Reading the coverage of the Olympics closing ceremony it's the first time it's dawned on me that London's mayor is... Boris Johnson. I only really know Boris Johnson from "Have I got news for you" and ok, that was ages ago... but he always seemed quite stupid. Very stupid in fact (even though Wikipedia just informed me he went to Oxford. Good grief!). Though not stupid enough not to manage getting elected apparently.
A choice quote: "Voting Tory will cause your wife to have bigger breasts and increase your chances of owning a BMW M3."

Good god.
Any chance London will have a new mayor by 2012?

I'm more of a dyke than I thought.
I always thought I was quite girlie. I mean, I'll contemplate wearing a skirt when it's hot. I've got long-ish hair. In winter I wear boots, not the army kind, but the quite-girlie kind (if I weren't freakishly tall I might even wear boots with heels!). I have a tiny stack of make-up which I'll use maybe once a year. I have difficulty finding my way on a map and my PMS is legendary. Girlie, right?

But now it's the Olympics. And I find myself turning the TV on during the day (During the day, can you imagine) to watch sports. Rowing, swimming, diving, athletics, gymnastics, I've even watched parts of hockey-, waterpolo- and softballmatches! I'll watch the BBC, ZDF... even Dutch TV to see as much as I can. I searched on Youtube to watch that girl win the gold in the all-around gymnastics final (couldn't find it -meh-). Yesterday I asked the Girlfriend to turn on the news so I could watch That Guy (I'm not yet dykie enough to remember the names) win the 100m sprint. It's getting out of hand! The Olympics are like Eurovision, but with slightly worse music and a shock-inclusion of countries outside of Europe.

And as with Eurovision, the Belgians are of course doing nothing. I predict this will lead to much grumbling, growling, "disgrace"-blablabla and some new initiatives in sports policies. Not bad, I suppose.
But why we must emulate the Dutch (who are doing quite brilliantly these Olympics) and start talking about "Gouden plakken" instead of Gold medals, is a riddle to me. Are we already preparing our annexation by the Dutch or something? Knock it out! (well... we would end up with quite a few Olympic medals I suppose... though we'd have to wear that god-awful orange. Bleugh.)

While I find myself strangely fascinated by the Olympics (where oh where can I find handball matches...), I do wonder if I'm the only one who really couldn't give a flying fuck whether or not Michael Phelps gets 8 gold medals?

Entertaining an Australian for five days has proven to be exhausting, but great fun. We did the touristy thing in Bruges, Ypres and Ghent and thankfully -for him then- he didn't stay much longer because we'd all but run out of cities to show him. His verdict was simple: Belgium is apparently not a country, but one big suburb of Brussels. The distance between Brussels and where we live (some 100 kms) is roughly the size of Perth or Sydney.
Oh. And why we don't hop on the TGV every other weekend and go to London or Paris is also a mystery to our KangarooFriend. It's "practically around the corner". It is? We might just have to start doing that then.

Subconsciously we did want to keep him around, as proven by the fact that we nearly didn't get him on his train to Strasbourg on time (thank you for your amazing roadsigns, Lille) and we took the scenic route (double the time) via Ypres back home. Yeah, via Ypres. I know. Shut up.

And as a tribute to our ex-roommate, here's a must-see, the finest in Korean pop. The Wonder Girls' "so (so so so hot) hot". Check out the translation of the lyrics. These girls are apparently huge in Korea.

(Is it just me or is there no hint of irony in this thing? Fan-tas-tic!)

For those of you who can't get enough, the Wonder Girls also have a hit called "Tell Me" (do check out the crop of South Korea, defenders against the North: these soldiers doing the dance routine) and there's Ivy's Sonata of Temptation (which has an annoying capacity to stick in your head for ages). I'm thinking we should let South-Korea take part in Eurovision. They'd probably win the whole thing, year after year.

I bring you a quote from Avatar, it's food for thought. Well, for me at least.

