So, I now have one thousand followers. I feel like this should mean something. Sadly, what I suspect it means is that I’ve wasted quite a lot of my time arbitrarily collecting one thousand followers.
I suppose I should be pleased: even if not all of those people still read along, at some point, I’ve touched the lives of a thousand human beings (well, give or take- some of those apparent followers will be the same person with multiple accounts). Hooray. I’ve affected quite a lot of random people. I’m so excited, I can barely resist the urge to let off party poppers from between my buttcheeks.
In other news, my laptop is currently being repaired, so I’m still wrting these on a laptop borrowed from a family member. I will get back to any messages you send that I can’t answer on this one just as soon as my own computer’s back in the land of the functional. I might even start writing longer entries again when I’ve got a familiar keyboad beneath my fingers. Certainly longer than this entry, which ends right here.
Okay, folks and folkettes, I’m going to level with you. Since my own laptop hasn’t been working I’ve been catching up on a DVD boxset of Firelfy I’ve had for ages and haven’t gotten around to watching yet. Consequently, I can’t really do a blog tonight because my brain is just going “watch Firefly, watch Firefly, watch Firefly" on a loop.
Also, the keyboard on this laptop I’ve borrowed is too tiny and fiddly and I’m really not enjoying trying to type with it. The good news is that my latop should be fixed tomorrow, so normal service can be resumed.
In the meantime, be patient; don’t get your knickers in a twist; I’m off to watch people bantering inexpertly… IN SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!
So folks, my laptop- a faithful companion for a great many years- is in need of fixing. The socket for the charger appears to have broken: the vital interior components have come loose and possibly fallen down somewhere inside the machine, rendering the socket useless. I’m hoping I can take it to a computer repair place and they can take it apart and put it back together again as good as new (it’s not like the hard-drive’s damaged or anything, so I’m hoping it will be a. doable and b, not-too-expensive). In the meantime, in order to do things like update this blog, I’m having to borrow a laptop. So if my blog enties seem to appear at really random intervals for the next couple of weeks, it’s because my laptop’s being fixed and the times at which I can work on the blog are going to be limited slightly by when I can borrow the machine I’m currently using.
I’ll try to keep the ‘service’ I provide to its usual one-entry-a-day schedule, but I can’t guarantee anything. The entries may or may not appear once a day (as intended) and if they do, I can’t be one hundred per cent sure I’ll be posting at the usual time of day.
Be patient and normal service will be resumed at the earliest opporunity.
They’re telling my friend she can’t get routine cancer surgery
1. Because she’s fat, and they’re afraid to operate on fat people. (Well, they’d be fine doing much more invasive weight-loss surgery on her, but the less invasive and much more straightforward hysterectomy, they’re scared of. That tells you everything.)
2. They spent a long time eyeing her wheelchair and yammering about quality of life, which is always, when dealing with disability and healthcare and life-saving treatment, a euphemism for “You have no quality of life so saving your life isn’t a priority.”
Once she blogs about it, I’m going to be reblogging the fuck out of it, as often as I can. This is one of my closest friends on earth and she saved my life through tumblr and I’m going to do my damndest to save hers through tumblr.
So once she posts what to do, I’ll be reblogging it several times a day if that’s what it takes, I know how many followers I have, and I know that tumblr saved my life, so it can save hers.
FUCK FATPHOBIC ABLEIST ONCOLOGISTS. JUST FUCK THEM.
I do think it would be a good idea to let Fletcher Allen, and its oncology department, know that people know about this crap.
The hospital has a contact form at https://www.fletcherallen.org/about/contact_us/
But if you prefer other ways, here are the critical cut-and-pastes:
And remember: Her name is Laura Tisoncik.
