Feeling Small.

•September 9, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Another blog post in the same day after a drought – I know – it’s procrastination! But hey, I saw this article and had to post something.

This article from the BBC  lists 8 things to do to disguise you’re short. The advice is all particularly silly and pointless, if you ask me. It, inevitably, includes wearing heels, dressing ‘tall’, wearing elevated shoes, using a footstool,  ’knowing your limits’ and finding someone who will compromise. The latter two refer to your choice of partner. Now, I am 5ft 0ins and my partner is a very generously proportioned 6ft 5ins. I am particularly petite, he is of particularly big build. The article suggests that this is just silly and we look stupid: “Even if you don’t think it looks ridiculous, passers-by do.”, the article claims. Firstly, who cares?! Secondly, can we not celebrate our differences? I particularly relish the difference between my boyfriend and me – I love that he has big long legs, and shoulders so broad I can barely get my arm around them. He delights in my tiny clothes and we frequently laugh together at the comparative sizes of our clothes. I love that he makes me feel tiny, dainty and lady-like! He has big, strong manly arms and, ultimately, he’s useful as he can reach things I can’t! We enjoy it, we certainly don’t care about it, and we haven’t the slightest interest in whether or not other people think we look silly together! We’re careful, though, when we have photographs taken together. We position ourselves in order that neither his head nor mine is excluded from the frame!

As for the troubles of being a small woman…I don’t care! I rarely have, in fact. I was teased at school for being tiny and it didn’t bother me that much. After all, it wasn’t like I could change it, was it?! As the years have passed, I’ve never shaken the nicknames: Tiny, Squirt, Wee ‘Yin, Midget, Munchkin, Littlest, and the list goes on. Do I mind? Not a bit! In fact, I’m quite happy for people to have affectionate names for me! I don’t often wear heels – I certainly wouldn’t bother with anything over a maximum of 3ins because the pain is too much for absolutely no gain! It makes no difference what height I am, I am me! In fact, me is tiny. And I enjoy being petite. I can still fit into kids clothes now and again, I almost always have plenty of leg room on flights or at the cinema, and being little has advantages in sports such as sailing where a low centre of gravity is handy while hauling in the main sail in 35 knots of wind!

I could make attempts to hide the fact that I’m little, but why bother?! I never wanted to be tall and don’t see the advantages either! I have ways of reaching all the things I need or want, I can wear whatever clothes I want (mostly) and I don’t care if my boyfriend is taller than me….in fact, I have a thing for tall men and find short men a bit creepy!

I’m not short – I’m small and petite and I love it so the BBC can shove their pointless tips where the sun don’t shine!

Procrastinating…

•September 9, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Well, I’ve been away for a while and it feels like ages since I’ve posted anything here.  What have I been up to?  Well, The Boy and I spent a weekend in his House on the West Coast where we relaxed with my sister and her boyfriend, and a friend of mine.  They all came over for dinner and stayed the night.  My sister and her boyf rode up, from their rather distant home town, on their hefty BMW motorbike.  It’s a really nice bike actually -  chunky, powerful, capable, and not silly.  Sports bikes are great-looking things but, in all honest, they’re not particularly practical if you want to actually ride anywhere beyond the corner shop.  I went out on the bike with my sister’s boyf and it was a brilliant ride, if a bit rainy towards the end. We went into town to get petrol, then rode until we found the end of the speed restrictions….then hit the accelerator.  I love biking, even though I’ve barely done any.  I’ve always loved bikes, always wanted one, and very nearly bought one a few years ago when I was living and working in Aberdeen.  I still have ambitions to get a bike and get my licence but that’s all a long way in the distance, and down the list of priorities, well after things like a house, a job, a kitten etc.! 

