Using iTunes to get in shape

I'm one of the ones going to seed. Like many worker bees my behind grows with every year behind the desk. I might have some impressive upper arms from lifting machines, but almost everything else that was pert and toned 7 years ago is now covered in comfortable cushion.

My darling husband bought me an iPod classic for Christmas last year. Before then I'd touched iTunes once and swore never again. Sadly, Media Monkey's support for my LOTRO shuffle didn't extend to my new shiny toy. I was forced into iTunes.

And though I still loathe iTunes (especially on Vista) I'm growing slowly more addicted to the amount of free content available in the store. At first I couldn't understand the point of video on a music device. Until I realized how great the quality is becoming. And everyone knows about podcasts, but the quality is variable. And really, who wants to listen to voice over directions?

But the combination of video and podcast created something entirely beyond entertainment. I can download a yoga class to watch in my living room, without having to shell out money for a work out video of questionable quality, or make time to hit the nearest gym and get my ankles stuck in my armpits in front of the already limber and lithe. I can contort in the privacy of my own home.

I started today with a podcast from Yogadownload.com. Overwhelmingly, the experience was good. The instructions were clear, the poses were easy to understand. The poses themselves were still images that corresponded with the audio file, but that actually made it easier to understand. I find a lot of workout videos tend to move very quickly, with the instructor cheerfully shouting as you pant, stumble and hit your head on the radiator.

What would be a useful addition, at least for downloading, would be some kind of guideline for ability. I've done yoga before, though I'm not proficient by any means, and I stumbled a few times. That's the beauty of classes though, you get better with time.

Yogadownload.com

Checking out Swurl

There are a few aggregating sites out there on these Internets. It's mindboggling that we actually need them. I do know I can barely get through my day without Facebook, Gmail, Yahoo! mail, Livejournal and Bloglines. Some need more aggregation than others, like Facebook, Livejournal, this blog and my others.

So, here's where Swurl comes in. It allows you to add feeds from a variety of different social networking style sites into one big thing.

I don't like the actual Swurl homepage. But, I absolutely adore the timeline. For some reason some Flickr updates aren't being picked up, but some are. I think it might have to do with permissions on upload. I changed my default to Private.

It's super easy to setup as long as you know the urls for all of your stuff. I'd imagine most people do.

I'm not sure I like Swurl as a site, or the concept more. But when they add Livejournal support, I'll be more than happy!

Darling, what do crystal pixie castles look like? Via my lovely friend Dave

Sometimes the UK government says or does something that surprises me. It is, however, rarely good.

Every worker in Britain, from the head of a blue chip company to an office or domestic cleaner, must accept pay awards in line with the government's 2% inflation target if Britain is to avoid a return to the 1970s, Alistair Darling declared yesterday.

In one of the government's toughest warnings on the need for pay restraint, the chancellor said that "each and every one of us, from the top to the bottom" will have to accept pay awards consistent with the Treasury's inflation target.

Really?! Really? How much did you vote yourself Mr. Darling? Oh wait, yes, you guys generously gave up your 1.5%. However, you're more than happy to take 40,000 a year tax free on top of a 60,000 a year salary when you scrap your second homes allowance. You know what? I don't get a second home allowance. My company doesn't even pay for my extortionate 122 pound a month train ticket.

And your inflation index is almost as far behind actual projections as your lead in Henley! What, what's that..... a whopping 9% for some?! (I know it's the Torygraph, but the data is good.)

So, you want me to take a paltry 1.5% raise, the number your screwed up inflation calculations give you, when in actuality my cost of living might rise by 9%. By taking your advice, I am losing money. Thank god you're not a stock broker.

Oh wait, what was that? That 1.5% is your dreamland target and the actual rate of inflation is 3.3%? So, you want me to take a pay cut this year? Is that it? So, what do chocolate waterfalls and candy unicorns taste like? Do you like having a pillow made of fairy elf hair? Because you're off in damned fairy world while the rest of us are wondering how the hell we're going to afford our extra taxed gin to drink the pain and stupidity of your request away.

The chancellor said: "Pay awards in both the private and pubic sector have to be consistent with our inflation target, which is 2%. It doesn't mean they have to be 2%. But if you look at wage increases overall at the moment they're running at just about under 4%."

Wait, wait. Right. So. You know, part of the reason I have a review and perform well at my job is so I make more money. Essentially Mr. Darling is asking all of us to possibly lose money or stay the same by accepting lower pay awards. Which means, if you take the good Chancellor's advice, you're never any better off. Ever!

Darling's strong warning came days after Mervyn King, the governor of the Bank of England, was forced to write an open letter to the chancellor to inform him that inflation hit 3.3% in May. King will have to write an explanatory letter every quarter as long as inflation remains above 3%.

The Bank governor told the chancellor that the increase in the annual cost of living was caused by global food and fuel price rises.

The chancellor seized on this yesterday when he said: "Unlike in the past, the inflationary pressures in this country are not homegrown."

