When the sun shines

Last Thursday started out as a good night. My husband, a coworker, a friend and I went to see the Body Worlds exhibition at the Manchester Museum of Science and Industry. It was fantastic seeing the bodies, though we giggled at the reproductive organs and marvelled at the size of the obese. We were surprised at how little lung damage there was on a smoker without cancer and the room of fetuses made me a little melancholy and introspective.

We ventured off to the Retro Bar to do some liver damage and decided to go at a respectable time. 10:16pm, to be exact. I remembered thinking it would give us enough time to drop our friend off, swing back and drop off the coworker and get home at a reasonable hour.

We must have hit the border between Manchester and the Curry Mile between 10:20-10:30. We were talking about something, I was twisted around and looking in the back seat. Then, suddenly, BANG out of nowhere. We'd been hit.

It took me a minute to realize what was happening. I remembered shouting 'what the fuck was that?!' I had a lit cigarette in my hand and Philip shouted at me to stub it out. Ben shouted to get out of the car. I circled the front and looked at the right wheel, it was bent almost sideways. I started to cry.

My head swam with shock until I saw my coworker bleeding. I shouted obscenities at no one in particular and went to call an ambulance. The dispatcher barely listened to me. The entire call took 4 minutes, with her not understanding we were in the middle of the road. A female police officer that saw the whole thing helped me give her directions. Though we were around the corner from MRI, I didn't want my coworker to have to walk.

The ambulance didn't take long, they must have been informed of the accident. Stretching back into the distance into Manchester was a queue of 11 buses. The others must have got the notice. The camera phones came out, the police took statements, other witnesses came forward and were angry for us. That made me feel better. I didn't want to leave Philip, but my coworker was hurt. We decided to go to the Manchester Royal Infirmary after everything was taken care of.

The police were bemused, annoyed. They weren't particularly friendly, but were very efficient. And we had to figure out what was going to happen to our little car. The only thing I could think about was how I was getting to work in the morning. Things wrapped up, statements were taken and information exchanged. The kid that did it was borrowing his friend's rather nice black BMW, but was blessedly insured on something else. He actually apologized. I was stunned by what I interpreted as nerve. I wished him a sarcastic good luck and told him I was off to A&E to see my coworker. The one he'd sent there.

We spent 4 hours in MRI waiting for my coworker and Philip to get seen and made a trip to a pizza place next to Big Hands. My friend told me that he thought life was what you made of it, was what you expected. And I know how it sounds, but I told him it's easy to think that when you're young. But after a while you realize life just sucks and you have to make the good things happen. When we went back a mother, waiting with her sons, asked us where it came from. We gave her directions. We listened to a hysterical homeless woman describe an assault and being kicked out of her home. Then was told to shut up by someone else, ruining our entertainment. I fell asleep on my bag which was full of tapes taken from the glove compartment.

Eventually the coworker ended up with a leaflet explaining what a Minor Head Injury was, complete with contact information for some NHS sponsored ambulance chasers on the back. Classy. Philip just had some muscle strain. I crashed badly and kept wondering why this had happened to us, now. Our time here is so short and our luck is so poor. Why had this happened now?

I rang my manager and told him what had happened. I was sore and tired and only wanted to sleep. We stayed at our friend's in Rusholme, surprised at how close it was to everything. I received a text message from our receptionist asking when I'd be in so I could fix a projector. I had already told her about the accident. I almost hit delete but instead told her I'd be in for an hour, but he'd have to work it out.

I did a few things at work. Still shellshocked and sore. We went home and Philip started with the insurance companies while I slept. It cost us 220 pounds to get the car from impound. It's sitting in front of our flat now.

This was a week ago. No one has yet to come see our car. No courtesy car is forthcoming. On Tuesday when the trains went haywire, I had no one to call to come get me. Since Monday my back's been spasming. I thought I could cope but it's been 4 days. I'm relying on my Father in Law to take me to and from the train station so I can get to work. It's like I'm 16 again and calling Mom from the Minter Bridge and TV Highway bus stop.

All of this because some stupid kid borrowed his friend's car and couldn't wait to get around a taxi. I don't want to hate him but I do. Our lives are all kinds of messed up now and the stress is really grinding me down. We have to spend time and money taking care of something due to someone else's recklessness. I'm angry, also because it wasn't even his car that was totalled. He still has his and given the way things are, he'll probably get off with a suspended sentence.

Our insurance company is useless. And right now I'm wondering what the point is of purchasing 3rd party insurance at all. All of our queries are met with a 'it's his fault, he has to accept liability.' And apparently them taking a week is absolutely no problem. I shouldn't be thinking about these things. A chapter of my life I've been trying to force closed for the last 2 years is almost done.

And I keep wanting to see the bright side. People keep saying 'at least no one was seriously hurt.' And sure, that's fantastic. I'm very happy Philip wasn't killed. But then the reality sets in and I just cry out of frustration and anger. And then I can't stop.

Politics and the City

Oh god. Oh god. Really?! It wasn't bad enough we had to endure the semi coherent mutterings of June Sarpong on T4, but now she's communicating on the Internet as well? And on a site, gag, designed for women who like politics. Or at least what some dumbass at a media organization thought would be a site for women who like politics.

