I had to much to dream last night.

I've not been sleeping very well lately, because somehow I've realised that I can't sleep when I've been drinking. So I decided to try and sleep for as long as possible last night instead. Well, I slept ten hours, but I didn't enjoy it. For one thing, I've got a horrible headache now, and also I've been dreaming a zillion uncomfortable dreams. I dreamt that my granddad died, which was a bit sad. I also dreamt that I was a man, living in a house by the sea and the waves hit my windows. I had many more dreams, but I've forgot them now.

Today I've been fab5-ing my flat. Uhm, that is to say I've cleaned it and changed a few details like lamps and shit like that. I can't wait to move. I'm in the process to kill off all my plants so that I wont have to pack them when I leave. Feels a bit cruel, but that's life. If you're a plant. Or a human. Argh, the insence in my living room is kinda giving me a headache. Worse headache than before. I need coffee.

Anyway, in the end I just banged me little gavel.

Let me ramble about legal systems in the west for a bit. Ok, I've got no academic knowledge of the subject and if anyone feels that I'm being a complete twat, you know, just say so. But I've been thinking about this for a while. Not too long ago I was following the documentary on Michael Peterson, the writer who was eventually commited of the murder of his wife. This despite the fact that a lot of key technical evidence (like the duh! murder weapon) was mysteriously non-existant. I'm not in any way going to put forward my opinion (if indeed I hold an opinion) on whether or not he was guilty. However, one of the main points the prosecution made was that Mr Peterson was bisexual, he formed ephemeral and purely sexual relationships with men he met on the internet, this proving in the amazing world of prejudist people that he didn't love his wife, thus proving his killing her. Like I said, I don't particularly give a damn as to whether or not he was guilty, but I'm slightly surprised that his sexuality became such a key argument in the trial.

And now the whole of Sweden are holding their breath for the outcome of the trial on the woman and her lover who may or may not have killed the woman's 10yo son, but either way definetly dumped his body in a lake. Personally, I hope they both burn in hell, but that's not the thing. My vague concern is how their interest in BDSM sex have become evidence in this trial, supposedly proving that they tortured the boy prior to death. In this case, I actually do hope they both get convicted, because they were both in situations where they could've stopped this from happening, but didn't. But I still think that it's worrying that their interest in BDSM is concidered evidence. Now, if either of them had previously expressed interest in torturing young boys, preferably related to them, then fair enough. The evidence as far as made public talks about sexual relations between two conscenting adults.

So, basically, if I ever have to stand trial for anything (hopefully not though), should I worry that my sexual preferences will come up as evidence? We're daily fed with the notion that everything is normal as long as no one gets hurt, but apparently that's only true to a point. If a guy stands accused for peadophilia, will it be used as evidence that he likes adult women dressed in school uniforms? I don't know if I'm being the Devil's advocate here, but it just seems that it's weird how things are perfectly normal and accepted, and certainly extremely private, until the point where we have to defend ourselves, not only against a crime commited, but defend our entire personality. No?

I fucking love these bugs, man!

The days when I would spend hours on end trying to convince people to listen to a specific group, song, album or watch a specific film or you know, generally trying to brainwash people into liking the same stuff I do are long gone. But I've come across something that I just feel this physical need to recommend. It's a v disturbing short film directed by Carter Smith, based on a story by Scott Treleaven that I've not read. Actually, the most disturbing thing about this film is that I don't find it disturbing. It just feels like I should. But either way, it's also well-made and artistic aswell as sort of... uh. Just watch the damn thing. It's approximately 35 minutes long, and the link is here; Bugcrush! Voilá! No excuse not to, eh.

A couple of days ago someone phoned me on my mobile and wanted to talk to my father. I politely informed the person that this is no longer my father's mobile. He had the decency to explain to me why he'd phoned. Apparently, he wanted to buy the an internet address, namely "myfather'slastname".se and somehow he'd found out that it was owned - but not used - by someone with my father's name and that he wanted to buy it. He also informed me that there were eight people in this country who share my father's name. I was slightly surprised, I would've thought it would be more. But either way, I assured him that my dad own no such webaddress, and that he could safely phone the next person on the list. And then I said "good luck" and hung up. I will now have to check on this website every now and then to see why this guy so desperately wanted to buy it.

