Saturday, March 08, 2003

Identity Parade 2 : The Revenge

No I didn't deliberatly leave anyone out. I just had to log off and talk to Angelus - who incidentally is coming to the cocktail party (Does a ridiculous happy dance) and wearing a tux. And Stanzerl likes her birthday present *phew*!!!!! So now, I guess I should continue the list;

Awesome Man AKA The Curious Orange He's awesome. His hugs are awesome, he wrote the Awesome Song. Did you know if you write a word often enough it just looks ridiculous? I get that with my essays, there's only so many times "epistemological" can look right.
Ell Technically a nickname, short for her real name. Used to live with me, also sometimes gets reffered to by one of her screen names which is Tobermory
Trouble Another ex housemate, going out with Kate, used to go out with Super-Thesp formerly known by a few people as Big Green Tom because his hair used to be green. I used to call him Trouble when I saw him.
Cuzzin or Rollerboy My cousin. Meet him, understand; I am not prejudiced, neither is he.

Uhhhmm. There HAVE to be more, but I'm all out of ideas. I have Too Much Work, TM.....

Friday, March 07, 2003

Blog Of The Day #2 : Identity Parade

fa la la la la la la
fa la la la lah lah la la lah la lah la lah la lah la
lah la la la la
la la
fa la la la la la la
fa la la la lah lah la la lah la lah la lah la lah la
lah la la la la la
la la

If you didn't get that one, I'm ashamed of you. I came home early from the PULSAR bar crawl as I realised what it was that was missing from the evening. I have pretty much accepted now that the presence of The Wife on bar crawls is an infrequent event, so I knew it wasn't that (I just miss her full stop rather than specifically miss her) and I finally figured it out; I only met him once, I only chatted to him twice, I fell asleep with my head on his middle the same night I first met him, but I really missed Angelus.

Let me put you straight on this. Readers of the Magic Box will know that the author of such has an ex called Angelus. He was a very egotistical and idiotic excuse for a person who I didn't like (but would have screwed) and he wasn't very nice to her. This is NOT the same guy. Kate's Angelus = tallish, not very attractive, wore glasses (I *think*) My Angelus = not as tall, kinda cuddly, dark and sexy, great sense of humour, cute ickle fangs. And I miss him. He should come visit us more often. Anyway - I think I can hear Sir Whinealot and The Poor Replacement having sex, and since I REALLY don't want to think about that (and have my music up as loud as it goes) I'm filling in the 1 minute 35 seconds that is his average by writing something in my 'blog. So now, to get rid of the mental image I jsut agve y'all, Damn You Must be Bored To Read This proudy presents;

Dramatis Personae

First and foremost, we have my Lovely Lady Wife AKA Stanzi, Beth or Mouse Wouse The reasons for these are fairly simple, all of them are refferences to lives we either did or hopefully didn't share.
Shortbread Mr Nygma's crazy part Scots girlfriend who mostly lives with us. Try her cooking, understand her nickname.
Mr Nygma Insane and hyperactive compsci student. So called due to his crazy little dance and worrying grin.
The Jellicle The Zen master of all things, but mostly of noodles and code. If you don't get it, you've not read enough Eliot.
Sir Whinealot AKA Louis The Wonder Spod my deathly boring Ex. I put up with it for years.
M'amselle AKA Christine My former Mistress, a groovy art student who has both painted and sketched me. Reading the Doll's House archives should explain her nicknames.
Monsieur Le Vicomte Tall, posh and handsome. Fully acknowledges that I am scary and pretentious. Used to go out with Shortbread a while ago. so called due to poshness and the nature of his association with M'amselle.
Puppydog I'm fishing around for why I call her this. I think it's because she's cute and bouncy and faithful to her friends.
PULSAR Kate Doesn't want to be called this anymore. Wants to be called "Erfalaswen" Do I ever get to pick my own nicknames? No I don't, half the time I don't even get one. Nobody can be bothered to give me one, much less one that even suits me. and since I have no idea what the decidedly Welsh sounding "Erfalaswen" means, I think not. Nicknames are what *you* think about a person, not what they think about themselves. So we'll stick to Kate until I get a decent nickname over at The Magic Box.
The Poor Replacement Sir Whinealot's new doormat/scratching post/shag/moneybox
The Replacement Phantom Lives with Stanzi, so called because I'm starting to doubt that we are separate people. Takes over all my duties to the Wife when absent except my conjugal rights.
The Slayer Scary, scary, SCARY American woman I practice with at home. SHE HAS A STAKE UNDER THE BED.
Cubby An author of incipient fame who I am proud to call my friend.
Angelus the cute guy who just signed in on MSN. *hello*... how's the quest for leather? ;)

And due to reason last cited, I'm now off for the night.