If a fish lives its whole life in this river, does he know the river's destiny? No! Only that it runs on and on out of his control! He may follow where it flows, but he cannot see the end. He cannot imagine the ocean.

hnpcc pointed me to this great video. Quite possibly the best choreography I've ever seen. Armi and Danny, a Finnish (which explains the accent) duo, sing the beautiful duet "Love Me Tender" with lyrics like "You love me, you wanna love me tender. How can I be sure you're not pretender?. It sounds like Eurovision, doesn't it?! Keep watching till the very end, it's worth it.



And if you can't get enough, apparently there are quite a few parodies of this video out there.

The Girlfriend and I went to Dranouter (folk festival) yesterday. I poked fun at her for being "folkie" (Laïs really does my head in... bunch of overrated silly girls) and decided not to bring up the fact that I'm quite folkie myself. Why she didn't call me on it I don't know... I mean, I know it's not really a reference when dealing with the high quality music lovers, but I do know several Dubliners' songs by heart. Oh yes.
We also got stuck in the mud. Or at least our car did at the organisation's invented parking lot (a farmer's field). I was pissed off at the organisation for not getting out hay or whatever the hell people get out to prevent this kind of thing, or at least help out after people are already stuck... But then someone said that's typical for Dranouter and people come to expect that sort of thing. It's tradition.
Ah. I didn't know that.
Eventually some people rallied round and pushed us out. Us, and some 20-30 others in the same situation. Solidarity eh. Thank god for us lefties.

As it is now, the clothes are washed, our shoes are soaking in a bucket of water (they're beyond muddy), and the car desperately, desperately needs to be cleaned.

Despite the Mud Incident (as it is now known overhere -and I shouldn't go on about it, because honestly, who gives a crap about being stuck for an hour when there are people whose houses are flooded or worse-) Dranouter was wet, cold, and fun. *g* I also think there were more lesbians at Dranouter than there are at any given Dyke Day or Amsterdam's Canal Pride (which we went to on Saturday).
As far as Amsterdam is concerned - the Dutch are loud, but ok, also rather nice, and they sure like their uniform colours. Any excuse!

Well they said there'd be rain and thunder and stuff. So the Girlfriend and I thought it was the right moment to repaint our livingroom.

But not a cloud in sight.

At least no-one can see us when we paint in our underwear. *g*
(Yes, I realise that might sound like the start of a bad porn movie, but there's nothing I can do to help that...)

was pretty damned impressive.

Just saying.

While I firmly believe that sexuality (and that includes heterosexuality -why does no-one ever research that?) is a very complex thing that's based on a LOT of things, though mostly nature, what this programme mostly confirmed to me is that there is no "proof" of anything at the moment. But then again, I knew that. We only know that there are biological differences in gay and straight men (little research has been done on lesbians, as usual), which points us to a more "biological" direction. But that's it.

Is there a gay gene? No. There isn't. Because if there was, identical twins would either both be gay or both be straight, and that's not the case. There is a higher incidence of both twins being gay than there would be between two brothers (I think it's something of just over 50% chance), but it's not absolute 100%, which it would have to be for sexuality to be purely genetic.

The finger thing... well, if 6 out of 10 gay men have more feminine hands it shows that 4 out of 10 don't. If there are two "kinds" of hands to have you have a chance of 1 in 2 for either male of female hands. And I didn't hear them say that 9 or 10 out of 10 straight men had "male" hands. Unless they do, the results seem pretty irrelevant.

There seems to be a kinda "wahey! Proof at last! Proof at last!" thingie (not in the least due to John Barrowman's own insistence) going on and I don't really get it. Maybe because I knew of the research and theories that were mentioned in the programme?
Still... while I'm also glad there's at least a biological component, even if there weren't it shouldn't have to make a difference. Even if people chose to be gay (and maybe some of us do, who knows), it shouldn't matter. Everyone lives their lives the way they want to. As long as they don't harm anyone, just let them be.

Also through Alsion:
US Department of health proposes to define contraception as abortion.

Er... Well, I guess it's good news for Durex. Unless that won't be allowed anymore either. Because, you know, you're preventing possible life!

"So this bandage, it's just for show then"

Yes... My dear co-worker, you're right. I didn't really fall down the stairs. No. In fact I'm not even in pain when I take the drive overhere. In fact, it's not about the stupidest thing I've ever done... come to work with a bruised thumb, and use it anyway, when I should've gone to see my GP and got the week off to rest. But hey, I felt guilty doing that right before my holiday! And comments like the one you gave me... however funny you might have thought you were... they're really the icing on the cake. Truly.