Suit: 'Hey, I got an idea! You know how blogging is a popular past time?'
Intern: (Yes, everyone knew this 8 years ago.) 'Yes.'
Suit: 'And the women, they loves them some clothes? AMIRITE?'
Intern: (Shoot me.) 'Er, yes.'
Suit: 'I know what we should do! Put together a site to make all of that happen. The women will flock to it! It will get women politically involved! And we can sell stuff to them! Oh hooray!' *starts furiously licking is arm* 'I taste of success!'
Intern: (Really, I'm sure there's a replica gun for sale somewhere in London.) 'I am still here.'
Suit: 'Oh. Sorry. Anyway, get me some coffee!'

And thus Politics and the City was born.

The first posts are from June, introducing us to this amazing breakthrough in poltics and discussion. She delightfully points us to Lily Cole's blog where she rambles about music and forgets to capitalize things. Amazing.

These supposedly political and insightful ramblings are encased in, um, exactly what blogging isn't supposed to be about. Comments are moderated. Which is why, on Sarpong's blog, you find a bunch of supposed readers squealing like pigs in a throw down about it's greatness and not a word of criticism.

The site itself is overrun by Flash, slow to load and doesn't include tags or trackbacks. Amateurish at best. Not to mention the supposed female demographic inducing chick graphics.

Oh, and there's a blog for a dog.

You know, I think I'll stick to Private Eye...

Comment moderation in action!

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

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 )

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.

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.

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

Sony sells something for the TWA/T in you.

Oh my God.

I really don't think Sony thought through the marketing here.



via The Consumerist

Edit: Ahhhh. Looks like Sony changed it :(

Feminists are ugly single middle aged women. That's why they're feminists!

There's a whole subset of various social sciences that would be pretty surprised at the revelation in the title.

Glenn Stacks wrote a pretty decent response to the idea that liberal women are ugly and conservative women are attractive. He points out that you can find pleasant aesthetics in both political parties easily and frequently such campaigns are a tad biased.

Not to mention more than a little bit silly, since being attractive isn't a valid political platform.

Sadly Stacks is let down by his readers who betray the usual ignorance about a political movement and its motivations. Below are a collection of comments from the great and good of Stacks' readers!

I would point out that there are DAMNED FEW attractive feminists, though, whatever you might believe about Susan Estrich.

Lack of attractiveness results in quite a few middle-aged, embittered women, women who are ready, willing, and able to declare war on men. They did not have a line of men vying for the right to support them and their life-choices, looked around for a convenient class of oppressor and learned in their Womyn's Studies that they were being oppressed by MEN all along!

9's and 10's among women generally do not NEED those artificially constructed entitlements and privileges for women - they have men willing and able to cater to their comforts and needs.

So…. don't get caught up in Ann Friendman's ovary-think, Glenn.

That's right, because the 9s and 10s among women don't need equal pay, sexual harassment laws or maternity leave. Consider this WAR bucko! WAR.

Even if all feminists looked like a model their obnoxious, hate mongering will allow them the same dislike and distrust as the ugly male-haters get today.

Yeah, that's right, my desire to be judged equally to those with a penis makes me a man hater. Good logic there Christian.

If the Democratic women out there don't like it: tough sh*t. Hey, it's not like they are reasonable or fair towards us men.

OH MY GOD. HOW DID HE KNOW? The female Democratic platform is designed to oppress MEN. Obviously.

He is though of course correct. I took my oldest son to lunch today. He was approached by a woman I didn't know who was very friendly to him. It turns out she is the mother of a girl who is his long time peer and class mate.

She looked at me kind of strange. She was very friendly on the surface. She obvfiously knew nothing about me — asking whether I lived in town, for example.

It my be my imagination, but I couldn't help but think she was viewing me badly — as a deadbeat dad, etc. I am and always have paid my child support, but this is how all noncustoidal parents are viewed due to all the ugly propaganda.

Or she could have responded strangely to him because he was acting a little paranoid.

Maybe Republican women are more "attractive" than Democratic women because Republican women are trying harder to "attract" men. Why should I want a relationship , political or otherwise, with women who keep telling me that I'm not worth attracting?

BobH, I can't imagine why you're single.

I can understand Glenn possibly wanting to show the other side how "decent" MRAs are, but not until we see a little decency from that side of the gender aisle. We were "decent" when we gave them the right to vote. We were "decent" when we supported women's lib in the 60's. How has that decency been returned? Let me twist that knife in your back just to give you a little reminder.

I see. So, because we were given basic human rights under the constitution, we should be forever grateful and keep our mouths shut? Sorry, I didn't realize I'd offended you.

The trouble is a whole lot of us have met a lot of "feminists" and we have been hearing about feminism one way or another just about everyday of our life and many of have yet to meet a feminist who actually believes in equality between men and women. If that were the case the "feminists" would have stopped taking all the privileges, special rights, and special advantages they have been hogging (the anaolgy fits) for decades now and accepted equal responsibilities with equal rights.

I think this is Dennis but he signed that bit Denis. Don't worry Dennis/Denis, I did the same thing at Thanksgiving when I was about 9. My uncle thought it was hilarious.

And you're spot on there D, I'll take all my rights to vote, work, wear pants in the office and not get hit on by my boss! It's great.

….Most of the feminists I've met were about hogging more state/federal femi-pork by promulgateing more and more women-as-victim agit prop on every billboard that could hold another poster!!

Yep. Rape awareness=agitprop.

What strikes me most about these stunning examples of critical thought is how damned angry they are. How would you ever, ever, ever get the idea that women are at all viewed equally? When was the last time you saw a male conservative/liberal poster of hot or not?