Ol' times there are not forgotten,
Whuppin' slaves and sellin' cotton,
And waitin' for the Robert E. Lee.
(It was never there on time.)
I'll go back to the Swanee,
Where pellagra makes you scrawny,
And the Honeysuckle clutters up the vine
I really am a-fixin'
To go home and start a-mixin'
Down below that Mason-Dixon line.

I know you didn't ask, but the poem quote is "A Dream Within A Dream" by Edgar Allen Poe on I know this right off because it was one of the things that got read out last night when I, Shortbread, Jellicle and Mr Nygma were lazing around in my room, respectively either smoking dope or getting passively stoned (Box Five isn't very big, if I've got one on the go you can usually get moderately silly just by standing at the door) First we were just talking crap, then Uncle Jellicle told us some stories. Then I thought we should dim the lights and tell ghost stories. Mr Jellicle came up with something about a person relentlessly pusued across land and sea by a dark spectre, Shortbread's was set in deepest darkest Africa and involved savages who as a way of saying grace at meals all turn and spit to the East. It would have been the sort of evening that was really inspirational if it wasn't for the fact that due to lack of raging storm, remote location and hard drugs, we all just got rather giggly. Would have been better if my lovely wife was there, at least we would have had the right number of people. But it was fun nonetheless, just not one of those Villa Diodati nights that inspires some truly twisted poetry on my part.

As a matter of fact, I didn't get that early a night - but I did read Dante a little, and I did write a bit of Purely Derrivative, so you may actually get an update next week. Now however I'm sitting around in my nightclothes (I slept clean through my alarm and missed my 10am seminar. Whoops!) working, and may think about wigging up and going to the cocktail party, if only to see Byron whom I have missed having not seen her for a day or two. There's something altogether satisfying about working in your nightshirt then in the evening loading up on somthing and going out to a party. It's how some of the best music in the world was written, if you believe Peter Shaffer, but of course as you should already have noticed, I don't.

Underpants. Not a random utterance, a random and related thought; I was reading this book (which also went on a lot about his 'deformed' ear) on Mozart which contained a list of his posessions at point of death. This included several pairs of underpants. Now, tell me - I'm not the only person alive who would be shocked by this?? You must also have gone "underpants?? Mozart wore underpants??!" Now I know they *had* underpants but does the Wolf-Man honestly strike you as the type to wear them? Strikes me I would have immediatly pegged him for a Commando Composer, A Pantless Pianist, Wolfie-No-Drawers, but no, apparently he wore them. Wonders willl never cease. And of course they will have been those really unnatractive baggy affairs, worse by far than tighty-whiteys.

Euch, I think I just stopped fancying Tom Hulce quite so much...

Thursday, March 06, 2003

Blog of The Day #2 : Stolen Moments

Stolen moments time has broken
My eyes are open
To this life-long mystery.
And so I'll go on with what I know.
Take my chances, and run with destiny.
Now there's fire in my eyes
I break away and say goodbye.
I'm free to be I'm letting go,
I'll find my way so.

First, big congratulations to Ell who identified yesterday's song lyrics quotes ((((((Ell))))))) !!!!! Like I said, today's two are now up for guesses, and research is not cheating.

The reason for the name of this 'blog is that I read the selection on offer, and they had some fun ideas in it. So I'm stealing things people have done, just this once, and doing it myself. Nyah. First of all, PULSAR Kate over at has the Which Tarot Card Are You ... I'm....

I Am

Which tarot card are you?

