EC: Margaux had the funniest dream. Bwahahaha. I still can’t over it.
Julie: What did she dream about?
EC: That she was accepted in Hogwarts, and that the Sorting Hat placed her in the fifth house.
Julie: Fifth? Wait, there are only four houses. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff…
EC: She dreamt that she’s in Tinky-Winky!
Julie: Tinky-Winky ampotah. Bwahahahahahahahaha!

That’s pretty much the conversation I heard 8 years ago that got me reading the Harry Potter series. I got tired of hearing my barkada talk about fictional names and places that I had zero inkling of. I wanted to join the trivial fun of house wars and spell casting.

I went to National Bookstore in ATC and bought books 1 and 2, Harry Potter and Philosopher’s Stone and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I finished the book in less than 24 hours. After a week, my Tita Vina sent me hardbound copies of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, books 3 and 4. Needless to say, there was a phase in my life that I was Harry Potter-obsessed. A phase when I had to first say Lumos! before I switched the light on, called every smartypants Hermione, and muttered Aveda Kedevra! when I came across exes.

My besty Donnie made up silly (unsuccessful) rumors that he’s the real author, not JK Rowling. He told me JK stands for JoKla, a substandard manipedi homosexual who stole his idea. JK phoned one night and Donnie told him he’s writing a story called Harry Puta. Because JK’s phone was analog, the signal was crappy and he asked in confusion, “What Donnie? Har-ry Pot-tah?”

“JK, you’re an idiot. It’s Harry Puta. Pu-ta.”

“Oh, Ha-ry Pot-tah. Harry Pot-tah!”

Yes, yes. The series was the source of my joy and laughter. I was passionately absorbed. I wanted to kill the Dursleys especially horse-faced Aunt Petunia. I wanted to go to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. I wanted to befriend Hagrid so that I could try to tame a hipogriff and teach Fang some tricks. I loved Albus Dumbledore and his nondirect words of wisdom. I adored Cedric Diggory and I shed a tear when he was murdered by Voldemort in book 4.

And.I.Loathed.Cho.Chang. I think it was because of her that I stopped reading. I just felt she wasn’t right for Harry. Imagine my absolute disgust when I heard Heart Evangelista was selected to play Cho in the film.

It was only last week when I decided to read the last three books. See, when I was stuck in Morong I couldn’t watch the telly because of the power failure and I couldn’t go out because of the typhoon. I read book 3 again and the Hogwarts magic came alive once more. When I went back to Manila, I downloaded ebooks of the last 3 and finished reading in less than 3 days.

My eyes still hurt.

So there.

Haha, I really only wanted to share that my eyes are giving me discomfort again. I just couldn’t resist sharing the Tinky-Winky and JoKla stories as well.

-----

listening to: The Wombats - Bleeding Love

None of that is really awkward though, so let's shift our attention to the 2008 Teen Choice Awards. What is more awkward than a bunch of teenagers crowded in to one building? NOTHING. Well, maybe learning that you drunkenly hooked up with your cousin at a family wedding. But anyfail, the bulk of today's material comes from this pimple-infested annual event.

Ed Westwick: I figured we should return to our favorite lilac pant wearing Gossip queen. That's right. He's a queen. If the lilac pants weren't evidence enough, let's check out his NEW pair of purple pants that he sported on the plane jetting to the coveted 2008 Pimple-Infested Awards! He went for a manlier hue this time, but let's face it, there is no shade of purple that is manly. It's hott when guys wear pink. It's gay when guys wear purple. Look at Tinky Winky, that purple Teletubby. Total flamer, just like Eddiekins. Also, don't fail to notice his manbag, and the extreme tightness of his pants. He wants to show his package off to Chace or Zac. The thing that makes this whole situation awkward though is that he refuses to come out of the closet, instead of being a proud rainbow-lover. Just to shut our mouths and convince us of his "straightness," he shoves his tongue down some girl's throat. He probably pays her just to play along. She doesn't care thought because she's probably a huge skankface who wants to brag about how she hooked up with a movie star. Ah, raging hormones at work.

Zac Efron: Speaking of closeted gay guys, Zacypoo is the next on the list. Here is evidence that Zac is NOT dating Vanessa, and wants to be wearing a pair of plum pants like Eddie. They could be twins, like when Lindsay Lohan wears a fedora like her lover Samantha Ronson. Take a look at Zac's face in these pictures. The camera dudes and PR reps totally told them to hug to promote their movie. Vanessa is a money-grubbing naked picture-sending hoface so she sucked it up. Zac would rather puke. He probably quarantined himself after, and took a Purell shower to remove the cooties. Poor boy looks so uncomfortable. In the last one he is probably whispering for her to let go of him now, or he'll have his gay posse of Lance Bass, Ed Westwick, and Chace Crawford attack her with fire engine red lipstick and tighty whities. Rudy Galindo will come and do a split just for dramatic effect.

