Dear world:

I was going to lie and say that I don't give a fuck if you think anyone else's body is sub-standard, but then I decided that it's okay to give a fuck. (I also decided that it's incredibly sad and pathetic that caring about things is still seen as a weakness; although it's hardly surprising given that particular attribute's association with femininity, which is the scourge of humanity even though sexism is supposedly dead. But that's a different rant for a different day.)

Instead, I'm going to attempt to stick as closely to the truth as possible. So: obviously, I do care quite a lot that you think anyone else's body is sub-standard. I mean 'you' in the general sense, of course, this isn't a missive aimed at one particular person -- mainly because I've noticed so many people spouting that distinctive body-policing rhetoric lately that I wouldn't know who exactly to address it to.

I don't intend to go to the gym. I don't care if you do. That's your choice. I don't intend to punish myself into a smaller dress size under some pretence that I'm only doing it to get healthy. I don't care if you do. That's your choice. I don't intend to stare judgementally and make bitchy comments every time someone bigger than me walks by. I don't care if you do, but it makes you look so shallow and insecure that I get second hand embarrassment just listening to it. Again, that's entirely up to you. I don't intend to start judging my physical appearance based on how closely I resemble emaciated women with eating disorders. I'm not about to convince myself that exercising excessively isn't frequently a product of the exact same mental illness that anorexia and bulimia spring from. I've given up caring if you do, because I don't have the patience or the training necessary to handle mental disorders. If you want to come to me and ask for help, please do, and I'll do what I can, but I'm not going to jump down your throat unasked and tell you that I think you're unwell.

I'm also going to avoid having that conversation wherein I reveal that fat people are usually either just as healthy as you are, if not actually healthier. For every skinny person who is woefully unfit, weak and sickly, there is an athletic fat person in peak physical condition. I'm not going to mention to you that statistically it is virtually impossible to lose a significant amount of weight and keep it off for more than five years, because your body has other ideas about what your ideal weight is, and you're quite pointlessly exhausting yourself fighting against it. I realize you aren't open to these facts, because they don't gel with that nice little cover story about how you "just want to get fit", but complain when your thighs get bigger and you actually weigh more because you've gained all that muscle. It's a bit inconvenient to have to forgo that intelligent and balanced image you like to project and just admit that you're placing an unhealthy amount of value on looking skinny.

I wish I knew what to say to make you realize that it's not actually that important to be thin. It's like high school: you think it's the be-all and end-all while you're there, and then you leave and look back on it and realize it really wasn't. It was just a tiny facet of everything your life is going to add up to. I can guarantee that if you were to live your life as a size 14, 16, 20, you would still be loved, you would still have friends and family who adored you, you would still learn things and still experience things and you might even realize that there's nothing wrong with it. And if you never did, I guess it follows that you'd also refuse to accept that being skinny won't make you beautiful, it won't make you attractive, it won't make you clever, it won't make you wiser, it won't make you more likeable, and it won't make you any less superficial. It might make you simultaneously more arrogant and more terrified, but that's just a guess.

Music is a litmus test for cool.

Sometimes I think about music, and what it means to me, and contrast it with what it seems to mean to other people.

I have a reasonably wide variety of music on any given playlist. Acapella, ambient, post rock, post metal, big band, jazz, blues-rock, bossa nova, dream pop, alt rock, pop punk, Christian rock, ska, drum and bass, dubstep, industrial, doom jazz, screamo, showtunes, sludge metal, swamp rock, symphonic metal, synthpop, trip-hop, New Romantic, psychobilly, folk, post-hardcore, prog rock, goth rock, gospel, grunge, gypsy punk, hard trance, indie pop, indie rock, J-Pop, jazz metal, minimalist pop, the list goes on.

I’ve had plenty of people express surprise or even disgust at the fact that I can and frequently do swing from Copeland to Pelican to Glenn Miller to Fall Out Boy to Regina Spektor. I don’t quite follow the logic behind it; don’t most people find themselves listening to things they ‘shouldn’t’ like at some point? And beyond the age of 16, don’t most people find themselves maturing past the point of moralizing something as open to interpretation and completely subjective as music? I still feel a strong urge to smack anyone who asks, “What’s your guilty-pleasure music?” Are you fucking serious? Are you still in high school? Are you gearing up to make a call about my personality based on whether I listen to Tool or not?