Hmmm. Queen of Swords is my card actually... Next up is Shortbread ( with Bridget Jones style stats;

Mood: Ridiculously creative
Lectures attended: 1 (all I had)
Lectures comprehended: 100%
Food consumed: 2 black decaf coffees, one glass orange juice, 1 glass soda water with ice,1 jacket potato with beans and salad. Immumerable glasses of water
Plans for tonight: Finally get over my chronic Writer's Block and get an early night
Realistic Plans for tonight: Read "La Divina Comedia" and smoke dope. Get a relativly early night.

Useful. Kind of. Mr Penguin at has Where Did Your Soul Originate?

You come from the Future. Your soul came from a
different time, far in the future. You're just
a little bit a head of everyone else and you're
constantly wondering what lies ahead.

Where Did Your Soul Originate?
brought to you by Quizilla

Interesting. I think a better question is where did my soul go?

There is still the Philosophical Rant from M'amselle at and the Kids Show Discussion from The Curious Orange at but I'll save them for another time. For now, I'm off.

Wondered what that smell was....

Wednesday, March 05, 2003

Huzzah For DWBs

I'm a shooting star leaping through the skies
Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity
I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva
I'm gonna go go go
There's no stopping me

Yesterday's lyric quote came from kOrN's "Freak On A Leash" - todays is much easier!

Today is going to be a very nice day. Let me explain; last night I felt like crap - physically speaking. I've been working far too hard lately and it took it's toll, though not quite so heavy a toll as when I ended up dictating an essay from my sickbed wondering if I was going to die and that essay would be my final contribution to the world, or if I was going to keel over halfway through and it would have to be compleleted pothhumously by someone I tutor. Thankfully neither happened, I recovered, finished the essay and lived to party another day. I swore I'd never let myself get that way again

Then I pulled five consecutive all nighters, worked like a bastard, and felt like shite.

It may be something to do with the fact I wasn't also drinking three bottles of cheap red a night, but I seem to have bounced back straight away. Last night ( was supposed to watch Titan AE but was exhausted) I had an early dinner and went to bed, falling peacefully asleep under a copy of Shelley's prose works, where I found myself after waking naturally and happily at six this morning. The disadvantage; I was fully clothed, and had parts of the Vindication of Natural Diet on my face. The advantage; I feel so much better it's unbelivable. It is however bloody cold in my room at this time in the morning - it's not just that I feel it when I see seven am from the other side, it's actually cold.

But today is going to be good. I have an Aristotle lecture that I have *gasp* - done the reading for! (will wonders never cease?) then I'm having coffee with one of the most wonderful, fun, intelligent, handsome men I know, then taking Ma'mselle out for lunch so she can help me go birthday present shopping. Well OK I'm taking her out for lunch because she's been ill and I haven't seen her, and we're doing it in town because I need shopping help, but it amounts to the same thing. I'm wondering if I can stay up late enough to watch "Angel" tonight but I've missed the last two and I may as well just wait until it's released on video now. Not that I don't want to watch every second of avaliable "Angel" but if it's a choice between "Angel" and my bed, the bed wins. It would only be more tempting if it wasn't empty.

But actually what I came to talk about was that wonderful man I'm having coffee with this afternoon; He as I have said is one of the best-looking, most intelligent and best conversationalists I know, and he gives awesome hugs. Lately he's been a little down; because if I'm right he suffers from the same trouble I do, which is that his Inner Lord Wuss sometimes has too much thrall over him. If yesterday's diary entry is anything to go by, his Inner DWB has finally broken loose and he seems to be feeling better. Truly you are awesome, Mr Curious Orange, and I'm really looking forward to some philosophy and chit-chat this afternoon. And a hug if I'm feeling lucky.

Ell; "tipsy" ends and "drunk" begins when you reach out for your wine and just manage to poke the glass.

Tuesday, March 04, 2003

Militant Optimist

Something takes a part of me.
Something lost and never seen.
Everytime I start to believe,
Something's raped and taken from me... from me.
Life's got to always be messing with me. (You wanna see the light)
Can't they chill and let me be free? (So do I)
Can't I take away all this pain. (You wanna see the light)
I try to every night, all in vain... in vain.
Sometimes I cannot take this place.
Sometimes it's my life I can't taste.
Sometimes I cannot feel my face.
You'll never see me fall from grace

To get it over and done with; No Ell, it would not be cheating if you researched it. I happen to know (because I just went and checked) that if you just pump yesterday's lyrics into Google it will take you to a page with the full lyrics, song name, artist and album comments. But to put you out of the misery no doubt induced by not being able to immediatly identify a silly quote on an insignificant website, yesterday's lyrics quote of the day was from "Beautiful Disease" on the album of the same name by Duff McKagan. Can't you just feel that burden lifting from your shoulders? Same rules apply for today's; if you know, say so on your 'Blog and I'll send you an e-hug or something.