"Your Women Are Ugly!" is not a political argument via

Off topic, what amused the hell out of me is all the UK flash advertisements on Men's News Daily are for The Sun. The same paper that features page 3 girls.... and articles so good 8 year olds could read them. Maybe men are more put upon than I thought....

30 days of utter, utter crap. (Spoilers)

Mr. Me, Andy-Across-The-Road and I braved the horrible Wigan Empire last night to go see 30 Days of Night.

I wish I hadn't. On the way out of watching it I ranted about how I'd excreted things more frightening than this vile pile of nonsense. Actually, the vending machine coffee on my desk fills me with far more fear than anything surrounding this cinematic release. In its depths, I can see true terror. Will it taste of coffee or... SOMETHING ELSE?! I was bored, or bored until I realized that I was watching something that made as much sense as running outside in the pouring rain with nothing on but a poncho, a cheese hat and a g-string. Then I was filled with fury.

Why? Why the ire?

Firstly because I spent 2 hours watching dwindling numbers of heroic survivors trying to cross the street. The big station, the thing that would Eventually Save Them All? It was approximately 50 feet away from where they hid in the attack for an alleged two god damned weeks. That's right, even though they spent around an hour running out into the road to save the plebs that kept leaving the attic, not once did they haul to the protection of the station thingie.

Not that you would know any time had passed, you know, ever. The tough-yet-vulnerable heroine of the piece was still wearing lipstick up to about 25 days of their endeavor. And everyone, save looking a little pale, were pleasantly plump. Despite the fact that they'd presumably been living on a box of tinned cookies for 2 weeks. Since they couldn't exactly cook anything on a wooden floor. If this film is to be believed, the only real side effect of hovering around in a town overrun by chirping vampires is your hair gets a bit frizzy.

At least crazy ass Billy had the decency to look a little gone and bedraggled. And how is it that Billy came to shoot his whole family anyway? Dear editing and script writing teams, it's called foreshadowing. Because, if you don't, then no one cares about the fellow copper falling to pieces toward the end. You just go "oh, ok then."

And then, the great and glorious hero of the movie, he did all the running. The big problem with this? The conciliator was asthmatic. Like any sensible cinema going person I figured the Salbutamol inhalers would be a sort of plot crux. Like, he runs and runs and then his lungs start caving in on him. No, he did all sorts of running in a pleasantly thin atmosphere without a single attack. Wait! There was one, while they were still in the house. And instead of him breaking down into a frenzied panic when it looked like his inhaler had run out, he just lay there, breathing deeply. This film was so full of red herrings it may as well be a tin labeled sardines.

And the vampires. Oh dear god, the vampires. Not only were they the most irritating vampires ever, what with their demonic chirping imitations and the stupid scene where the girl rolls around on the floor going "OOHHHHH, OOOHHHHH" after being gunned down by Mr. Cop Hero's ultraviolet light of death, they were also damned stupid.

Let me think, you're a predator intent on party time in a place where you don't have to hide from the sunlight. You eat everything that you can see, yet you don't start burning houses or ripping them apart to find more food. You send a stupid girl out into the street as the most obvious bait, you know, ever. Toward the end, the Vampiric Mr. Cop Hero, says he can smell the blood of his friends and family. Yet, when the vampires were wandering through the house, they had no idea someone was 10 feet above them and slightly to the left.

Ok then.

And those are just the things I can remember the next morning. Admittedly, much of the "plot" is completely overshadowed by the dull ache in my upper right arm. My flu jab has kind of taken over the place in my brain where this movie lived. The worst thing about it is I had time and inclination to notice any of the above at all. That's a bad sign for a movie. I can handle plot holes.... as long as there's something else going on. And there just wasn't.

See it at your peril.

Edit: For some reason Blogger is now refusing to post spelling changes. AWESOME. I am getting quite pissed off at this. (I know how to spell attic, just so you know.)

Guys and games, GUYS AND GAMES.

For some reason hacks all over the world are convinced you must have dangly bits to enjoy games... despite a lot of compelling evidence to the contrary.

And with that conviction comes boring, tedious revellations about how to gain insight into a man's psyche. Amongst other things.

I honestly shouldn't be surprised at the tone of this article. I mean, it comes from msn.match.com which displays equally hard hitting articles in 'Love during the holidays' and 'He cares for women he's dating, but he's attracted to men. WHAT DO I DO?' (Advice from aunty Tiffany, he's gay for god's sake. See if he's into Erasure and have a grand time singing along to their greatest hits album.)

So, what do consoles say about men (!)?

MSN gathered some of the desperate for money yet employed in decent paying professions, wait, attention seeking instead? great and good of social sciences and gaming to tell us.

Q: What does a PlayStation reveal about a dude?
Arinoldo: The PlayStation 3 may indicate that the user is any “early-adopter,” someone who likes to be the first on the block to have things. Owning the PS3 may also send the message that the person may have deep pockets.

Owen: This is your 21st-century individual who enjoys gaming and demands the best out of his experience—and probably his women. The PS3 guy enjoys life to its fullest. He is sophisticated, intelligent, enjoys competition and is willing to wait for a good thing. He is loyal as well.

Satterfield: This guy is in the know. He knows the right people, goes to the best restaurants and doesn’t wait in line to get into the club. This guy will be difficult to keep up with, as he is always working. When he’s not, he uses videogames as a chance to unwind and relax.