Alsion pointed me to this link of the Creation Museum. Yes, the Creation Museum. Fantastic stuff.
Apparently we have no right to judge Cain for marrying his sister -and back then there was nothing wrong with incest either- and every animal used to be vegetarian until Adam came along. All of them. So I guess the tigers and lions lived on a diet of grass and leaves then. We also learn that "Man and Woman have different roles from the beginning" and well... since women were made from a rib of the very first man... you know what that means, ladies. They also throw in a jibe about the sanctity of marriage. It's nice to know God was thinking about us dirty homosexuals from the very beginning, isn't it. Makes me feel special! Oh and there were a few stegosauruses (stegosauri?) on the Ark of Noah (I hope it was a big ark...)

You know, I always heard that creationists believed that dinosaur fossils were a test from God to see if you believed enough. I guess I was wrong. Or perhaps there are different types of Creationism, just like you have Catholicism and Protestantism you might have Pro- and Anti-dinos. Or perhaps it's just the Tyrannosaur fossils that are a test from God. You know, the ones with their huge carnivorous teeth. Or it might be carbon dating...
Still, if I'm ever in the neighbourhood, I'm sure it makes for a very, very entertaining afternoon.

Yesterday, while the Girlfriend was at our GP's for a very persistent bug, I decided I couldn't handle not having all the attention. So, in my infinite wisdom, I fell down the stairs. A clever and subtle plot to have all the attention turned from her to me. And boy, did it work. As a trained CSI (well, we've been watching a lot of the show, it kinda rubs off) I can see the trajectory my body made down the stairs due to the fact that I took tiny pieces of "stair" with me (take that, you bastardish thing!) and judging by the bruises I can see where I tried to shield myself and so on and so on.
The result? A lot of bruises and a swollen, pretty immobile thumb. Oops.

The Girlfriend dragged me to the A&E (or ER depending on where you're from), much against my will (you see, I'll literally do anything to get attention), where I was "treated" by a sullen nurse and doctor.
"You didn't go to your GP first?"
"Er ... no... it's 7pm on a Friday evening and he'll tell me to go to hospital for X-rays, I thought I'd save myself the time and come straight here. Plus, this way you guys have the pleasure of being able to charge me for the consultation. How fun is that?!"
"Wait here."
This city, being the metropole that it is, had a very empty A&E. Still it took over an hour and a half for someone to X-ray my hand, a doctor or nurse to come interpret the thing, and then -finally- the first doctor to come back out and tell me the verdict.
"Bruising of the muscles of your thumb, the nurse will put a bandage on your hand" and off she went on her high heels.
"Er... hang on!! Come back! How long am I meant to wear it for? And how long will the pain and swelling last?"
"Ten days, you have to rest it and put lots of ice on it."
And off she went again.
Ten minutes later the nurse came and we were dismissed.

Only afterwards did I realise I'd forgotten to ask if I was allowed to drive (-I can answer that for you today: nope, I can't drive since I can't grip anything heavier than a piece of paper) and if I can't drive, and I'm meant to rest my hand, how the hell am I meant to do my job?
I guess she forgot to write me a note. If I want one, I suppose I'll have to go see my GP on Monday morning. But I don't want to. Firstly because it means paying yet again for a crappy piece of paper, secondly I'm on holiday starting the 21st and I want to wrap up the loose ends at work, and thirdly me home alone with obligations to "rest"?? I'll be going out of my mind by the end of the first day!
Unfortunately this means the Girlfriend will have to drive me to work or I'll have to juggle with - expensive- trains and buses. Don't even ask me how I'm going to get from my one workplace to the next in less than an hour on Thursday. Impossible.

The bell rings. I freak out, because my friend said she'd be here at *noon*, not at 10.30 and the house is still a mess.
"Good morning, we're just visiting your street. Can we talk to you about God's Kingdom?"