Ok, so the inflation pressures aren't originated in the UK, but if we make less money it might stave off inflation? Really? Even though the UK consumer, presumably, isn't at all involved in what's causing inflation? Someone please explain to me how this works. Please.

Please.

Screw you Darling.

Darling begs Britain to accept 2% pay rises

The misadventures of one American

I sat on the windowsill on Friday and had a listen to the visitors to downstairs. It wasn't hard, or particularly taxing. The girl that lives diagonal to us has a voice that could penetrate the standing Berlin Wall. But even with a sound that seemed like it came from next to me, I could only make out certain phrases and sentences. The Wigan accent, whilst not lilting or particularly irritating, is thick and brutish, a mix of hard vowels, dropped words and strange tenses. Interpreting it can be interesting.

What I did hear were a number of things about my husband and I. Like what to do if the council asks you if you were playing music, 'I just say no....' she trailed off, apparently making some kind of gesture. The insinuation being, lying is easy. A light bulb went on over my head and I realized why the estate manager hadn't believed us. As bizarre and paranoid as it sounds, we'd been ganged up on. I remembered what Dot told me 'you're outsiders here. They stick with their own.'

The girl from 14 went on to say we 'needed to understand we aren't the end all be all.' Because, apparently, wanting to go to sleep at a reasonable time meant we thought we were. I thought it meant I wanted to go to work without a splitting headache and some modicum of awareness. I guess not.

I couldn't understand much more, so I closed the window and plonked back down on the couch. I don't know how it all got this far. My husband and I didn't and don't see them as enemies. We see them as neighbors, just ones we don't pay a lot of attention to. Our first interaction with Lyndsey, the diagonal neighbor, was when we came home from dinner with friends to find the whole block having a party. On a Sunday night/Monday morning. It went until 3:00am.

A few times she showed she was a little saner than our direct next door neighbor, the Alcoholic. When he accused us of banging on the load bearing concrete wall between our flats during their... intimate... times, she looked at him as strangely as we did.

But somehow, through all of our noise complaints and intolerance of their behavior, we've become their enemy. Because Lyndsey can stay up until 4:00am on workdays, we should be able to as well. And no doubt this is also in some small part due to our getting next door a Good Behavior Agreement (expired in February, sadly.) Emma downstairs sees that as us 'ruining people's lives.' I saw it as an assurance of a peaceful life.

I can't understand this mentality. When I thought I was disturbing people in the past, I was only belligerent if they hadn't spoken to me first. And we tried and tried to talk to them. The girl at 14 had the gall to tell us not to bang on her door at 4:00am when her music was too loud 'from Paris to Berlin in every disco I get in.....' I think you can damned well beat on anything disturbing you at 4:00 in the morning. And no loud music at 2:00am for next door turned into blaring music throughout the apartment during the day that you could hear over everything.

Emma and Dom downstairs and no doubt the Alcoholic and Lyndsey say they have 'rights.' What about ours? What about mine right now to be free of fear from retribution because we allegedly live in a civilized society? What about not setting up cameras to watch the car at night? Or know I can sleep? Do I forgo those because I choose to live in a neighborhood that isn't middle class? Does benefit dependency mean a lack of respect for everyone around you? Or are we unreasonable?

Either way, the next 2 months will be rough.

More Wigan and Leigh Housing blunders

Man with Cystic Fibrosis, degenerating quickly, wants to move over to Ashton to be closer to his mother. Not just for the lovely family aspect, his mother is his primary caretaker.

He was put in band 4 (or the same band that Mr. Me and I would be,) then band 2 and now the highest priority, band 1. The latter only happened after the local paper intervened.

Mrs Ackers said Wigan and Leigh Housing contacted her after the Evening Post's intervention.

And they confirm that Mr Ackers' housing application has now been moved to band one category as a "medical and welfare" emergency.

A Metro spokesman said: "It is clear that Mr Ackers has considerable health issues. We have increased his priority for rehousing."

What I find the most interesting about this is the comments section of the article.

John LP seems to back up everything I said last week after finding out about Terry O'Mara's gossip.

What a disgrace !! Poor Colin has enough to deal with without all this, I just hope its sorted favourably towards him soon.

I have only ever had the misfortune to deal with the unprofessional, incompetent staff at Wigan and Leigh Housing 3 times so consider myself lucky as each time it was on behalf of some poor individuals who I knew personally and was trying, as a gesture of goodwill, to support them legally etc.

I can happily state from experience that the managers right up to the Chief Exec (who doesn't want to get involved at all) portray themselves as being bigger and better than 'Joe Public'.

Its about time the relevant governing body audited this department and the council officials took notice of what was happening in their borough to some of the most needy and deserving individuals instead of concentrating on petty, needless money wasting schemes !!

At least it isn't just us. I guess. It's still awful they can't work with the people who need it the most.

Terminally ill man fights for housing

Edit: It's worth mentioning, less than week ago a pregnant 19 year old was said to become homeless thanks to.... Wigan and Leigh Housing.

An insight into the girls at conventions world.

For the love of...

Some background for those blissfully unaware.