I had a really crap dissertation meeting today. If Clare *knew* there was going to be a problem with my using Hartley she should have told me before I spent all night writing 2000 words on him. Apparently, his theories are out of date (and strangely she didn't object to Godwin...) and he's not a philosopher, he's a "moral psychologist" whatever the fuck that means. The Marquis de Sade is a philosopher, that doesn't mean he's not also a pornographer, and sorry but if Hartley is a "Moral psychologist" then I'm a Dutchman (I'm not incidentally, though my father in law is) and even if he is (oranjeboom, clog, dyke, windmill, tulip) then why can't he also he a phiosopher??? So hello to the re-write, and goodbye to my faith in my dissertation. It's setbacks like this that make me want to abandon the entire thing, but I'm not going to - I'm going to make it damned good just to spite you. Ha. That'll learn ya.

I feel like curling up with vegan ice cream and watching old episodes of Buffy. This is a sure sign that I'm having problems accepting my role in this world as an adult, which whether I like it or not is fast becoming the truth. I am a person who has mnore to worry about than homework, boyfriends and her hair. I am married, I am thinking about decorating schemes for the house I'm going to get with my Wife, I watch my own cashflow instead of getting pocket money. I have a routine that does not involve reading Just Seventeen and I make myself cups of tea to drink while working. There is something so dreadfully adult about taking off your glasses, going and getting a cuppa, and coming back to your desk to replace glasses and go on working, listening to Classic FM.

Not that I have a problem. I like my organised, routined, adult life. I like the way it makes me feel, and I like the things I can achieve in it.


So if you happen to see me around wearing a crucifix and some decidedly-Buffy like clothes and dancing at the Shagga, or you find me brooding in a bar, you'll know I'm trying to recapture my lost Freshman year.

Shortbread has finally joined the ranks of my friends who write 'blogs. Go read her crazy rambles at and enjoy it. That's an order. It occurs to me that I should kind of explain some of the things I call people here. Not that I think anything will offend, but because I'm timewasting. I had a crying jag on the bus on the way home because I was tired, I'd had a bad meeting, and I'm in the wet blanket personality phase of my period, and I hated the thought of rewriting my dissertation. I'm still listening to the DWB though, who is advising me to spend the evening doing something I enjoy, eat something good, and have an early night. Lord Wuss is still rattling the bars of his cage reminding me I can't go to bed if I ate in the last 4 hours, but frankly fuck him. I'm tired, and I like Liam's idea better. So that's what I'm going to do, I'm going to have some noodles with lots of coriander and maybe make some kind of Thai curry like substance and I'm going to make notes for my Competition essay, then I'm going to go and finish reading Lord Jim because I have a seminar on it tomorrow but if I don't finish it I won't stress, then I'm gonna sleep.

I was very proud of myself this morning. I looked at the time, realised it was time for me to leave for my meeting. Saw that I wasn't dressed, I was working on something, and I hadn't had any breakfast, so I took my time finishing all those things and moseyed along to my meeting. Yes folks, I was late and I didn't care. Tomorrow I'm going to wear my leather trousers, because I'm happy and you should all know it.

Now - food!

Monday, March 03, 2003

sLeeP iS fOr THe WeAK

Here we go once again
It's time to take my librium
Spiders crawling up the walls
Will you catch me if I fall?

