sheldrake

I'm a bit grouchy today because I stayed up really late last night obsessively reading the blog of an evangelical Christian right-wing anti-abortionist with mysogynist tendencies and homophobic and Islamophobic leanings. Yeah, I don't know why either. I obviously just like mentally poisoning myself. I won't go into how I ended up in this position, but it started with mediocre Radio 4 comedy. Sigh... Jokes based on lazy stereotyping are boring and make Alan Turing cry. Oh, and there's that thing where they help to perpetuate attitudes which are harmful to real people. But there, it's only comedy isn't it? (The odd thing was that the blogger in question seemed to occasionally have thoughtful things to say about comedy and censorship, stereotyping and responsibility. But then he'd go off on one about how we'd be better off without the NHS and the promotion of homosexuality in schools. And despite his apparent view that one shouldn't make mean-spirited jokes about members of opressed minority groups... it doesn't seem to have stopped him writing a bunch of hilarious homo jokes for our teatime entertainment.)

Ah, anyway. I want some scripted comedy what is actually funny back in the 6.30 cooking-time slot! Personally, I like Fags, Mags and Bags, because it is both amazing and great, and has a Wall of Crisps. And a Shopumentary. (You should probably watch the Shopumentary first).

Complaining is all the rage these days, you know.

I myself felt moved to complain about John Barrowman here, after learning to my absolute horror that he owns a set of genitals, and that other human people may have seen these disgusting articles with their eyes. Seriously, I may have to be hospitalised at this news and then I will have to complain about the NHS. I hope you're happy, BBC.

It's Friday, and this is a good thing. Tomorrow I intend to make chocolate brownies.

This week has been interesting in a boring sort of way. Work's been busy and continues to be fraught with a general atmosphere of 'no one seems to know what the hell is going on or what they're supposed to be doing'. Which is fun. After whinging constantly from Monday to Wednesday, I decided I was going to force myself to be INCREDIBLY INSANELY UPBEAT AND ENERGETIC on Thursday. It worked quite well, although it had started to wear off by this morning. And of course now I'll have to compensate for it by sitting on the sofa staring vacantly at the wall all weekend. But there will be brownies, I hope.

Things I continue to put off: Phoning up the parking people. Replying to stuff. Hoovering.

I've got lots of books to read. It is great.

I'm sorry I insist on unloading the inane meanderings of my brain upon you, poor flist. You deserve better. You deserve thoughtful, amusing, glittering posts. Posts full of passion and poetry and pancakes and pornographic... pancakes. Oh well.

( Behind the cut tonight! A new section in which I complain about fandom! )

Now I'm going to go and watch Have I Got News For You.

One charming Night, Gives more delight, Than a hundred lucky Days...

***

I'm feeling appallingly posty lately. The old brainbox is brimming with THINGS, which need syphoning off at regular intervals.

Laptop woe. After its unscheduled day off the other week, the laptop seemed to be back to normal. So yesterday, I decided I'd just drop it on the floor. Miraculously, the dear old trooper still works! But I've knackered the catch -- it wobbles around, disturbingly like a loose tooth, and closes no more. Poor lappy.

Local news woe. ( cut for those not in the mood for sudden rantiness )

To be perfectly honest, though, I'm not feeling particularly woeful this week. The sun has been shining too brightly on the frosty park in the mornings, the ducks are all smiling on their pond, and there is Purcell on my iPod.

[Note to self: may be going mad, poss?]

I've changed my mind, that were quite a good rant! I slightly wish I hadn't deleted it. Oh no, I really am an idiot!

And I'm still not asleep!

Somebody be so good as to pop me on the back of the head with a mallet, knock out my brainbox for the night? Ta.

There was an ill-considered rant here for a couple of seconds, but then I realised I was being a stupid old fool and deleteded it. I rillyrillyrilly need to stop thinking I know best how everything in the world ought to be run, when in actual fact I can barely run a bath without outside help. I can't even run for a bus without falling over on the pavement. Honestly!

*shakes head at self*

And why oh why am I not asleep? Eh?

This is a very interesting and intelligent post about atheism and anger (found via burntcopper). I would have said that, yes, I was angered by 99.9% of the instances she referred to in the post... but then I read some of the comments and upped it to 100% (many thanks to Brad, the professional patronising protestant).

On the other hand, I'd be more inclined to say that they anger me as a human being, rather than as an atheist. I was about to say that I don't consider my atheism in the same way I consider my gender, sexuality or ethnic background... and then I realised I was not entirely sure about that. Is my atheism really a choice? It is, in that one has to think about these things in order to come to a conclusion... but then, I tried for many years to be religious (because I was worried about going to hell, you know) and never really managed it. I honestly think religious faith is not something I'm actually capable of, any more than I'd be capable of becoming male. That's part of who I am. But if that's true, what does it say about people who are religious? I don't know... because, you see, one of the things that makes me so, so angry is that ever-increasing tendency for religious spokespeople (particularly Christians) to style themselves as the latest oppressed minority group. Perhaps, it turns out, this is offensive to me not so much because Christians are not capable of being an oppressed minority group, but because they are so blatantly NOT one!