And for my autistic followers: She was instrumental in the politicized autistic community, way back when. Chances are if you’re autistic and you’re into self-advocacy, you owe something to her and don’t even know it. She created autistics.org, the Institute for the Study of the Neurologically Typical, and the Autistic Liberation Front… back when there were no political autism websites at all. And for a long time ours was the only one. The others were social or support group oriented, even if some of the members were more political than others. Ours was the first overtly and only political one, and for a long time it was the only one.
So if you can give anything back to her, now’s the time.
If not for Laura Tisoncik, I do not think that I would be here writing this blog. I owe her a lot. We all do.
If you can help her, please do.
This seems really important, so help yourself to a SIGNAL BOOST!
Tumblr doesn’t send anymore asks if you send a “.” and a letter or word without a space right after it.
Example: H…hello (doesn’t send it) - H… hello (will send it)
It says it sends the ask but it doesn’t. My gf and I were trying since 2 days now and we just found out what the problem was.
Pass it on.
This explains SO MUCH GRRGHH
Er, Tumblr Staff: given that this is a really easy mistake to make when typing out a quick ask, this is probably something you should change back. Seriously, I have no idea if this is a deliberate thing to stop bots or some kind of software error, but in either case it’s clearly a MASSIVE PAIN IN THE ARSE.
If I was any further out of the FA closet, I’d be in a whole other building, but I sometimes feel like FAs who are still in the closet get a lot more shit than they really deserve. You see, it’s very easy for yours truly to be open about my sexuality. For one thing, I have a supportive family and circle of friends- or, at least, a family and friends who’re mature and sensible enough not to make a big thing over who I have relationships with or fuck. For another, I’m pretty much proofed against random fuckers in the street starting trouble over whom I’m seen out with by dint of being six foot one and built like some kind of terrifyingly unhinged Tim Burton drawing. Sadly, many of my homies are not so lucky.
Obviously, it’s always ethically better to come out of the closet- fat folk deal with enough crap without the added stress of having to keep a love affair secret- and I urge any Fat Admirer who can to do so.
That being said, I do sympathise with FAs who feel that the social scrutiny and ridicule that they’d be subjected to if they came out is too threatening a prospect to consider- at least at that particular moment in their lives. Obviously, fat people themselves have it a whole shitload worse than Fat Admirers ever will, but for most people, it still takes a degree of courage to willingly put oneself in the firing line of social disapprobation, and I think people tend to forget this. I can’t claim that courage myself, incidentally: I’m not brave, just unpredictable and reckless.
I mentioned earlier that one of the major problems with FAs being in the closet is that it means a lot of sneaking about for both parties involved in the relationship, and that this can be unduly unpleasant and stressful. Personally, I wouldn’t subject any partner of mine to that level of stress and for this reason, I again would prefer it if as many FAs came out of that ol’ closet as possible. That being said, I’ve had enough relationships over the years to know that the need for secrecy doesn’t automatically mean a bad experience provided both parties know what they’re getting into going in. I’ve had girlfriends who, for one reason or another, couldn’t tell their families about me, and while those reasons are situation-specific and therefore lack the degrading cultural associations of having to be secretive because your partners not out of the closet- I can say based on those experiences that there’s no reason two adults shouldn’t be able to hook up and have fun without merging every aspect of their lives with complete openness. There’s not really a wider point there: I’m just basically saying that if you’re all hot under the collar for someone who’s still stuck in that metaphorical armoire, while it’s totally understandable and acceptable for you to reject the idea of being with them because of the secrecy aspect, it’s worth realising that you don’t necessarily have to forgo the pleasure of their company entirely if you don’t want to and you think you can hack the sneaking around part. But that’s not really what I wanted to talk about today: that’s just me giving y’all some paternalistic and incredibly awkward advice from my misspent youth.
What I basically wanted to say is this: if you’re a Fat Admirer, then you really should come out of the closet if you can and you’re not putting yourself at serious risk of harm by doing so. It’s the right thing to do and- and you’ll want to trust me on this- you’ll have a far more fulfilling sex-life out than in. That said, I get that it could take years to get to the point where you’ve plucked up the courage to do that and that it’s not an easy decision to make… so if the rest of you could kindly refrain from shitting all over the closeted folks (and I know some of you really fucking love to), then that’d be swell.