Nobody ever steps forward to identify my song lyric quotes. It's a little dissapointing, and kind of makes me give up putting them on, but I like them there. Just because I think you really ought to see how terrible my taste in music is, here's the songs which the lyrics in my last few blogs have been from;

Going Through The Motions - Buffy's first song in the BtVS musical episode
Hey Jude, The Beatles
La Vie Boheme, Rent. I have this image of the Big Six Romantics singing this - it's scary. Just imagine a singing Shelley.
Skid Row, Little Shop of Horrors. Seymour's section with a chorus of bums!
Pretty Tied Up, Guns N' Roses
Rock Me Amadeus, Falco IN ITS ENTIRITY!
Got To Give It Up, Thin Lizzy
Random Nick Cave track - not sure which. The Replacement Phantom could no doubt tell me as she is a mine of Nick Cave trivia
Rose Tint My World, Rocky Horror
Outside, Stain'd
Quote from a song Fuschia Groan sang in Mervyn Peake's "Gormenghast"
Too Much Love Will Kill You, Queen

That'll do I think. I'll give you all a chance to tell me what you think today's is from on your 'Blogs tomorrow, otherwise I'm giving up with the whole asking thing. And Miss Ell, I wanna profile! I want to see what you say about me... read Ell's musings at - well worth it!

Since I have nothing at all in my head apart from my dissertation (the whole thing, I'm industriously scribbling it right now) and a whole bunch of chemicals, I was thinking I'd devote this 'blog to someone who has been a little bit ignored as late, but who made his presence felt with great force on Sunday. It might seem weird that I want to talk about myself(s) but there comes a point where you just know if you go to bed now you're dead for the next week, and such things seem like an idea.

People who don't know me very well may think I have some sort of MPD problem or long term identity crisis going on; I don't. To briefly explain in as much detail as my scrambled mind can manage at this point, I have had past lives, I have remembered them in pretty heavy detail. I remember exactly what I was like. Because reincarnation is a learning process where you experience different things every time til you've experienced everything possible and know as much as your Source. Then you stop coming back and lay about in the spiritual equivalent of a seraglio for the rest of eternity - you've just got to love Tir Na Nog... but anyway, it would be pointless if you learned things and didn't remember them; hence I still have aspects that are very much belonging to Johnathan Cain (Lord Wuss) and Liam Kirwan (Drunken Whoring Bastard, or DWB) but I am *not* these people. It's not like I have other personalities, just aspects and tendancies that can be very strong.

These aspects are often very much at odds with one another. As I am a sick twisted person, I've thought a little about what would happen if Wuss and DWB ever met; they'd hate each other, Lord Wuss would end up a greasy smear on the wall. Either that or they would *somehow* find something to get along about and end up screwing. Everyone has conflicting drives, mine have names, that's the only difference. And the trouble is, I still haven't fully learned to listen to the one who isn't clinically insane yet.

See, Lord Wuss had this really huge advantage over me in that he was ludicrously thin. Anyone who knows me knows I spend almost my entire life moping about my weight, not that I'm fat - I'm not - I'm just not as thin as I'd like to be. One thing I'd really like is smaller hips but since they're pretty bony already I don't think it's possible so it's not a major preoccupation. But anyway; Lord Wuss is the worst possible influence on someone who's body-shy, mainly because at six foot three and ten stone, HE thought he was too fat. That's got to give a girl a complex. He kind of embodies those "Be this, say this, be accepted, be superior" drives that make me a difficult person to get on with. He's dogmatic, he's pretentious, he's snobbish, he's almost everything about me that I hate. He's the one who makes me snap at my friends and be bad tempered with people who don't deserve it - and by the way I'm not pleading "Johnathan made me do it" I'm trying to explain drives and aspects of personalities and stuff, and I'm not doing it well. so anyway, he's kind of the Bad Drive.

And then there's Liam.

I love Liam Kirwan being around and making his presence felt. I love my happy-go-lucky seat-of-the-pants rollercoaster life drives where I can be cheerful in the face of adversity. A little background on the DWB; he's Irish, he's quite a card, he's an Occultist, he fights like a bastard, he drinks too much, smokes too much and eats badly, has sex with anything that moves (and on one or two occasions, things that didn't) you get the picture. Liam is like my Id, telling me to screw popular opinion and do what makes me happy. When I curl up in my room and never ever want to eat again, it's Liam that kicks me in the arse and tells me I shouldn't care about popular conceptions of beauty and instead look at how many people find me attractive. The DWB, though he was a handsome fella, wasn't exactly what you'd call slender; in fact I think the phrase "did you write to your feet lately?" had been applied, but damn it he was happy.

