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Weaselly Haunts
Other fingies
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We're all going to die...
...in 2012.
I recently (an hour ago) read that the ancient and perfectly calculated Mayan / Aztec calendar finished in the year 2012.
Not 'tear off the puppy picture for March' finished, but finished, go home, goodnight.
In a civilisation where chocolate was strong and cocaine was legal, the end of the world might not look so bad; but the Aztecs weren't the only ones who thought we'd be fucked in about... seven years:
According to Richard C. Duncan, author of "The Peak of World Oil Production and the Road To The Olduvai Gorge", the 'Olduvai cliff' will begin and permanent blackouts will occur worldwide.
Note the use of the word 'permanent'.
Terence McKenna's 'Novelty Theory' claims that 'time is a fractal wave of increasing novelty' that ends abruptly in 2012.
I don't know what the buggery he means by fractal waves of novelty, but I did hear 'time-ends-abruptly-2012'. Eep.
December 21 - End of the great cycle of the Maya calendar's Long Count and a 26,000 year planetary cycle in the Aztec calendar, and thus the end of this Baktun.
Whassa Baktun? Who knows. Is it good for it to finish? Probably not.
According to the 1997 book 'The Bible Code' a meteor, asteroid or comet will collide with the Earth. Some believe this means the world will end. This event was supposedly prophesized by John the Evangelist as Wormwood in the Book of Revelation.
Clearly the message here is 'destroy all absinthe before it's too late'.
The only ones who seem to think we can survive the year are the Buddha's buddies:
Tibetan Monks specialising in remote viewing predict that divine extra-terrestrials will intervene when the world's governments are about to deploy weapons of mass destruction. The Tibetan Monks say that the world is not ready to be destroyed and that our Earth is blessed and being saved continuously from all kinds of hazards that Mankind is not even aware of.
The 'Prophecy of the Popes', attributed to Saint Malachy, speculated that Pope Benedict XVI would reign during the beginning of the tribulation which Jesus spoke of, and sometime later a future pope described in the prophecy as "Peter the Roman", the last in this prophetic list, would appear, bringing as a result the destruction of the city of Rome and the Last Judgement.
Charismatic Korean religious leader Sun Myung Moon is talking extensively about the End of Restoration in 2012, and beginning of a New Sinless Time for Mankind.
Yay? Or is a 'sinless time for mankind' really as dull as it sounds?
Some postulate that a Galactic SuperWave (A galactic superwave is a large quantity of gamma rays which are released at regular intervals from a Pulsar) will strike the Earth around 2012, as discussed by Dr. Paul LaViolette.
Oh dear.
Okay, kids, you've got 7 years to write your book, travel the world, meet your soulmate, be nice to your family, choose a belief system - and in the case of a few - lose your virginity.
(note: and we still can't get out of hosting the Olympics. Never rains but it pours, eh?)
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Refill your fluffometer here
Remember this little snot-encrusted abandoned three-week-old kitten lump that we scraped away from certain death last september?
Three days without food, two without water, left outside in cold temperatures alone except for a billion squillion fleas and with a big sod-off-and-die does of cat flu; a kitten whose eyes were so gunked up that it was a week before she could open them properly.
This is the cat that lived.
Now with the magic of modern technology you can almost see her grow before your very eyes...
Almost 4 weeks old, and getting healthier - thanks to a lot of vet trips. Still the size of a kidney bean.
transport a la pocket. And now with her eyes winched half open, she can actually see where she's going.
4 and a bit weeks.
Dog, meet new cat
6 weeks, evil bat kitty or 'vampire cat'
7 weeks old. Manic.
10 weeks old, eats telephones. And ankles.
12 weeks old, learns 'the art of sneaking'. Ambushes from plants
and bowls
and bags full of wrapping paper... (16 weeks old)
present day, almost 5 months old and with an unhealthy obsession for sinks. And showers. And the bath. But most of all - the bidet.
Evil White Cat tolerating Evil Black Kitty for 3 whole minutes before blood-curdling-yowls-of-death-and-brutality-toward-dogs™ commences.
Always knew the easel would be good for something.
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Proof that I've still got 'it' baby
'It' being the mysterious ability to attract old mingy men despite my demure attire and scowly face.
The other day, whilst at dinner in our local, a chap who rather looked like this:
ran after me to give me this:
Although I was tempted to contact him 'Just to talk' I managed to resist the urge, somehow..
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Not Auld Lang's Syne..
