because people can select multiple options when voting (see, don't say I don't give you freedom). But we'll wait and see how that ends up. So, good work on voting everyone. Hearty and well deserved rofls all round.
Secondly, the shoutbox has gotten off to a bad start. I spent a good 10 mins getting everyone that box, so USE IT. This is Australia. We don't have the right to bear arms, but we have the right to shout our worthless opinions from every possible media outlet. I am, so why don't you? It costs nothing, and you can remain completely anonymous. Enter in a different name, say what you like. Here's your project, people, I want at least 3 comments in that shoutbox, positive or negative, before the week is out.
Secondly, or perhaps thirdly if you're going to be pedantic, I feel like I should give you some internet links, after looking at much more concise and entertaining blogs than this one (feel free to to contradict me and compliment my blog in the shoutbox). So, here is a link a friend gave me to some simple, yet addictive games:
http://www.ferryhalim.com/orisinal/
The mouse game is particularly good (top row, second last column). So, go waste some time (you know you don't do it enough!) and enjoy!
16 August, 2008
Australian TV is Turning Us into Racists. Discuss.
I guess what prompted this entry (other than a perpetually burning desire to create a large enough fan base from the wayward travellers who venture into this blog, with which I might be able to launch a full scale invasion on the Eighth Dimension) was the advertisement for "Border Patrol" which is running at the moment.
It was after enjoying some of Seven's Olympic Coverage - which is making its own humble contribution to the problem through the careful selection of presenters such as Andrew Daddo who is (after his great success hosting Nine's terrible "The One"), attempting to claw back his dignity with the morning Olympic program "Yum Cha". Apart from the interesting choice of name:
Producer: We need something that reminds our viewers of the Chinese location...
Suggester #1: What about "China Uncensored"?
Suggester #2: Or "Beijing Breakfast Buddies"?
Producer: No, no. We need something a bit more subtle...
Suggester #1: "Ying and Yang with-"
Suggester #3: What about that meal that Chinese people have...umm...whats it called?
Producer: Ah, yes! Hotpot!
Suggester #2: No, I thought that was Mongolians....its.....YUM CHA!
Producer: That's it. Excellent. Yum Cha. It has a ring to it. It's different without being confrontational. Throw in some gamelan music to accompany the Chinese feel, and we're set.
Music Director: The gamelan is Indonesian...
And then Daddo opens the show with "With the weather we've been having, you'd reckon Beijing was Chinese for puddles". BUT I DIGRESS.
The ad for "Border Patrol" was shaping it up to be one exciting season return, picking up from the cliffhanger where an angry and confused man was shouting at a drug donkey from Asia...
We're promised more excitement from its host Grant Bowler (that's right, the man from The Mole that disappeared for a while), who hints that there will be less blurred faces, more naming and shaming (if we can even pronounce their names, lolololololol).
They also use the charming language technique of "its a battle between us" *close up of border officer* and "them" *close up of Asian*. The funniest part is that it can actually be somewhat addictive TV. The ratings are proof of that. Mum is even partial to the odd episode - it is easy to get caught up in the whole "He's got drugs inside him? Wow, I really wanna see how they - oh, we have to wait over an ad break and sit through someone else on an illegal visa?..well, ok."
There is also all that nationalistic television programs such as Today Tonight and A Current Affair have contributed to this, through skewed reports on "Australian values at risk" and other such rubbish which deserves equal measures of boo and hiss. Channel Seven news does it sometimes, even if just in the way they will single out the attacker "of a Middle Eastern" or "Asian" background, yet fail to single out the "white Australian" when they are involved. This is how we end up with people, people I know, who will frown darkly at the mention of Islam and mutter "I'm not sure about all those Muslim people with their glory suicide bombers". Its just the "vibe" they get from so much of the media, and while they can't point to specific examples, the sentiments remain, towards whole communities. THIS CAUSES HATE, WHICH IS BAD.