After this, the Boy and I went to Dunblane Hydro for a chill-out break.  It was his birthday and so we booked a really nice room, with a particularly vast bed, and thoroughly relaxed.  The Balmoral Restaurant is really, really nice.  The first night I had a pinenut, sunblush tomato & rocket salad, followed by a beautiful piece of beef with onions, mushrooms and mash.  The second night I had the potted salmon which was gorgeous, followed by a generously sized supreme of chicken with asparagus and a little dauphinoise potato.  All very very nice and, for the night of the Boy’s birthday, I sneakily arranged for a cake, complete with candles, to be brought to the table as a surprise.  T’was good!  The staff were lovely and the birthday massage we both had was fantastically relaxing too. 

A couple of days later, we set off on another trip.  This time we went to Largs to go sailing with Scotsail on their ‘start sailing’ course.  The Boy has always been disparaging about sailing, always maintaining that the only kind of sailing he’d want to do would be on a luxury yacht.  Personally, that type of sailing is not sport and I find the idea abhorrent.  Sailing is about getting out there in the elements, surviving without all the poncy, pointless crap we rely on in everyday life, and just focusing on where we’re going, how we’ll get there, and what we’ll eat.  The yacht we were going on, a 37ft Fantasi, was moored at Ardrossan, so we were taken over there to meet our skipper – we were the first to arrive as the rest of the team were coming down from Aberdeen and were stuck in traffic.  The yacht was quite different in set-up to the one I’ve sailed on before but it was very nice, spacious and comfortable.  And our skipper was excellent – a very relaxed and patient man. 

The weather was fairly poor – actually, in sailing terms, rough.  We were regularly sailing in winds of over 20 knots which is pretty stiff.  At times, we were sailing in winds of 35 knots which is officially a gale.  Coming out of Ardrossan harbour is pretty unpleasant.  If you’ve taken the ferry to Arran, you’ll have come out of this harbour but, on a large ferry, you’d never notice the waves.  But there were pretty big standing waves and almost instantly everyone started to look a bit pasty and concerned!  Fortunately no-one was seasick because it wasn’t long before we hit calmer waters and everyone’s stomachs resumed their normal positions.  Once we were headed for the water between Largs and Millport, the skipper handed over the helm to me.  The layout of the yacht made this a bit more challenging since it was different to the yacht I’d previously sailed.  The last yacht, a Moody 31ft, had a tiller – when you use a tiller, if you want to go right, you push the tiller left, and vice versa.  However, this yacht had a wheel and, with a wheel, if you want to go right, you turn it right.  I really had to fight to get myself out of the habits I’d learned with the tiller and it was funny how ingrained those habits had become even though I ‘d only been out a couple of times on the other yacht!  However, I got used to it and steered the yacht round past Millport and then into choppier waters where the yacht was heeling well.  I love it when the yacht heels – that is, tips or leans over – because for me it’s very exhiliarating.  However, our ‘crew’ from Aberdeen were not so keen – in fact, they were scared! 