Liam gets me through when anything else that can is far away enough to miss (in the case of my lovely lady wife, this means "in the next room") That's why I'm glad I have those drives - and we all have our inner DWB. Sadly we all also have our internal Lord Wuss telling us we're never good enough, making us feel outcast. Here's my advice to anyone else out there who lately may have been letting their inner Lord Wuss get too much of a foothold in conscious thought; Tell the bastard to go piss some gypsies off and leave you alone, fetch yourself a hot cup of tea and something good to eat, and sit down to listen to your own personal DWB remind you of all the fun you'll have if you just LET yourself have fun. In short, 2 things;

1. Thank you Liam, Fuck you Johnathan.
2. Life is just too damned short not to have fun.

Sunday, March 02, 2003

Salieri's Cheering Team

I'm just the pieces of the man I used to be
Too many bitter tears are raining down on me
I'm far away from home
And I've been facing this alone
For much too long
I feel like no-one ever told the truth to me
About growing up and what a struggle it would be
In my tangled state of mind
I've been looking back to find
Where I went wrong

You know what I think. This may just be because it's six in the morning and I'm stoned off my rocker having been working on my dissertation (Jeff the God Of Biscuits, as Viv named it) since 3AM yesterday, but I think I have a theory. And it's about one of my favorite subjects; Salieri and Mozart.

I know people who have never heard a single piece of Salieri's music (knowingly) and hate the guy. Damn your eyes, Peter Shaffer, you are a great playwright and I adore your work ("Equus" rules) but you have given at least two generations a totally coloured view of a musician. Antonio Salieri is an incredibly important musician; he was taught by Gluck, and he taught Beethoven. Think of the gulf between Gluck and Beethoven, and think who connected the two - THAT is how important Salieri is. He was a charitable man - he taught many of his pupils (including Mozart's son) for free and was always willing to help out funds for poor musicians. He was an industrious man - he wrote over 40 operas and countless other pieces. If Salieri has a musical failing it's because he is obvious and formulaic; not many intersting or shocking variations, he tends to go tonic and dominant, and "gives them a good bang at the end of songs to let them know when to clap" - but think about it. He's writing *for the court* - he HAS to write popular music. Which is what he did.

"Hang on," I hear you cry, "Didn't Mozart write for the court as well?" yes, he did. Mozart was a naughty little boy, he broke all the rules, and he wrote the music that spilled out of him with scant regard for court likings. As it happened, THIS music became popular. Which must have really pissed Salieri off. He saw Mozart get famous, eclipsing NOT ONLY HIM but basically everyone around him. Then he saw Mozart die of multiple organ failure and general shite health. Thirty years later, a very old and senile man, Salieri makes a deathbed confession to killing Mozart. At this point, remember that Ol' Sal was a mite on the dribbling-in-his-nightcap side, he probably just rambled, and even if there was method to his madness, it would have been that he wanted to link his name with Mozart's, *just* to make sure that he'd go down in history for something. Even if that something was "The nutty old fellow who claimed to have murdered Mozart"

Did he kill Mozart? Interesting question, overasked these days. I wasn't there, I was busy in Ireland sleeping with people and getting very drunk at the time, so I wouldn't know for certain, but I'm going for No. Mozart was a rampant little rakehell by most accounts. A devoutly religious man devoted to his father, sister, wife, and children, but he was fond of a drink or sixty and wasn't keen on the old adage about early to bed. Neither was he keen on not staying up and working when he should be sleeping, or on that whole eating properly thing. So is it really honestly all that surprising that at 37 he fell very badly ill and died? Live fast, die young, that's what they say. Interesting fact, I outlived Mozart by five years, I lived faster, but I did eat well and sleep a tad more, that probably accounts for it. But in any case, Mozart (who was incidentally going more than a little doo lally himself) claimed he'd been poisonned. Duh, Wolf-Man, course you have - BY YOURSELF! *ahem* Lots of people put this together and say "Salieri did it, in the parlor, with a poisoned glass of wine"

Did he hate Mozart? An even more interesting question. Nobody even bothers asking it, curse Peter Shaffer and all his scummy film buddy minions to the most fedid sweaty crease of the devil's hairy arse. No, he didn't; he loved Mozart, adored the little bastard, wanted to jump into bed with him practically. Salieri was a *musician* - and he knew genius when he saw it. Sure he might have been jealous and bitched a little behind the Wolf-Man's back, who wouldn't? But he respected his music, and if I'm willing to stick my neck out here, which I appear to be, probably respected him standing up for himself against the might of the Imperial court. In a sort of backhanded won't-admit-it-in-front-of-my-court-chums way, he loved Mozart. An illicit little affair with only one participant aware of it.