And the stupidest part is, they usually are. Maybe I'm just lucky, but most of the people I seem to bump into in a social setting seem to have quite a lot invested in the idea that everyone they're friends with must have similar or exactly the same taste in music, and more importantly, we must all dislike the same music. I’ve started intentionally throwing out the most widely hated bands in my repertoire whenever people ask what music I’m into, just to watch them pull faces and make disapproving or disappointed sounds over something so petty. “My Chemical Romance.” It’s always followed up by a silent fuck you.

Hey. Hey, Lauren.

YOU'D LIKE TAYLOR SWIFT TO BE YOUR BFF OR YOUR GF RIGHT?
RIGHT?

Every time I come across a video of this man speaking, I grin like an idiot.

So how do they do it, these people for whom the naked vulnerability of the act of giving flowers creates no fear? -- who are somehow capable of thinking, 'I fancy this girl; I should let her know. Tell you what -- I'll declare it unilaterally, in the most unequivocal way possible.' How does that make them in any way sane or human?

This precious, precious man, who would no doubt object to my referring to him as 'precious',  gives me hope for humanity. Even if he lacks an appreciation for coffee and New Who, he's so eloquent about his dislike that I don't particularly mind.

Having said that, this video:

does conjure a certain amount of...

before my rational mind kicks in and reminds me that
a) it's some guy's opinion,
b) we don't pick on the Classic Who fans just because they don't get New Who, and,
c) Classic Who fans do tend to be polarized over the new series.

Look at all the fucks I give.

Aside from which, he goes on to raise an interesting point about the prevalence of things aimed at children which are also accessible to adults. I'm calling it 'interesting' because unlike 99% of everything else David Mitchell has to say, I actually disagree with him on this one. Oh, not about the idea itself - of course, there are plenty of things fitting that description floating around nowadays. Harry Potter, for instance. 

And as soon as the thought occurred to me, I had to admit that no, that's actually quite a generalised, and thus ignorant, way of looking at it. For the first few books in the series, yes -- for the series as a whole, not at all. By the time the last book rolls around, you are acutely aware that this is not really children's literature anymore. If anything it's become an elaborate, deeply political allegory for a number of very serious subjects including racism and war. That's not to say that children's literature can't be all of those things -- the Narnia books come to mind -- but the tone and style of the novels evolve to the point where they are unmistakeably aimed at people who are probably too old to be considered a 'child audience'. And that is just one facet of the brilliance of that series: the books grow up with you. 

Of course, that may not be immediately obvious to someone who has never read them.

Another series that comment reminded me of is one which is so comfortably nestled between 'children's fiction' and 'young adult fiction' that it has been marketed as both of those things, and as adult fiction, in various countries: His Dark Materials, by Philip Pullman, who apparently has a bone to pick with the Church.

I remember reading the first novel of that series, Northern Lights, and finding it -- honestly, a little infantile. I was 11 years old at the time. Admittedly, I had finished The Lord of the Rings about two years before this, so my reading tastes were perhaps a little eclectic (read: snobby) for a child. At any rate, I was sufficiently intrigued to read the sequel, The Subtle Knife, which I found far more satisfying, but which was still pretty safe to describe as a very long, very meaty children's book. And then the third book came along, The Golden Compass. It contained concepts so far above my little head that I had to read it four times in succession to even begin to grasp the full magnitude of it. In hindsight there were a ridiculous number of sub-plots which made it at times very difficult to follow with any degree of coherency; and Pullman had apparently chosen this book in which to stop dancing around behind the veil of tolerance and blatantly attack monotheistic religion as a whole. That isn't to say that I wouldn't happily hand that book to a child and say "Have at it", but I might doubt how much of it they would really understand. 

That phenomenon, incidentally, is basically embodied by The Simpsons. It's probably a large part of why that show been so successful for so long.

Possibly I'm the only 20-year-old who still snickers at the log.

If I go back now and watch episodes I saw for the first time as a child, I can still distinctly remember finding it hilarious and entertaining and generally brilliant, but I realize now that most of the references and a good portion of the jokes went straight over my head. Nonetheless, The Simpsons is definitely what I would call a children's show which is also accessible to adults.

