Habits of Television Consumption

I have noticed recently that I no longer seem to be able to watch dramatic television and take it even remotely seriously.

Though this might not actually be a new development. It might simply be more noticeable now, as I watch much less television, so my responses are just that much more intense for their rarity.

I recently had cause to watch the reboot of the BBC show Poldark (namely that my awesome friend had an instrument in it), and I genuinely made it about…30 seconds into the show before I had to pause it because I was laughing so hard.

(This is highly inappropriate, because that’s about the point where people start getting shot at and consequently dying. (spoiler alert but not really.))


I just…the *melodrama*. It was so absurd.


I think one of my biggest issues with dramatic television, is that in their enthusiasm for being SO VERY SERIOUS AND DRAMATIC, they hit the point where every single line is SERIOUS and DRAMATIC, which makes every conversation sound completely ridiculous.

I don’t care what century the piece is set in.

*No one has ever talked like that.*

And hopefully, no one ever will.


If they start to, please laugh at them until they stop.


Much love,




Words of the Week:


DUSTYFOOT    (I *really* like this one.)

dustyfoot, n.
1.) A wayfarer, traveller
2.) A travelling pedlar or merchant.
3.  Applied to Death personified.
retiform, adj
1.) Having the form of a net; netlike.

Walking and Wet

I like walking to work.

(This seems to be confusing for most of the people I talk to? I don’t really understand, but I say ‘I was walking to work the other day’, and they get all concerned. “Oh! Is something wrong? Don’t you have a car? Can you not take a bus?”

No…I like walking. I made the decision to walk to work, because I enjoy it.

Whatever. It’s weird.)

The other day, it had been pouring all day.

(I woke up when my mobile went off, and it was a flash flood warning.) (Though, to be fair, we’ve been getting those about ever other day for the past fortnight or so, it feels like.)

Anyway. When I left for work, it had…mostly stopped raining.

(I put all of my work clothes in a plastic bag anyway though, just in case.)

I got about halfway to work, and the light misting of rain became… rain of like, disaster-movie intensity.

It was the kind of rain that had me expecting some reasonably mucle-y white dude With Scruff to come tearing down the hill in a repurposed SUV with, like, some kind of weather-reversing super magnet that makes sense only when applied with the logic of comic books.


Also, I was wearing white trousers. (Decisions were made.)


Anyway. I got about halway there, and I was…*extremely* wet.

Like. Sit-com/Rom-Com-type *soaking*.

A car stopped at a stop sign, the guy rolled down the window and just was like “Do you want to get in?”

And, my first response was like “No! I’m okay!”

But then I was like “Yeah, no okay. Actually, that sounds really great.”

So I got in the back seat of his car, proceeded to drip all over *everything* and get a ride to work.

(Thanks, dude! I appreciate you!)

When I got to work, I walked right past the front desk, and went straight to the laundry room, where there were many clean towels.

I was very grateful for towels.

After wringing the water out of my socks, I changed into my awesomely dry work clothes (Thanks plastic!) and went to work.


I am *so good* at life.

Time Like Thunder

Belarus did not do very well in Eurovision this year, but, the other day I was walking home in the middle of a thunderstorm, and there’s something really incredible about a song hitting this point of emotion and violins and “THUNDER!”


Only for lightning to strike.


Laundry Day

The other day, I forgot my mobile in the drawer at work.

I didn’t realize this until I’d gotten home, went to get my phone out of my pocket, and realized it wasn’t there.

I was already at home though, so I decided to start a load of laundry before heading back to work to grab my mobile.


I walked in to my work, and I was met by my late-night friend.

He said “Hey. You dressed up. You going out tonight?”


I was like “Nope. It’s laundry day. You can tell how desperate my clothing situation is based on how nice the clothes I’m wearing are. If I look like I could go to a wedding, it is because I am wearing literally the last clean pieces of clothing that exist in my life.”

Because I know better than to wear nice clothes.

I like getting dirty far too much for that to be a good idea.

So I never got used to wearing nice clothes.

(I don’t like nice things. They make me uncomfortable. I always feel like I’m going to mess them up.)

So. If I look like I’m going on a date, I am.

I have a date with my laptop, and my laundry.

(My evening is guaranteed to keep me entertained for hours, and have that delicious clean-clothes smell! Winning all around! Best date EVER!)

Always Right

I had a conversation the other day with a woman, that…was really disconcerting.

We ended up touching on a lot of subjects that I have very strong feelings about – (like racism in the U.S. and various queer identities).

I finally managed to end the conversation (though probably not very gracefully).

Later, she said to me “Did you know that you always have to be right about everything?”


This was…really strange for me.

I honestly don’t think anyone has ever said that to me.

I’ve been told that I’m contrary (and I can be), but not that I must always be right about everything.

She said “You must get that all the time.”

And I was just like…”No, actually. Not that I can recall.”

And she said “Every time I said something, you told me I was wrong. I would say something, and you would say ‘Well, actually‘ and then tell me I was wrong.”


I’m…not really sure how I feel about this.

Because, on the one hand…that is the last person I want to be.

I don’t ever want to come off as being the person who must always be right about everything, because if you want to always be right, it usually means that at some point you’ve stopped listening to the other person; at some point, you’ve stopped trying to see the logic of their point of view.

On the other hand…

Maybe I have become that person, a bit, because… when it comes to topics of conversation… I have stopped listening, to an extant.


I don’t know. I guess it’s the balance of filtering things out.


Like, I don’t care what Rush Limbaugh has to say…about anything, really.

But that’s also admitting that I’ve willingly chose to stop listening.


I don’t know how I feel about that.


There has been thunder almost every day for the past fortnight.

It’s amazing.

I turn off all of the lights in the Vivarium and sit in the living room. I pull back the blinds on the door to the balcony and just watch the lightning.

There are morning when I wake up, because I can feel the vibration of the thunder through the floor.

Sometimes, I make a pot of tea and sit on the balcony, and just watch the storms go by.

The sky turns purple against the green trees of hill country, and lightening take up the entire horizon.


The world is so beautiful.

Of Writing and Fashion

Recently, I’ve been spending a lot of my spare time writing.

I’m working on building up my word count. I’d really like to be able to write something novella-length, but at the moment I don’t have very much practice with long-form stories.

I feel like I’ve gotten pretty good at the shorter format of blogging. (Which, I’m aware definitely isn’t a short form for some bloggers. Some folks out there can write posts that are thousands of words long.

If that’s you, you are incredibly impressive, and I am immensely inspired by your abilities. For real.)

One of the things I’ve noticed about my writing though, is that often, when I’m writing characters who are women…I spend a lot of time describing their clothes.

I’m really frustrated by this, because, on the one hand, I don’t usually spend nearly as much time describing the clothing of the men (if I describe it at all), but on the other hand, I feel like describing the clothing of a woman is really telling of their character.

Is she wearing a dress? Does she have matching shoes? Are her jeans ripped? Did they come that way, or did she get them from falling off a skateboard? Does she wear combat boots and lip gloss?

Maybe it’s because men’s fashion usually has less variation, so choices are less individualized. A guy wearing t-shirt and jeans doesn’t necessarily tell you much about the character.

But, it’s making me realize how much I read into women (and other folks, but mostly women) based on what they’re wearing.

I need to work on that.

Note To Self: Do Not Be Donkey Kong

I was walking home from work the other day, when I found this:



…It may or may not have taken an inexcusable amount of will power to not do this:




(We’re going to ignore any physical impossibilities/ issues with reality that would prevent me from pursuing my desired course of action.)