Do Right To Me, Baby

5 Apr

Today is “Golden Rule Day,” sponsored by the Charter for Compassion.

Regardless of your religious persuasion, I’ve not doubt you’ve heard of the Golden Rule. The truth is most spiritual traditions have a form of it, and even those people who define themselves as atheist (or those who hilariously write in “Jedi” for the religion question on the census) would say they support the Golden Rule, which is To Treat Others As You Wish To Be Treated.

I think it’s champion that we’ve finally found a policy we can all stand behind. Somehow, though, I’m thinking that just because we say we believe it doesn’t necessarily mean we act as if we believe it.

If we did act according to the Golden Rule, it would mean Rupert Murdoch wants us to invade his privacy. It would mean some American newscasters want us to blame them if they are killed while walking home from a convenience store. It would mean that that dickhead who pushed me in the queue wants me to shove him despite the fact that all he’s doing is innocently trying to buy a box of envelopes. That’s how it works—what you do to others must be what you want done to you; that’s the Golden Rule we all believe, yes?

Now I’m not perfect, of course, and I’ve no doubt I’ve sometimes let the Golden Rule slip my mind. I take responsibility for the times I’ve acted without compassion (I’m thinking of the time I rejected the advances of a certain silver-haired gentleman, and I confess being turned down is not something I want done to me—and thank goodness, it’s yet to have happened). I decided to use today to remind myself to be more mindful of the Golden Rule so I surprised Christopher with a mixed bouquet of lilacs, honeysuckle and freesia and a beautiful silk slip. I’m hoping he gets the message.

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More Fool You

1 Apr

Words. Essentially the idea behind them is that you scrawl a few symbols next to each other onto a piece of paper, and if someone familiar with your language sees them, they’ll be able to read that word and know exactly what you mean. Let’s look at an example:

BUTTERCUP

If you speak English, you’ll know that those symbols put together mean this:

However, if you’re of a certain age with an obsession for pop culture references, this might have come to mind instead:

Or, god forbid, this:

So now we see that words can be a little more complicated than we first thought.

There are thousands and thousands of words in English and at least 100% of those words have more than one meaning. Last night after tea, I had a delicious pudding that many of you may be familiar with—gooseberry fool. It was light and creamy and just so dreamy that I confess I had seconds.

Yet the word fool has other meanings. It can refer to a different noun, meaning “silly or stupid person.” Believe it or not, it can even be a verb, “to trick or deceive.” Often when a person has been “tricked or deceived,” they are considered to be a fool. Ironically, the opposite is true. I am not unaware of a man who considers himself an expert at “fooling” people—I’ll refer to him as Mr X as I’m quite good friends with his wife, Mrs Patrick Grayson Harrison, and I don’t want to embarrass her. Mr X seems to believe quite strongly that he can fool others—sometimes by telling an untruth and sometimes by leaving gaps in the information he shares. One evening he told his wife that work had kept him late, when actually he had gone ten-pin bowling with his mates. A few months later when his wife asked how his day had gone, he said “Fine,” when he had in fact been severely reprimanded by his employer for shoddy work on a report. Now no doubt at the time he was actively tricking her, he was thinking, “My wife is such a fool.” However, she always found out the truth. So not only was Mr X’s deception revealed but his attempt at fooling only added extra nastiness to the whole affair. In the end, as is clear to all and sundry, it was Mr X who was proving himself to be the silly or stupid person.

Now believe it or not, some words are even more complicated. Take a word like “hurt.” It can be a verb, noun and even an adjective! What the eff? How are we to ever tell what a person really means?

Considering that words are the basis for our communication, it’s no wonder we get confused sometimes. The best we can do is be precise in the words we speak and thoughtful in the way we listen.

And it’s probably best for everyone to just avoid all types of fools—unless it’s the gooseberry kind, to which I say, Thirds, please!

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Freedom Is Just Another Word

31 Mar

It’s not that I’m against freedom. Freedom’s great: without it, no doubt I would have done a lot more jail time. However, it’s all got a bit stupid these days.

For example in America, some so-called people argue President Obama is trying to destroy religious freedom because he’s kind of keen on Americans having equal access to healthcare. They also say any proposed tax increases are assaults on our God-given economic freedom.

Here’s the thing about freedom: there are limits. Try walking down your street naked swinging a dead rat over your head. Try grabbing a box of macaroni and cheese off a shop shelf and walking straight out the door. Try drinking two litres of ice cold water in less than thirty seconds. Try eating an entire Chrysler Town and Country station wagon.

If you think you have absolute freedom, even in Land of the Free, you don’t. If everyone were totally free to do whatever they wanted to, well, it just wouldn’t work now, would it?