For one thing, who the hell says dude anymore? Was this written by a baby boomer? How the hell will you gain insight into men from ages 18-34 by referring to them as dudes? Hang up your slippers Grandma, it's time to watch your stories.

I'm impressed none of these esteemed panelists didn't just e-mail back and go 'LOLOLOLOLOL.' Especially the one from Gametrailers.com

Arinoldo is the voice of sanity here. The PS3 is damned expensive for what it is. Almost all the "exclusive" titles were quickly released on the 360. There ain't no point in owning one just yet. The other two are the primary reason I stopped reading Valleywag. I refuse to interact, be it passively, with people who spout the crap Satterfield managed to peck. He's also, wrong, wrong, wrong. Anyone with a PS3 is definitely, decisively, out of the know. In fact, one of the leading forum topics today from his website is how PSx games look like crap on the PS3.

And what delightful information can they tell us about Wii owners?

Q. What does a Wii tell a gal about her potential date?
Owen: That he is selfish about his passion, but he knows the Wii is acceptable because of its social interaction functionality. He is smart enough to find a way to continue to game and not scare his date away.

Magnin: Wii says he’s a fun guy. The Wii-mote will force him to get up off the couch and actually get a little exercise while he’s playing. Of all of the consoles, the Wii is probably the best date machine, as a lot more of the games appeal to both sexes. Challenge him to a game of tennis or bowling.

Satterfield: This guy is not the typical slack-jawed, bleary-eyed gamer who wants to sit on the couch staring blankly at the screen for hours on end. You can rest assured that this type of guy is smart with his money as the Wii is only $250 compared to $399 for the Xbox 360 and $599 for the PlayStation.

Oh man. WHAT IS WRONG WITH CALLING MEN MEN AND WOMEN WOMEN? Aghhhh! The last time someone called me a gal.... wait, I don't think anyone has ever called me a gal. The closest was lass by an ex-coworker on a night out, he's from darkest Lancashire, he has an excuse!

So, Owen, CEO of GGL (never heard of it, hardly 1up) in a desperate bid to attact more attention to his copycat gaming site has pitched in. He thinks owning a Wii is selfish, despite a good portion of the games being designed for more than one player. Has he slept through Ninendo's advertising? Does he think Nintendo consoles still focus on Duck Hunt?

Magnin chimes in with the voice of reason. The beast is briefly sated with common sense. I salute you sir. Even Satterfield sounds somewhat coherent in his response.

On to the 360!

Q. And what does the Xbox divulge about its owner?
Arinoldo: There is a wide variety of games available through the Xbox 360... so one may be better able to find games in common with a significant other who may not be an avid gamer. Preferring the Xbox 360 may say that the owner is willing to play cooperatively.

Magnin: Xbox 360 says he’s probably into serious gaming. Take a look at his game stats. Ask him to show you how many hours he spent playing his favorite games. Many guys log 100 to 200 hours on their favorite games.

Satterfield: These guys tend to like extremely violent, visceral games, as well as the social aspect of connecting with friends online. They may be living out an active and social life through games, because they are a bit on the shy side. Xbox 360 fans tend to make good money and like to spend it. These guys are passionate about gaming and that transfers into the bedroom as well.

Oh Sean Satterfield, you are so full of crap. Since when does mastering Lego Starwars mean they'll be er, "passionate." God help the women that take this tripe seriously. I mean, I know the response here is like "It's meant to be a bit of fun!" but then, why write it?

I'm not sure if this deep analysis crosses over to the XX chromosonal in us, but the only newer console I have now is a 360. (I need a wee, but not a Wii. Ha. Ha.) According to Satterfield I am shy and enjoy violence. He's right on one count....

Britain is mad Giuliani thinks the NHS sucks

Oh wait, I see. So, every British media outlet under the (S)un can point out the NHS is awful... but the minute someone from overseas does it to counter Michael Moore's idiocy, it's off limits?

Damned Limeys.

n the radio ad, Giuliani, who has suffered prostate cancer, said the U.S. survival rate for the disease was 82 percent, but the survival rate in Britain was just 44 percent "under socialised medicine."

Britain's Health Secretary Alan Johnson said Giuliani's figures were wrong and the survival rate under Britain's National Health Service was in fact much higher.

"The British NHS should not become a political football in American presidential politics," Johnson told The Times newspaper.

"Our rate of prostate cancer survival is actually much higher than has been claimed. The latest data show a survival rate of over 70 percent and rising."

From Cancerpage.com

Bad news there Johnson, it already has. You can thank Sicko for that.

(According to The Telegraph figures for England say they're actually 52.7% for all cancers in women and 44.8% in men. Didn't see any comment from Alan Johnson in that article!)

Edit: Where the hell are Forbes getting this from?! Today, rates are higher - 99 percent in the U.S. and an estimated 74 percent in the U.K.

And if he did...
The former New York mayor got his numbers from an article in the City Journal, a quarterly magazine published by the conservative Manhattan Institute think tank.

Then why is the Telegraph using the same data?

Bad AP.

Weekend review, the trains! THE TRAINS.

The thought occurred to me I should probably start chronicling my adventures. If anything so I can read them and relive when I head back to the US. Primarily so I don't become a needy windbag and start abusing the time and hospitality of my friends back home.

Friday didn't start out well. I left work early in an attempt to be home by 6:00pm. All seemed well until we hit the signal box outside Walkden. Then we stopped.

And stopped.