Fergie: Fergie has tried her hardest to convince the world that she is beautiful through songs like fergalicious, and by working out all the time. I'll agree that she has a good body, but that just makes her a butterface. She doesn't look bad when  she's by herself, but all her efforts are completely trashed when she stands next to people that are actually pretty. Like Scarlett Johanssen. Next to the beaming blonde, Fergie looks rough. Her wardrobe choice doesn't help either. Fergie Ferg realizes that she shouldn't be standing next to ScarScar and that's why she looks pissed as all hell. Everyone evaluates themselves and others by comparison. Let that be a lesson Ferg.

Selena Gomez: I don't even know where this girl came from, or what she was in, but apparently she is another Disney starlet. The next Miley Cyrus. I'm totally rooting for her though! I want to see Miley go down! There should be a WWE fight between Selena and Miley. That would be a bitch fight to watch! Whoever wins gets eternal Disney and Hollywood glory, and the loser has to be adopted by Papa Joe Simpson. But despite her potential to oust Miley from her Disney throne, Selena has a lot to learn... Take a look at this ridiculously awkward pose. See! Teens should not try to be sexy, or pull a Marilyn Monroe. It ends up a leggy disaster with people busting out the awkward turtle everywhere.

Miley Cyrus: Oh Miley. When will you learn? The baby prostitute is at it AGAIN. More pictures have leaked, and they are increasingly more scandalous than the ones before. She looks like a typical MySpace whore in these pictures. Why her dad hasn't taken away her camera, I don't know...Oh, wait. I remember. He is the one taking the pictures. He got some advice from Papa Joe about how to boost Miley's career. I'm convinced Miley and BillyGoat are trying to get her kicked off Disney so she can go on to "bigger and better" things. Miley, stick with what makes you the money. You obviously are a big hit with the tweens if you can sell out whole stadiums for your teen bop concerts. She doesn't care. She is a ho, and she can't help it.

Over the hills and far away, teletubbies come to play!

tak kochani. intuicja Was nie myli - przedstawiam unikalne zdjecia tego ustronnego  miejsca.

nieco szokujacy wzor na desce - szczegolnie w kontescie wczesniejszych wypowiedzi: 'Zauważyłam, że Tinky Winky ma damską torebkę, ale nie skojarzyłam, że jest chłopcem. W pierwszej chwili pomyślałam, że ta torebka musi temu teletubisiowi przeszkadzać. Taki balast niepotrzebny. Później się dowiedziałam, że w tym może być jakiś ukryty homoseksualny podtekst – twierdzi Sowińska.'

powiem krotko: bylam, widzialam, przezylam. o balascie nie wspomne.

pomocne linki: http://www.polskatimes.pl/9,25364.htm

I was going to watch some television with all my extra free time, but the effort of flicking my eyeballs around was too wearing, so I made myself some tea and lay down on the sofa to think about things.  Jason had gone to see Lee (who does actually have a flat of his own, for entertainment purposes only you understand), so I could have it all to myself and took full advantage of the spreadability factor.

I woke up two hours later feeling incredibly disoriented and ashamed for having confirmed my descent into middle agedness so appropriately. I wrenched my cheek from where I had welded it to the pillow with dribble.  I drank my cold tea in a reflective mood, trying to decide whether I could be arsed to have a bath before I went to bed or not. 

Usually I do the shower thing, as the bath is on the kid’s floor and if they hear the taps going they tend to need to come and have fourteen wee’s each while I’m having a bath and try to engage me in existential chit chat, thus making it far less relaxing.  Jason had recommended a bath because I’d had a stiff neck for the last couple of days, probably due to the fact that I carry Oscar round all day and he weighs as much as a Shetland pony. 

I have nothing against baths, in fact I love having baths, but I do like a nice ambience. We have quite a nice bathroom, compared to others I have owned (particularly the one up six flights of stairs fitted into a cupboard full of galloping mould), but I like to imagine myself surrounded by Diptyque candles and up to my ears in Jo Malone scented bath grains.  The reality is me sitting with my head butting against a large plastic box with Tinky Winky leering out of the top at me and eyeball to eyeball with some spitty Disney toothbrushes. 

The Disney toothbrushes are electric ones, and an incentive to get the kids to be more thorough about brushing their teeth.  Their concept of brushing for two minutes is rather elastic and they turned the toothbrushing timer I gave them into a time machine, so I thought this might work instead.  As it is I caught Tallulah in there the other day carefully brushing her teeth but without the electric bit.  I pointed out that the electric part was to help her teeth get properly brushed and asked why she wasn’t using it.  She said: ‘I don’t like to turn it on because all the toothpaste just comes rumblin’ off the brush.’ And carried on brushing sedately.  Another cunning plan foiled. 