Er... god's what now?
Thankfully, I'd already had a bit of Red Bull Rodeo and was quick to answer "er no thank you!"
"Can we give you something to read then?"
Eak!
"Er... no thank you"

I'd always said that if Jehova's Witnesses or whatever kind of christian cult-members showed up at my doorstep I'd just say "no thank you, I'm a big atheist dyke". But the woman had brought a very young adolescent with her. A 13-year-old boy or dykie-looking-girl (it's hard to be sure), and the kid looked so utterly miserable that I couldn't bring myself to say it.

Ah well, who knows... if they ever ring again I might get another chance.
Though I've always heard they put you on a "list" if you're rude to them and then skip your house from then on (Likewise, if you accept a leaflet, they also put you on a list to visit you again). Any ideas on if this is true or not?

Quote from Bush on the G8 summit

The American leader, who has been condemned throughout his presidency for failing to tackle climate change, ended a private meeting with the words: "Goodbye from the world's biggest polluter."

He then punched the air while grinning widely, as the rest of those present including Gordon Brown and Nicolas Sarkozy looked on in shock.


Come on, this has to be hoax, right?
(through theStranger)

Saturday night is synonymous with "Big Fat BBC Music Show" in this household. We searched for Joseph, for Nancy and Oliver, and now it's time for the best choir in the UK.
The first episode, the obligatory callbacks, promised a lot of drama: angelic gospel choirs, old ladies with songbooks, dressed up schoolgirls and a bitch of a matronly music teacher, a bunch of kids from Birmingham, the obligatory gay men's choir (singing "Don't you wish your boyfriend was hot like me") and a lot of choral arrangements of modern songs (Cry me a River for instance). I don't know why, but I'm crazy about these kinds of shows. And I don't think this one will be an exception.
So for those of you without a life: you know what to do on Saturday evenings!

Oh, and shockingly enough this is one BBC music show without John Barrowman!
The jury is about as annoying as three John Barrowmans though, but still, it's quite an accomplishment.

The Girlfriend's ill... stomache bug. I tried to be comforting when she woke me at four in the morning with her big puppy eyes and her sad pout, but in all honesty I was too tired to say much more than "want me to get some medication for you?" and "poor sweetie". I vaguely remember her going to the bathroom before I fell asleep again, but after that I was out like a light. Until I woke up at 6am. And she wasn't lying next to me. In my imagination she'd fallen from a flight of stairs and had been lying there wounded for hours. Or she'd banged her head on the toilet bowl and was lying unconscious on the floor of the bathroom. I rushed to the bathroom and there she was... lying on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. "Oh, I must have fallen asleep?"

Who the hell manages to fall asleep on the floor?

Why am I broody when this report shows that "Sociologists are discovering that children may not make parents happier and that childless adults, contrary to popular stereotypes, may often be more contented than people with kids."

Don't you just love sociology?

This is where you could find The Girlfriend and I this weekend. Between the military cemeteries and the many -many!- farms of Poelkapelle we were minding a bunch of kids, all of us dressed like early 19th century peasants. "Theatre walks" is what they call it. Walking through the farms of Poelkapelle and being stopped for tiny little plays now and again, is what I'd call it.
But fun was had. Especially when we saw the groups coming from afar and the kids had to rush to hide their pink neon slippers, their sweets and sweet wrappers and -above all- their Nintendo DS. They had to beg for food you see, because we were poor and the French -those evil oppressors- stole everything.
Apparently 8- to 10-year-olds have the most fun when they chat with one another on their Nintendos. Especially when they're sitting right next to each other. Their conversations consist of "hi" "how are you" "fine" "and you". I vaguely remember doing stuff like that with handwritten notes when I was their age. Oh, technology.

Less fun was this little piece of conversation with the most talkative and bossy girl of the group (Obviously I detested her)
Future Vixen: "So do you have a boyfriend?"
Me: -glancing at The Girlfriend- "A boyfriend? No, I don't have a boyfriend"
Future Vixen: "And how old are you?"
Me: "27"
Future Vixen: "you're nearly thirty and you still don't have a boyfriend?? I'm 11 and I've had boyfriends!"
Me: "Well, if you go on like this you'll have six kids by the time you're 18, so there"

Ok, so I didn't add that last part. But nearly thirty? The nerve!


EDIT: Photos are now up on The Girlfriend's photosite.