I am a very moral person—ask any of the thousands I’ve slept with and they’d rush to agree.  My judgment is pretty sound. Does this mean I should have the freedom to slap the face of anyone who acts like a prick? Alas, it does not.

The problem is that while most people acknowledge that there are limits on freedom, they’re going on the assumption that the limits should only affect other people. They’re okay with telling Muslims they can’t do this or that, but how dare the Catholics be challenged. They’re okay with Trayvon Martin being shot because Zimmerman was “standing his ground,” but would they make the same defense if their child had been killed? They’re cool with crack being against the law, but would they support similar bans on the scotch and sodas they down each evening before driving their daughters to ballet practice?

This is why, despite my ace marks in morality, I have to accept that sometimes society will place some limits on what I can do. I may not always like it, but it’s a relatively good system overall. Perhaps instead of crying about the freedom they think they’re losing, the Republican candidates should appreciate the one they do have: the freedom to illustrate their total twatness on a national stage and earn quite a lot of money doing so.

God bless America.

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Today Is A Sunday

18 Mar

For some, it’s the end of the week. For some, it’s the beginning. For me, today is a Sunday. A normal Sunday.

Why?

Because I have the good sense to choose men and birth control wisely. Because I am more than a uterus and because I despise children’s voices.

If today means something different to you, have a good one.

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Today is A Saturday

17 Mar

Saturdays are good days for most people: the first day off from the work week, but not the last. A day to sleep in. A day to spend doing whatever it is you (not your boss) want you to do.

But if you live in America, this Saturday is not a good day. This Saturday is a very bad day.

Why? Because today is St. Patrick’s Day. Now if you’re Irish, St. Patrick’s Day will probably mean something to you—after all, St. Patrick is your patron saint and God knows patron saints are important on this side of the Atlantic (one of the prep questions for the British citizenship test requires would-be citizens to name the four saints and put their holidays in calendar order, though this hardly seems indicative of being ready to be British). So Happy St. Patrick’s Day to you lot. I’ve got nothing against the Irish (except Bono): you gave us Graham Linehan and Dara O Briain, so no doubt you’ll be relieved to know you’re all right by me.

But I do have something against the American celebration of St. Patrick’s Day. First off, for almost every other day of the year, Americans are all about America. If you say you’re African-American, that’s political correctness gone mad and you’re asked to show papers indicating that you or one of your parents actually came from Africa (and it’d better be from one of the countries in Africa that Americans actually know). You might hear the term “Arab-American” bandied about; this is just fancy talk for terrorist. And if someone calls themselves Mexican-American, this is likely to mean: drug smuggler, job stealer, and/or lazy bones. Americans like Americans (Native ones the exceptions, of course). The USA is all about only full-blooded Americans.

Except on St. Patrick’s Day.

Then all of a sudden, everyone is Irish-American. Proving you’re Irish-American is relatively easy, no papers need to be produced. Here is the test:

1. Are you from Boston? If so, you pass.

2. Have you heard of u2, the potato famine or Riverdance? Please go to the head of the class.

3. Do you like drinking and do you own anything green? That’s good enough.

From TheOnion.Com. Read it, then read this: LiterallyUnbelievable.Org

St. Patrick’s Day in America is not about celebrating Irish heritage or any of St. Patrick’s super great deeds (apparently we’re talking a thousand miracles here, people). St. Patrick’s Day in America is about getting drunk. Then getting drunk again. And if you’ve got the time, you can sneak in one more getting drunk. This means it is also about vomiting, and since many drink green beer (because they’re hardcore Irish, you see), this means green vomit. And the fact that this year, St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Saturday when most (save vicars) don’t need to get up to work the next morning, well, it’s going to get ugly.

In case you think I’m hating on Americans, I’m not. As you know there is plenty to love about my little old United States of America. I don’t hate Americans. I don’t hate anyone. Except Bono.

I hate Bono.

Note: Yes, I do also hate Jeremy Irons. But I’m saving that wrath for 23 April.

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I’m (Not) A Believer

10 Mar

I’m still coming to grips with the loss of my dear friend, Davy Jones. I remember fondly our first meeting; I was just a young girl in high school, busy working on our Prom’s planning committee. As president of the local Davy Jones Fan Club, I was sure I could get him to play the gig. After a series of hilarious hijinks, Davy came through for me and actually accompanied me to the dance. Wait, that wasn’t me, that was Marcia Brady. Nonetheless, his death was a real blow.

So imagine how I felt when I saw this headline this morning:

As you know, I am a fair weather fan of science. Yes, things like electricity are great and all, and I respect most in the medical field, especially whoever it was who invented the pills I can slip into Christopher’s tea whenever he really starts trying my nerves.