When I was a kid someone bought my brother and I an electric toothbrush each.  This was the early seventies so they aren't the glorious pieces of technology they once were. In fact they were the size of a giants alarm clock with a wire and a toothbrush attached.  I was amazed and astounded by this piece of kit, and desperate to try it.  When my mother showed me how to work it I turned away in disgust.  I was so disappointed.  I thought that because it was electric all I had to do was open my mouth, turn on the toothbrush and the toothbrush would creep into my mouth, creep out again and turn itself off neatly.  I was outraged that I was still expected to hold it and move it up and down.  Absolute rubbish!

Anyway.  I had just decided that I was so tired I really wasn’t going to have a bath and wake myself up all over again.  I felt good about this executive decision.  I sat feeling smug that I had been forthright and had put my good decision making trousers on, when I realised that I had been idly scratching my head for the last five minutes.  My immediate thought was: ‘Oh God! Nits!’ 

This focussed my attention quite sharply and had the added bonus of shocking me into alert wakefulness (much like hearing a noise in your sleep, and waking to the utter conviction that there is a mass murderer helping himself to your comestibles).  I hurtled into the kitchen, dug out the dreaded nit comb and pulled it through my hair.  At this point my neck muscles seized completely and locked my neck into a rictus of absolute agony. 

I was, as I’m sure you will imagine, quite cross. I rent the air with my choice language about small children, nits and the unfairness of life in general, and my life in particular.  The only good things to have come out of the whole debacle was the sure knowledge that I didn’t actually have nits, and that I would definitely have something to write about in my blog, although at the time this too seemed strangely unfair. 

I then had to have a bath in order to try and unlock my rigid neck muscles enough for me to even attempt to go to bed.  I crept about like a crab, trying not to swear too much and wake the children up.  The last thing I wanted was for them to sympathetically offer me a glass of water.  I thanked my lucky stars I had made Tallulah get up for a wee earlier, as the thought of shinning up the ladder to her cabin bed and giving her a fireman's lift down to ground level was enough to make me cry.

I had an unsatisfactory and entirely unromantic bath, covered my neck and shoulders in Ralgex and retired to bed with a hot water bottle, smelling like an old lady and not at all like Jo Malone.  Bah! The only things that would have made me smell more like an old lady was the aroma of cat wee and tannin.

I really don’t like the smell of Ralgex (it smells like something I should be putting on a car engine, and not all over my skin), so I had the cunning plan of putting a blob of Vicks’ on the end of my nose, thus blocking out the smell of Ralgex.  Cunning eh? It was the only thing I had to hand that was smellier than the Ralgex.  I couldn't be bothered to creep downstairs and get the Marmite which was the only other thing I could think of.  Also, I was worried that if I rolled over I would stain the sheets and it would be hard to explain the next morning.

 I was lying there in agony, bored out of my mind and tired to death when I decided, just for fun, to read the label on the tub of Vicks.  Turns out its use by date was 2005!  This sent me into a total panic in case it was now going to eat through the end of my nose and I would wake up looking like The Elephant Man.  I rubbed it off as best I could, but I still stank to high heaven, so I had to accept that the damage was probably already done. 

This set off yet another unpleasant train of thought.  I realised that when I’d grubbed the tube of Ralgex painfully out of the back of the bathroom cabinet, it hadn’t got a lid on.  Now at the time I was in too much agony to care, and just casually slapped it on.  But with this new, and possibly horrifying news about the Vicks, I was forced to rethink my blasé attitudes and crept crablike into the bathroom where I had to crouch on my knees to get to the appropriate level of the Ralgex related shelf without having to turn my head.  I found that it had no sell by date on at all.  This was probably on the packet the tube came in, which I had thrown away in a carefree moment when I had been tidying up some time long, long ago.  This meant that I had no idea at all if the Ralgex was going to kill me. 

I lay in bed and worried about it for another hour, intermittently being burned by the hot water bottle which I was trying to manoeuvre between my ear and shoulder for the best possible pain relief.  By this time I stank of both Vicks and Ralgex.  I had hot water bottle burns all over one side of my neck and head.  My hair was looking like medusa’s dreadlocks where I had taken a more than casual approach to drying it, due to the fact that every time I touched my head with a towel it felt like someone was trying to rip my head off.  My pyjamas were as ever, held up by bits of baler twine, and I had rings under my eyes that made me look like I’d lost a nasty fight. 

