Spy School

When I meet new people I like to assume that they're a spy.  This is either a sign that I have an overactive imagination, or that the people I meet are so deadly dull that I'm convinced that nobody could actually be that boring and therefore they must have a really interesting secret life.  Which perhaps indicates that I'm not doing too well in the whole meeting-interesting-people sphere.

Real life aside, spy movies are awesome.  I'm too dense to guess the twist so I'm always shocked - SHOCKED I TELL YOU - when it turns out that guy who seemed to be really good and handsome was a bad guy and the guy you thought was eeeevil (mostly because he had a scar) is secretly the good guy.

But there are obviously some spy tropes that don't make any sense.

- Why OH WHY, do TV resistance groups always have the world's crappiest screening policy?
"Are you a spy?"
"No, I'm not! I hate the bad guys A LOT."
"Sounds legit; welcome!" 

- If you are going to a cafe to rendez-vous with an unknown person, your contact is always the hottest girl/guy in the room.  It's never the non descript slightly balding and unmemorable guy.  Resistance groups might be terrible at screening for Nazi spies, but their 'hotties only' policy is really stringent.

- Nothing looks less suspicious than seeing one man sit alone on a bench, staring at a game of ultiate frisbee or something, while another man sits down and then thirty seconds gets up to leave again, as if he's doing the world's slowest, weirdest bench squat.

In the last year I have done some important things (Got married, moved house), some non-important things (Had three haircuts) and some super important things (Found three used stamps that hadn't been franked and soaked them off the envelope and now I have THREE stamps, FOR FREE) but I have also read The Age alot. I'm strangely addicted to the bogan comments section but the article about cellulite back in April took the cake. Basically an article about Lady Gaga and how she has celluite and OMG she's such a real woman! The article ended with the questions "How do you feel about your cellulite? Are you out there and proud like many of Lady GaGa's followers? Or do you prefer a bit of artful camouflage, whether that be fake tan or long trousers? How do you really feel about it? How does cellulite affect the way you conduct your life?"


My response:

"How does cellulite affect the way you conduct your life?"

Well, I wake up in the morning to my alarm clock blaring "You have cellulite!Cell-U-Lite! Wake up, cellulite woman!" I hop into my specially-adapted cellu-shower and put on three pairs of trousers, just to make sure that no inkling of a hint of cellulite can be detected. I take the special cellulite tram into the city, and grab myself a cellu-cino from the nearest cafe (I have to stand in the "people with cellulite" line) and then head to work. I have to work in a separate room to ensure that my co-workers aren't affected by my cellulite. After a day at my desk crying pitifully because I have cellulite, I go home where my husband makes me stand in a corner and yells "You are a disgusting, cellulite-infected waste of space" at me for about 4 hours or so. I then curl up in the dog's kennel and suffer nightmares for the rest of the night about dimpled thighs.

So, as you can see, my cellulite doesn't really affect the way I conduct my life. Thanks for asking!!

Just to let you know....

...That if you ever thought that planning your wedding would be fun,

IT'S NOT.

Insert scathing, yet incredibly witty and amusing title here.

You just can't take anyone seriously when they're wearing a purple suit

Have you seen this? Have you SEEN this??

Apparantly, it’s an attempt to discourage people from downloading films and music illegally. Because the music industry, not content with charging people outrageous amounts of money for a CD (Of which only a very little amount is ever set over to give to the performer) now wants to stop people downloading, and is doing stupid things like getting information about the people watching music videos and TV shows on YouTube and using ISP’s to track down music downloaders. ANYWAY, the point is, this ad is just….terrible.

I really, really don’t understand how this ad will discourage anybody from downloading. It’s so….crap. Some guy in a hideous 70’s purple VEST SUIT accusing someone of being a ‘knock-off Nigel’ who ‘downloads knock off films.’ Woah, I'm scared! If I download a film, someone might accuse me of being a knock-off Nigel! And I'm not even a boy! And DON’T get me started on the various changes in tempo and time signature as they try and fit all their crappy lyrics into an equally crappy tune. It’s quite possibly the least convincing ad I have ever seen. I would even consider the Sheila’s Wheels adverts to be more persuasive.

You know what the worst thing is?

At 00:15 he’s not even playing the flute. It’s physically impossibly to play a flute with your fingers in those positions.

Oh, the excitement!

When I become a god, Busts of me should look like this

Woohoo, it’s nearly travel time! In a few short days, I will be off to….ATHENS! Yes, that’s right. The pinnacle of civilisation is travelling to the birth of civilisation. This meshing of greatness might cause a rip in the space/time continuum, so if that does happen, my apologies.

Because there’s so much to see there, I feel like I should be well-prepared in order to get the maximum out of my time. I’ve borrowed some books from the library, and am reading a detective novel set in Athens and called “The Athenian Murders.” So, while the MATH is at some maths conference doing hard maths stuff, I shall be touring the sights, and getting some inspiration as to how I’m going to design my own temple. I mean, I know that I can’t be deified until after death, but there’s no reason not to be well-prepared and have a wishlist left behind.

Oh gosh, I know it has been a very long time since I last wrote. But to be honest, not a lot has annoyed me recently. Sure, there’s the whole hating England and not being able to find a job and missing my friends thing, but that’s just normal background feelings now. Nothing has made me actively angry. UNTIL NOW.

Yes, I know that everyone claims that it’s summer. But here’s a secret: It’s not hot. In fact, right now it’s raining and I’m typing this wrapped in my duvet. Bearing in mind that I am the Queen of the world (Next stop: Complete universe domination!) and that what I say goes, I conclude that it is not summer. So, you fine specimens of English manhood, stop GALLIVANTING AROUND WITH YOUR TOP OFF. It’s bad enough that I have to stare at your pasty white bodies when I walk through Hyde Park, but when I see you wandering around Headingley with your short off and a can of beer in one hand, I actually want to vomit.

You have a big white flabby tummy which is the cause of too many curries, lager, and nights in watching the football. Just because Ronaldo whips his shirt off at the slightest cause for celebration does not mean that you should too. Keep your damn clothes on.

OK, so volunteering in a bookshop is a pretty awesome, fun job. There books! Hundreds of books! Millions of books to read! Oxfam is great! Support Oxfam! And the other volunteers are really cool and eccentric, and it’s fun. However, there is one thing that really annoys me:

It seems that everytime a book goes on sale at Waterstones, or is part of a “3 for 2” deal, about a week later we get 500000000000 million copies of it donated. Which basically indicates that everyone in England is having their reading choices dictated by what’s on sale at Waterstones or Boarders. Which depresses me. A lot. If I see another copy of “The Abortionists Daughter”, or the latest Harry Potter, or Ian BLOODY Rankin, I’m going to hurt someone with a pricing gun.

Insert title here

Oh, I've thought of some more things that annoy me:

• The fact that at Starbucks today I had to order some ridiculously complicated-sounding drink, and then the (admittedly quite hot) Barista was all like "And what size would you like, gorgeous girl", and I couldn't remember if the name for "small" was Venti, Grande, Latte, Frape, Guiseppe, or whatever, and so I just barked out "SMALL" at him. Because that is what I wanted. A small drink. The smallest. Starbucks is stupid, plus they gave me food poisioning. TWICE.
• The fact that bus tickets have gone up in price, and I was RUDELY caught off guard when I tried to buy one this morning.
• The fact that I have decided that I want to read Edith Wharton's "The Age of Innocence" and everywhere I go to try and buy it, it is not there.
• Peter Garret.

My philosophical thought for the week.

For some reason, Ani DiFranco really really annoys me.

Discuss.