Doctor Who is not. Or at least, the new series isn't. Right from Rose, it struck me as -- well, a teen's show. My 16-year-old self is still filled with glee at the mere prospect of a 12-hour marathon of soft sci fi blended with a lot of social drama and thinly veiled sexual tension between attractive people. But, and this is where I can see Classic Who fans getting tripped up, the classic show wasn't like that. It's essentially the same concept, but aimed at completely different audiences. And of course it should be; the audience of 2011 is a very different one to the people parked in front of the TV in 1963. If anything, we're simply more accepting of ambiguity in target audiences now than we were back in the day -- children's television is still very much children's television (look at Dora the Explorer: I defy any mentally sound adult to sit through it and claim to have enjoyed the experience). But we're not exactly thrown off by the idea of a show that both the little 'uns and the high school kids can watch together. Different things appeal to us now; we expect different things from the shows we watch. 

And that interests me again, because really, Classic Who is what should be appealing to us -- aren't we constantly being told that these modern audiences want an anti-hero? Someone arrogant, cynical and a little bit bitchy, but clever enough to back it up. Artemis Fowl, Tony Stark, Hannibal Lecter...Someone more like, oh, I don't know, the first incarnation of the Doctor? Instead we have Nine, Ten and Eleven, all irrevocably driven to help the underdog, all classically heroic, all frightfully boring by modern standards. And I can't help but wonder if perhaps that's exactly what's so lovable about Doctor Who: it reminds us -- first as children, and now as a wider audience -- what there is to like about something that's unfashionable. The zeitgeist may lean in favour of the anti-hero, but it seems there's still something to that old concept of cheering on someone who is kind and brave and fighting for what anyone with a moral compass would think of as 'right'. It may be old hat, but put it in a bow tie and make it considerably younger and more attractive, and you might have something.

I feel like a light has gone out.

So, I just heard about Elizabeth Taylor's death. I've never seen any of her films, and I feel an odd sense of regret that I never bothered to learn more about her while she was still alive -- not that it would have made much difference to her; but I suppose I find interest generated by a person's death a little distasteful.

Just look at this gorgeous woman.

At any rate, she was certainly a legend. If ever there was an actress who deserved to be remembered for her exceptional beauty as much as her acting, she's basically it. Aside from that, I can't help but like her for her outspoken fight against AIDS at a time when it wasn't a fashionable bandwagon to be on. It feels very strange to think of her in past tense. 

Allow me to introduce you to this glorious song.

Step 1: Press play.
Step 2: Bask/sob/dance/masturbate/sing/write a novel inspired by the lyrics.
Step 3: Repeat.

This is generally my approach to things with due dates.

So there I am, studying studiously and being rather student-y.

And I reach a part of the assignment that just doesn't make a lick of sense.

So I say, "fuck this!" and bail. "I will not," says I, "waste my time attempting to complete an assignment that has clearly been set by an imbecile."

After several hours of Facebook and this:

I muster the courage to take another look at the seemingly impossible problem I must solve by this time tomorrow. Upon rereading, I realize it's actually quite simple, and the fault was entirely mine.

Happily, I get the entire thing done before 2am, which leaves plenty of time for more Doctor Who.

This looks familiar.

So I've got an assignment due on Wednesday, and I've barely started it. Advice Dalek, what should I do?

This is a dreamy post.

I like to imagine that most people have at least a vague idea of the things they want to do in the time they have on this planet. A bucket list. A goal, however much I despise that word.
My bucket list consists of places. There's the odd exception, obviously; writing a novel, for example. But by and large, it's the world itself that holds the appeal for me -- I have a nebulous idea that I am going to go to as many of these places as I possibly can, and let them happen to me.

In no particular order:

- Iceland. It might seem like an odd destination at first, but I got this idea into my head maybe two or three years ago, and it will not let me go. Somewhere between Björk and this:

I think I see Thor emerging from that volcano.

I was pretty much sold. Besides, the more I look into it the more appealing it becomes. Add to awe-inspiring volcanoes and eclectic pop music a rollicking drinking culture and a penis museum, and I'm basically planning on making a permanent move as soon as I can manage it.

- Madagascar. Home to some Pretty Cool Stuff, such as funny-looking trees and endless lemurs, and this fierce motherfucker:

This is a fossa.

Oh, and a lot of this Pretty Cool Stuff can't be found anywhere else in the world. Which may or may not be a reason to go there and check it out. I don't know, don't people dig exclusivity?