Speaking of which, a little about our fellow crew from the North East.  There were two boys and a girl.  The girl and one of the boys were a couple.  The boys were English and the girl Irish and all of them worked in the oil industry.  On the first night, the single guy marked himself as a bit of a twat at the restaurant.  He ordered white wine for the table without consulting any of us as to what kind of wine we liked.  He ordered the house white and then ‘tasted’ it before he allowed the waiter to pour (!) and he summoned and dismissed the waiting staff in such an offhand manner.  Finally, when a couple of us went to the toilet, he paid the entire bill on his credit card.  This put me off him right away – I did not want him paying for my food and I certainly didn’t want to be paying for the bottles of wine he ordered and we did not drink.  Not cool.  This could have been forgiven but he then went on to make an even bigger fool of himself.  When standing in the cockpit of the yacht, the skipper commented about the direction of the wind.  Smartypants fat-wallet disagreed and said that the wind was behind us – while looking at the weather vane on the top of the mast which told him that in fact the wind was not behind us at all!  It struck me as odd to 1) contradict the skipper 2) contradict the weather vane and 3) not pay attention to the fact that you could actually feel the wind on your face, not on your back!  Again, you could have forgiven him for his mistake, since he simply didn’t understand it and this was a beginners course.  However, he kept spouting things as if they were fact when often they were completely wrong.  His biggest offence though, came when we were actually out sailing.  He did nothing.  Sailing is very much a team sport – when you tack, i.e. use the wind to change course etc., you  need the helmsman/woman to organise the team and steer the yacht, and then you need two people on the winches, one to let the sail go, the other to pull it in.  As you can imagine, you will tack a fair bit when sailing.  This guy tacked perhaps once throughout the entire trip.  To give you an idea – I lost count of the number of times I was one of the people on the winches and as helmswoman, I tacked the boat at least 4 times in a matter of an hour or so as I sailed her round the tip of Arran.  This guy literally sat and watched.  Now and again he would lean over to pass someone the winch handle.  Apart from that – nothing.  There is a lot of physical work to be done and, in that wind, it’s quite challenging – it’s your body against the elements.  The things I did included hauling in the mainsail, pulling up the mainsail, folding away the mainsail, pulling in the foresail, tacking, helming, bringing up the anchor, putting out and bringing in the fenders, and so on and so on.  All of this is fairly physical and occasionally dangerous work – trying taking down a main sail when you have to balance yourself in 25 knots of wind.  The rest of the team participated in these jobs – we worked together to achieve them.  All but this one guy, who sat in a corner pretending to be asleep – all of the time.  I honestly can’t think of a contribution that he made.  It really pissed me off – and the Boy too.  Everyone else was mucking in and learning and this idiot just sat there – a flaccid, useless lump who seemed to feel he was smarter than everyone else.  When it came to learning how to tie knots (very important in sailing!) this guy thought he was the shit.  He was – at two knots – the rest he couldn’t work out and, given that he’d been such a smartypants with the first two, his inability to do the rest drew hearty laughter from the rest of us!

I had a really enjoyable trip and learned an awful lot – I now better understand the process of tacking, from all perspectives.  I feel much better at the helm and I’m pleased to have learned both tiller and wheel now.  I think I’ve got my head round a few of the ropes (they all have weird names), the sails and the knots, and I’m beginning to understand the uses of the various instruments and how to plot a position on a chart.  All of this only goes to drive my passion for learning further.  I love the freedom of sailing.  I love the very idea that if you organise your sails properly, you get some wind, and then a 37ft vessel weighing tonnes, is propelled forward.  That, to me, is still amazing each time it happens.  It’s exciting, it’s peaceful, it’s challenging, it’s draining and tiring and very physical – all of that makes it very appealing to me.  I will learn more. 

However, all of this aside, I’m now back in the land of the very real.  My thesis still sits here waiting to be done and my deadlines creep forward with ever increasing speed.  I’m struggling to get things done right now – there is just so much to do and not enough time to get it done.  I simply can’t manage to do what my supervisor wants me to achieve.  Having said that, I have recently had my book review of an anthology accepted to appear in print in a journal a year from now, and I also got to sit in as part of an interview panel/audience for an academic post.  The department here is looking for a temporary lecturer and we were invited along to see the presentation part of the interview process.  It was very interesting to see the different approaches and styles and I have lots of useful notes to go on for when I’m applying for jobs.  However, having seen the CVs of those candidates being interviewed I’m now terrified.  Each of them, even the reasonably recently graduated ones, had around six publications.  So far I have one forthcoming article in a book, and six reviews.  The reviews, unfortunately, don’t count for an awful lot.  However, I simply don’t have time to write and find pubishers for another 5 articles – I have a thesis to finish!!  But I think I have a strategy – I am already in the process of drafting an abstract for a conference next summer.  I think the key thing to do, once I’ve finished my thesis, is to get at least two things published within 6 months of achieving my doctorate.  In order to do this, I’m going to have to attend conferences which will help me meet people and network as well as force me to create and shape work into new and coherent papers that could, potentially, be made into articles.  Publishing is the key to getting into the shortlist for any academic job but, sadly, it’s also extremely difficult to get work published. 

We’ll see what the future holds.  Stress, stress and a bit more stress is most likely.  In the meantime, I’m off to stress some more.