Some group of jackasses decided that women should feel 'comfortable enough with their bodies' to have their tits touched. Sexually liberated and all! I mean, I've been obviously brainwashed by The Man to value my personal space and body to the point of NOT wanting creepy con guys to touch me.

So, they created the Open Source Boob Project (gag, gag, I know.) Basically, they wander up to women and ask if they can touch their boobs. They even created badges. There's a whole giant BS philosophy that goes behind this, but it boils down to them wanting permission to grope strangers at conventions.

I think you can tell how I feel about this.

(Side note: I never thought these assholes needed permission, seems to me they try and do it anyway!)

My first thought about this, as a response to these creepy motherfuckers if they ever approached me was to say 'sure, if you let me kick you in the balls first!'

Well, someone got around to writing that up.

What's really making me go WTF is the amount of people in the comments of that post who don't understand why random groping is a violation. Hell, even the question implies disrespect. 'You're so beautiful, can I fondle your tits?' That's a little scary.

I'm carrying mace with me at US conventions like forever now.

Edit: On thinking about this a little more, the implication that women go to gaming/comic/anime conventions for the attention of some Pauly Shore looking motherfucker and his band of pretentious lecherous saddos is really pissing me off. We can't go to a con just to enjoy the content, can we? It's all about the other half.

(Taken from )

Why I hate Wigan and Leigh Housing

I arrived home last night around 7:00pm, after a rather hellish day on the trains. Yes, more thieves ran off with signalling cable outside of Atherton. Damn the price of scrap copper! Damn people who don't commute! As a result of this 'vandalism' we were re-routed to Wigan via Bolton, the day I'd left my phone at home.

Good all around then.

Finally arrived home to find Stairsailor singing about Daddy's eyes etc, etc. Our new downstairs neighbors like to listen to music at top volume it seems.

This is only about the third time it's happened, but due to our previous issues with our neighbors (For the click phobic read: alleged prostitution, alleged drug dealing, verified fighting in the streets, loud music, police calls as recently as a few weeks ago!) we're less than tolerant.

A bit of background, it took us from August of 2001 to February of 2007 to get anything done about our next door neighbor. It took a letter to the Chief Executive and quoting DEFRA guidelines to get him a good behavior agreement. Know how many complaints we've had against us? 2. One because I left a note on the former downstairs neighbor's car asking her to park a little more considerately. (Harassment apparently.) And another shortly after the most recent complaint in January of 2007 against Michael Gaskell (the black out drunk that liked to listen to very loud music) about my husband and I arguing.

So, Mr. Me wandered downstairs to see if he could get them to turn it down a bit. We don't need to hear the lyrics to their music, you know? What ensued was a horrendous argument in between the four of us. The girl threatened me (my response 'You're actually threatening me because we asked you to turn down your stereo?' her after some umming and ahhing 'yes.' What do you say to that, really?) We got things sorted out eventually and filled them in on the neighborhood gossip. They seemed pretty surprised. Mr. Me saw them this morning and apparently it was all smiles.

Come to find out that Terry O'Mara our estate manager told them we were serial complainers and not to take anything from us. How amazingly professional is that? Remember though, to get anything done about our abusive alcoholic loud music listening neighbor, we had to go over his head. He refused to do anything constructive besides have little chats with him. And have we mentioned anything to him since that was resolved besides me admitting to causing a disturbance upon finding out our picnic table was stolen? No. We did contact him about our concerns regarding our convicted neighbor rapist and he spoke to my husband, but not me.

Deeply unprofessional.

I did complain about his behavior to Wigan and Leigh Housing via e-mail yesterday. I'm seriously stunned that anyone would behave so inappropriately. But in my dealings with them, I'm not terribly surprised. With the exception of serious violations, they've been deeply incompetent from the beginning. Including losing our paperwork from 2001-2003 (I think.) They're always in the news for screwing up as well.

I'm aware of the irony of complaining about being called serial complainers but I'm furious. Michael Gaskell made our lives hell for 5.5 years and they offered no support or solutions, even though they were obliged to. We'll see what, if anything, they do about it. I'm betting on nothing.

Urbane Female

In the mornings, weather and train timeliness permitting, I walk from Salford Central to St. Peter's Square. I like it, it gives me a chance to move my legs (something that doesn't happen nearly enough) and I breathe some non-germified train air (traded in for some delicious Manchester pollution.)

And I enjoy my walks very much, except for the slow walkers. And slow walkers are inevitably women. They're women dressed in heels of some kind, usually boots, in uncomfortable suits on their way to the office. I dodge them in all manner of creative ways, the overtake, the cigarette, the 'accidental' nudge. I can't stand getting stuck behind some trundling mortgage advisor because she chose the 'fashionable' option instead of the practical one. And my trusty Docs are the reason I move so much faster, but they're a clothing accessory that got me a severe looking over by one of our customers yesterday. But screw her, I learned a long time ago that there are things that simply do not go with heeled boots.

They are:
1. Running for trains/trams
2. Walking to the shop on cobblestones
3. Walking faster than an elderly snail

But for the sake of fashion, most of the women I see trundling up New Bailey cripple themselves in bunion causing designer knock offs. Men wear Doc boots, or dress shoes that no matter how they pinch, aren't as bad as the worst sky high Anna Sui heel. Men get the better deal.