The conductor told us '10 more minutes' until a half an hour passed. Two women came from the back of the train in a fury. One was claustrophobic, the other concerned about leaving her office. In tandem they chewed out the train driver, while a bunch of middle aged women near me snickered at duo's demands to walk along the tracks.

There are two types of behavior you see when things like this happen. The first is supposed wizened indifference, as evidenced by the older ladies. They're used to the trains failing and believe there is nothing you can do about it, so you suck it up. It's the typically English way to go about public transport. They tend to be quite cruel to people, generally new to the whole process, who are immediately infuriated at the incompetence of the whole system.

Those newcomers are the second types. They're the ones who just started jobs, or college, or moved to the area. The ones that are learning how to commute, learning how the system works. They're the ones that get angry and want to hold people accountable. What they quickly learn is no matter how much earache you give the train companies and their call centres, the best you'll get is a 10 pound voucher. That's even if the toilets are out of order on a 3 hour journey.

Train late beyond the 8 minutes and 30.57830 seconds? 10 pounds. Broken down train on the Wigan via Atherton line? 10 pounds. Cancelled connection where you have to sleep at Crewe for the evening? 10 pounds. Train run over your first born and dog? 10 pounds and an interview in The Sun.

Network Rail operate under the delusion that it's enough.

On Friday, Mr. Me could see the problem (for once,) a broken down train at Atherton station was causing a bit of a pile up. It wasn't moving. The brakes wouldn't release.

Eventually we pushed forward to Walkden station for about 10 minutes. I smoked a few cigarettes in direct rebellion of the new railway by laws and got back on. 10 minutes turned into 30. We finally arrived at Atherton at 7:15 pm, an hour and 10 minutes after we were supposed to.

According to the Ticket Collector this is happening everywhere even today. Though you wouldn't know by reading the supposed advocate for the people Passenger Focus's blog. (Actually, the whole site seems pretty crap.)

This type of thing? Pretty par for the course. Makes me long for MAX and Tri-Met.

Live sexual assault on Big Brother Africa.

I'm really quite stunned by this.

Producers of reality television show "Big Brother Africa" are being accused of attempting to cover up an incident of sexual assault.

Viewers of the Oct. 27 show say they witnessed 24-year-old Richard Bezuidenhout strip the clothes off of two of his intoxicated housemates and proceed to use his fingers to penetrate the vagina of comatose 29-year-old Ofunneka Molokwu.

Under the Republic of South Africa Sexual Offenses Amendment Bill, such an act constitutes sexual violation.

The act iself is bad enough. You'd think after something so horrific had taken place the producers and television executives would be on top of it right? I mean, Endemol UK kicked out one of the BB7 contestants for using the n word in an attempt to be edgy.

Well, despite viewer protest, that isn't what's happened in South Africa.

According to some papers they are:

They say the network censored clips of the incident, removing threads discussing it from their Web site forum and not displaying SMS text messages (which are normally always shown) about the incident on the ticker that runs across the bottom of the screen.

A search for "sexual assault" on the Big Brother Africa Web site forum turned up zero results.

Who is big brother to 'Big Brother Africa 2'?

And say

"There is no indication that she was unconscious at the time," said Joseph Hundah, an executive at M-Net.

Big Brother horror show

That's despite viewers who saw the live clips saying quite the opposite.

I'm not actually sure who is more vile, the foul attacker sniffing his fingers or Endemol SA.

Pepsi's viral marketing on Livejournal

Another day, another company trying to get hip with the kids and getting it so, so, so very wrong.

In Livejournal's Bad Service community a post about a disinterested gas station employee and some guy wanting a drink appeared. Pretty normal Bad Service, as far as the community goes. But commenters went through and started noticing something was a bit off.

Bad Gas Station Service

OK, listen...I had a killer thirst so I stopped at this gas station, right? This chick at the counter is talking on her cell phone really loudly as I'm browsing the soda fridge. I didn't see what I was looking for, so I was like, "miss? Where's the Pepsi Max?" She pretended not to hear me, so I repeated myself again. She slams down the phone and yells, "We don't carry that shit." My mouth was gaping at this uppity bitch's nerve. No Pepsi Max? That's like a hot day on the beach with no cuties, am I right?

Bad Gas Station Service

At first, most folks thought it was a troll account. Or someone just posting to get negative attention. But the emphasis on Pepsi Max, a relatively new product and the username: pepsi2dmax seemed like it could be something else. Certainly a fake account, I for one know of very few football players that use words like 'miss,' but one fronting for Pepsi?

It seems that way. Brian's journal has another Pepsi Max loving entry:

College is going great

* Aug. 17th, 2007 at 12:37 AM


So I was out chillin with my buds today hollering at the hotties. One of my boys passed me an icy bottle of Pepsi Max. I yelled, "what's this shit!?" and he said, "just try it, bro." I was like, "no, dude. This has ginsing and I ain't one of those new age fags," but I took a sip and DAMN this shits good!

I'm so refreshed that I'm going to ask Betty out for a date tonight. Man life's good!

Seems just a bit like very poor advertising, doesn't it?

But Livejournal doesn't appear to be the victim in all this. Brian the Pepsi Max lover is using a theme advertising the very same. And links on the theme point to http://sixapart.adbureau.net/adclick/CID=0000057f0000000000000000, or their account. Regular LJ users can use the same theme as Brian, advertising their product. And they've provided 3 Pepsi Max VGifts that you can send your friends for free.

Said VGifts providing free advertising.... for Pepsi, on someone's blog.

