(Groan at the pun so that we can move on, I don’t do that sort of thing often) Like many girls who yearn to experiment but aren’t gutsy enough to try anything more adventurous like piercings or water skiing I dye my hair. It’s just refreshing for someone like me who’s in the hinterland between two more readily recognised colours to be properly one thing or another. A while ago it was highlights to make my hair look blonde and now I’ve gone brunette.
Obviously, I do this for myself rather than for the effect. I do it because I want to, it would be very odd indeed if I didn’t. It would be like shooting myself in the foot or, more accurately and remarkably less melodramatically, paying money and expending effort to do something not enjoyable. And I’m not entirely mental though I’m not sure I can prove it especially as I’m not entirely sure that the last point made any kind of sense. I’m afraid to read it back just in case it doesn’t and I can’t remember my thought process. We’ve gone down a strange turn haven’t we? Sorry, I’m a bit befuddled today.
But while I do it for me, I still want it to be noticed. I dyed my hair last week and accidentally left the stuff on for a bit too long. No, that’s not true actually, I left it on for the full time suggested but had been too lazy to do the strand test (for a preview to see how long you should leave it on to get the colour you want. Of course that’s completely reasonable but it’s not what I do with the normal brand I get so I didn’t bother) so the result was quite a bit darker than I’d been planning. Luckily, I quite like how it came out. The thing is, no one’s realised. At least no one’s commented. So either it’s not quite such as change as I thought which I don’t think is true because it really is a lot darker than it used to be or people don’t like it. Or no one pays that much attention to me. Oh the pitfalls involved in being a girl.
(Scrolling through songs on my iPod for inspiration works every now and again) Did you hear the news? Quite recently, a nice lady and her quite posh husband produced a baby. It’s completely unheard of for that sort of thing to happen now isn’t it? Of course, on a human level, I’m pleased for Kate and William and their not so tiny baby (8 lb 6 oz, I can’t have been the only woman to wince and cross her legs when she heard that. For those of us who’ve not been through that end of childbirth, it’s an uncomfortable thing to think about at the best of times) Simba. Sorry, I meant to say George. Even though, as far as I’m concerned, George is the name of a misbehaving child (if you’re in the mood for a bit of a treat, I suggest that you look up Joyce Grenfell who was forever telling George not to do that) or an old man. Still, I’m sure his parents will be pleased that I’ve already mapped out his life trajectory.
So that’s my human level. Happy that a baby has come into the world, especially with such nice seeming parents (as hard as I try, it’s next to impossible for me not to go fairly gooey over babies. My ovaries make themselves heard and I have to remember that I really shouldn’t be having children for quite a few years yet, I’ve got far too much blogging to get done first). On the other hand, when you tell me that said tiny scrap of life will someday be my king (I noticed a post on Buzzfeed where the title declared that he’d come to the throne in 2062. I join my mother in the fervent wish that we’ll have had a revolution by then), I cannot help but roll my eyes. I cannot quite reconcile the fact that we live in a democracy with the idea of a hereditary monarchy. It just doesn’t make sense. But still, I suppose that is the circle of life. I guess we’re just going to have to keep an eye on Harry (no one else has made that joke ever, I definitely haven’t seen that anywhere else).
Why does bubbly have to mean fat? And especially now that we know that for whatever reason ‘bubbly’ has come to be known as a special and subtle code for fat, why do people persist in using it? Is it easier to admit to being fat in code or having people assume that you’re fat because of your wording rather than allowing yourself to be labelled thus in plain speaking and straightforward English? What about those poor unfortunate souls who are genuinely bubbly but at the same time pretty skinny though also not massively inventive so are unable to come up with an alternative to the term bubbly? I’m sure, like me, you know plenty of people like this and are sympathetic to their very real plight.
So what can we do? Should we as a society act to reclaim the word and return it to its former state of complimentary glory? There’s no doubt in my mind that we absolutely should. We owe it to the poor downtrodden though still optimistic and charming people who are constantly misrepresented by the unfortunate nature of linguistics (check me out, I’m a born revolutionary). It ought to be our top priority, I can think of no term more derogatory and hurtful and anyone who says otherwise is a liar (or infinitely more sensible than me if you insist on looking at it that way).
You might wonder why I’m taking so much time to consider the less than flattering connotations of the word bubbly. Is it because I’m bubbly? I’ve never thought of myself in such a light, I’d probably consider myself as being too sarcastic for real enthusiasm to be considered as a defining characteristic. Is it because I’m ‘bubbly’ (significant glances all round)? Oh come on people, you know I’d be honest enough with you not to feel the need to lower myself to such deception. Now excuse me while I go and have another pie.
Ah, deja vu is a lovely thing as long as the memories recalled are nice. Right now, I’m dejaing a perfectly wonderful vu (I’m excellent at French aren’t I?). Around about this time last year I went on holiday (to France, see how my fabulously fantastic linguistic talents tie into things) and now I’m going to the same place. That in and of itself probably isn’t that remarkable – it was a great holiday last year, it must have been for us to want to go back to the same place, obviously – but it was one of the landmarks in my first year of blogging.
Now that I’m into my second year, surely I’ve blossomed and matured into a seasoned professional (if you hear a strange sound as you read this, that’s me snorting in derision. I may be a year older but maturity is still far beyond me. If I could manage it, I’m sure I’d try to crowbar in a lot more innuendos and possibly introduce some fart jokes into this. Of course I’m far too respectful of my craft and the integrity of this blog to even attempt such a thing. Oh there goes another snort, it’s terribly dignified)? No, not even slightly. Ok, well at least I’ve got into the swing of things and it’s all coming a bit easier? Not really, I’d hoped that it would do by this stage but no.