Yesterday morning I walked through the door to my office and was greeted by a good up and down look by one of our delegates. By the resulting look on her face, I was not up to par. What was so atrocious? I was wearing a black wool overcoat, a black v-neck angora sweater, brown trousers and my same Doc Marten boots. Nothing about that screams fashionable, but at the same time, it's all comfortable and doesn't scream hobo either. Doing my job, I never know when I'll have to crawl around under a table to fix a cable, or carry a PC from classroom to office. I never know when I'll have to wrap myself around the back of our pissy little server rack to find a reset switch, or do some basic DIY. It's the nature of the beast. A button down shirt, most slacks, most women's shoes would result in all kinds of creative injuries. I'm not going to slip off a ladder and break my damned neck for the sake of fitting in with the Hello! crowd.

Plus, regardless of the tomboyish rigors of my job, I was still business casual. What does it matter if I wasn't wearing killer heels like her instructor, or a 2-piece Liz Claiborne suit with an overpriced Karen Millen top? What does it matter if the only make-up I wear in the morning is some Lush moisturizer? And most days my hair is tucked back in a low pony tail or messy bun? Who says I have to wear make-up? Frankly, our dress code is so loose that as long as I don't turn up in a boob tube and jeans Monday-Thursday I'm in the clear.

My employers seem to agree, I'm always ignored when the internal 'look more professional' e-mails go out. For the most part, what I wear is clean (if covered in blonde hair) pressed, not that worn and simple. But by the look this woman gave me, you'd think I was dressed in hotpants and thigh high hooker boots. I should mention, she was wearing what you'd expect from a woman going to work. She even had the typical Manchester hairstyle: paper straight. (There's a right way and a wrong way to use GHDs ladies.) What about women wearing simple clothes is so deeply unacceptable?

I think I have the winning ticket over Miss Dirty Look 2008. My shoes are comfortable, have good soles that won't shock the ankles or knees. My trousers were kind of stretchy and a little loose, good give for bending over and picking things up. My sweater was functional and warm without showing cleavage. Even my undergarments were practical, except my boy style underwear had little brown and yellow skulls on them. What she had on probably required a push up bra due to the poor cut of her jacket, stomach scrunching undies, thanks to the A-line, and Scholls party feet so she wasn't bleeding my the end of the day. Me:1 Her:0

I do groom a bit during the week, of course. There's nothing quite like the whispy feeling of wind going through the hair on my mole to get me to pluch. I find a pair of pliers and the back of my iPod works well for taking care of that. (Me:2 Her:0, I always have a way to pluck at work.) I shave my legs because I hate the itchy feeling I get if I don't. I shave my pits because, frankly, bacteria loves hairy dark places and I dislike smelling. One of my huge girly vices is perfume. I have tons of it, made by various people. At the moment I'm wearing something I bought from Victoria's Secret that smells like spring. I moisturize because I smoke and I'm already getting some creases around my mouth.

If you've seen me at ARA or Jilly's then you know I do actually have a decently feminine wardrobe. In Portland I bought a adorable Oscar de la Renta dress from Buffalo Exchange that I thought I was going to have to fight for to get out of the store. (I heard 'OhMyGodThat'sSoCute' about 6 times between the fitting room and the counter.) But all that ARA shit takes around 2 hours to put together. And while I love dressing up for games, or to go out, I don't want to waste my morning putting it all together to work on computers. For one thing, people might get the wrong idea about what I do and think I'm an Office Manager or Belle du Jour. For another, I'd rather be drinking my coffee, watching BBC breakfast and pulling on my shoes. There's more to life than grooming. With my morning shower I take about 30 minutes to get ready in the morning. I know for a fact some of these girls are getting up at 6:30am to do full face, hair and outfit selection. I'd miss CSI:Miami on Tuesdays if I did that and that's more important to me than fitting into some dated notion of what it means to be an office working female.

I was really encouraged to read something today where women echoed my sentiments. I think living in the Manchester area where women really push it out (even in fucking trackies these girls have enough make-up on to recreate 10 Mona Lisas) I forget that there are some places in the world where brown trousers and a black angora sweater won't get you a nasty once over, or a suggestion you're a lesbian. It also takes me half the time to walk up John Dalton, that's well worth it. And really, shouldn't it be that way all the time everywhere?

http://www.observer.com/2008/urbane-tomboys via Jezebel

Who steals little picnic tables?

We arrived home from the pub and dropping our Gav off around 3:00am on Sunday. I was in a pretty good mood, despite being sick and stressed last week I think I loosened up enough to blow off some steam. As we opened the door Mr. Me noticed something was missing. Our little table. We had this little picnic table outside our door that we used for BBQs and outdoor Scrabble. It's gone now.

We suspect it was Sex Offender Steve who, for whatever reason, decided it now belongs to him. It was one of the few things we told him to leave alone but he has quite a distorted sense of what's his and what's ours. The things we asked him to leave alone he didn't, just proceeded as he pleased with no consideration for how we felt.

