Wednesday, 11 May 2011

Hammer Smash Enemy

::: Just in case it isn't clear what is going on in the post below, and why :::

The details of my situation are complicated and I won't go into them (ask me sometime, if you like). But the evidence for my conviction is strong. 

What can I say in short? Mobile phone liked me immediately because it found that I was one of those who is just a bit more susceptible than others to the high-risk factor of developing brain cancer from bullshit portable microwave ovens. Love at first sight. Isn't that sweet? So sweet it could make you vomit?

Now, I promised myself years ago that I would point out to people the dangers of wireless devices whenever an appropriate opportunity presented itself, including to my friends, and then after mentioning it I would not continue to drone on and preach about it. That simply wouldn't be fair, as these devices are so commonplace in nearly everybody's daily life that it's practically illegal to not own one. That, and it's tedious, it's boring, and no one wants to know, and obviously not everybody in the world is going to develop a brain tumour because they have a mobile phone (even though the chances of it happening sky-rocket as soon as you pick one of those things up). 

And yet I can't help shaking my head, or growling, or gritting my teeth, or making my little insinuations - as I have done throughout this blog, and in my little campaign, and every time I tell someone that I have a brain tumour. It is difficult enough to try to spit on my own head at the enemy within, but it is actually harder to let go of my resentment for the object I know played such a massive role. Perhaps I feel that I need something tangible to function as scapegoat? It certainly helps to be able to point a finger and retain hatred for a thing, and being angry is quite thrilling, really. But this is too simplistic, and the role of the thing in this whole scenario is far too prominent to let it pass by unnoticed. Brain turd, greatest enemy, you were born of a storm started by an object that interfered with my corporeal electricity.

So let's consider this post, right now, to be the official moment of a full declaration of hatred of the device that did this to me. That device, and its networks which are not being researched extensively and urgently enough to "prove" the risk factors to a logical-positivist public. The telecommunications industry is one of the most profitable in the world. As we know very well, there is nothing - including human lives - that will stop the capitalist appetite. Which company is going to actively encourage research that will damage its profits? Et cetera. My advice: quit wireless. (They should put that on the NHS). Cigarette, anyone?

That said, I'll now retreat to my low-level criticisms again. Who am I anyway? Cassandra? 

Enjoy the smash-up. I wasn't able to have it on video, unfortunately. That would have been slightly more exciting, although admittedly, for the sake of keeping pieces close by for the lovely stills, and for the sake of preventing shrapnel from flying around and endangering the cats' feet, I attacked the things inside a plastic bag. The original New Year's Eve smashing of several years ago was out on a road, covered in ice and snow, at midnight, and involved flying sparks and a lot more melodrama. What is in the photos below is a rather nice, tidy presentation. Well, whatever. Pretty pretty.

Bad News

Well, it hasn't been the greatest day, and I'm sorry to have to share this information, but it's pretty important and it's going to affect all of us, as of now. It's not the easiest thing for me to say, but I have to do it.

I have found a brain blob fighter girl who is vastly superior to me in terms of both blog and warrior strength. 

Samantha Kittle, of Chicago. She's having a harder time than I am, but with way more style, and not for the express purposes of committing emotional blackmail on her friends and family like I am. She's far more respectable and way more cool. I'm just a hermit and beat myself up for not being able to manage my skoolwerk, rather than enjoying the fact that I am alive.

I encourage you all to go and investigate - she's really quite amazing. But don't leave me, just don't leave me. I'll turn a blind eye to your little infidelities as long as you promise to stay with me. And give me your money (ha) because I start to fade a little after the 6km point, which is a bit lame considering the 10km run is two months away. But come on, make Brain Tumour UK feel like something is being accomplished, and make me feel like a Firework, because Katy Perry says I am, although when I'm tired and bored at 6km, I stop believing her.

Monday, 9 May 2011

Smashed on My Birthday

It was my birthday a few days ago. It took a little extra time to get this post sorted out. But now it's here. Let's pretend it's still my birthday.

Today it is sunny and there are things growing in my garden. This pleases me.

In celebration of this, and in acknowledgment of today being my Special Day since the first time I took a breath of air on the planet, I have prepared a simulation of New Year's Eve 2007/8. The items in question were found discarded on a night bus somewhere in south London. Now they prepare to meet their end.

