The reluctant ninja advances

Even though I'm convinced I was not at my shaolin best last night, the sifu (boss guy) promoted me anyway. This was such a relief that I went home and promptly fell into a dead sleep for just over eight hours. Which is a long time for me.

As the exam approached, I couldn't understand or control my nervousness about the situation. True, it's all conducted in traditional fashion, complete with everyone sitting in what's called seiza position, as if you're participating in a Japanese tea ceremony. Basically you're sitting on your own feet, and your feet begin to complain pretty sharpish.

As predicted by my instructors, the sifu passed practically all junior-rank attendees, right down to the five-year olds. (He may have passed all of them; I didn't notice.) During the final belt presentation, I was dreadfully embarrassed to discover that both my feet were numb because of my sitting in seiza for over an hour. But he seemed to be amused at my limping towards him. At least I didn't forget to bow properly.

I only wish I'd been able to stay to watch the two who were taking the black belt examination, as they're my two of my favorite instructors. I hope they passed.

Because The White Album wouldn't have worked. That's why.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

a wild hare

Officially I'm past due for a haircut. But I've decided to skip it for now. The main reason is, I confess, my ego.

This is why: a few weeks ago, I washed my hair before heading to Chez Ian*, but didn't have time to dry it. So I packed my hair styling stuff and left my house with a wet head. To make matters even worse, I drove with the top down on my car because if was one of those perfect, 72F degree days.

When I got to Ian's house, I expected to be teased about my hair, which had dried into its usual mass of messy curls. Instead, Ian said how much he liked my hair, and why didn't I wear it that way more often? "Silly wabbit," he said**. So I left it the way it was.

After dinner, he got into this odd little mood where he couldn't keep his hands out of my hair - a tactile fascination that was quite pleasant, especially when he pushed back my hair to expose the back of my neck (a highly erogenous area) and gently bit it.

The following week, I decided to take his advice and wore my untamed hair to work. I was surprised by the number of compliments paid to my hair. This took a bit of getting used to, as I was initially embarrassed and kept thinking that my hair needed a good ironing. I was constantly tempted to tie it back with a ribbon, which I did a couple of times. But now I'm cool with it.

* See Key to Characters at right.

** This nickname was derived from two sources:  Madeleine Kahn's wonderful Dietrich parody in the film Blazing Saddles, and a scene from Kill Bill Vol. 1.

Would you like that texter roasted, browned or boiled?

If you're wondering why I'm suggesting that texters be cooked in horrid ways, it's because that's what the lyrics of this commercial's soundtrack suggest.

Here is the English translation of this portion of Greig's Peer Gynt:

Slay him! The Christian's son has bewitched

The Mountain King's fairest daughter!

Slay him! Slay him!

May I hack him on the fingers?

May I tug him by the hair?

Hu, hey, let me bite him in the haunches!

Shall he be boiled into broth and bree to me

Shall he roast on a spit or be browned in a stewpan?

Ice to your blood, friends!

Being a telecoms Luddite, I don't want one of these phones. I'm still bitter about having to trade in my elderly Samsung Didn't Even Take Pictures phone. But this commercial illustrates exactly why text addicts annoy me so much. If it only could convince me that their phone actually "got you in and out" - but with all those options on the screen, how's that going to happen? Hell, it even has an XBox link.

Anyway, enough ranting. I am still sulking over the results of the World Series, although I don't begrudge the winning team for a second.

I suggest hitting the full screen button (bottom right - the little square with four arrows pointing outwards) before viewing the commercial.

a politically incorrect fashion statement

I liked this t-shirt so much that I finally ordered it:

I thought I would probably get some dirty looks now and again. You  must admit the message is a tad provocative to Tea Party types. But so far, all I've received are compliments.

To add a final touch of irony, last time I wore the shirt, I wore my Marlies Dekkers Riding Gear bra underneath. It's hard to describe Marlies Dekkers lingerie, so all I can suggest is that curious readers Google her.

As to why I ordered the shirt, I sometimes suspect I was an anarchist rabble-rouser in a previous life.