BloGar™

“I’m not going to pretend a faith I don’t feel,” she said.

“For people of faith I think the greatest compliment I could pay to them is to respect their genuinely held beliefs and not to engage in some pretence about mine.”

Julia Gillard has just won me over in one statement. Hallelujah. Someone who has the balls to call this shit for what it is…religion in politics should be banned. Anyone about to be given any power should have to go through a psychological evaluation that eliminates them based on belief in the fairies. Common sense.

Go Julia.

“I’m not happy with what has been going on,” Mr Berry said.

“It isn’t right to go around topless in front of kids.”
—-From this Artice—–

I am absolutely baffled and sickened by this – that anybody could be so maladjusted and evil to think there is anything wrong with being topless in front of kids. Do people realise just how fucking ridiculous being offended at nudity is? It takes a special kind of retard to see the human body – the body we all share – as something that could ever be offending. Words fail me in the levels of stupidity required to find offense in our natural form. How corrupt does someone need to be to think that way?

Big. Small. Tight. Loose. Tall. Short. We need to get rid of this sort of thinking and call out the idiots who would warp nature to such a level.

Go topless? Go fucking bottomless too.

What’s great about being human?

and this one which has an AWESOME dude in red speedos…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPypWdiC06c

Race one done. It only took me two years to get there and that makes me wonder…is that me or was it really the events that got in the way? I bought the comp level bike. I was fit and mentally solid. I was flexible and I was excited. I literally felt bulletproof.

Then, not to focus on the past, shit went pear shaped. My left calf literally went pear shaped. Months of fairly extreme levels of pain ate away at my fitness, and worse, ate away at my attitude. An insidious thing happens with long term pain…you eventually run out of magic. It pushes you past the bit where you’re kept going by the thoughts that it will eventually be gone. Six months in, when you’re pacing at 4am because you’re not able to sleep, you start hearing a little voice that says “what if it doesn’t go away”… and that voice gets louder until you give in to it – it literally beats you. Is this in my head?

And then the pain recedes but some sort of attitude inertia takes place so that the cause of the shitty frame of mind has vanished but you’re left with a mental hangover. The bulletproof feeling is gone. Not only can you get injured (which is fine and happens all the time) but you can get injured so that it really costs you. I can do pain for a few days or a week. I don’t mind walking funny or not being able to use something temporarily. It turns out that I’m not sooooo good when it spans months (or almost a year).

So here I am again, on the wax. I’ve a lot of work to do to get back to where I was and to really feel strong. And this time around I’m not doing it to prove anything. It’s slow and that’s fine (convincing myself here). The race on Sunday took me 4 hours and 27 minutes – nothing to be too proud of though in large part due to my frustration with fucking map reading (that’s not sport). In fact, it seems to me that map reading in an event is not unlike getting all horned up only to have to go in search of a condom. It sort of breaks the rhythm and the mood.

Whatever – overall it was a good experience. The location was stunning. A drive through a misty morning through the valleys of the Hills Shire led to the event and an abundance of both kangaroos and people in lycra. The race itself was as you’d expect. A bit of canoeing, a few hours mountain biking (none of it technical) and an hour of trail running (again fairly easy going). Lots of startled kangaroos along the way and lots of friendly faces all with a look of “aren’t we humans a bit mental” (particularly watching a guy with a torn labrum canoeing into a crazy strong headwind in a 3-man canoe). All in all it was good fun but not too competitive. So I put in a half marathon out of guilt yesterday and that felt GOOOOOD!!!

So it’s a bit of a road ahead to get some speed again and to build up my legs and body. But I really look forward to it, which makes me endlessly happy.

And fuck Justin Bieber.

Unbe-fucking-lievable…

I’ve been thinking about love lately. Before I kick off let me clarify: I’m not reading slush books stretched out on a floppy sofa, eating chocolate and drinking red wine. Rather it’s been on my mind in the objective sense. (Aside: I’ve just had a very nice English man come over to tell me that I’d left my laptop case behind. Not that there is anything important in it…other than my passport, wallet, Blackberry and money. Lucky this is Changi and not Manila.)

Anyways, back to the topic at hand and a couple of the things I’ve been mulling over. First up, the idea that somehow “love at first sight” should be on any sort of pedestal. I get the excitement factor given that, like most people, I’ve looked at someone for the first time and just known that I’d be spending significant time with them, or in some cases a shorter but more vigorous time in them. Either ways is great I’m sure you’d agree (I wonder who “you” is….)