RedBubble and Photography

•August 3, 2009 • 4 Comments

Via a fellow Twitterer, I found a fantastic little site called redbubble.com.  This site is a place for you to display and sell your artwork, whether it be photographs, writing, drawings and so on.  The site is free, you can make your own ‘bubblesite’ from which to sell your work, and it’s very user-friendly.  I’ve set up my page there, with a profile, and uploaded a series of photographs, just a few to see how they go.  You can see it here:

http://littlest.redbubble.com/

I’d thoroughly recommend this site.  I have yet to fully explore it but it seems to have a very friendly, receptive online community too, so I’m looking forward to meeting like-minded, or otherwise, folks at redbubble.  Take a peek – see what you think!

Interpretation

•July 30, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Today I had a comment from a colleague that piqued my interest and touched upon a point that has long amused me.  I use Twitter and said colleague scrolled through Twitter and exclaimed ‘another of your cryptic tweets!’.  This amuses me greatly!  He commented in particular on the tweets in which I use ‘you’, appearing to address someone.  What I love about things like Twitter and the Facebook status update is that posting something as a statement on the internet, in such a forum, seems to apportion meaning to it.  I am rather fond of, for example, posting the odd song lyric now and again – it may simply be what’s in my head or on my stereo but post a certain string of words and suddenly it has meaning.  Suddenly people feel that you are happy or sad, angry or euphoric.  Use the word ‘you’ in your tweets and before long everyone has decided who the ‘you’ is and what they’ve done or said.  It’s hilarious.  I love that in print words take on meaning, whether or not you want them to, and whether or not you intended them to have that meaning.  In fact, the meaning that you intended (if, in fact, you intended any) is almost unimportant. I also enjoy that when I use ‘you’ people think I mean a specific person – often I’m addressing a thing which I have personified, such as my thesis.  Actually, that’s not a thing – it’s a living, breathing entity, I swear!

As a student of English literature who often spends a great many hours wondering over the meaning of the words in the text before me, I’m really entertained by how people extract (mostly erroneous) meanings from my words.  It makes me think about what I’m doing, day in, day out, and it makes me chuckle.  And it inspires me to continue to play!

The Escapist (2008): A Review

•July 17, 2009 • Leave a Comment

A couple of weeks ago I browsed around HMV and found a film called The Escapist (2008) on sale.  Given that it was less than a tenner, I decided to give it a try even though I’d heard nothing about it.  The risk was well worth it – it was an excellent movie and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  I possibly should not have watched it right before bed because to suggest it’s high octane is to put it mildly.   **warning – spoilers included**

Directed and co-written by Rupert Wyatt, the movie is set in a prison.  Brian Cox plays Frank, an old-timer prisoner serving life who gets a new cell mate.  The prison that the film is set in is old-fashioned, with a central staircase which leads up to cells served by communal walkways.  As the new prisoners arrive, wearing only boxers shorts, covered in white dust and carrying their few possessions, the entire prison population gathers on the balconies, stairwells and corridors of the prison.  The new prisoners are surrounded by chanting and, at the centre of this community of cons is Rizza (Damien Lewis) and his brother Tony, played by Steven Mackintosh.  Mackintosh, playing the deranged, drug-dependent Tony, is utterly electrifying.  He is disgusting.  He is creepy, you hate him instantly.

Frank’s new cell mate is Lacey (Dominic Cooper) and, aside from being really rather tasty (!), he is shy, scared and lost.  Taken advantage of and terrorised by the repugnant Tony, Lacey sticks by his cell mate and seldom leaves the room.  The film centres around Tony’s idea of an escape, set in motion by the news that his daughter has become a drug addict and is close to death.  Desperate to leave the prison and see his daughter, he gathers a small team and they hatch a plan.

When Tony turns up in Frank’s cell and taunts Lacey, the newcomer flies into a rage and attacks Tony.  Seriously wounded, Tony manages to stagger out of the cell, stumbles down the staircase and falls to his death.  The escape plan goes into effect the following day and the action, edgy and gritty, is spliced between the actual escape and the plans for escape.  Working in this way, Wyatt slowly unravels the story, unveiling a startlingly brilliant plot twist right at the end.