Thankfully everyone who's run across this account so far is unimpressed, proving yet again that PR companies have no idea what it actually takes to get people to like their product via blogs. I suppose me talking about it is also part of what they want but I'd rather not purchase from a brand that uses words like 'fag' so liberally and proves itself completely inept.

I e-mailed Teri at Pepsi the following:

Dear Terri,

Can you confirm if the following posts are sponsored directly by Pepsi?

http://community.livejournal.com/bad_service/1352503.html
http://pepsi2dmax.livejournal.com/

If they are, the use of the word 'fag' in such a poor context, in addition to the spelling and suspected trolling isn't helping you guys much.

Thanks,
Tiffany

We'll see what, if anything, comes back.

Update I done been had! Apparently the troll account is in response to LJ's free Pepsi product VGifts.

Also not going over well.

In which case, it is hilarious. Well done there Six Apart and Pepsi.

How UK Cosmo got it so, so wrong.

I don't read these types of magazines often. I bought this copy because, for some reason, the local shop only seems to stock Vanity Fair once in a blue moon. Most of these magazines are pretty much the same. They all have the same advice on losing weight, getting a man, having good S.E.X. and pseudo-journalism. Inevitably the latter tends towards sex work or prostitution.

On the surface this month's Cosmo article about students working as escorts seems straightforward. Students are turning to hooking to pay off debts or make some quick and easy cash during tough times. Fair enough right? And alarming of you're in certain demographics (or are unaware of what those escort service flyers mean.) But underneath the 'investigative' reporting Lisa Brinkworth had her story already written.
[Link NSFW] Anika Mae is one of two escorts 'featured' in her article. Her perspective on what happened when meeting Lisa Brinkworth is quite different from the article's tone. She's corrected many factual errors.

So, here are my corrections:

"Minutes later, without embarrassment, she whips off her coat and stands in front of me in a skimpy Wonder Woman leotard teamed with black fishnet stockings and red baseball boots, and the rucksack is unzipped to reveal a baffling array of sex toys."

I don't have a Wonder Woman outfit, sorry. Also, did I mention that we were in a café? There was no leotard.

My outfit was eyecatching though, it was the one I'd worn to Erotica the day before. I wanted to dress up and thought my Supergirl outfit would stand out more there than some corset getup. Sadly I don't have a picture to show you, but it's made up of a Super baby-tee, red mini skirt, blue fishnet hold-ups and red Converse hi-tops.

As for the sex toys, we went to a fetish club after Erotica so I might have had some with me, but my backpack was mostly full of my sleeping bag so there wasn't space for a baffling array of them.

She should have seen what I wore to the fetish club.

"After we've talked for hours, I agree to pay her £800 for her services for a night, plus drinks and dinner."

We talked for about half an hour. Dinner plus overnight would be £850.

"On our first meeting"

... which was also our only meeting.

"I'll carry on until I stop enjoying it," she says. And from the look on her face, that won't be any time soon."

For all she knew I could have been gurning while I said that. She asked me on the phone.

Simple artistic license? Excusable exaggerations? I realize we all have to take much of what's reported with a grain of salt. But this is a timely reminder that many journalists, regardless of what their subjects actually say, will mold anything to fit their thesis.

Edit: Link edited as per request.

I'm more afraid of the people enforcing the smoking ban.

Usual nonsense on homeward bound trains yesterday. Attempted to get home early, was thwarted by undeclared Blackpool train lateness. In such circumstances I usually light up in between trains. Train Buddy Dave and I had a quick peer around on the platform, no signs saying no smoking (except on the waiting room, but that's always been non-smoking.) So, I light a cigarette.

Within a moment I was tapped on the shoulder by an older woman in a blue jacket. "EXCUSE ME." I'm not so fond of the random touching by strangers so my blood pressure was rising. I shouldn't have paid her any mind but the horror of being tapped again by this insistent cow forced me to look over. "What?" "It's no smoking here." *sigh* "There aren't any signs or anything." "But it's ILLEGAL." God I wish it was illegal to be that irritating. And according to the laws I read, it's only indoor places. I'd hardly call a train station with two poles and a roof indoors. "You get someone who works here to tell me and I'll put it out." To which the poking old woman kept rambling about laws.

Then Smiley, station staff, said it was no smoking.

Ok then.

Train Buddy Dave and I wandered over to the stairs down to the station. I sat and as I was finishing my cigarette the guy in the ticket office came over the intercom and shouted at me: "NO SMOKING ON THE STATION." My response? "Sure" and stubbed it out.

For the record I'm all for a smoking ban in indoor places. It's cheaper and means Mr. Me won't hack the next morning. But to ban it on train platforms and force people to go up the stairs? What the shitting hell? People need something to do when their trains are (inevitably) late. Every time I light up I'm also now worried that some meddlesome, self righteous individual is going to shout at me. Fuck lady, you're doing more damage to your lungs just by being in Salford. My cigarette isn't going to kill you. And, for the love of god, you're lucky I didn't punch you when you touched me. Lesson for the day? Don't stab strangers in the arm with your withered little crone finger.

Here's a pygmy hog. Unrelated.

Oh NHS Direct. How could you get any better?

So, since Sunday my left leg's been aching. No idea why. I haven't injured myself recently (that I know of.)