Ok, so there we go. Lesson of the day: keep your wits about you whenever you watch TV. No TV news is "trustworthy" or should be put beyond close scrutiny. And accept my apology - I wasn't going to have another TV related rant...but there you go. I shall make a better attempt at self control next time, let us hope.
It was after enjoying some of Seven's Olympic Coverage - which is making its own humble contribution to the problem through the careful selection of presenters such as Andrew Daddo who is (after his great success hosting Nine's terrible "The One"), attempting to claw back his dignity with the morning Olympic program "Yum Cha". Apart from the interesting choice of name:
Producer: We need something that reminds our viewers of the Chinese location...
Suggester #1: What about "China Uncensored"?
Suggester #2: Or "Beijing Breakfast Buddies"?
Producer: No, no. We need something a bit more subtle...
Suggester #1: "Ying and Yang with-"
Suggester #3: What about that meal that Chinese people have...umm...whats it called?
Producer: Ah, yes! Hotpot!
Suggester #2: No, I thought that was Mongolians....its.....YUM CHA!
Producer: That's it. Excellent. Yum Cha. It has a ring to it. It's different without being confrontational. Throw in some gamelan music to accompany the Chinese feel, and we're set.
Music Director: The gamelan is Indonesian...
And then Daddo opens the show with "With the weather we've been having, you'd reckon Beijing was Chinese for puddles". BUT I DIGRESS.
The ad for "Border Patrol" was shaping it up to be one exciting season return, picking up from the cliffhanger where an angry and confused man was shouting at a drug donkey from Asia...
We're promised more excitement from its host Grant Bowler (that's right, the man from The Mole that disappeared for a while), who hints that there will be less blurred faces, more naming and shaming (if we can even pronounce their names, lolololololol).
They also use the charming language technique of "its a battle between us" *close up of border officer* and "them" *close up of Asian*. The funniest part is that it can actually be somewhat addictive TV. The ratings are proof of that. Mum is even partial to the odd episode - it is easy to get caught up in the whole "He's got drugs inside him? Wow, I really wanna see how they - oh, we have to wait over an ad break and sit through someone else on an illegal visa?..well, ok."
There is also all that nationalistic television programs such as Today Tonight and A Current Affair have contributed to this, through skewed reports on "Australian values at risk" and other such rubbish which deserves equal measures of boo and hiss. Channel Seven news does it sometimes, even if just in the way they will single out the attacker "of a Middle Eastern" or "Asian" background, yet fail to single out the "white Australian" when they are involved. This is how we end up with people, people I know, who will frown darkly at the mention of Islam and mutter "I'm not sure about all those Muslim people with their glory suicide bombers". Its just the "vibe" they get from so much of the media, and while they can't point to specific examples, the sentiments remain, towards whole communities. THIS CAUSES HATE, WHICH IS BAD.
Ok, so there we go. Lesson of the day: keep your wits about you whenever you watch TV. No TV news is "trustworthy" or should be put beyond close scrutiny. And accept my apology - I wasn't going to have another TV related rant...but there you go. I shall make a better attempt at self control next time, let us hope.
15 August, 2008
Re: Comments on Tone Changes
People have been telling me that my blog has been changing a bit in terms of tone. This is the result of my beginning a blog. You can't expect me to get everything the way I want it the first time. This blog is something I'm growing into, evolving constantly. So while I might not like the initial entries I made too much, I feel it would be false to go and change those entries (and a waste of time). This way we can all see the changing face of Gelati Gecko's blog.
Strangest Moment of the Week
The other day, when buying copious amounts of alcohol from a local family run supermarket with my father (preparing to wrap ourselves in Australian flags and booze on a patriotic combination of Olympics and alcohol, of course), Dad decided to pay with his credit card. So he gave it to the friendly man behind the counter, and he swiped it in the eftpos. ERROR.
Friendly man: Hmm, it doesn't seem to be working.
Dad: Hmm, there had been something wrong with the card, so they were reactivating it...I think I should call them to check its been reactivated...
*Dad gets out mobile phone and rings credit card company...after a while...