On the other other hand (yes, three hands!) I often find myself envying other atheists. Atheists who don't have a not only beloved but also sane, intelligent, strong, sensible, liberal and wise parent, who also happens to be a minister of the Christian faith. I can't help feeling that it would be much easier to be one of those atheists. And, actually, I know it would be easier, because I used to be one. (It would make it much easier, for instance, to say things like, As an atheist, I find myself wanting to kill every religious I see every time I think of the sheer misery caused by religion. DEATH TO ALL RELIGIONS! -- this is from a comment on the post).

I remember a friend saying incredulously to me once, in reponse to something I'd said, 'You mean you don't talk about religion with your mother?' And it's true that I don't tend to, at least not in any serious way. Partly, probably, because we're all a bit too reserved for our own good, but also because I'm just not that interested in attempting to pull down and dismantle the thing that means so much to her. I could have a go, I might have done at an earlier age, but my heart wouldn't really be in it. There has been too much pain and disunity in our family already. We have what I'm afraid I have to describe as an unspoken agreement to agree to disagree.

And I'm happy to argue amiably about religion with any amiable religious person who really wants to argue with me, but I'm almost certainly not going to start those arguments. One commenter on the blog said:

I'm angry at other atheists who can't see why they should be angry. Who take religious crap regularly and don't seem to be bothered by it. Who put up with religion in others like it's a harmless eccentricity, and don't question or challenge the ridiculous unfounded beliefs of others.

Well... tough, really. I'm angry, very angry, about the incredibly dangerous poison religion often spreads, and I will continue to be. And I don't believe in God. And I really don't want people praying for my atheist soul, either, but they can do it to their absolute hearts' content as long as I don't have to hear about it. Honestly, be my guest. Pray yourselves silly! Just don't tell me afterwards.

My mother and I often do discuss the things that happen in the world, and sometimes those things have to do with religious faith, and sometimes they don't -- and sometimes we agree, and sometimes we don't. But I have no desire at all to take away the belief-system she finds so intensely important and meaningful... inexplicable as I may find that belief-system. I'm not at all sure it would even be possible. Mainly, I wouldn't try to do that because it would be unkind.

There follows another short rant on the subject of The Dark is Rising movie adaptation. Well, it's not really a rant, it's me quoting some stuff and then throwing my hands up in the air in disgust.

( A small selection of things that make you go AAAAAARRRRGGHH!  )

Just a Minute is one of my favourite things. This documentary about the programme, however, is proving virtually unwatchable. I mean, it's got some great bits of stuff in it, like footage of the late lamented Linda Smith (albeit much of that being of her asleep on a train), and Clement Freud damning poor Nicholas Parsons with faint praise, but really, if I have to watch one more bloody melting clock, speeded-up train or clip from some old film version of The Canterbury Tales, I will... well, post about it on LiveJournal, I expect. I think there was roughly half an hour's worth of material there, but it's been stretched out into an hour with the aid of POINTLESS NONSENSE. I mean, look. I switched on because I was interested in the Radio 4 comedy panel game Just a Minute. I do not need, at this point, a neurologist telling me why it sometimes seems as though time is standing still, handily illustrated by YET ANOTHER SODDING TICKING CLOCK. When I want to know that I'll look it up on Wikipedia. At the moment I'd rather hear more about Kenneth Williams waving his leg in Clement Freud's face, and why, after Kenneth's death, it appeared that none of his fellow players had really known him at all. But no. Instead we have to watch some random person holding their breath underwater for a minute. In real time. Documentary makers -- for the love of God, why must you always stomp all over the subjects of your films in your bloody great size 9 boots in this crude and pretentious fashion? Oh good, it's stopped.

Anyway. That was just a little rant.

Do tell me when you want me to talk about stuff that actually means something to you, won't you, my dears?

My day was boring and annoying, you?

Also, fandom is really pissing me off just at the moment. To the point where I think I might have to go away and do something else for a bit. Oh wait, you know what would be easier? Remove all the communities from my watch-list, thus removing the temptation to torture myself. I dunno, I seem to be feeling all this nostalgia for the days when I used to watch a TV programme, say, 'That was great!' or 'That was a bit rubbish!' and then go and... have some cake. Or have a conversation with someone. Rather than feeling compelled to go online and read pages and pages of in-depth analysis and self-righteous anger and so on. Actually, to be perfectly honest, I'm starting to find some of it slightly upsetting, and the world is upsetting enough as it is, without fandom getting in on the act. No offence at all intended to any one individual, it's just... where's the fun gone? And the rum! Where's the rum gone?

Um... good things? Not the weather. My dinner was nice. And when I went to the shop to buy a toothbrush, I didn't have enough change, but the lady said she thought the toothbrushes were too expensive, so she let me have it cheap.

Oh, and I quite enjoyed the Doctor Who finale, unlike the entire rest of the planet, apparently, and am in no way defensive about it, so there!