- The Czech Republic. For all the usual reasons: beautiful architecture, thriving nightlife, beer, modern city meets ancient history, drag queens, the clichés just keep coming.

Seriously though, this is quite beautiful.

- Botswana. Because I want to go on safari, but I don't want to go to a country dubbed the 'rape capital of the world'. Fuck you South Africa, sort your shit out. In the meantime I'll be chillin' in Botswana, where statistically I don't have an extremely high chance of being assaulted, but I can still see the giraffes and the lions and the elephants.

ELEPHANTS

- Thailand. Honestly, Bangkok doesn't blow your mind? I love almost everything I hear about this country. Tell me more of these white sandy beaches, unparalleled culinary experiences, whale sharks, tigers, elephants, mountain ranges, ladyboys and Buddhist temples!

EVEN MORE ELEPHANTS. ELEPHANTS YOU CAN RIDE!

- India. Uhh, there is a rat temple in India. 'Nuff said. 

ADORABLE

- Japan. Land of elaborate yet useless inventions, anime, and according to my mental image, Pokémon.

 

Possibly the greatest country on Earth.

- Cambodia. Aside from the fact that I'm fascinated by its more recent history, in my eternal quest for Really Really Old Buildings, I simply cannot turn down the prospect of Angkor Wat. 

I need photos of me with my thumbs up in front of this.

- Italy. Where do I start? Rome. Venice. Florence. Pompeii. The whole country might as well be a World Heritage Site. The Classics geek in me is salivating at the mere prospect. The dress-up enthusiast in me is giddy with joy at the idea of such a thing as the Venice Carnevale. Italy and I were meant to be.

This actually happens in real life.

- Great Britain. Hello England, Scotland and Wales. Of course the Whovian in me will not let me pass Cardiff; it's pretty obvious that if I'm anywhere near England then London is on the cards, and what glorious cards they are; and I have a long-standing fascination with both Edinburgh and Glasgow which would probably be slightly more justified if I had ever actually been to either of those places.

This came up in a Google image search for "Great Britain". I am delighted.

- Croatia. I've got two main factors with this one: one, it looks stunningly beautiful, and I am definitely one to appreciate beauty (see the above image of Pete Burns' underthings). Two, I've simply never heard a bad thing said about it. And I can imagine why - Roman ruins (including a 1st Century amphitheatre, satisfying my craving for Really Really Old Buildings), sea kayaking, museums, galleries, gardens, restaurants and cocktail bars...

This. Please.

- Jordan. I admit, at first I was purely motivated by a vague wish to contact my darling friend Jordan from Jordan and say "Hey, I'm in you right now." Upon researching this idea further, I discovered that Jordan -- the place -- has some rather impressive things to offer, not least of which is the lost city of Petra. There's also Jerash, an ancient Roman city -- my God, do I adore my Really Really Old Buildings. There's the Dead Sea, Crusader castles, Byzantine-era mosaics in Madaba, and Mt Nebo, which supposedly has something to do with Moses. 

That building looks pretty old. I'm keen.

I'm almost certain there are at least ten more destinations I will later kick myself for missing out on this list. The important thing now is that if you have any money to your name and any charity in your heart, you will contact me in an attempt to bestow funding for the ventures I have mentioned above. Because God knows I'm not going to be able to come up with the money to do all that by myself, and the world owes me something, damn it.

It's 5:11am and this is the best possible use of my time.

"I want you safe. My Doctor."

I'm watching the Bad Wolf scene, which is flawless and excellent and giving me chills, and I'm all:

because I know what's coming and it's terribly sad, but at the same time it's all coming about just because Rose is too good to sit idly and let the Doctor die. No, she has to violate the TARDIS with a truck and become some kind of all-powerful time-related goddess and rearrange time and space to create herself just so she can keep her Doctor safe. And that is why you don't watch Doctor Who when you're feeling weepy.

So I've had an extremely long night considering I'm bone-tired. Admittedly this is self-inflicted, but still. I've eaten some things even I don't feel altogether comfortable admitting to, and considering the horse semen, that's saying something. Despite the fact that I did not get a Tumblr (for this exact reason), my life has been consumed by Tumblr for the night, and I have a funny feeling I'm going to be awake to see dawn.