Dad: They said it should be activated in 5 mins...
Friendly Man: Ah, I see.
So then we stood to the side for 5 mins while other people went past and bought whatever it is they buy, and a lady dropped an onion and I picked it up and she smiled and said "thank you" and I said "that's ok" then she put it into her trolley that elderly ladies use. But my Dad wanted to use his credit card, to be sure that it worked, and so we waited...
Dad: Well, its been 5 mins, perhaps we could give it another shot.
Friendly Man: Ok. *gets card and swipes it. "No..." *proceeds to swipe card
And I mean some serious swiping. He swiped, then swiped, then swiped some more. He swiped until his arm was sore. Then he decided "Sometimes it works better with plastic. Just sometimes...all I know...is it sometimes works better with plastic." And so he got a plastic bag, and wrapped it around the card, and continued his swiping, breaking the 100 mark (no exagerration).
And his wife was standing next to him (because there weren't too many customers in the shop at this time), and she was just watching. She was mesmerised by his swiping. Occassionally she'd give a little nod after each swipe as if she was thinking "Now that swiping, that's why I married this man." Or "yes, yes, it's working". But it didn't. So now I was asking my dad to just pay with money. But he can be stubborn, and so we continued. Of course, if the card wouldn't swipe, we'd have to put in the security number or some such thing. Of course, this was all fine except for one number which was both obscured by another part of the card, and a little faded.
Friendly Man: Is this a 5, do you think *shows Dad
Dad: Yeah, I think it could be a 5
Friendly Man's Wife: *taking a look "It might also be a 6"
Friendly Man: Ah yes, it does look also a bit like a 6. Maybe I will try both numbers. *tries both numbers. "It still doesn't seem to be working...." *addressing me: "What do you think, is it a 6 or a 5?
Me: *inspecting the card "I think it has to be a 6...although...that bit might not be joined...but I'd definitely say either a 5 or a 6. I don't think it could be anything else.
Friendly Man: *getting out his glasses for a closer inspection. "Well, I've tried both of them. I do not think it will work."
At this point I spotted some Beef Jerky sitting on a stand at the counter (evidently designed for customers such as ourselves), and, having always thought it was similar to dog food, was naturally curious to try some.
Me: Dad, is beef jerky like dog food?
Dad: No, its not dog food. Its dried salted beef. Do you want to get some to try?
Me: uhh....ok.
Friendly Man: Well then, I would have to add it to the other purchases...and start over again...
Me: Oh, never mind then.
Dad: Well, you can probably pay with coins separately.
So we did, and the man continued to swipe for a little while longer, until I FINALLY managed to convince Dad to pay with cash, and we left. (Incidentally, the beef jerky tasted sort of salty, chewy...not bad, not terribly exciting either.) Well, it was one of those moments where you just had to be there, I guess.
Friendly man: Hmm, it doesn't seem to be working.
Dad: Hmm, there had been something wrong with the card, so they were reactivating it...I think I should call them to check its been reactivated...
*Dad gets out mobile phone and rings credit card company...after a while...
Dad: They said it should be activated in 5 mins...
Friendly Man: Ah, I see.
So then we stood to the side for 5 mins while other people went past and bought whatever it is they buy, and a lady dropped an onion and I picked it up and she smiled and said "thank you" and I said "that's ok" then she put it into her trolley that elderly ladies use. But my Dad wanted to use his credit card, to be sure that it worked, and so we waited...
Dad: Well, its been 5 mins, perhaps we could give it another shot.
Friendly Man: Ok. *gets card and swipes it. "No..." *proceeds to swipe card
And I mean some serious swiping. He swiped, then swiped, then swiped some more. He swiped until his arm was sore. Then he decided "Sometimes it works better with plastic. Just sometimes...all I know...is it sometimes works better with plastic." And so he got a plastic bag, and wrapped it around the card, and continued his swiping, breaking the 100 mark (no exagerration).