Alright, even if I haven’t managed either of those then you’d expect that I’d got a bit better at keeping up with this? Yes and no (what a relief, you can’t say all no to everything no can you? No? Shut it). It’s been a very long while indeed since I’ve broken the chain and let a day go by without having a post to publish. On the other hand, my forward planning are still a bit lacking. I’m currently in a state of quantum entanglement (I know that’s not how it works, I did a cursory amount of physics but it sounds cooler than what’s really going on) in that I’m going on holiday tomorrow (I’ll already be there by the time this gets published) where I’ll have little to no Wi-Fi access and I’ve still got a buttload of these to write (I’ve got to get all the way to I before I’m in the safe zone). Wish me luck, I’ll give you another progress report next year. I bet you can’t wait.
As a sort of writer (work with me people, cut me a little bit of slack and lower your standards just a smidgeon. I would much rather have said smidge there but I opted for smidgeon because that’s an actual properly accepted word. Definitely a writer), I can’t help but sympathise with fictional character Nick Miller. Not just because I could absolutely fancy him if I tried (he’s apparently a very good kisser) even though he doesn’t strictly exist. No, it’s due to the fact that he tried to write a novel.
There’s a reason why I do this the way I do; writing every day in easily digestible chunks of at least three hundred words. That’s because it’s comparatively easy. I don’t have to stick to on topic for very long at all, look at this one, we’re nearly halfway through already. But a novel, a proper narrative, that takes some real work. So you really have to have some respect for the Nick Millers of this world, those who try, who put themselves out there and channel their passion into something creative.
It’s understandable to feel fear before you start, to worry that you might fail, that you won’t finish, that it’ll be utterly awful and people will laugh. That’s why it’s so commendable to actually have an actual proper go. Of course, since I’ve gone to so much effort to make writing seem like such admirable, honourable and worthwhile work you’ll probably have picked up that I’ve probably got an ulterior motive. If the writing of a novel is so amazing and so commendable then surely by extension publishing a short article (pah, article. I’ve clearly begun to have ideas above my station, I must find a hat for when they award me with my Pulitzer so that I look extra snazzy) every day must be pretty good. And a half hour script every now and again? Amazing.
(If you’re not a New Girl viewer or not particularly observant, Z is for Zombie is the title of Nick Miller’s terrible novel, it’s got a crossword in the middle of it)
Yes, I’m resorting to typing stuff into Google, do you have a problem with that? Oh, I didn’t realise you felt that way. It’s quite saddening actually, how do you think I come up with most of these things? Poo to you too. Sorry for that unpleasantness, we’ll just power on through shall we? Well, I’m going to anyway, so there.
So y, is it a vowel? What is a vowel? Of course we all know that y can’t possibly be a vowel. We know it to be true that there are five vowels like there are five senses and five planets in the solar system that really matter (you know the ones I need). If it’s not a, e, i, o or u then it’s obviously not a vowel.
But for it to even be posed as a question then surely the very idea of y being a vowel must be at least a very little bit not entirely crazy. Well then, why should y be considered for vowelhood status? As I mentioned, I’m still a bit fuzzy as to what constitutes vowelitiude. All I really know about vowels is that they are considerably low rent tiles in Scrabble and I keep getting racks full of them.
Classifying y as a vowel feels too much like cheating. Isn’t the exciting thing (exciting is pretty much the wrong word to use here but it seemed vaguely fitting for the moment. Or not but it’s what I wrote so we’ll just have to live with it) about the word rhythm that’s it’s so long without having to resort to the use of vowels? And then if you were to mess with such an entrenched system, wouldn’t that epically disrupt Countdown? Just imagine the sour look of disappointment and derision that would blight the face of the normally much more chipper Nick Hewer.
Well, having promised a future post for a different letter, I thought I might as well shake things up (as shaky as I get anyway, it’s not like I’m chucking out all the rules or anything. I’ve progressed to the correct letter after all) by writing something ever so slightly unexpected. Xylophones are going to have to wait for another time. Who knows, I may never get round to talking about them. I am precisely that edgy and dangerous (which, as you may have picked up by now, is nil. I am zero threatening, none unsafe, zip, nada. Totally fluffy and kid friendly. I’m sure I had a point somewhere).
So the X-files, that’s sic-fi right? I’m very definitely not against the genre as a whole, I have a deep and steadfastly enduring love for such textbook science fictiony staples as Firefly (‘you live on a spaceship dear’) and Farscape. However, it’s taking me a lot of effort to try and get into Battlestar Galactica (I’m currently stalling around about episode four and wondering whether or not it’s worth continuing. It might be worth it to see Paul Ballard – I know that’s not his name but thanks to Joss Whedon and Dollhouse that’s how I know him now – running around in his not so natural habitat) so I’m not necessarily sold on absolutely everything spacey.
In addition, I’m not wild about the alien thing. I know that’s a pretty good description of Farscape but my love is so much more based on the appeal of the characters rather than the lure of the premise. The will they won’t they of course they will come on seriously look at them nature of Aeryn and John’s relationship is hard to resist. Perhaps, that’s the way to look at the X-files, as I understand it there is a certain chemistry and tension of that nature between agents Mulder and Scully but what would I know? After all, my only previous encounter of the X-files is the episode of the Simpsons that featured them. It’s ok though, there’s no need to test this theory, the X-files isn’t on Netflix yet.