I spent the next hour worrying about what Jason would say when he got home, and interspersed that with generalised worries about what would happen if we got burgled while he was out.  I felt that although I couldn’t possibly tackle the burglar to the ground in my current condition, and the smell would give me away before I even set foot on the stairs, my strange crab-foetal approach and wild eyed demeanour would probably be enough to frighten him away. 

Then there was the problem of the pillow.  When I first met him, Jason was the proud owner of a Tempur mattress.  For those of you who aren't blessed with encyclopaedic knowledge of the world of mattresses, these are the Rolls Royce of the mattress world and cost ten guineas an ounce.  They were apparently developed by Nasa, and are what the astronauts sleep on when they're zooming off to bring back some more drab bits of rock from alien worlds.

Jason suffers from a bad neck and shoulders (many years riding motorbikes and hunched over a PC, nothing too exciting) and our friend Peter, who is a wizard osteopath, suggested that he invest in a Tempur mattress to help him sleep better.  Now it is an investment, as it costs about as much as a small car and weighs about as much as a Volvo estate car.  Next to his BMW M3 (which has, much to his chagrin been replaced by a series of increasingly sensible family friendly cars and an ever dwindling sense of manhood and virility), it was Jason’s pride and joy, and certainly in the early days, if he were forced to choose between me and the mattress I’d have been stalking the inventor of the mattress with a view to revenging myself on him for my failed romance. 

We also have a strange Tempur pillow which Jason got as a free gift for being such a wonderful customer, and which for some reason I have inherited.  It is a very odd sort of flattened S shape and is supposed to be wonderful for dodgy necks etc. I dug it out the bottom of the wardrobe, using a bit of the slatted window blind that had fallen off, so that I didn’t have to crouch, swearing the whole time (I am turning into my own grandmother, and will soon start develop a fondness for Dick Van Dyke and deposit small bags of cat litter under my bed for no apparent reason). 

I spent a considerable time thereafter trying to figure out how to use the pillow effectively.  I tried it both ways up, fat part of the S first and then thin part of the S.  I tried it sideways and back to front.  Then I tried throwing it across the bedroom whilst swearing violently, and I have to say that I felt much better after that.  Perhaps I have found its true purpose after all. 

It took me until one o’clock to get to sleep.  Oscar started to stir as soon as I turned the light out, with the use of his preternaturally acute hearing for such matters as light switches and snoring parents.  He woke fully at precisely ten past one with a raging temperature which we did battle with until five thirty this morning when he and I passed out in an exhausted Calpol strewn heap. 

I should have known that this was going to happen.  He has been eating nothing but fruit for the last three days and hasn’t wanted to bite down on anything harder than a grape.  It’s usually a sign that he is either a) turning into a fruit bat or b) his gums are rumbling.  I was just in denial about the possibility of more days of childhood illnesses coming my way.  God, it’s depressing. 

As you can imagine, I was a little bit tetchy when I woke up this morning.  I had a billion things to do today, mainly because I’ve spent the weeks I should have been doing them looking after poorly children instead.  I felt that life had truly wrestled me to the ground and smashed me over the head with a particularly unattractive vase.  I hadn't even had time to pick the bits of plaster out of my hair before the day got hold of me.

 Tallulah announced at breakfast that she thought Oscar had 'angel delightis', which was why he was so poorly.  Tilly poured scorn on this theory because: 'You are an idiot Tallulah.  Angel Delight is a pudding and nobody is ill from a pudding.' (I declined to mention the Christmas she ate three helpings of pistachio kulfi when we went out with my friend Rita, and cried all the way home).  Tallulah said that she meant the thing where your tonsils hurt.  Tilly flicked her hair scornfully, pronounced: 'Toncilitis. Toncilitis. Toncilitis.' and left the room, superiority of older sister fully intact.  I quite like the idea of angel delightis though.  It forced me into buying a packet of Butterscotch Angel Delight when we went to the Co-op this afternoon, just for old time's sake.

My dad came over at lunch time because he rang me to see if I wanted anything from the farmer's market and the girls put in an order before I even got to the phone.  He is much more obedient to them, and turned up forty minutes later with crusty bread and sausage rolls bless him.  He's still making plans for his ginger pig and has now found the recipe on the internet, after mum bought Nigella's book and couldn't find the recipe in it.  You have been warned.

We commandeered dad to take us out to do our chores today as it was foggy and freezing.  He took us to the farm shop down the road to get some veg and bought some brussells for his christmas lunch.  Tilly looked at them and said: 'Grangrad?  Mum says that brussells smell and taste like old people's farts.  What do you think?'  He looked at me wearily and said: 'Well Tilly.  Your mother has always had a way with words.'