Here's what we told him to leave alone:

The trees. (Cut Down.)

Our chairs (were in his yard, we have them back now.)

Our paving stones (sold/given to his brother)

Our stupid little table (now missing.)

I lost it, I'm not proud. But living above this guy has me in a state most of the time now. I'm nervous in case one of the local plebs decides to exact some justice, I hate him and the very sight makes me feel ill.

A long time ago the Mr. said he could use our yard. As a result his DIY stuff is all over the place, like everywhere you look is a piece of wood or a tool of some kind. So now our little table is gone, I decided he can't use our yard anymore and tossed as much as I could manage back over the fence.

It's stupid, but the picnic table was the last straw. We hadn't done anything to him. We haven't done anything to deserve having our things stolen. But he did it anyway.

I guess 16 years inside doesn't teach you how to live with other people.

After my fit of 'get out!' we went to bed where I tried my best to fall asleep.

But that dream soon evaporated, within about 10-15 minutes I heard car doors slam. He called the police.

They came around and talked to us. I told them I was upset about our little table being stolen and Sex Offender Steve had stolen things from us before. They asked about how the yards are divided and I explained the back bit was ours. They seemed satisfied and left (after laughing when I burst into tears and apologized as I'd drunk too much gin.)

I slept poorly on Sunday. I'm so anxious, so angry, so drained, so frustrated. I hate this so much. This is my home. It's horrible, but it's mine.

American women are Barbies, British women are dogs.

Oh wow. Just when you think articles about women can't get any more ridiculous comes along Tad and his insight into the differences between British and American women.

am a massive fan of British women. UK girls, in my opinion, are the greatest natural beauties in the world . . . when they’re 17 or 18 years old. The girls I was surrounded by when I was a teenager were sublime roses with lustrous hair, flawless skin, bright eyes and lithe, athletic bodies. They dressed as if there would be a prize at the end of the night for the girl wearing the least. I then went away to Philadelphia for university. Four years later, I came back and wondered: “What the hell happened to all the beautiful girls I knew?” My first assumption was that one half of them had eaten the other half and washed them down with a crate of lager. These girls looked phenomenal when looking good took no effort. But when British women get to the age where they have to make an effort, they appear unable, or uninterested, in rising to the challenge.

Got news for you honey. Looking good at 18 is easy. I'd be curious to see what this guy looks like. Calvin Klein model?

An informal poll of my US female friends revealed that they spend roughly $700 (£350) a month on what they consider standard obligatory beauty maintenance. That covers haircut, highlights, manicure, pedicure, waxing, tanning, make-up, facials, teeth whitening etc. They will spend a further $1,000 (£500) a month on physical conditioning such as military fitness, spinning sessions, vikram yoga, Pilates, deep-tissue sports massage, personal training etc.

Who are these women? Seriously? An informal poll of my female American friends would probably find something completely different. For one thing, they don't have the time to do all that. They're too busy worrying about jobs/houses/cats/scooters/university/game development/freelancing. I've never had the time to do all that. I suspect Tad should probably stop spending time with low rent actresses in LA and maybe get out a bit more.

American women see these costs as a simple and sensible investment in their future.

Uh-huh. If they're actresses or models. As an American woman I see a retirement account as an investment in my future. Not spinning classes.

At dinner, I found myself sitting opposite something that surely would have been happier hunting for truffles in the forests of France or grazing on the grassy marshlands of Canada. My friend’s wife had told me that Sophie still had the body of a 20-year-old. Maybe she did . . . dismembered in her freezer at home. She certainly didn’t have it on her skeleton.

Oh you're a catch you are.

Even more insulting was when my friend’s wife pointedly said: “Tad, I hear you just sold a screenplay to the producers of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” I could not believe it. She was selling ME to HER!?

Yes, your friend was. Do you know why Tad? Because you're a dick. Sophie can always mosey off to a spinning class, but it's going to take years of brainwashing to rid yourself of what appears to be inherent assholeness.

I sat there watching Sophie tuck into a second huge plate of shepherd’s pie and realised why no self-respecting American girl consumes carbohydrates after 2pm.

SERIOUSLY. WHO ARE THESE WOMEN?

As with many societal ills, I blame the parents. British mothers do not instruct their daughters the way American mothers do. In the US, beauty treatments appear to be a large part of their growing-up experience. A trip to the beauty salon is a group event for girls, an opportunity for a gossip and a catchup.

Sure. You know, I used to go to plays with Mom. She took me to see Stomp! and the Nutcracker. Am I at all resentful that we didn't have a fun day getting our cuticles dissolved? Er, no. She was fermenting an interest in modern theatre, ballet and classical music. You want an investment Tad? Brains are good things. No amount of Botox is going to keep someone sharp. No amount of bikini camps are going to keep me in financial solvency.

I tried to engage my neighbour in conversation. She totally blanked me. I even tried to engage my manicurist in conversation, but there too failed miserably . . . mainly, though, because my Cantonese is poor.