No doubt that dawn will be accompanied by this:



and I will be staring out my window willing some sort of blue box to appear in my garden.

I could continue to wax lyrical about how just the Eleventh Doctor's theme makes me feel like I'm about to round a corner and find myself in the middle of some wildly wonderful adventure, but instead I'm going to end this post -- in keeping with its ever-so-edgy 'addled' theme -- with a nice unrelated e.e cummings poem.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

On people with opinions they really haven't thought about at all.

I can't help but laugh at people who seem convinced that music from the 90s, 80s, 70s, 60s, 50s...well, okay, anything that wasn't released in the last decade, is automatically the pinnacle of musicianship, and all modern music "sounds the same" and "isn't up to the same standard".

Come on now. You'd have to be really, really stupid not to realize that the only reason you know those songs you adore from your parents' era is because they were the absolute best the period had to offer. As shocking as it may seem, music back then was generally pretty cookie-cutter, mass-produced, unremarkable or straight up irritating -- all the things these morons like to whine about in Youtube comments. (By the way -- is there a reason stupid people are completely obsessed with Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber? It's like they can't go five seconds on any music video without Christ compelling them to type out something along the lines of "THUMBS UP IF THIS IS BETTER THAN LADY GAGA" or "SO MUCH BETTER THAN JUSTIN BIEBER").

Now, I know Youtube comments are hardly a good place to find an outstanding sample of humanity, but I think they offer an insight -- of dubious value, admittedly -- into the mind of the average, not-too-smart, completely uninformed citizen of the Western world. And according to this proverbial citizen -- who was probably dropped on their head as a baby...repeatedly -- music has mysteriously gotten awful over the last ten years. Because that makes sense.

So please, dumbasses of the internet, I know you love Nirvana with all your alternative little heart, but the next time you feel like blaring your nonsensical opinion that "MUSIC THESE DAYS IS SHIT, KURT WROTE SONGS THAT WERE SO REAL, FUCK OFF JUSTIN BIEBER/LADY GAGA", don't. Just...don't.

On poor explanations.

Today in my wanderings of the wonderful world wide web, I have come across more than a few mentions and debates concerning the custom of men opening the door for women. Just to clarify -- I am not referring to instances where the lady is carrying three bags of groceries and would physically find it difficult to get the door open herself. Nor am I referring to instances where the man happens to be walking ahead of the lady and holds the door open for her because she happens to be following closely. I wouldn't consider either of those scenarios to come under "man opening the door for the woman", because in either of them the woman could just as easily be substituted for a man, and the man's position could also be filled by a woman.

There seems to be a prevalence of deliberately obtuse men crying foul because "I am so nice and polite, and women are all bitches because they don't appreciate my uncalled for acts of kindness!" At this point I'm always reminded of this article. Oh, that everyone could be exposed to the idea that not being a horrible person doesn't mean you are entitled to sex. There should be a class at high school dedicated to teaching young people that feigning niceness in order to get a girl to have sex with you is deceitful, predatory, and actually not nice at all.

Of course, the men doing the obnoxious whining are not explicitly stating "I opened a door for a woman and she didn't immediately fall to her knees and begin the Fellatio of Gratefulness", but it's fairly implicit when they say things like, "You ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy", and, "What happened to all the nice guys? You did." 

I did? What happened? Did I frighten them off with my failure to fall desperately in love with the first male I met who came up with a flirty line? Did my belief in their friendship act put them in the inconceivable position of having to be clear about their intentions? For shame! To think I took all that fake niceness and didn't even pay for it "with physical intimacy". Aside from my obvious downfalls in my role as Breathing Sex Doll, I know plenty of nice guys. Genuinely nice ones. Guys who are kind and respectful and -- equally importantly -- funny and smart and conducting lives of their own that don't involve following me around like a desperate little puppy dog.

Anyway. Back to the door thing. I'm sure plenty of men insist on adhering to tradition out of a genuine desire to do the polite thing, and I'm not at all criticizing them for it. Once, a very elderly man opened a door for me, and I smiled and thanked him because
a) he was clearly from a generation where this was an extremely polite and respectful thing to do, and
b) old people aren't the best at learning new tricks, so to speak. He was probably also racist, but I wasn't about to argue with him about it, because the chances of me suddenly enlightening him at his age are pretty slim.
What I am criticizing is this alarming tendency for men, especially young men, to dismiss the views and feelings of the subject of this politeness as 'bitchy' or 'rude' if she doesn't appreciate it: "Because they lack the grace and goodwill to accept that someone is trying to show respect for their feelings."