As it is Christmas they are advertising turkeys left right and centre at the farm shop.  When we were leaving we passed a field with a load of low level horse jumps in it.  Tilly said: 'Is that for the turkeys so that they can exercise?'  I bit my cheeks and said: 'yes', to which she said: 'It's so that they don't get so fat that they explode isn't it? Is that why you have to exercise too grangrad?'  The poor man!

Oscar has been poorly all day.  In between he is very cheerful, which is one of the good things about babies.  They don't know they're supposed to be miserable while they're ill and it makes life so much better for everyone.  He's a very cheerful boy, although he has no right to be and I am expecting a one a.m. wake up call anyway.

My shoulder and neck are regaining some mobility, which is why I am now talking to you instead of wincing about moaning like an old fart.  The world is gradually returning to as normal as it's ever likely to for us, and I have done my christmas cleaning, changed all the bedclothes and done the laundry.  I feel good about this, but that it heralds disaster, and we are likely to get hit by a tsunami, or a giant mudslide tomorrow, because surely things can't be allowed to go this right for this long?

I probably think this way cos as we grow up we notice certain changes. Kiddies play with kiddie toys, then they grow up a bit and their best friends tend to be mousse and pimple remover. After that (if you’re from Durban or Pietermaritzburg at any rate) comes the phase where you get a cheap car and soup it up with dark windows and loud speakers so you can annoy the neighbours with R&B music, then comes adult/parent hood with pretty much lasts until you die. 40 years of babysitting is a fscking long time. The toy train stage usually fits in between the kiddie stage and the pimple remover phases of life. It usually ends at that point I guess since it’s less easy impressing the girl of your dreams with a model train in your pocket. The humor of the situation is lost on teenage girls in my opinion. But life goes on, and so ends our flirtation with trains.

So when a 45 year old man still keeps a train set, fear is bound to set in. I picture a dark, moonless night. A stocky balding figure slowly stalks though a garden of very dry, very long grass in his warm furry overcoat. He reaches out one hairy palm and grabs the handle of his front door (it’s round, copper and a little worn out but overall in very good condition) and jiggles a key in the keyhole with another. The door opens with a softish creak and light from the lamp on the veranda creeps in the door, illuminating a dank passageway with old peeling wallpaper and crooked picture frames that haven’t been straightened in years. He shuts the door and everything is dark again. Slowly he takes a few steps to the right, his hand reaching against the wall, searching for the switch.

Flick. And the living room lights up. It’s dusty. Very dusty. No one’s sat on the sofas in years but the upholstery’s eaten away in several places. A mouse hole lies on the far side of the room and dead insect carcases are strewn in various places across the floor. There’s a fireplace on the far side of the room too with a mirror right above. The man looks up and sees his reflection. And stacked on the floor behind him: dolls. Hundreds of headless dolls. Big and small, old and new, dolls with frilly dresses and action figures with severed limbs. But the man’s not interested in the dolls for now. He walks to the centre of the room and squats cross legged in the middle of a very large miniature town, complete with city hall, a park, even a little school. There’s a few kids in the playground. Barbie and Ken are in the sandbox, and action man is making out with Tinky Winky behind the biology building. The Power Rangers are too cool to play with the other kids so they sit by themselves, happily smoking a joint with Tickle Me Elmo. The man sits and positions each toy perfectly, and then with an evil grin and a wickedly enjoyable shiver, he stretches a trembling hand across to the train station and flips a switch.

A loud hoot sounds from the kitchen and a few ornaments rattle in the room next door. The sound gets louder and a trinket falls off the display case in the hallway. It’s passing the dining room now, the hooting is getting louder and a drop of sweat hangs from the man’s nose in anticipation. This is the good part. He’s been waiting for this all day. It’s nearly time. “Yay, it’s time to go back to class” mouths the man, and slowly moves the inbred twins Barbie and Ken back to the school building. “Oops”, Barbie just dropped a book and Ken, being the strapping young man he is bends over to pick it up for her.