I might continue this at some point, right now I need to go back to my work.
Blog Of The Day #2 : Count Your Blessings

I am Fuschia, I am Me
Don't be frightened, wait and see!

First of all, thanks to The Curious Orange (you can get a link to his diary at under "Jason") who for some very obscure reason made me want to write this by reading his entries. Secondly, I have no idea why I'm doing this, but there comes a time in everybody's life when you have to make like Walt Whitman. "I celebrate myself and sing myself"

I am The VVR. I don't eat animal products, I hate the sun, and I sneeze in a really cute way apparently.
I am happily married. I adore my wife, and can't wait for her to move up here.
I am a poet. My output might be infrequent and not exactly a masterpiece but I like it.
I am The Phantom of the Library. I know my way around it like the back of my hand, and I'm usually to be found there.
I am desirable. I may not be a model and I may not scrape six foot but I'm sexy nonetheless.
I am The Angel of Music. I can lull you with my voice, I'm trained to do it.
I am short-tempered. I do my best to control it.
I am The Brat Princess. I enjoy it, even if it makes me unpopular.
I am graceful. I'm not delicate, but I am reasonably well mannered and I move well.
I am connected with everyone and everything that exists through the earth and all the elements.
I am studious. I enjoy working and learning for its own sake.
I am always looking for everyone else's approval. I will probably never realise fully that I don't need it.
I am a Kelt. My home is by the sea, my heart is in the mountains, my life is by the sword.
I am a warrior. I will fight with everything I have for the tiniest wrong to be put right.
I am searching after redemption. Who loves guilt like I love guilt?
I am a friend who can be relied upon.

I AM ME. I'm not a mask, I'm not a cloak. I'm ME. I'm going through this life, which though it isn't the only one I have is the only one where I will be THIS me. I am flawed, I am unaccepting of the good things that I have, I am strong and I will get through, and I'll drag you all with me. I will atone for anything I have done, I will fight for my redemption, and I will get it though I might spend eternity trying.

And I AM going to eat my Angelina Ballerina pasta.
The Other One

But I'm on the outside
I'm looking in
I can see through you
See your true colours
'cause inside you're ugly
Ugly like me
I can see through you, see to the real you.

Maybe, JUST maybe, Poli actually gave the matter serious thought before he decided who to invite. Maybe he thought; "The Jellicle is very busy at the moment, if he is then Mr Nygma will be as well. Shortbread will stay home if Nygma does, so I'll invite Sir Whinealot and The Poor Replacement" because of course, previously when thinking about this, he may have thought; "The VVR doesn't like sunshine, doesn't drink, and won't eat food anyone else prepared, so there's no point inviting It to my barbecue"

Of course this is all very accurate. I DON'T like sunshine, I DON'T drink and I WILL NOT eat food anyone else has prepared. This should never be taken as a slur on anybody's culinary skills - I'm very well aware that many of my friends are very good cooks/chefs, most notably Cubby, M'amselle and Wrong Mike - it's just I need to have prepared it myself. Control, you know? But maybe, if he'd thought this through, Poli should really have come to the conclusion that he should have extended the invite to the whole Animal House rather than just Sir Whinealot and The Poor Replacement, and given us each a chance to turn it down. I know at least that Mr Nygma had no clue the event was happening, but then again he had only just got up when told that Poli was picking people up for it, and to be completely fair to him, it does take a shower before Nygma has much clue about anything. He, like me, is NOT a morning person. From this I deduce that it's reasonably likely that the invite was only given to Sir Whinealot and The Poor Replacement.

So though it's understandable that I wasn't invited, no Angelina Ballerina pasta for me this week.