How has this guy survived for 17+ years in England? Really? Because I'd never try and talk to English people in a Chelsea salon. It's just against the rules. It's something you don't do. But then, I think we've worked out that Tad is a bit... on the slow side.

Another part of the problem is that women in Britain do not help each other. American women have no qualms about telling their friends, in no uncertain terms, when they look like crap, or have put on weight, or are dressed like a bag-lady. They talk of the top aestheticians with a reverence usually reserved for Nobel laureates and trade cosmetic surgeon business cards the way that boys in playgrounds trade football cards.

Wait, they don't? Tad, for a screenwriter, you're a bit damned unobservant. I had a female friend tell me I looked like a maid on Saturday (accurate, I have to do something with that dress. It's cute, even if I look a bit like I'm cleaning house in a porno.) The thing is, American girls go 'YOU LOOK LIKE A HOOR,' while a lot of English girls go, 'I don't knoooooooowwwww.'

A beautiful English ex-girl-friend of mine was, at the age of 29, as uncomfortable operating an eyelash curler as I’d be operating a crane. She approached beauty salons the way men approach buying porn – with darting glances and prayers of “Dear God, I hope no one sees me”. For some reason, being seen to make an effort with one’s appearance is regarded as shameful among British women.

Perhaps English women don't see the point of such a vile contraption. Eyelash curlers are one of the great frauds of grooming products. They effectively do sweet FA in the most painful way possible. I also think perhaps Tad (what the hell kind of a name is that anyway?!) hasn't ever ventured north. In Manchester grooming is a necessity. The things I see walking around this business park are utterly, utterly insane. I could never hope to groom as much as women do in the Greater Manchester area because I value my sleep too much. And in Portland, women look a lot less dolled up. But then Portland is one of those places where beauty standards tend to be, dareIsayit, a bit less Hollywood and a bit more homegrown. Tad wouldn't like it.

In return, they will immediately want to know “all” about you, ie, how much you earn, how much you have earned in the past, what your future earning potential is, whether you own property, whether you have an investment portfolio, where you shop, where you “vacation”, what you drive and how large your parents’ house is. I once got to the end of a date in New York, pulled out my credit card to pay and the girl solemnly remarked: “A green American Express card? I didn’t know they still made them in that colour.”

WHO ARE THESE WOMEN?!! Tad, I have news for you, I think you're being vetted. Having proven yourself as an asshole they're probably trying to ascertain if you could at least buy them a meal. Like maybe you have one redeeming quality amongst all that chest thumping crap.

It's pretty telling that the best known non children's film this guy wrote is about two brothers trying to get laid. It's also fairly revealing the producer is his, er, brother. So, nepotistic asshole then? Great. Can't imagine why he's on blind dates.

Just in case you want to read Tad's drivel

Edit: I think we found the TADSTER's photo.

http://www.facebook.com/people/Tad_Safran/657111861

He could do with an eyebrow pluck. Maybe some time at the gym? He looks a little scrawny. Is that a receding hairline? And those shorts. Oh Tad.

The vigilantes are here

When I found out about this I went through a fair spectrum of negative emotion. The most dominating one was fear. What had Steve done to get 16 years? The rumor on the estate is it had something to do with disfigurement. What did the girl look like now? Suddenly he changed from being the inconsiderate DIY fanatic to being a sinister figure of violence.

But mostly the fear wasn't from him directly. Our neighborhood isn't a Guardian reading middle class party. It's more working class, the types that gladly take justice into their own hands. I could almost hear the rallying cries around me from last Tuesday. Though they may be friends with thieves and drug dealers, they aren't rapists. And rapists are different.

We thought we'd made it through the worst. It's been a week since we had a note slipped to us from a friend about what he is. Since then the police park outside our flat a lot. It comforts and scares us. I'm not used to such a high police presence. We thought they came to check up on Steve, make sure he was where he said he was and not because of any external threat. What we didn't anticipate is vigilante-ism can start quietly.

Last night was a literal breaking point. I was playing Civ IV and listening to Have I got news for you. I've had difficulty unwinding at home lately, I need a lot of distraction to relax. And just as I fended off the barbarian hordes an almighty crash shook the floor. We hoped it was just stupidity from downstairs. It's common enough for our neighbor to fall on something or knock down a shelf. He enjoys DIY projects, but isn't particularly graceful about them. When he tried to hack into a tree in our backyard he broke his collarbone. We looked out the window and saw nothing but an empty street and our neighbor across the road peering out of his window. It's that kind of place.

From our angle we couldn't see anything wrong. My first concern was our car. It sat directly in front of his door. But it looked fine, the evening frost was undisturbed. A little while later I saw headlights shine on the small brick water building next to our block of flats. A policeman got out and went downstairs.

We investigated and found two large holes in our neighbor's windows. He was bricked. A clear message for him to get out. The police officer came to our flat and suggested that though this kind of violence against him is kind of satisfying, we're in danger. I know. Our consolation at this point is we haven't received any kind of threatening letters or phone calls. The footprints in the grass suggested they'd come close enough to aim accurately. They know who they're after and it isn't us.