BAM!!!!!!!!!!! there goes Ken’s head flying across city hall right into mouse hole! “Hehehehe, train’s early today you pretty boy bastard” mutters the old man, and Ken gets tossed into the pile of headless dolls. “oh Ken my love, how will I ever live without you? NOOOOOO!!!!!!” cries Barbie and runs onto the tracks, determined to end her misery. Action Man springs out from behind a bush, a Tinky Winky smell on his breath. He dives to push Barbie off the track but just one second too late. “ARRRGGGGHHHHHHHH”. He looks down at the stubs that once were his legs. “Hehehehe”, and a tingly feeling sends shivers up the old man’s spine. Tinky Winky goes ape on Barbie. “YOU HOE!!! MY MAN BE DEAD COS OF YOU!!!!”. Seeing the trouble brewing, the stoned Power Rangers run across the tracks to help busty Barbie but in their dazed state meet a grizzly fate as the speeding train rips them all to shreds. Barbie escapes the vengeful grip of Tinky Winky and runs down the street hoping against hope for something, anything to save her. In the distance she hears a faint hooting. The train is in the kitchen again. It’ll be back soon. Drool drips down the the side of the old man’s mouth. It’s almost time, just a little bit longer, just a little bit!!!! Tinky Winky grabs Action Man’s rifle lying near the spot he was crushed and aims the cross hairs between Barbie’s bright blue eyes. The old man’s eyes widen, he’s breathing hard, his heart pounding. “BAM BAM” and Barbie falls to the floor, her golden flowing hair gracefully hitting the ground as the life slowly drains from her plastic body. There’s a twinkle in the old man’s eye. It’s not exactly like he planned, but it works all the same. He picks up Barbie, snaps off her head and banishes her to the doll heap. And mindlessly, Tinky Winky walks back to city hall, alone, without his action man lover to warm the long, lonely winter nights. The train is getting nearer. Tinky Winky sees the tracks and just stands on them quietly. It’ll be over soon. He looks up. Not long now. And an instant later, he joins his beloved action man, torn and broken. The old man giggles on the floor, the giggles becoming a cold menacing laugh, the laugh turning to an icy scream.

It’s been a good night. A very good night. Time for some tuna and then off to bed thinks the old man. He’s drenched in sweat now, dizzy from all the excitement. He manages to grab a snack and drag himself upstairs, then head off to sleep. It’s late, and it’s been a very long day.

Creak. Creak. He opens his eyes with a start. Anger flowing through this veins he throws off the covers and storms downstairs giving the clock just one fleeting glance. 3AM. He heads to the living room flips the switch and looks at the miniature city. There, at the Power Ranger playhouse is Tickle Me Elmo, alive, staring at the old man with those cutesy eyes and over-wide grin. “TONIGHT ELMO!!!! YOU GOT AWAY LAST NIGHT BUT TONIGHT YOU’RE MINE!! YOU’RE DEAD YOU HEAR ME???!!!??? DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”.

Fuming, the old man heads back off to bed. He needs to be well rested. It’s gonna be a big night tomorrow!

So anyways, that’s why I didn’t go into the hobby shop. And I think my reasons both speak for themselves and are also very justified. It’s unlikely my hobby, assuming I ever get one, will involve trains, planes or other automobiles. Stamp collecting bring to mind other interesting thoughts which I’ll be happy to share should anyone be interested, but that’s just boring I think so I doubt I’ll be headed that route either.

So as hobbies go I’m still pretty stuck. But I’ll keep looking. Any and all suggestions appreciated.

Even in death, Jerry Falwell (the outer of poor Tinky Winky) is making news. The community thought we were rid of him when the 73-year-old bigot died in May, but alas we were wrong.

This week breaking news surfaced about FBI reports citing death threats against reverend Falwell in the 1980’s. The confidential documents were obtained by the Washington Post under the Freedom of Information Act and included information about alleged assassination threats against Falwell.

According to the documents the 1983 assassination was going to be committed by “gays in Cincinnati,” how’s that for specific?! In response to these alleged threats on his life, FBI agents infiltrated the Cincinnati gay community through the use of a confidential informant the organization believed had specific knowledge of the gay and lesbian community in the Midwest. In an amusing debrief with FBI agents, the informant is quoted as saying “Source furnished a current copy of the Yellow Page, June, 1983, which is Cincinnati's gay newspaper. Circulation in the Cincinnati area is shown to be 2000 copies which is not believed exaggerated. Source stated that the Downtown vicinity of Cincinnati supports eight gay bars and one lesbian bar. Source restated the general dislike for Jerry Falwell within the Cincinnati area."

Excerpts from the actual files can be read here. A retrospective of Falwell's hateful bile can be read here.

--Sassafras Lowrey

W zabawie wzięło udział osiem drużyn reprezentujących różne środowiska działające w Toruniu, m.in. Amnesty International, Kampania Przeciw Homofobii, Koło Naukowe „Gender" UMK, Zieloni 2004 oraz sympatycy Przestrzeni Alternatywnej LaLucza. W imprezie wzięli także udział goszczący w mieście Holendrzy z bliźniaczego Toruniowi miasta Lejda, członkowie COC - najstarszej na świecie, powstałej w 1946 r. - organizacji broniącej praw gejów i lesbijek.