Okay, folks: that’s yer lot for tonight. I’ve got Netflix to watch.
EDIT: OK, so this is really fucking long, so I’ve just gone and stuck the whole thing under a read-more line. It’s basically just twelve paragraphs of me slagging off Red3Blog for being a self-indulgent tool and posturing White Knight. Except that I’m also coming from the position that I actually feel sorry for the poor, dumb bastard because… well, shit, where do I start? Just read the article if you give a shit.
TRIGGER WARNING: Brief discussion of mortality relating to one of the films.
Some of you may remember that, a short while ago, I did a post entitled “things you should be watching” in which I offered up lesser known gems of TV shows for you to check out. I like doing blog entries like that because they give me a rare opportunity to talk about something that doesn’t make me homicidal. To cut a short story shorter, I thought I’d do another one. This one also includes movies and not everything on here is exactly obscure: some of it’s merely criminally underrated. Got it? OK. Good. Here we go.
Jonh Dies at the End
Just watch this film. I have no idea if it’s good or bad, but there is literally nothing else like it in the world. It’s like something HP Lovecraft would write if he’d been born in 90s and liked Star Trek and really liked magic mushrooms.
How do I even begin to describe John Dies at the End? It’s a film in which a drug that puts you in touch with planes of existence beyond your comprehension is also alive and intimately involved with an alien invasion from another universe. It’s a film in which the dead can be projected through living brains, where a person’s body can be taken over by a swarm of insects from beyond reality and where people suffering from phantom limb syndrome are the only ones who can openly ghostly doors. It’s a film in which terrible forces can only be defeated by an unlikely council of stage magicians, freakishly intelligent dogs and a couple of stoners.
By turns hilarious and unsettling, the film seems to be operating under a simple rule: every bizarre pseudo-scientific theory and crack-pot bit of cultism is real, but not in the way you’d imagine and certainly not in any way you’d like. The film presents quite a lot of this fictional universe without apology or explanation, and the main narrative is told through the eyes of basically-ordinary (if not exactly neurotypical) humans who don’t have a clear idea of what’s going on themselves quite a lot of the time. Consequently, while viewers will understand the nature of the flick’s main antagonist and the basic governing rule-book of it’s multiverse by the end of the film, a lot of smaller, specific incidents of weirdness are simply never explained or explained in terms completely inaccessible to real-world viewers who don’t share the same assumptions and reference-points as the characters.
If you’re given to existential dread, don’t watch it, because there are lines of dialogue (especially on the subject of the dead) that will keep you awake at night if you are and do. Otherwise, I urge you to watch it if only because you will literally never experience another piece of cinema quite like it.
Bojack Horseman is a weird show, but not in anything like the same way John Dies at the End is a weird film. It’s a program in which humans and anthropomorphic animals live side by side and that’s just the way the world is (which leads to some brilliantly surreal touches throughout), but that’s not really what it’s about. What it’s about is a washed-up, cynical ex-TV star shambling from one personal crisis to the next, systematically destroying what little dignity he has left while surrounded by a cast of emotionally-unbalanced failure-at-life in LA. The fact that he’s an animated horse is something you’ll just stop noticing after the first episode.
It’s a sitcom. In the last one of these, I praised another animated sitcom, Drawn Together. I bring this up because I understand that Drawn Together really isn’t for everyone: the jokes are good when they hit, but they miss just as often and it relied a lot on incredibly arch characterisation. If you didn’t like that, though, don’t let it put you off watching Bojack Horseman, which is more of a traditional comedy in the mold of Black Books or Curb Your Enthusiasm, with the only real difference being that the particular cast of losers and rejects we’re learning to love this time round happen to be a variety of animated, anthropomorphized animals.