But I’ve never had “love” at first sight. Like I said, I’ve certainly had “I really want to put my peeny weeny in your teeny tiny vaginey” at first sight but that’s just your basic garden variety lust. Nothing too special there. Which is why I may be missing something when it comes to the idea. You see, to me, love that occurs after knowing someone for a time should be seen as incredibly romantic and special. Anyone can unknowingly sniff a chemical given off by the opposite sex and be quickly fooled into thinking that the feelings they feel are anything more than that ancient evolutionary dance to keep our species in a position where they can watch TV and believe in the fairies. It takes so much more of our spirits to look at someone when that stuff has worn off (or never happened?) and still feel a strong attraction or connection. Apparently it takes 18 months for the chemical part of attraction to wear off as nature presumably assumes by then that the baby is born and is past the most dangerous part of its infancy. It’s then that you realise she’s a shallow fucking muppet, or that he’s not edgy but just another insecure cock.

So then, surely as an evolved species, the love we should be putting on a pedestal is the one where Bob and Mary, after 5 years as nothing more than co-workers at the post office, look at each other one Friday morning and know something is different. With stories swapped and a slowly built up trust, they realise there is a whole lot more than stamp-licking between them. Boooooyooyooooinnnnggg. That to me is supremely beautiful. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with instant and strong attraction, or love if that’s your bag. I’m just saying that maybe that shit is too easy.

Unfortunately, beauty and excitement are easily confused. It’s the difference in euphoria felt because you’re into your third pill compared to the deep happiness in the last third of a long run. They both come from chemical shenanigans but one takes work and one takes nothing more than $50 by three. (Do you fuck a whore, or do you work at seduction?)

The media is bursting with promises of “the one”. Meet-cutes happen every episode and the movie world is full of lovers bouncing around like grains a la Brownian motion just waiting to bump into the right other grain. The arcs of modern movies are predictable as are the moments of realisation. “Holey fuckin assclowns! It’s been YOU all along. I just NOW realised that I’m totally in love with you. I’d never seen you without your glasses before.” How fucking retarded would you have to be to not realise something like that? Or more to the point, how absolutely self-absorbed would you need to be…answers on a postcard. Again, a tangent off the point…it’s just my way.

It’s bullshit (or that’s my stance right now – I’m going through a cold phase). It seems we’ve been fed a line of crap about what we’re supposed to feel. Like everything these days, we’re missing the beauty of the reality while we’re yearning for something that a writer has put together so we can escape for 90 minutes with some buttered popcorn.

Sorry folks (though only the be-boobed ones will need a “sorry”) but Twilight is bollox. It’s just one example from the stream of puerile shit designed to appeal to women’s need for emotional heroin that feels good but isn’t good for you. And all apologies to the ridiculous amount of women the world over who buy into the fucking irritatingly self-absorbed shitola that is that movie franchise (not that they’ll ever read this). I’m not saying your kids are ugly. I’m just saying that if you find that nonsense romantic then good luck ever being happy. Just like God, there ain’t no vampires. And there is nothing beautiful about the wankology of “the love you can’t have” expressed via the medium of werewolves, vampires and Ewoks (not sure if the Ewoks made it into Twilight but I hope so). I know it’s just a story but I’m annoyed with:

• how shite “Twilight” was as a movie
• the emo-eque self-absorbed horseshit content
• how insulting it must be to anyone who’s ever really loved someone they couldn’t be with (interned men at war, economic migrants forced to leave wives and children, women who lose men to cancer)
• the fact that no woman is ever going to find me as attractive as Robert Patterson

Though some movies do get it. They get that real love is admirable and beautiful and everything good about us as a species. It’s the love of a man who shows up every day for the wife who only remembers him for fleeting flashes. The man who said the words “we’ve already been here”. The man who goes to Montauk instead of work. (Three of my favourite movies.)

OK, the coffee has run out and I feel like wandering before boarding so I’ll end yet another intransigent post – half finished but fuck it. Tomorrow I’ll have done a complete 360 (someone said that to me once and it still gives me a giggle) and be back writing wanky “words”…

Oh and fuck Justin Bieber.

“Five people were killed in the country in 2006 during violent demonstrations following publication of Muhammad cartoons in a Danish newspaper. ” or “When my religion is insulted, it is me who is insulted.” (hint: NO it’s not)