Zawodnicy stawali kolejno w turniejowe szranki, broniąc swych barw klubowych. Jedni popisywali się technicznymi zagraniami, inni nadrabiali braki w wyszkoleniu, zaangażowaniem. Niezależnie jednak od wywalczonego miejsca, wszyscy bawili się świetnie. Pierwsze miejsce zdobyła niezależna drużyna „Dzikie dziki" otrzymując w nagrodę czerwonego nadmuchiwanego teletubisia oraz butelkę kordiału z Lejdy. Drugie miejsce przypadło Kołu Naukowemu „Gender" UMK, którego przedstawiciele wrócili do domu z fioletowym Tinky-Winky. Na podium znalazła się także drużyna Zielonych zdobywając trzecie miejsce i zielonego teletubisia. Wszyscy uczestnicy otrzymali także dyplomy uczestnictwa i gratulacje. Turniej został rozegrany profesjonalnym systemem 2KO. Schemat rozgrywek załączamy poniżej.

„Zwyciezcy szli jak burza, literalnie zmiatając przeciwników z murawy, zaskakując subtelną taktyką, wysublimowaną grą psychologiczną i niespodziewanymi a zdecydowanymi posunięciami. Triumfatorzy odebrali zasłużone owacje" – komentował po zakończeniu turnieju jeden z organizatorów spotkania Przemysław Szczepłocki.

„Dzisiaj się bawimy, ale nienawiść i uprzedzenia to poważna sprawa" – mówi dr Agnieszka Szpak, koordynatorka KPH w Toruniu. „Nasze badania pokazują, że ponad 17% polskich gejów i lesbijek doświadcza przemocy fizycznej z powodu swojej orientacji seksualnej. 51% doświadcza przemocy psychicznej. To bardzo dużo ludzkiego cierpienia spowodowanego przez niewiedzę. Orientacja seksualna jest jak kolor oczu, jest po prostu cechą jakiejś osoby. Nie jest sama w sobie ani dobra ani zła. Nie można też jej „promować". W badaniu CBOS 83% Polaków stwierdziło, że nie zna żadnej osoby homoseksualnej – to dlatego nadal tak silne są uprzedzenia".

Uczestnicy byli zadowoleni z imprezy: „Sportowej rywalizacji towarzyszy dobry humor i dobra zabawa. To jest fantastyczny sposób integracji toruńskich aktywistek i aktywistów" - powiedziała Katarzyna Hejna, reprezentantka zespołu "Girl Football". Natomiast dr Marten Bergwerff w turnieju reprezentujący lejdejskie COC zadeklarował „Zorganizujemy coś takiego w naszym mieście, to dobry pomysł na zbliżenie do siebie ludzi o różnych poglądach".

Zwycięzcom gratulujemy nagród, a wszystkim uczestniczkom i uczestnikom sportowej postawy.
Do zobaczenia za rok.

Paweł S. & Szymon
KPH Toruń

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I applaud you for "outing" your Harry Potter character, Dumbledore. Admittedly, I've not read any of the Harry Potter books -- they're never in when I go looking for them at the library -- even though I know plenty of other adults read them just as much as the kids do. Your series is obviously immensely popular with younger generations. I think that Dumbledore's sexuality will go a long way in terms of promoting both magical and gay rights in this country.

My husband was a bit upset when he first heard about this, but then our daughter -- now a sophomore at Davidson, where she's taking a class on the Harry Potter stories -- was home to do laundry last weekend and started talking with him about the larger societal impact of the Harry Potter themes and how these books are a reflection of many of the frightening and confusing choices facing young people in today's increasingly uncertain world, and something about how ultimately your books will end up shaping domestic and foreign policy in the years to come.... That part was a bit over my head, plus I missed a large part of that discussion because the dog had yakked up pieces of dead squirrel in the living room and I had to go clean it up.

The Harry Potter series may be "over," but your characters' wisdom and lessons will live on forever.

Thank you,

Sandra Barnard

p.s. -- What does J.K. stand for? I know I should know this (and my daughter will think I'm a total dweeb for asking), but I don't.

p.p.s. -- Do you know Tinky Winky? I heard that he's (it's?) gay, too. What do you think about that?

My name is Caitlin. I am in Mrs. Thomas's fourth grade class at Bronson Elementary School. For social studies, my teacher said we had to write a letter to someone in the government. I know you are in the news a lot lately, so I picked you to write my letter to.

You are a Senator from Idaho. I do not live in Idaho. I live in California. But my grandma and grandpa live in Idaho, and they were at my house for a visit last week. I heard them talking about you. My grandpa says it is nobodys business what a man does in a bathroom, and that he likes what you did for the NRA. He has lots of guns at his house and likes to go out and shoot stuff, like deer and empty cans. My grandma says you are a good family man and that you are welcome at her dining room table any time. I thought you might like to know that.