I'm sitting here debating making an appointment with my vile GP, or going to A&E. Instead I go for the middle ground and call NHS Direct. In the past, with other people, they've been quite helpful. I call, the phone rings and an extremely long message plays (about a minute) before the gatekeeper picks up. She asks me for the number I'm calling from, my name, my symptoms, my address. I tell her everything and it isn't that much information. The trouble with the bio speech is, she's doing it in such a round-a-bout way that it takes 5 minutes to get the info she's after.

In her eyes I'm worthy to speak to someone with a degree. As a result, I get passed to a nurse, a quite heavily accented fellow with the phone manners of a hammer. He asks me the same question and at this point (6 minutes in) I'm starting to get really annoyed. What the hell was the point of the first gatekeeper if I just have to answer all the same bullshit again? And it's not really like the latter one listens to the answers I give him anyway.

Him:'Is any part of your leg numb?'
Me: 'Yes. My calves and just under my ankle'
Him: 'Like you can't feel anything,'
Me:'that is the definition of numbness, yes.'
Him: 'And it's numb.'
Me:'I did just say that.'

Him: 'Can you walk?'
Me:'Yes, but it's painful.'
Him: 'So this isn't causing you any difficulty when walking?'
Me:'I think I just said it was.'
Him:'So it isn't.'
Me:'*sigh*'

So 10 minutes of the conversational equivalent of listening to Terry Wogan's BBC2 show, tells me I need to go to A&E. Why? I have no idea. His mysterious oracle matrix thingie is forbidden knowledge to lowly patients. People don't need to know what could be wrong with them. When I asked about possibilities the little fuck gave me a long lecture about how diagnosis works and refused to suggest anything.

What the hell? I'm not a hypochondriac and not likely to write up a will at the suggestion it might be the cancer. (Everything could be cancer.) I just like to be aware if my trip to the emergency room should take place before I make the decision to commute home on a crowded train. Knowing whether my hips or knees will crumble under me like hunks of Wendsleydale is kind of important to me. As a result, you'd think it would be important to NHS Direct as well.

So, in an hour I'm off to A&E. No idea what could be causing my leg pain, only know that it's there, Wigan Infirmary charges a shitload for parking and I should probably grab a pack of smokes. Wish me luck.

N bomb on Big Brother. Emily Parr's an idiot.

Oh deary, deary me. One wonders how much acting work Emily Parr is going to get after this fiasco. According to transcripts at Holy Moly the Peaches Geldoff wannabe (gag) dropped the N Bomb quite a few times at the most vile Charley.

It was, allegedly, a stupid joke. Thankfully she's had her ass kicked off because Endemol can't afford to have themselves any race rows.

Cue tired racism and offensive word commentary tomorrow. Time to resurrect those columns folks. I swear to god I'm going to buy every red top and broadsheet tomorrow so I can compare what the personalities write now to what they'll write when it happens again. I'll bet it's copypasta.

Remind me again why I eventually want to get into journalism?

Really? Really? You guys don't understand why 'child love' is a bad interest?

I came across a rather brain melting drama on Livejournal yesterday. A group of vigilantes went after Livejournal users for having some seriously sketchy 'interests.' For those unfamiliar with Livejournal, it's a blogging platform (like Blogger) with various social networking overtones. As well as running a blog, you can also develop social networks and participate in forums. Livejournal tends to be a bit more on the social (if sightly insular) side of blogging, with much of its focus on the social aspect. One the features that makes it easier for people to find you is 'interests' in a profile. When you set up and maintain your account you can add things you like. In mine I have 'radical aristocracy, depeche mode and morrissey.'

Some have more common interests, like cheese.

Now cheese, everyone likes cheese! If you like cheese, you could have a lot of friends. All you need to do is click on an interest with a link to locate other users who enjoy a bit of Cheshire with their crackers. Suffice to say, a Livejournal interest could be almost anything. And some other interests, like 'child love' and 'incest' are slightly less popular. Yet you could still list it and still locate other people who might be.... interested.... in the same thing.

Let's just set aside the fact that maybe you know, incest, isn't a great thing to have on your public interest list regardless of the type of said journal.

Let's just leave that over there on that table with the ceramic cat from Morecambe.

So, Livejournal has this publicly searchable directory for friend making and networking opportunities. Mr. Internet User can do a quick scan on the main page and find a reason to create their very own Livejournal. More users = more ad revenue right? And up until recently Livejournal has been pretty damned permissive when it came to what they allowed in the directory. Various communities and journals had interests like 'boy love' and Livejournal ignored it.

But then SueS, Gunny John and Miss Y, otherwise known as Warriors for Innocence came along and discovered this interest search function and were alarmed and outraged. Who are they? Why, they're a wonderful mish-mash of Internet detectives and vigilantes. They will single handedly burn perverts on the World Wide Web. They made note of people with interests considered 'illegal' and submitted them to Livejournal Abuse. In a way, rightly so, by having a public interest in something like rape, shock value or no, the users violated the terms of service.

Except, these lunatics probably didn't get many actual, physical child molesters in their little campaign. What they actually got was a bunch of fanfic writers, fans of certain Japanese publications that trample all over most expectations of good taste and survivor groups. The vast majority (guessing by the high pitched screeching all over Livejournal) appear to be older women obsessed with making Potter hairy before his time. Hardly the grooming pedos WFI were looking for.