As we entered the strangely decorated, brightly lit, and charcoal-smoke-filled basement my eyes were assaulted by the unending vista of wrinkled skin. I was stood in the cataracted wine-hazed gaze of two dozen drunken oldies and I realised there was something terribly wrong. It was Children of the Corn in reverse; there was no-one under 50. Except me. Too late to back out, to ask for a refund or run back upstairs gasping for fresh air and the sight of someone still in possession of hormones. The door closed behind us and we were enveloped with cries of 'There you are, at last! Haha!' With a smile not unlike the fixed grin on a skull I was led around the room in the fearsome pinch of the hostess to dutifully perform the kissy-cheek traditional with all present. Bravely I ignored the over-eagerness of some of the older gentlemen who strained impatiently as I greeted the old dear beside them, and who then licked their lips with a grin before planting them on my shrinking cheek. I counted my blessings that this was indeed a New Year's 'party' and not a celebration for Halloween or Midsummer, for surely then I would have been robed in white and gutted me like the chicken I was. A mis-timed glance caught one of the older ladies spitting out some semi-chewed meat that her false teeth couldn't deal with, and then one half of the false teeth as a bonus. I hurriedly turned to look at something -anything- else, and came face to nipple with a sixty-year old man with particularly large breasts and a unkindly tight (and partially transparent) top. With my bilious and ready-to-mutiny stomach hovering dangerously near my throat, I brightly turned to the hostess. 'Where's the wine?' After the greetings were accomplished I was ordered in no uncertain terms that I must eat. I must eat.
'Have you got a plate yet? Why not? ..Get her a plate, no a bigger one than that. ..Has she eaten yet? She hasn't eaten? ..Weasel, eat something!'
'Hahaa, noooo. I have wine and ooh, okay look! I'm eating a very thin slice of this cake that I really hope wasn't made two months ago. Mmmmmmmmm, yum!'
At this point my grandmother sidled up to me and whispered in a hiss loud enough to carry right across the room: 'Make sure you eat more than that, we paid for it!' She gestured her head unsubtlely in the direction of a plate piled with 'meat' - though from what animal I never did find out. Maybe that's what happened to the other young people. The musical choice for the evening was Portuguese Village-Hall Hits From before 1950's On Accordion, brass instruments and Marching Drum (I wish I was joking) interspersed with a few Mexican Waltzes circa 1930 and some surprisingly chipper Brazilian songs about Farm Produce. I never thought I'd be almost glad to hear Chubby Checker's 'Let's Twist Again'. To this pom-pom-pomming medley from hell everyone 'danced' - and with gusto. Sipping as though it were antidote to something awful, I clasped a glass of wine / more wine / port / champagne -yes please, I'll have a bit more / wine again / more port, yes thank you - oh this is brandy? It's very nice /
And tried and ultimately failed to get even slightly drunk. It was then, with sober awe, disbelief and a strange mixture of admiration and growing horror that I watched them dancing. And what dancing it was.
If any of them had ever heard of the 'Hokey Cokey' then they would have realised that was exactly what they spent most of the evening doing. In between their (subconscious) Hokeying, they frog marched tirelessly in circles, elbows describing sharp little orbits around them, occasionally punctuated with an air punch and 'whoop'. Things reached fever pitch when the 'Anthem of Fishville' came on (more rustic brassy pom-pommery from many, many years ago) and was received with rapturuous cries. Everyone (except me and the really really old people) took to the dancefloor to march in even zestier little circles as though trying to raise the ghost of Adolph himself. But for this sacred song mere stomping was clearly not enough, so items (jugs of water, baskets of bread, the Christmas tree) were grabbed to balance on the head or be waved above it.
I've seen scenes like this before, but only in black and white films about Frankenstein. It's the part where everyone storms the castle, involves pitchforks. And then the music was better.
After three glorious re-spinnings of that same record, it was mercifully retired in favour of something 'less exciting'. At last I was able to detach myself without causing social offence and flee gratefully for terra firma, vowing fervently never, ever to do the 'friends of family' New Year again. Then granny says she had the best New Year ever and oh, what fun it was, and what a difference to have her family there, and OH how she can't wait til next year...
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feeling listish
red silk roses, one bunch of
tape measure in orange case
one jewelled dagger, sheathed, from the Jordan
cat cup, with tea, going cold
tiger balm, one jar of
aladdin's lamp, replica of,
white butterly made of feathers, slightly chewed
green bowl with plaster of paris, going hard,
paintbrushes, 5 jars of
art book, with some notes in margins,
furniture polish, one can of, 'spring scented'
pink lip balm, rose-flavoured,
indigo glass beads, one box of,
Tibetan deity of unknown name, one brass statue of (on loan),
plate with crumbs of pineapple cake,
wooden lay figure, bit dusty,
glass ink stand, victorian,
glitter glue, assorted colours
palette knife with paint stains,
keys to house, one set of,
ball of hairy wool, one, brown,
These are just a (very) few of the articles presently on my table as the big studio sort out for the new year commences. I feel the need to take inventory in the likely event I don't see any of these objects again for the next few weeks.
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Busy weasel
Oh the fun of chaps in costume..
Sean Bean - Richard Sharpe
Johnny Depp - Edward Scissorhands
Gary Oldman - Bram Stoker's Dracula
Karl Urban - Éomer, Lord of the Rings
Gerard Butler - (as yet unreleased) Beowulf
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