This time I am taking the precaution of removing the batteries first, which when smashed will leak in the garden, and I don't feel good about that. I don't actually have soil in my garden (it's very sloppily paved from its ex-car park days), and the flowers and radishes and carrots and beetroot and potatoes in the immediate vicinity are in containers, but I have to consider the quadrupeds. Or, cats, as some people call them. 

This is not to say that removing these batteries from my plan of wreckage means I will "responsibly dispose of" them ("recycle", yes, "recycle") in their unadulterated state, passively allowing them to be shipped off to China to poison humans and animals over there. And to disobey labeling and just toss them straight in the bin means they'll go to a bit of land or a section of the nearby off-shore irradiated liquid that some people call the sea. So it's not a clear-cut NIMBY situation: we will all be drinking the acid from these batteries, just like we drink it from billions of other batteries all the time. I just don't want my quadrupeds or green growths to be in immediate danger of concentrated poison in the garden. In the components of a mobile telephone, the radiation emissions during operation simply don't compare with the INSTANT DEATH of ingesting battery acid.

Not that there aren't benefits to INSTANT DEATH. I am tempted to just go ahead and smash the batteries and let them leak all over in the name of exterminating squirrels, aphids, and a small selection of fungi and parasitic infections that prey upon my plants. It is not entirely confirmed whether it is the quadrupeds or the squirrels that are responsible for digging up seedlings and bulbs. (NB: squirrels not included in the category "quadruped". They are evil. I care not for the number of legs they have. 'Twould be better if they had none at all). There is indisputable evidence that the cats have had their way with some of the larger containers where the greenery is barely established. They have been caught in the act. But there is also evidence of squirrel misdemeanors, mostly in the form of bulb theft or nut relocation. They are returning for their winter booty - although during my very thorough digging and re-shuffling of dirt for planting I only found two nuts. And I put them aside for retrieval. Who's been trodding on my land, then? 

Perhaps cats and squirrels are conspiring together? Just when I thought they were enemies, they rise against me.

But look, I'm not withholding squirrel food. They have little stashes spread out in all the gardens. And the cats are fed to bursting, plus they have free reign over birds and mice outside. Somebody here is taking the/a piss. Or the squirrels are just too stupid to realize that it doesn't matter how many times they dig their little holes in the same pot for a non-existent nut - it isn't going to suddenly materialize. The cats, on the other hand, know when they're in trouble for something, and they know what is not permitted. And they also - unlike most cats - stay out of pots, especially when something is growing in them and the soil is wet. They find the sensation on their paws to be rather icky. So it is possible to gauge - based on soil consistency and moisture, size of holes (or lack thereof), and which container is under attack - who the culprit was. And it's turning out to be squirrels more often than les chats.

My rage is usually with aphids. I have to crush them all individually and occasionally spray them with garlic and dish soap, which is a lot of work. Snails and slugs? They now have a designated weed-filled resort area that keeps us all happy. Plant diseases are deeply upsetting - sometimes there just isn't a remedy, even if I were a hard-chemicals-gardener. BUT. I have never harboured ill-will towards a squirrel until about 3 weeks ago. I have ceased to be amused by their fat butts and stupid twitchy tails. And so I consider carefully, and seriously: should I put squirrels and INSTANT DEATH together? Here they are together in this sentence. Shall I put this poetry in motion?

No, no, no. How could I. I suppose the squirrels are alright. I'll crush an aphid but I cannot touch the squirrels.

Because I might get rabies.

Anyway, let's get back to what I came here to do. I made the decision to remove Lithium-ion battery from said device. Here we go now, time to smash it up:

For those of you in the market for a new phone, your choice might benefit from the fact that the Samsung phone took longer to break than the Nokia. Such durability.

Tuesday, 3 May 2011

Brain Coral

Faviidae from the Indo-West Pacific and Read Sea. Deepest thanks to all who have brought me up to 54% of my fundraising goal, both at the donation site, and by paper method.

Apparently you can buy these and keep them in an aquarium. But at your peril. I suspect they wouldn't like a simulated environment, like most other living creatures don't. It's not a matter of Do they have consciousness or Do they have emotions or Can they feel pain. They are brains. 
Not to be messed with.

Messing with the Wrong Broad in 1962

Highly recommended. Watch it here.