The early episodes are little more than an efficient, polished, but not-especially-original laugh generator in which Bojack snarks at everyone in his life and tries and fails to reign in his inner jerk while being surrounded by self-absorbed celebrities and show-biz people too self-absorbed or stupid to notice when they’re being insulted. There’s also a couple of neat sections in which Bojack flies off the handle about real-world issues (like the media’s insistence that all troops are somehow, magically heroes) and delivers furious straight-to-camera rants debunking the idiotic beliefs and assumption surrounding these issues… and usually gets ignored because he’s stuck in an environment where in-depth thought isn’t so much ‘not valued’ as ‘actively discouraged’.
The later episodes, however, are something truly unique as the comedy becomes darker and darker and more and more pathos is incorporated into the characters and situations, until we finally understand: Bojack’s self-loathing isn’t just a prop for the writers to lean jokes about egotism on. We’re actually watching a portrait of a man (well, horse), systematically destroying himself, isolating himself from everyone who might potentially care about him and, worst of all, finally realising that that’s what he’s doing and that’s what he’s been doing his whole adult life. Most comedies would find a way to somehow allow the laughs to detract from this bleakness, or figure out a way to restore enough of the status quo that it would have less impact. Bojack Horseman, however, is confident enough in the funny stuff that is there to let the bleak stuff play out unfettered right alongside it.
If you ever feel like you’re caught in a rut, trapped in an environment that only serves to make you feel isolated; if you ever worry that some of your life choices and what they say about you… well, then Bojack Horseman will make you feel like somebody else out there (namely the writer) ‘gets it’. That said, it won’t offer any comfort whatsoever, or even reassure you that you’re a good person. I can promise you an entertaining and emotive bit of viewing if you stick with it to the end, but I can’t promise that you won’t feel even worse when it’s over than you dived in. In my case, it’s exactly what I needed to see; exactly the show I needed to watch to remind myself I’m not entirely alone in my burned-out, cynical detachment. It might just make you despair. Horses for courses I suppose, but if you think you can handle it, I say give it a watch.
If you’ve never heard of or seen Farscape before, it’s an old sci-fi show currently available on Netflix in which a bunch of alien convicts and a space-lost human flee from fascistic pursuers aboard a living space-craft. And it’s very, very good. Despite having a serious premise, a lot of it is played for laughs and the characters- despite none of them being human- all feel very human and radiate a kind of humour and warmth that a lot of sci-fi tends to eschew.
If I had to compare it to anything, my first port of call would have to be to the acclaimed Firefly, but to my mind, Farscape is perhaps the slightly the better series. It has a grungier, more organic feel to it and it’s aliens-heavy universe feels like it has limitless potential and surprises. What it shares with the later series Firefly, is a cast of characters with vastly differing personalities all learning to live with each other and swapping a lot of smartly-written banter along the way.
There’s not much else to say about it, to be honest. If you like sci-fi, or even if you just like good TV, you should grab some popcorn and watch it. Have fun!
Before we start, I have to issue an ultimatum: the next one of you to insult Martin Freeman (by original post or by reblog), I will be unfollowing. I don’t know why I feel so protective towards Martin Freeman, but he’s literally the only thing in the universe that brings out my paternal instinct and you’re just going to have to deal with that.
Anyway, onto the main point of tonight’s blog. Remember I said I had a job interview that I wasn’t too enthusiastic about? Well, I got up early and got to the location of said interview, and it turns out that I didn’t have an interview. The recruitment agency the Job Centre were delegating to had just made it up. It didn’t actually exist. Somehow, they’d gotten it into their heads that there was going to be a day of Interviews, but it seems like this idea had been the result of a miscommunication or had simply been pulled out of someone’s arse at some point.
On the downside, I wasted a whole day, having gone into town for that job interview. But on the upside, I’d wasted a whole day! I basically spent the time I would have had to spend pretending I gave a shit about PoundLand lounging about in a cafe reading Sisterhood of Dune instead.