And his wife was standing next to him (because there weren't too many customers in the shop at this time), and she was just watching. She was mesmerised by his swiping. Occassionally she'd give a little nod after each swipe as if she was thinking "Now that swiping, that's why I married this man." Or "yes, yes, it's working". But it didn't. So now I was asking my dad to just pay with money. But he can be stubborn, and so we continued. Of course, if the card wouldn't swipe, we'd have to put in the security number or some such thing. Of course, this was all fine except for one number which was both obscured by another part of the card, and a little faded.
Friendly Man: Is this a 5, do you think *shows Dad
Dad: Yeah, I think it could be a 5
Friendly Man's Wife: *taking a look "It might also be a 6"
Friendly Man: Ah yes, it does look also a bit like a 6. Maybe I will try both numbers. *tries both numbers. "It still doesn't seem to be working...." *addressing me: "What do you think, is it a 6 or a 5?
Me: *inspecting the card "I think it has to be a 6...although...that bit might not be joined...but I'd definitely say either a 5 or a 6. I don't think it could be anything else.
Friendly Man: *getting out his glasses for a closer inspection. "Well, I've tried both of them. I do not think it will work."
At this point I spotted some Beef Jerky sitting on a stand at the counter (evidently designed for customers such as ourselves), and, having always thought it was similar to dog food, was naturally curious to try some.
Me: Dad, is beef jerky like dog food?
Dad: No, its not dog food. Its dried salted beef. Do you want to get some to try?
Me: uhh....ok.
Friendly Man: Well then, I would have to add it to the other purchases...and start over again...
Me: Oh, never mind then.
Dad: Well, you can probably pay with coins separately.
So we did, and the man continued to swipe for a little while longer, until I FINALLY managed to convince Dad to pay with cash, and we left. (Incidentally, the beef jerky tasted sort of salty, chewy...not bad, not terribly exciting either.) Well, it was one of those moments where you just had to be there, I guess.
13 August, 2008
Does My Nation Look Fat in This?
Well, the opening ceremony is still making headlines days after, it seems, with the revelation that the cute little girl in the pretty little red dress named Lin Miaoke, singing happily away about her country WASN'T what we heard. Instead, we heard a recording of Yang Peiyi (the girl on the left), who had been going to appear in the ceremony, but guess what - she was swapped in a last minute decision made by one of the politburos (people pulling the strings), in a conversation that may have gone a little like this:
Politiburo (watching Peiyi sing): She's very talented, isn't she?
Musical director: Mmm, she can definitely sing.
Politiburo (looking across at director): Of course, that's not ALL she'll be doing at the ceremony. She is representing the entire nation...of course, it can be quite a daunting prospect, and sometimes the attention, the lights....it can be a bit much for young girls...who may not be used to it.
Musical director: She seems to be copying very well though
Politiburo: I don't doubt it, I don't doubt it at all (chuckles). But all the same...there must be many girls who auditioned for this role...perhaps some who are even more..."camera savvy".
Musical Director:......ah.
Politiburo: (watching director closely) Yes. Ah.
Musical Director: Are you suggeting...
Politiburo: Of course she could still be dubbed over the top of the new girl..
Musical Director: Of course, yes. You're right, Politiburo.
Politiburo: It is my job to be right. I'm glad we've reached an understanding.
But probably went more like this:
Politiburo (watching Yang Peiyi): No. Too fat. Bad teeth.
Musical Director: But her voice?
Politiburo: Keep the voice. Just find me a face to match it in quality. And fast.
Musical Director: Of course.
The musical director who gave the interview also revealed that Lin Miaoke probably didn't even know the words she was singing couldn't be heard by the audience, which I think is a little sad, given how thrilled and excited she looked at the time. But the interesting thing is the way in which the papers have seized upon the news, taking as an opportunity to paint the Chinese as shallow and heartless. Of course, the reasoning given by the organisers is that they took the best body and teamed it up with the best voice, to represent China as best they could. It isn't fair or right perhaps that Yang Peiyi didn't get to represent her own voice. Yes, its shallow. Yes, its stupid - I mean, let's face it: would ANYONE think any less of the Games had Yang Peiyi appeared? Would there have been people shaking their heads going "There's a face that should never be let near a camera". There was nothing wrong with Peiyi. She just wasn't cute enough.