But you don’t have to be a supersymmetric quantum mechanics physicist to be able to see that a lot of science is bunk. The world does not need to know at which part of a woman’s menstrual cycle she can most easily identify members of the reptile community—or at least certainly not before science shows us how to beat cancer, create environmentally-safe energy or handle documents with no threat of a paper cut. Perhaps there’s a hierarchy in the science research world of which I am unaware of: maybe the dumbos who somehow manage to get degrees are secreted into labs where they’re given little experiments to conduct to keep them busy while the big boy scientists are out doing important stuff. I don’t know. And confess I also don’t really care.

All I know is that in the last 48 hours, there have been incredibly important things happening in the world—including natural disasters, civil unrest, economic updates and the funeral of a lovely Manc who had beautiful lips—yet the “scientific headline” above was deemed newsworthy?

That said, if those wacky Japanese researchers had got a certain other lovely Manc with beautiful lips to inform me about the ovulation-snake connection this morning, I would have felt less let down by science. Especially if he did so after snuggling up next to me in bed. Then I’d have been willing to throw all my faith (and a surprising amount of early morning stamina) behind modern science.

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You Might As Well Keep Living

4 Mar

Today is the birthday of a dear lady friend of mine, and I spent the eve of it with her. This year is a milestone birthday for her (I’ll be generous and not specify which as I do not want to contradict her online dating advertisement), and she was feeling ambivalent about this news. I decided to offer her a few words of my wisdom, which I shall now give to you here (even if your birthday is not today, this should be considered a gift and therefore you needn’t expect a card from me this year).

Many say “age is just a number” and they are right: age is the number of years that you have been alive and as that number grows, it’s likely that the number of years you have left to live is also decreasing. In other words, every birthday essentially signals death closing in. Think about this, though: actually, every single day you live is  moving you nearer to the grave. While this may bring us comfort when thinking of our enemies, it’s unlikely we think it about ourselves every morning as we wake. So why dwell on it once a year, especially on your “special day”?

Therefore, my advice to anyone celebrating a birthday today is to blow out your candles and open your presents without any thought of the fact that soon you’ll be dead.

Have a drink on me, birthday boys and girls!*

_______________________________

*Drinks will not be reimbursed.

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Take A Leap

29 Feb

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Spring (May Have) Sprung

24 Feb

In many parts of the world, there are signs that spring is arriving. Despite the fact that on February 2, Punxsutawney Phil predicted that there will be six more weeks of winter, I’ve never trusted groundhogs (and they know why). The crocuses peeking out of my window boxes are telling me otherwise.

Of course, the thing about the weather is that basically we know fuck all about it. Fancy pants weather men and girls can make all the predictions they want, but it’s really more dumb luck when they get it right. And when you throw into the mix the effects of climate change, we pretty much have no idea what the weather will be even later this afternoon, let alone tomorrow or a fortnight from now.

But both the calendar and the temperatures have been hinting that soon it shall be spring. This is good news for most of us. While March can mean wind and rain, the fact that it is usually the month where the green begins to return to our world means that we will generally feel more chipper and spritely.

The vision of flowers emerging from the cold ground is really a sight to see. If you weren’t clever enough to get your gardener to plant spring bulbs last autumn, shame on you. You must do better.

If by the time you read this, the weather has turned again, don’t despair. I promise at some point it definitely will be spring and the Earth will at least appear to be a more pleasant place.

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The Show Shall Go On

19 Feb

“Agatha! The Musical” is good to go—roles have been cast and rehearsals begin next week. The week of auditions was exciting and surprising, as I’m sure you’ve read about in the local papers, but it has paid off dividends. We had applicants from all over the world, and the competition was literally brutal. However, the producers were unable to find a lead actress for the Agatha role: some actresses were beautiful but fell apart in the more cerebral scenes. Others could pull off the complexities of the character but were flawed in their physicality. In the end, I’m afraid that the director decided that the only woman in the world who could be convincingly Agatha Whitt-Wellington is Agatha Whitt-Wellington herself so it looks like, for the first time in oh so many years, I’ll be treading the boards again.

Sadly, though I am a woman of many talents, singing is not one of them, so we’ve had to drop the “musical” aspect of the play. Unfortunately, our PR committee’s enthusiasm means we are already in possession of two thousand t-shirts bearing the “Agatha! The Musical” logo so we’ve got to stick with the current title. Therefore, we’ve set up an urgent Anti-Litigation Committee to head off any possible problems. Anyone with a background working with the CAP Code is asked to contact Bernard at the Village Hall as soon as possible.

Samuel Richardson said, “Calamity is the test of integrity.” Despite our slightly tricky beginning, I know our show will go on and be the theatrical triumph I’ve threatened it would be.

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