What concerns me anyway is we might get caught in the crossfire. The more this escalates, the more perilous living in our home becomes. The more fearful I become. But not because of what the man downstairs did, because of the people trying to do good by driving him out. I'm sure that's what they want. It's what I want too. I just wish there was a way to make that happen with out endangering innocent people. Like me.

My neighbor is a rapist.

Tuesday evening Andy-Across-The-Road delivered some strange news. News you could verify.

My neighbor is a convicted rapist.

Specifically, this neighbor.

I'm very, very conflicted about this. On one hand, he served a 16 year sentence. His time is done, finished, debt to society served. On the other hand, the part of me that fantasizes about kicking him in the nuts for cutting down the trees in our yard wants to beat him over the head with a shovel. And a 16 year sentence for rape seems pretty steep.

I'm not really sure how you resolve feelings like this. Petty criminals I can handle. Our neighborhood is rife with car thieves, robbers and drug dealers. I know. But the drug they deal is pot. The cars they steal are from other parts of Wigan. The robberies were of post offices and banks. I can deal with those things.

But sexual violence makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It's a primal thing, one you can't overcome just by being educated. And if anything, it's the education that sickens you.

Random troll doesn't think I'm pretty. OH NO.

Oh dear.

So, you know, proving that people can miss the point completely and there's a certain element of men that shouldn't even be seen, we have Ken!

Funny, but the women's movement of the 1960's was full of young, college aged idealistic women. Unless your living in a cave, there are images replete with these young women marching against patriarchy and male oppression. Secondly, it's reasonable to say that all anti-feminists are not attractive, either, judging by that stank pic of yours.

Huh? It's like the 20s never happened.

Your is er, you're.

Also, what the hell is an 'anti-feminist?' Is he insinuating I'm not a feminist?

I also love how he starts to argue and then just calls me stank.

Pretty much par for the course then.

Oh wait, Ken didn't actually read beyond the title of the post. That's what's going on here.

It's called sarcasm you idiot. Get off my side.

Offensive Google Searches?

I'm working on some things for the Manchester Requiem Game today. I like to try and keep things as true to life as possible. So, Jewish neighborhoods in real life Manchester are Jewish neighborhoods in World of Darkness Manchester.

I did a Google search to try and identify places where there might me temples, rabbis, or known communities. My query was Jewish Neighborhoods in Manchester. (Oddly right?)

I managed to get the information I was looking for but also got this at the top of my search results.

If you recently used Google to search for the word "Jew," you may have seen results that were very disturbing. We assure you that the views expressed by the sites in your results are not in any way endorsed by Google. We'd like to explain why you're seeing these results when you conduct this search.

A site's ranking in Google's search results relies heavily on computer algorithms using thousands of factors to calculate a page's relevance to a given query. Sometimes subtleties of language cause anomalies to appear that cannot be predicted. A search for "Jew" brings up one such unexpected result.

If you use Google to search for "Judaism," "Jewish" or "Jewish people," the results are informative and relevant. So why is a search for "Jew" different? One reason is that the word "Jew" is often used in an anti-Semitic context. Jewish organizations are more likely to use the word "Jewish" when talking about members of their faith.

It's strange and sad Google feels the need to explain search algorithms and how prejudice can crop up in results. The distinction between Jew and Jewish is also something I never realized. An education for all I guess.

Barak underestimates voter intelligence

Wait, so, the thing Barak Obama has harped on about for the last month... he can't do, at all himself?

I love election season!

RALEIGH, N.C. (AP) -- Barack Obama, who's been scolding Hillary Rodham Clinton for not hastening the release of records from her time as first lady, says he can't step up and produce his own records from his days in the Illinois state Senate. He says he hasn't got any.

"I don't have - I don't maintain - a file of eight years of work in the state Senate because I didn't have the resources available to maintain those kinds of records," he said at a recent campaign stop in Iowa. He said he wasn't sure where any cache of records might have gone, adding, "It could have been thrown out. I haven't been in the state Senate now for quite some time."

Uh-huh. You know, I don't care what politician you are, like the nice people in the AP article say, you have an ego. And be it a long letter thanking you for your policy towards welfare, or just one saying you're a superstar hot man, you have to have kept something.

Obama, Who Rapped Clinton on Records, Says He Has None From His Illinois State Senate Days

Blogger is really pissing me off

God damn it. FTP publishing problems again.

Why am I using this as a back end? Seriously.

If I didn't hate the Wordpress editor so much I would use them.

Grrrr.

Live Blogging Gok! (How to Look Good Naked!)

Oh my god! I am so excited. I love Gok. If he had a fan club, I'd be part of Gok's fan club. How to Look Good Naked is back on television. It's by far the best make-over program on British television. It isn't cruel, or overly critical. It's just honest and hosted by what seems like the nicest guy in the whole world. Every time I watch it I feel a little better about my body.


Liveblogging How to Look Good Naked.

She doesn't like her body. I have bulgy bits. :(

Boob reductions. Freaks Gok out. Poor Gok!