Oh mother.

Wednesday means free local newspaper. Nothing interesting in there today though, apart from a picture of my brother's mate and his girlfriend and their newborn daughter. It seriously freaks me out that my little brother has friends who are parents. Isn't he like 15? Actually, no, he's not at all. Anyways, the father in question is someone I remember from when we were kids, because he was one of our neighbours. He was a very disturbed and troubled kid who grew up to be one helluva fella. I specifically remember that he used to call his mother "mother". Uhm, as opposed to "mum" or whatever. We were digging a sand castle once when I asked him why the hell he calls his mother "mother". He explained it to me in a way that I've been laughing at ever since.

"Because that's what mother called her mother, and her mother called her mother" and so on.

I thought this was a pretty unique way of explaining things, until I saw a programme on tv about an 8yo girl whose father had left her mother for another guy. The girl was narrating the programme herself, obviously reading stuff from a paper, it sounded that natural and easy. She was going "this is where I live every other week, this is where my dad and my bonus-dad live, when I don't live here I live with mother". Whoever had convinced this kid to tell her story (well, her parents story, I guess) obviously thought the use of "mother" needed some 'splaining, so the kid added that very same statement that my brother's friend told me some 18 years ago.

Seriously, what a great way of making your kid the laugh of the playground. It's not unusual enough to have two dads (in the rainbow sense), she's going round shouting "mother" whenever she wants attention. Imho, she's probably getting more greif about the mother-thing than the dads-thing.

Saturday Night Hay-Fever.

After having spent the better part of this spring complaining about people with hay-fever, or rather complaining about their complaining, it's finally bit me in the arse. My throat hurts, my nose is feeling like a uhm... beehive, I guess. I'm sneezing like a madwoman. It's just uncomfortable. Of course, the fact that I've been complaining about everyone else's hayfever means I wont be able to complain about my own. So I suffer in silence. With the occasional interuption of waking up my husband in the middle of the night with a "my throat huuuuuuurts...!". He doesn't appreciate it. Actually, come to think of it, I'm not 100% sure that it's hay-fever. I guess technically it could be a cold or something. I mean, does hay-fever normally include a sore throat? Yeah, maybe, I don't know. The important thing is I don't like it.

I also got a reminder for a bill today, which felt completely unfair since I honestly thought I'd paid it. I must have lost it in the mess of other papers I keep on my desk. I even had to like, contact my bank (thank you, impersonal internet service) to make sure that it wasn't a mistake. It wasn't. I had actually forgot to pay my phone bill. Typical. Hay-fever and forgotten bills. It's just a terrible start of the week.

Highbrow culture is a fuck up the arse.

Yes, that is a charming title, thank you. I once saw a t-shirt with that written on the front and I was half considering getting one. Not so much because I agree with the idea, more because I like prophanity. I was watching a program on tv last night (whilst surfing the net - this is my new hobby combo) about literature and whatnot. Some freak with a roll-up cigarette and too long white hair was talking about some writer or other saying that she was probably the person who best masters Swedish in writing. Wtf? Yeah, you're right, because there's no way the appreciation of the written word has any sort of subjective qualities? I've read a few bits and pieces by this author and neither the subject matter nor the language is really doing anything for me.

Every Wednesday people living in this town/city/hell-hole receive a free local newspaper. I like this paper. Mainly because it's free. It's got a lot of advertising in it, but so has the daily local paper, despite the fact that it charges a shameless sum of money for the privilige to read it. Anyhow. The free paper features a few little texts by local people (League of Gentlemen, anyone?), who are contributing on a rota. Every third week it's the Spokesperson for Culture and Queerness who writes. I've always really enjoyed reading what he has to say, because funny enough, I always tend to agree. A few weeks back however he was complaining over how the people in this town/city/hell-hole have no sense of quality when it comes to food, paying particular attention to the invention of the Kebab pizza. Well, I don't like it either, because I'm a vegetarian. However, I'm not completely insensitive to the enormous popularity of the culinary creation amongst the younger generation in this town/city/hell-hole. Most of my friends have longs since moved away from here, but always when they visit they will go for a Kebab pizza. Because you can't get them anywhere else. The forum on the internet for people from here is spammed with requests for guidelines on how to make the sauce or whatever. Poems written in the honour of the pizza, born out of the longing for it's greasy pleasure. That the Spokesperson for Culture and Queerness completely missed this collective affection signals to me that he's out of touch with the people in this town/city/hell-hole, and I've slowly started getting annoyed with his texts. From general dislike, via mild annoyance, heading straight towards full-blown rage.