Remember the thing on the table over with the ceramic cat? That's a little something called common sense. It really appears to be lacking on both sides here. How fan fiction communities or connoisseurs of Japanese comics ever believed that it was appropriate to publicize an interest in 'boy love' is seriously beyond me. There are about a million reasons I can think of not to have that on a publicly searchable directory. There aren't many reasons I can think of in the pro sense. All this outrage over free speech on both sides is bordering on comic tragedy. Neither side seem to understand that the way they conducted their activities was ineffective.

I'm glad of this. Personally I don't think the Internet should really be a place where you can publicly show off your fan fiction's darker side. There's a reason those books are 18 and over even when they have nothing to do with Harry Potter. Nor do I think people like Warriors for Innocence should be able to do their 'work' without at least a little understanding of those types of communities. Sadly, I doubt either one will get their after school special message. Livejournal, the corporation behind all this, appears to be the only sane party in this whole debacle. A rare, rare thing indeed.

Come on Barbie, let's go party. Uh, uh, uh yeahh.

I'm sure every female who's ever attended college already rehashed, chopped and fried up the impact Barbie has on women. From the teensy waist to the massive mammaries no other iconic bane of feminism inspires so much ire. Yet despite all those 1500 word essays on the negative impact Barbie and her freakish bastard ilk (see: Bratz, ewwww) have on women's general esteem, the pink one still reigns supreme in the hearts of many young ladies.

As a result of girly infatuation with the unlikely one, it was only a matter of time before the money hungry insectoids in Mattel's new product development department realized that like, girls use the Internet and stuff and that means more marketing data and possibly more MONEY. 'By God, that man in the Wall Street Journal says MySpace is incredibly popular... Think of the possibilities if we combined that with Barbie.' And thus the buzzing slave drones of Mattel (making the toy industry scary and not at all fun since 1100BC) proposed to merge the two, both elongating and strengthening the Barbie brand.

Barbie + MySpace = Barbie Girls.

We're transported into BGirls (geddit? Barbie + Girls=B Girls. IT WORKS ON TWO LEVELS) via a hideous Flash interface that works IE and sends Firefox sulking in the corner. Swirling flowers eventually give way to a 21st century bobble headed Barbie avatar luring you into B Girls. She promises that though the site is like in beta and stuff might change, that you'll have yourself some fun.

Predictably, fun in Barbie's world consists of fashion, games and chatting. Barbie is, after all, a fashion doll with a happy smile not darkened by anorexia, tabloids or Botox. A very fortunate couture model indeed. But even without fashion's seedy underbelly there's a definite bitter quality to an otherwise saccharine sweet portal. And that bitterness is probably way more of a concern than a negative rear view. How can parents be sure the site isn't overwhelmed by people who aren't 13 year old girls looking to meet....13 year old girls.

In response, Mattel wants you to know the safety of your princess it their utmost concern.... Or is it?

They start by telling the parents:

Our sophisticated word filter keeps this chat appropriate for girls and prevents personal information — such as your child's name, phone number, and address — from being given out to anyone unknown to you.

(For instance, numbers and spelled-out numbers get blocked, so a user can't give out street addresses and phone numbers.) Additionally, our filters prevent otherwise acceptable words from being combined to create inappropriate words or phrases.

If someone ever makes her feel uncomfortable, she can let us know by clicking that user's character and selecting "report." When a user is reported, we can review the chat at the time of the incident, monitor the offending user, and determine whether further action is required. Any users attempting objectionable behavior can be banned from the site.

This aspect of the chat function probably protects young ladies from hearing about places the bathing suit covers and talk more appropriate for a bar. There's a slight amount of privacy invasion, but for the good of the girl. Whether this is to decrease Mattel's liability in case anything does happen or because they genuinely fear the hordes of drooling pedos stalking the Internet, it's a bonus. MySpace certainly doesn't have that function.

Blocking and reporting functions are obviously there for more than some other girl thinking her Wheelies are slightly out of date. It's all about that kind of odd one over there insisting on photos or wondering when her parents are out of town. Good move, presuming the mods are up and alive. Little Jessica can point and click predators away into prison, just like that.

But there's more under the Privacy Policy (which links back to the Hot Wheels Collector site) which goes against all those positive bits above:

Mattel may elect to offer community features on this Website, such as message or bulletin boards, forums, and chat rooms. In such events, Mattel will not assume any obligation to monitor, filter, censor, edit, or regulate information or content provided by you or third parties on this Website, although Mattel reserves the right to do so in its sole discretion.

I'm hoping this is just an oversight with using the same guidelines as another website. If not, it could mean bad things. Though they say they'll monitor chats between girls they also say they won't. The negatory statement in a deep dark place where not many people would think to look. So which one is it?

Mothers still entrance little girls with Barbies and subsequently fill the coffers of their dealers high on their mound of doll heads. As a result, you'd think they have a responsibility to create a safe place for their client base to spend money. It makes sense morally and economically. If you're going to brave the wilds of the pervert filled Internet, you'd better damn well have the perimeter guarded. Yet Mattel has a Privacy Policy on two of its sites geared toward little ones that precludes them from taking any pro-active action against predators, even though they make outward promises to parents they will. The product development midges may have created a way for them to get away with not doing what they explicitly promise, to save money or overhead, whatever. I'm not positive but this strikes me as being a case of one manicured hand giving while the other taketh away.

Siniseter or not, if I'd birthed some little ones of the Barbie appreciating age (and they'd finally rebelled against my insistence that Soduku is just as fun) I'd definitely wait until that Privacy Policy changes. It smacks of a rather untrustworthy scheme that may leave your precious treasures a little bit more vulnerable.