They don't sleep in the same bed. That's really sad. She says her husband is lying when he compliments her. Gok has her in her underwear. Ahhh, she looks so sad, like she wants to cry.

Why does Gok have blond streaks?!

She says she wants to be happy about who she is. Gok is hugging her. I love this show so much. I love Gok so much! Ahhh, he's making her feel better I think. Her husband seems really sad too. Poor lady is a ballet instructor!

Apparently UK bra sizes are getting bigger. Gok is obsessed with boobs. It's breast comparison time! Gok really loves boobs. Like really. He also really likes the word 'banger.' More complete body distortion from Sonia. She thinks her boobs are massive, they are but aren't that big.

They're leaving us with lots of naked ladies in York. What, OTC chemical peels don't work you say? NEVER.

I just lost like 10 minutes of posting. God damn it.

Anyway, to sum, Gok called her breasts Hooters. Empire waists are good for pear shapes, I think A line for straight down.

She really does have a nice waist.

GOK HATES CROCS. I WAS RIGHT.

Poor thing, she's freaking out about having fat ankles. Gosh, 5'11", wow.

Oh, Gok, Dita did corset training though. That's not good.

I am a little distressed that this woman's wardrobe looks like mine. Depressed Cure fan. Yes.

Hee-hee, Gok looks like Papa Smurf in his little hat.

Mr. Me says his wardrobe is pretty much black as well.

That dress looks like Victorian wallpaper. Yes, they would notice. Because it looks like something from a particularly deranged Grand Designs. LOL, dirty hussy.

That body shaper thing is awesome.

Ahhh, he's made her look nice. That dress is enormously flattering, despite the Victorian wallpaper print. It's really strange, she didn't look 5'11" at the beginning of this show.

Oh, I don't like that belt. It looks like a miniature saddle. A symn thingie dress for small boobs, strapless for big. Gok just said 'fierce,' he's getting camper.


Gok just had a bunch of naked women in York complimenting each other. It was great.

OH, the Spongebob shorts. They really were square shaped.

She bought a new bra and showed her husband. Definitely progress.

Breasticles now, how many more words for breasts?

The lingerie models are all normal sized women. :)

Straight cut jeans are very flattering. He's slapping her bottom.

Rules of jeans!

High waisted skinny and flared. Uberskinny for high waisted. Flared are good for pear shaped. Boot cuts are good for tall girls, not for short. Don't buy things with distress or embroidery on the upper thighs. High rise for bootylicious.

I don't like that weird tye die thing Gok put on her. I kind of understand the point though.

Really pretty printed dress. It's good to be tall.

I think that castle is up near Scotland. I love that Gok calls them gorgeous and hugs them all the time. It's naked photo time! No more fashion shows at the Trafford Centre. Oh, she's crying, poor thing.

How horrible is it that a tall curvy girl is afraid of being naked. Aghhhh. Screw our society. White hat now, Gok still looks like a smurf.

Beauty therapist is horrified she just uses a bar of soap.

Cleanse and polish by Liz Earle.

Eye cream, Estee Lauder advanced night repair.

Aromatherapy associates rose and sandlewood.

Prescriptives mask for winter.

It's hair time! He's giving her extensions. Aghhhh!

She looks like a very tall Britney. She's very enthused about the long hair.

She's going for the naked. Do they ever not? Photographer Mike Owen.

She has really nice teeth.

I'm quite teary. She says Gok made a big difference. Fashion show at the Trafford Centre again!

Consumer test.... Army of naked testers :). DIY chemical peels... I don't like Emma as much as Dawn. Apparently OTC peels can't, by law, have as many chemicals.

Apparently they work 'deeper in the skin.' It all kind of sounds like BS to me.

LÓreal in 4th place, Roc in 3rd, Time Delay was 2nd, Ole Henrickson the 95 pound one came in first. Not worth it according to the Army of Naked Testers. 42/100 doesn't sound worth it.

WHY HAVE I NEVER SEEN GOK IN THE TRAFFORD CENTRE? GOD DAMN IT.

I am such a fan girl. Mr. Me wants to know if these people haven't ever seen this show before. They're always shocked when they want them to prance around in their underwear. 'No such thing as can't in Gok World.' His hair is really short now.

The music people on this show need to be shot. Girls Aloud 'Walk this way?'

She looks so beautiful. The blunt fringe is great. No, wait, he has extensions, the blond thing is back. I love that the models in this show are like little to big sized. It's awesome to see.

I love this part, I love it when they go out in their underwear. Oh! No bra!

This show always makes me sniffly. Actually she looks a lot like Drew Barrymore now.

Divorce papers were in the house :(. All body confidence? I don't know. Do people get divorced over these things?

Ahhhh, it's over now. I'm all weepy. It's so nice to watch something on television that has nothing to do with plastic surgery or terrifying Sloane Rangers. Inevitably I just feel better about everything physical when it comes to Gok. Give the man a knighthood!

Edit: This was supposed to be live blogging. It's kind of hard to do that when the FTP publish isn't working (again, again.)