Let me get this straight: you open the door for a woman, she expresses that she feels uncomfortable with it, and you call it a lack of grace and goodwill, because you were only trying to show respect for her feelings? Her feelings, which you had no idea of before you opened the door in the first place, are clearly not a big priority for you.

I guess my point is that if you were really so concerned with doing someone a kindness, wouldn't it bother you that the person you did it for was at least mildly upset by it? I mean, surely that wasn't your intention. And instead of blaming her for not seeing how great and selfless your gesture was, maybe you should be thinking that not all women like it when you do that. Evidently you cannot assume that that little act of chivalry is going to make her smile -- in fact there seems to be a pretty good chance that it will actually cause dismay. Perhaps it's not the best idea to do it for perfect strangers, whose views and attitudes you have no idea of.

Some women absolutely adore it when a man opens a door for them. It makes them feel special and respected, and that's fine. Some women find it patronizing, and that's fine too. They don't owe you an explanation, much like they don't owe you an explanation for why they dislike seafood or why exactly their favourite shoes are their favourite shoes. However, I feel like a general explanation is required here, because it seems as if the majority of door-opening men who have received a less-than-thankful response for their actions are genuinely bewildered as to why any woman would take offense.

The fact is that the gesture of opening doors for women is a paternalistic one. Do you open doors for men? No. Why not? Because you won't get a date out of it? Because obviously men open doors for themselves, and it'd be weird for you to interfere? Why should you be uncomfortable opening doors for men if your only motivating factor is to do something nice for someone? I'm sorry, but the only way you're going to be able to convince yourself that there is no male-dominant sexism at work here is by burying your head in the sand as deep as it will go.

Of course it's always nice when people do thoughtful things for each other. What makes this particular situation awkward is that it requires an assumption on the part of the man that any given woman must consider his admittedly old-fashioned chivalry thoughtful -- and that a woman who doesn't must be broken. Women like doors to be opened for them, and that's all there is to it. Right?

Well, no, like most sweeping generalizations, that's wrong. It's been wrong for a while now. I'm not saying that opening the door for a lady should be a punishable offence, but I do think it's a bit rich for guys to get pissed off when women feel patronized and insulted by it. Face facts: some women will, and they are completely justified in feeling that way. Bitter remarks about how "chivalry isn't dead, but women's appreciation of it is" only make you look like a nearsighted, over-privileged and uneducated dickhead.

Introducing my new style icon.

Adam Ant circa 1980: influencing my makeup choices since last month when I realized what an excellent song 'Prince Charming' is.

On children.

Dear everyone with a very strong opinion of underage humans,

I never liked kids much. Perhaps because I was a kid myself, from the ages of, say, 5 to 18, the very idea of holding a baby or watching the little 'uns for a couple of hours filled me with abject terror. It's not that I woke up one day and decided that all children are exactly the same person with exactly the same horrible traits (although it seems many people actually have come to this conclusion, but more on that later). It had more to do with the fact that I'm not 'good with them'. I don't have that selfless motherly instinct. Maybe I would if I were given the opportunity to develop one, but I seem to have missed that opportunity in my upbringing, and thus, teacup humans terrify me.

However. I've noticed lately that I have developed a propensity for defending children - in theory - and I think it's because I'm just that sick of hearing people talk rant about how much they utterly despise kids.

Don't get me wrong: I don't care if you don't want to have children. Good. Good on you. I'm happy for you that you've made that decision. I'm not about to question it. If you change your mind later, also good for you. I really couldn't care less, because it is almost meaningless to me at this point whether or not you wish to procreate. That's entirely up to you and I respect your decision.

People who have decided that they don't want to have children often seem to find themselves faced with people who are rude enough to second guess them about it; "You'll change your mind"; "That's what they all say"; "You're too young to have decided a thing like that", etc. I find it stunningly presumptuous and condescending, and it infuriates me just to hear about it. One of the many downsides of the prevalence of this attitude is that deliberately childless people will often feel the need to overcompensate by attacking people who do have, or plan to have, children - or indeed, children themselves.