I won’t reveal the plot twist here, don’t want to spoil the fun – safe to say it came to me completely unexpected and I thoroughly enjoyed this pacey, gripping thriller which offers an interesting take on the prison escape genre.

Cleaning Out My Closet

•July 14, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Having had a few conversations with The Boy and a few different experiences in these last few weeks (including a holiday to Greece, a week cat/flat sitting in a minimalist home, a ‘research’ trip to London and a party at The House by the Sea for Supervisor & Wife, and Head of Dept & Wife), I have decided I need to clean out my life. I’m living with baggage (both literal and mental) and it’s time for it to go.

I’ve started with a clear up of my desk and room, here at home. Thrown out some clothes, some odds and ends. But this is just the beginning. I am seriously going to downsize. There really isn’t any need for the piles of rubbish that many of us hang onto, clinging to these objects because they ‘might come in handy later’, or they will ‘last a bit longer’ etc. No – they won’t. If I haven’t used it/looked at it/worn it in the last 6 months, then it’s going in the bin or on eBay. If I don’t even know what is in a box or a bag, I clearly have absolutely no use for it.

The same goes for Facebook friends. If I haven’t spoken to you, emailed you or sent you a text recently (by that I mean in the last year), and if you in turn haven’t written, phoned or sent a text, then you’re out! I have been deleting Facebook friends on this basis and also on the premise that if you’re to be my facebook ‘friend’, then it’d be useful if you are *actually* my friend!

As this excess slips away from me, freeing me up, giving me space, I feel better. I feel lighter. I feel good.

Terminator Salvation Review

•June 9, 2009 • 1 Comment

On Friday night I went to see Terminator Salvation.  I am by no means a die hard Terminator fan but I did enjoy the first couple of movies and was looking forward to seeing what appeared to be a promising film.  I was disappointed.  The key problem with the film for me was that there was no point.  For those of you who have yet to see it (sorry, spoilers will come), the basic idea is that there exists a resistance against the machines.  However, this ‘resistance’ is so pathetically ineffectual, so tiny, and the landscape so obviously successfully and completely dominated by the machines, that there seems to be little point in bothering to ‘resist’, if indeed this is what they do.

The two principle characters of the film, Marcus (played by Aussie Sam Worthington) and John Connor (played by Christian Bale) battle against Skynet, both in search of something – Marcus needs to know he’s a man, not a machine and Connor needs to find Kyle Reese.  While I enjoyed the character of Marcus, I was less entertained by his variable accent – anywhere from a poor drawling American accent, to the obvious tones of his own Australian accent.  However, if this was his chief offence, it was a small one.  The film, and the resistance, were led by the most uninspiring John Connor.  As Connor, Bale seems apparently unable to be anything other than a brutish, growling, frowning bruiser.  His character is bereft of interest, feeling, subtlety and, oddly, since he’s one of the few humans in the film, any sense of humanity.  Also, sadly for Bale, playing Batman seems to have left him lacking the ability to speak normally.  Instead, he is now only capable of growling under his breath, as does Batman.  It’s a loss – it’s hard to emote when all you can do is snarl in a vaguely intimidating fashion.  Aside from these two characters, there are few others who appear to have any point in the film, so that this Terminator movie is reduced to something of a two-hander.  Possibly not quite what was intended, and definitely not what was expected.

On the upside, the special effects were good.  I enjoyed the way that the body of Marcus looked as it was revealed that he’s not all man – in fact, he’s mostly machine.  Arnie’s ‘appearance’ was also amusing and effective.  There was the odd moment of laughter to draw from the film – the boorish Bale muttered ‘I’ll be back’ which raised a giggle.  And that was about it.  It was short (fortunately), lacking in plot and characterised by lumbering, lifeless acting – the machines did a better job, quite frankly.

 
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