They were also talking about whether or not you are gay. I don't get what the big deal is. My math teacher is gay, and so are some of my neighbors. My best friend, Roger, has two mothers and another kid in my class, Madison, has two Dads. Maybe everyone just needs to chill out and say a mantra or something.

I think it must be very hard to work in Washington, but very interesting, too. You get to meet people from all over the world and try to make things better for people. Is it fun when you get to vote on bills and things? Do you have assigned seats in the Senate and get to put your name on the desk? We have assigned seats in the classroom, and the top of the desk opens up so I can put my books and stuff inside.

I know you are not my senator, but my family talks about you a lot, so we are thinking of you here. I know you are working really hard, because you sure are on television and in the newspaper a lot.

Your friend in California,

Caitlin

p.s. If you are gay, do you know Tinky Winky?

You were my daughter's favorite Teletubby when she was little (about 10 years ago). She always looked forward to seeing your show, and insisted on dressing up as you for Halloween for two years in a row!

Lately, she's been having some problems. Just the other day, she got high from sniffing glue and stole her social studies teacher's car. When the cops caught up with her, she told them the Giant Baby Sun Face made her do it. I said to her, "Abby (her name is Abigail), you know that Tinky Winky and the Teletubby friends would never recommend that you commit such a crime." Then she spit on the floor. I said to her, "Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

That's when she started screaming Giant Baby Sun Face! Giant Baby Sun Face! They had to come in and restrain and sedate her, and place her in a solitary holding cell. She's now in a juvenille detention center, where she'll be until she turns 16.

Personally, I blame sex education in the classroom for my daughter's fall from grace. I just wanted to let you know that I do not hold you or the other Teletubbies personally responsible. I figure you've already got enough to deal with, with you being gay and everything.

No hard feelings,

Peg Pauley

Are you in heaven now? Did you meet God? Is Tinky Winky really gay?

Sarah

Oh, I'm a senator, and I'm NOT GAY,
I troll at night, and I work all day.

Chorus:
He's Republican, so he's NOT GAY,
He trolls at night, and he works all day.

I swipe my hand, I tap my foot,
In airport lavatories,
But gay? Not me! Just wide-stanced, please ignore the stories.

Police Dept. Undercover Cop Division:
He swipes his hand, he taps his foot,
In airport lavatories,
But gay? Not him! Just wide-stanced, please ignore the stories.

Chorus:
He's Republican, so he's NOT GAY,
He trolls at night, and he works all day.

I cruise men's rooms, I peek in stalls,
Very dark and noisy,
Let me stay in D.C., can't get laid in Boise.

Religious right:
He'll cruise men's rooms, he peeks in stalls,
Very dark and noisy,
Let him stay in D.C., can't get laid in Boise.

Chorus:
He's Republican, so he's NOT GAY,
He trolls at night, and he works all day.

Oh, I'm all male, and i vote down,
Pro-gay legislation,
To diss the guy who blew me, down in Union Station.

The Singing Senators:
Yes, he's all male, he voted down,
Pro-gay legislation...
And dissed the guy who blew him, down in Union Station!

Arresting Officer:
You ARE Republican and you ARE GAY
You're under arrest, so come this way!
You ARE Republican and you ARE GAY
You're under arrest, so come this way!

©mikk0 and nonnie9999

Send all correspondence to the Mighty Mikk0Mouse. This was all his idea!!!

Facciamo schifo, siamo ridicoli. Siamo al livello della Polonia, che però poi ha fatto retrofront.

Er mejo der Colosseo. Secondo i miei calcoli se viene denunciata una coppia omosessuale perchè si baciava davanti al Colosseo, allora tutte le coppie etero che si baciano su suolo pubblico andrebbero arrestate. Ma la pattuglia di carabinieri non aveva niente di meglio da fare alle 2 di notte? Così non fanno altro che arricchire il repertorio di barzellette su di loro.

GayTubbies. Il Teletubbies viola (notizia del 29-5-07), Tinky Winky, secondo il governo conservatore polacco istigava i bambini ad un atteggiamento omosessuale, perchè girava saltellando con una borsa. Come se i bambini maschi non giocassero mai con la borsa della mamma, rovistandola per scoprire cosa ci sia dentro, o non prendessero mai in mano una Barbie (che so io, una volta c'era quella) per curiosità o anche per sbaglio. Del resto la Polonia è anche quello stato in cui il ministro dell'Istruzione ha proposto una legge che "prevede il licenziamento degli insegnanti che promuovono uno stile di vita omosessuale".

Meno male che il papa guarda i Pokemon.

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