Some time before I've complained about my PE experiences throughout my educational history. Today I decided I need to have *some* knowledge about sports and watched women's football (Finland vs. Denmark; go Finland!!!).
Anyway, I found it very interesting and it left me wondering what exactly happened during football classes at school? I guess it was the clicking; people had their groups of friends and then the sporty girls formed their own group. Since I showed no interest nor skill in other PE classes, I was always the last one in line, watching others get picked to the teams. The look on the captain's face was often very similar to mine: trust me, it isn't much fun being the last one standing in line and knowing perfectly well you don't want me in your team. Doesn't exactly make me feel too happy about being in your team either.
And because of this, among other things, I never found out football can be fun and interesting. Now it's a bit too late. Thank you so fucking much for that one.
I finally managed to update my reading blog. In the process it changed its name (I noticed there was another Kirjan viemää) and its appearance which is very likely to change later on again depending on my mood. Right now I grew so sick of the brown flower tapestry background; green's a lot better.
Now I can continue with the actual thing: reading. About one week left of my vacation before next term begins; 35 books read, two books left to reach my last summer's total.
On eräs joukko, joka odottaa kuollakseen maailmanloppua ja Jeesuksen comeback-kiertuetta (sekä tekee kaikkensa ensimmäistä edistääkseen, kuten hokea ettei ilmastonmuutosta ole). Kun planeetan kerma on "tempaistu" taivaaseen, tempaistuilla on ongelma: eläimillä ei ole sielua, joten ne jäävät maanpäälliseen helvettiin. Kuka katsoo Turren perään?
Vain 110 dollaria ja varmaa tempaisua odottava voi rauhoittua. Sopimus on voimassa jopa kymmenen vuotta. Tosin, jos tempaisua ei kymmenessä vuodessa tapahdu, paha materialistinen ateisti saa kylmää käteistä ilman vastetta. Ei paha!
First things first: woke up at 7.14 this *morning*. Success (for the time being at least)!
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Four years ago -before the Final Dyke Revelation- I answered a questionnaire from the University of Tampere concerning HPV (Human Papilloma Virus). This summer I got a follow-up on the same matter. This time I answered the questionnaire from the point of view of a hardcore dyke. It wasn't pretty.
Seriously, if I knew nothing about HPV than what they told in the questionnaire introduction and what was conveyed through the questions, one would think HPV is something women can only get form a man in sexual intercourse. Of course it isn't true, I've read an entire book dedicated to HPV and it most certainly is transmittable through other channels as well. Hell, you can get it without having sex at all with anyone: the virus can be transmitted via touch and it may then transmute itself into the genital strain of HPV! Not the most common way to get HPV but possible and not only theoretically but practically! Not to mention the idea another woman couldn't infect me with it during lesbian sex!
An asexual dyke knows more about an STD than the professionals studying it; just exactly how sad is that?! If this is what the Finlad's finest on that department can do.. well, time may go on but the human knowledge clearly does not!
Still awake. Went to the campus seashore to read and brought terror on my fellow human beings. The sun was shining (which means I probably burned... we'll see tomorrow) and to cool down rolled up my trouser sleeves and showed off my lovely really pale hairy legs. Seriously, if I burn it was worth it! The looks... hilarious! It was so funny; most people going by, especially women, all watched my legs but turned their heads the second I lifted my gaze from the book. Very much worth it; it's good to shake the conventions a little every now and then. ;)
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Okay, no Balance today. I can barely sit up and down. Aching muscels and sunburns... I can't wait to wake up tomorrow...
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19:50 - Still awake though barely. Ten more minutes. Maybe I'll watch House to take my mind off tiredness.
I like the new BodyPump choreography a lot. The music isn't that bad either (though it's pretty difficult to top BC41 on that department...). And.. I cannot believe I'm saying this.. the abs song is perfect (not the song, Britney, that much but the choreography), it ends way too fast! Back is a bit different from the usual, good. All in all, that's what I say is a good programme. I'm even willing to live with the recycling of songs (one is from a BodyCombat programme about a year back). Bene.
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Trying to switch my sleeping rhythm back to normal (= sleeping takes place approximately during the night). So be warned: this means LOTS of caffeine and LOTS of blog entries when I'm home. I just fixed a book (if there's anyone from Terra Cognita reading this, or someone knows them, change your binder; your books start unravelling after a few years) and got ready to go to the library; let's hope I won't fall asleep there. I also suspect I have to go to the gym for the second time today if I feel sleepy.. well, provided my legs carry later, that is, the thigh song's a bit tough on them on Pump.
About time. And now I can do the usual autumn routines again: fooling myself into believing it'll be different this time, better, everything. That now I have motivation to do things, to start a new hobby I've thought for years, or gain my ideal weight goal, become Xena. I think my success rate will be the same as every year but it's still a nice feeling and I want to cling to it, even if it is self-deceit.
At least I'm not forcing anyone else to believe me.
Splenetic
Just watched 'Isä meidän' documentary about an alcoholic father on FST. Difficult to watch when I kept reflecting everything on my childhood, noticing how similar it was and what it could have been if he'd still be alive.
In Lukupiiri there is an interesting discussion going on about people's relationships with authors. So many of them have a great variety of relationships for even a greater variety of reasons. Reading about their experiences made me think about my own relationships with certain authors.
Toni Morrison, Margaret Atwood, Simone de Beauvoir and Minna Canth are my literary mothers. They tell me honestly about the important things from the point of vies I can fully understand. They teach me things about life. Even if their writings left me sad, they do so with a power that is fuelled by anger for injustice.
Carl Sagan, J.K. Rowling, H.D. Thoreau and Richard Dawkins are the stereotypical guiding fathers. They teach me more about life and do so with a spark in their eyes, making me sometimes see a glimpse of hope in the darkest of hours when I myself see none.
Neil Gaiman is a relatively new discovery but it feels as if I had known him always. When I read anything by him I know that it'll make me feel good, in the end. I cannot tell how important it is to have this in my life.
For honesty I go to Anna-Leena Härkönen. She doesn't shy away from the unconvenient truths but say things as they are and uses their real names. Also, she's not afraid to put herself in the text, to go for it with all her might. She reveals personal things and isn't ashamed.
My literary sister is Virginie Despentes. I don't agree with her about everything but it doesn't really matter. Her writing hurts because it come too close. It hurts but I keep reading because I know the pain is good for me.
Charles Dickens is the respectful and scary grandfather. He looms in the background and reminds of himself constantly; I read his books but even though I can appreciate them I find it difficult to connect with the text.
There are some classics I read although I don't particularly much like them or downright dislike them. Despite of this I read them because they are classics, such as Italo Calvino, Ernest Hemingway and the like.
Some I know I should be thrilled about but can't seem to find something to create a connection to. I know on the intellectual level that I should hold these high but even when the subjects are important to me, I can't make an emotional connection to them: Virginia Woolf, Sarah Waters, Nawal el Sa'dawi, Tove Jansson, Sofi Oksanen. I guess my life isn't what the books require at the moment, maybe I need to grow older. Perhaps I read them at the wrong time in a wrong state of mind. Who knows?
Then there are the one night stands. The authors whose one specific book I loved but whose other books have been disappointments or neutral or truly appaling waste of paper. This category of friend-or-foes includes Lionel Shriver and Ray Bradbury, to name a couple.