Speaking of which, if there are any other fans of the Dune series reading this, I would just like to take this opportunity to say that Manford Torondo, leading light of the Butlerian anti-technology movement, is an absolute cunt. I’d go so far as to say he’s one of the biggest cunts in fictional history: a narrow-minded, regressive, self-satisfied totalitarian shit-bag who openly decries reason and logic in favour of blind extremism. I’m about two-thirds of the way through, so nobody spoil it for me, but here’s hoping Ptolemy ends up killing him using a giant robot of some kind. I did think about rooting for him to be sealed in a Navigator Tank and subjected to dangerous doses of the Spice gas until, unable to cope with the mutagenic properties, the sadistic little prick liquified into a screaming puddle… but ultimately “Death by Robot” won out in my fantasies for reasons of irony.
It’s a testimony to how rich and emotive the Dune universe is: normally, I don’t hate fictional characters this much- I reserve my ire for real, palpable twats in the real, palpable world. Possibly it also has to do with how the character in question is such a perfect reflection of what I find to be the worst traits in real-life people: their insistence on imposing their personal beliefs on everyone, their small-mindedness, their refusal to find common ground where there should rightfully be some and their blind insistence on clinging to notions that are not only wrong but provably, obviously wrong (a good example of this latter behaviour being those idiots who honestly believe vaccines give you autism. As someone who actually is on the mild end of the autistic spectrum, let me explain something to you: THAT’S NOT HOW AUTISM WORKS, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER! But I digress). Manford Torondo is one of those characters an author dreams up every so often who isn’t merely a villain, but a figure you can point at and go “this is precisely what is wrong with people at the time in history this was written”. And as the time it was written was around now-ish, that makes reading about the cunt quite a raw experience. So yeah, bring on the giant robot.
Anyhow, tomorrow’s blog entry will have a proper subject instead of just me ranting about a fictional bell-end. See you then.
So, I’ve got a job interview tomorrow. I know, right: hark at me with my fancy Being an Adult schtick. Unfortunately, it’s for Poundland, a store where, suspiciously, a twix and a pair of headphones powerful to blow my head off cost exactly the same price.
I’m not 100% sure how I feel about this job. I’m not 100% sure how I feel about any work that isn’t writing, to be honest. Come to that, it’s a customer service job, and I’m not even 50% sure how I feel about people let alone ‘customers’.
My point is, I’m ambivalent. Luckily, so are the job agency that told me I had to go for it apparently. They were supposed to send me an e-mail notifying me when the interview actually is. No such e-mail has appeared. As such, it looks like I’m basically expected to turn up tomorrow and just have a punt on getting the time right. Which is likely to go very badly wrong for reasons that I assume are obvious to you, me and the average sponge.
However, let’s say that, by some crazy random happenstance, I get there and they interview me. What do I do? Do I actually make an effort to get the job or not? I mean, it’s perfectly obvious it’s a) a massive waste of my talents and b) not so socially useful that I should feel obligated to take it. On the other hand, I’d be getting money for essentially standing around adding up multiples of one for people who can’t quite be arsed to do it themselves. Easy cash.
The only problem is, of course, that I’ve essentially used up chances to go into a job, decide it’s full of twats then leave after two weeks. The Job Centre don’t like it when you keep turning up like a bad (if handsome) penny. So if I bother to make an effort and get the shit-job, I’m committing myself to at least a month or two of it. Given that it sometimes takes me less than a day to decide I want to throw new acquaintance into a vat of piranhas (specifically the unrealistic-yet-violent ones from Piranhas 3DD), that seems like quite a large commitment to a job I don’t much give a fuck about anyway.
I suppose what I’ll do in the end is just turn up, throw up a half-arsed facade of politeness and if they give it to me: whoopee- easy money! If they don’t: whoopee! I don’t have to deal with people!