Of course this raises the issue of a country's image, and the people they choose to send this image. Let's not forget Australia's 2000 Olympics - we chose Nikki Webster to represent the nation. Were there other, more talented singers that could have been selected? Probably, but Nikki was "the image" Australians wanted to send out to the globe of Australia...as well as the duck boy...but I think that just confused everyone. These child stars nations use as a face don't represent the whole nation, they represent an ideal. Because the people in charge are always trying to sell an image, regardless of the truth, or real people. How can Australia's "Where the bloody hell are you?" campaign of adventures to be had in rainforests, suntans to be gotten on beautiful beaches, and kangaroos, with the young and sexy Lara Bingle have any authority when we, as Australians, have been recently labelled - wait for it - the FATTEST NATION ON EARTH (yes, pat on the back everyone - can't reach your back? That's ok, just tap your shoulder if you're able).
Yet people will continue to use pretty people, because they appeal, and we will continue to be outraged because we can't be the pretty people...
11 August, 2008
Who are the Fuwa?
If writing a blog seemed to be an easy task before, I now realise I was mistaken. The fact is, I don't have much to write about - and if I don't have much inspiration...I guess I'll have to find something else to put up...since I didn't post anything yesterday and no doubt you're all wondering "Why hasn't Gelati Gecko put up a post? I am indeed most anxious to read another post on his blog - and why is the poll expired?" (I actually don't know why the poll has expired, the settings seem to be stuck...but maybe its just on my computer since I've voted). So perhaps I can post something relevant to the Beijing Olympics, something TOPICAL as the English teachers would say when trying to get an approrpriate langauge analysis article.
Did you know there are five different mascots, or "Fuwa" for the Beijing Games? Beibei, Jingjing, Huanhuan, Yingying, and Nini. For those of you who speak Mandarin, you may have noticed that their names (which are repeated syllables) together spell out "Beijing huan ying ni", or "Beijing Welcomes You". I found a picture here from the official site (http://en.beijing2008.cn/spirit/beijing2008/graphic/n214068254.shtml), which outlines what each mascot individually represents:
They have even been given different personalities, endearing themselves to us with qualities such as the unbounded happiness of Jingjing - "You can see his joy in the charming naivety of his dancing pose". Indeed we can, bless the cheeky little panda (Jingjing is the second from the left). And we are reassured that while Huanhuan "inspires all with the passion to run faster, jump higher and be stronger, he is also open and inviting".
So there you go. Now you're all the wiser on the Fuwa of the Beijing Olympics - they seemed to be everywhere when I went to China last year, in the form of plush toys and keyrings.
Well, this post has been, if nothing else, mildly informative.
Did you know there are five different mascots, or "Fuwa" for the Beijing Games? Beibei, Jingjing, Huanhuan, Yingying, and Nini. For those of you who speak Mandarin, you may have noticed that their names (which are repeated syllables) together spell out "Beijing huan ying ni", or "Beijing Welcomes You". I found a picture here from the official site (http://en.beijing2008.cn/spirit/beijing2008/graphic/n214068254.shtml), which outlines what each mascot individually represents:
They have even been given different personalities, endearing themselves to us with qualities such as the unbounded happiness of Jingjing - "You can see his joy in the charming naivety of his dancing pose". Indeed we can, bless the cheeky little panda (Jingjing is the second from the left). And we are reassured that while Huanhuan "inspires all with the passion to run faster, jump higher and be stronger, he is also open and inviting".So there you go. Now you're all the wiser on the Fuwa of the Beijing Olympics - they seemed to be everywhere when I went to China last year, in the form of plush toys and keyrings.
Well, this post has been, if nothing else, mildly informative.
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