I don't know if it's appropriate to compare highbrow culture with anal sex, as I'm informed that the latter can be enjoyable if you're that way inclined and so on, but highbrow culture need to be a bit more sensitive to what is going on in the cultural jungle out there. It's fascinating how the people who are supposed to mind and protect cultural interests are also the same people who are always the last to recognise when something new comes along. They really need a kick in the arse. Or a fuck up it. Sorry.

Wear your tiara like a man, boy.

When I was in my early teens I knew a guy who went under the pseudonym of The German. He wasn't German in the least, but the reason behind this was that someone once phoned him up and started a conversation in German, and The German replied in... German. Because of this, the person who phoned him started calling him The German and soon it caught on. When I think about him now I can only recall his real name if I think about it for a while.

Today I've been messing with my aunt's family values. Uh. Well, my cousin turned 11, so we all went there to celebrate her. Her sister is 4, and so that she wouldn't get jealous when her sister got a zillion presents, she was given a My Little Pony. It was wearing a pink skirt and pink shoes. Like ponies do. For no good reason, I started telling my cousin that the pony was obviously a boy. She went "no!" a few times, and I tried to convince her, going "yeah, but look, it's wearing a pink skirt and shoes, just like a boy". After awhile she had obviously given in to the idea that pink skirts and shoes are boys' things, so she went "but boys don't wear tiaras" instead. I said "only the pretty boys". A bit later I heard her go "oh, no he dropped his shoes" when the pony's shoes fell off, and I did a little victory dance.

Friday...

Different people bring out different qualities in a person. It's nice, but to me personally it also poses two questions. One, am I pretending to be something I'm not to be compatible with people, and two, what qualities do I bring out in other people.

Dog is now no more. He's not been for about an hour. It's like the end of an era, in a strange way. I'm not particularly sad, but at the same time it feels weird that he's gone, because for the past 12 years he's been a very noticable presence. Pets are funny like that. Every now and then I make little plans to get various pets; dogs, cats, fainting goats, chickens, that sort of thing. But in the end it just seems stupid. I think possibly in the future I might get koi fish, or something simularly ornamental.

America's funniest home videos.

Ok, I've been blogging with alarming frequency about Tom Bergeron, but I adore him. The preast in my local church looks just like him, which is a bit weird. Watching AFV makes me think that men are weird and do weird things. Women are much less likely to bring stupid things upon themselves. Women do stupid things. Like falling from things, throwing frying pans through the window when they see mice in the kitchen, things like that. Men tend to actually set themselves up for stuff. Like dressing up as Spiderman and trying to climb the walls in the garage, thus causing the ceiling to collapse. Or trying to pull a car out of a ditch but ending up pushing it further down. Men are... prone to accidents. This is the conclusion I've come to through substantial viewing of AFV.

Moshi moshi!

Being the subculture trend sensitive person that I am, lately I've been feeling increasingly uncomfortable about my complete lack of knowledge about Japanese stuff. I did try and draw manga a couple of years back, but I stopped because I sucked, and I've just never really got the whole sushi thing. My knowledge of Japanese is pretty much non-existant, though someone who used to be a missonary there taught me a song in Japanese when I was a kid which I still remember. I only know the basic anime terminology and I feel that I'm missing out on something. So at the mo I'm debating whether to learn more or if I should just focus completely on rollerblading. Yeah, I got a pair of rollerblades last Friday, but it's been raining since, so I've not been able to use them. But it's sunny today, so maybe later. Wuhu. Moshi moshi.

You Are a Henna Gaijin!

You're not Japanese, but you wish you were! You can use chopsticks with your eyes closed, and you've memorized hundreds of Kanji. You even answer your phone "moshi moshi." While the number of anime videos you've seen is way higher than the number of dates you've been on, there's hope. Play the sexy, mysterous gaijin, and you'll have plenty of Japanese meat.

What's Your Japanese Subculture?