I'm tired of hearing both sides of the argument, because it is a fundamentally stupid argument. Neither side is wrong. It is a personal choice. It is impossible to be more right in your choice to reproduce (or not) than anyone else is. And honestly, I find it more grating to hear people go on about how they shouldn't have to see children when they go grocery shopping than it is seeing 20-year-old mothers post endless creepy photos of the fruit of their loins on Facebook. You're all nutters. Please find something else to talk about.

Because no one ever notices when nice people say nice things.

This could've been a post about Donald Trump being an old rich white homophobe, which is BRAND NEW INFORMATION, but instead I decided to focus on something a little more worthwhile:

Ian Somerhalder, unfairly gorgeous man of Vampire Diaries fame, is pretty upset about the culling of 100 sled dogs in British Columbia. And when I say 'culling', I mean a guy running a dogsled tour company decided business was too slow to warrant the huge amount of dogs he had, so instead of rehoming them or dropping them off at a shelter, he proceeded to shoot/cut the throats of over 100 healthy, tethered dogs. Guess who cared enough to use their status as a well-known member of the community to gather support and raise awareness of the issue? Ian Somerhalder, that's who.

Look at this fucking beautiful human being.

I fucking love this guy. Honestly, his Twitter is just a big ol' ball of heartwarming and caring and all sorts of underrated non-edgy-and-pretentious qualities. There are few things I love more than people who are both aware of the world around them and selfless enough to want to give even a little bit of their time to try to help in any way they can. In the immortal words of Rose Tyler: "You don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand. You say no. You have the guts to do what's right when everyone else just runs away."

And then I came across this:

For the record, the Christchurch earthquake is officially the worst natural disaster I've ever seen hit my little country, and the worldwide outpouring of mere acknowledgement, let alone support, has been amazing. The fact that this clearly awesome guy was doing his bit to raise awareness, for us and for Libya, is basically +100 excellence as far as I'm concerned.

This is a recommendation post.

Seriously, even if you would rather shoot yourself in both of your kneecaps and eat the resulting bone fragments with nothing but pliers and a drawing pin to aid you than watch Doctor Who, do yourself a favour and watch Blink. 

Written by widely acknowledged nightmare fuel station attendant Steven Moffat, this 45-minute segment of epic nightmare fuel and exquisite storytelling is basically flawless.

But don't take my word for it. 'Blink' scored Moffat the 2008 BAFTA Craft and BAFTA Cymru awards for Best Writer, plus the Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presenation, Short Form, plus Carey Mulligan received the Constellation Award for Best Female Performance in a 2007 Science Fiction Television Episode. On top of all that it was nominated for the Nebula Award for Best Script, but lost to 'Pan's Labyrinth' by Guillermo del Toro. Have you seen 'Pan's Labyrinth'? It's fucking excellent. Even to be nominated in the same category as that film says a whole lot of good things about this episode.

And that's it, I'm afraid. There's no more from you on the transcript, that's the last I've got. I don't know what stopped you talking but I can guess. They're coming. The Angels are coming for you, but listen—your life could depend on this—don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast, faster than you could believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink.

Good luck.

Pretty people saying stupid things? I, for one, am shocked!

Daisy Lowe, you are pretty goddamn gorgeous, but your use of the term "mild lesbian" to describe yourself in a men's magazine is going to go down like a ton of bricks. I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord. At any rate, I welcome any comment that opens up debate on the idea of varying degrees of sexuality in any direction. Kinsey is my hero, etc. On the other hand, this does reek of Katy Perry-style exploitation, and while I adore a large dose of exploitation in my life, I prefer it to hail from the 1970s. It's difficult enough for bisexual women to find any degree of respect - oh hi, people who keep insisting there's no such thing - and this "mild lesbian" nonsense from a modern woman is not helping.

As if that wasn't enough of a wank-generator, there's this gem from the same interview: "Women are so much more beautiful when they have shape. And I'm proud to be part of this renewed appreciation of womanly assets. Although, I do think Mad Men has a lot to answer for."

Generally it's good not to wade into that debate without having thought about it enough to at least realize that women can be beautiful at any weight, regardless of their shape. Even better, to realize that women don't have to be beautiful to be attractive...oh, what am I saying? Models are never going to be the best people to explain that idea.

Genuinely unsure whether laughter or tears are more appropriate.