Last night I cricked my neck in response to an attacking crane fly; you could say I was craning my neck. It was more like a twist though, but it would be fitting to refer to it as craning. Perhaps that is how it got its name. However, it also commonly goes by the name Daddy Long Legs. Now, I think we all understand the Long Legs part, but Daddy? How could this possibly have come about?
Was an orphan scholar woken in the night by a flickering at his oil lamp, and on seeing a creature unfamiliar to him, which on closer inspection was surely a common fly but a fly granted the power of spaghetti legs, he called out uncertainly to it, “Father?”
It seems somewhat diminutive to refer to the daddy long legs as a fly. I’ve always considered it a winged spider, which is perhaps why I always regard it as more of a threat. I don’t like spiders as it is, so the idea of giving a creepy crawly aviation is monstrous.
The naming can give a creature more power. Think of the dragonfly for example. How proud must it be to have ‘dragon’ in its name? They are probably the most boastful of flies, but their arrogance is ill founded. They are not nearly as impressive as their name suggests. I remember people talking about them as a child. I imagined them as great beasts the size of human torsos. How bitterly disappointed I was on meeting the reality; a pin stripe with wings. They exhibited no dragon like abilities. I wouldn’t even call them dragon-esque, even for the insect world.
It didn’t actually work out that well for the daddy long legs, in order for it to defy gravity, there was a great deal of slim-lining involved. Yes, it decided to keep its spider legs, but it had to compromise if it wanted to be light enough to fly. Consequently its legs are detachable. They’re about as strong as spider web, and can be popped off with ease. Not only are they one of the most ugly of creatures, because they only live a day, they never learn to fly with any grace; and what could be graceful with those legs, spread uncertainly in all directions? They’re like a plane that’s left its wheels out for the whole journey – if those wheels were giant gay roller blades.
Much like moths, it is the unpredictability with which they fly that scares me most. There is an urgency in their movement which suggests chaos. Whereas the grounded spider prowls, sometimes creeping; it is like an omen. Even this is preferable to the devil may care daddy long legs.
I believe the daddy long legs knows my fear. I believe they are drawn to my face, which is as attractive to them as a 40-watt bulb. They seem determined on exploring my head’s orifices.
This is a major difference between the spider and the crane fly. The spider takes refuge in darkness, like a ninja. Stalking pray, its presence hidden. By comparison the crane fly is the football hooligan of the insect world. It demands your attention, seeking the brightest light it can find and bashing its skull against it, “Fucking c’mon!” It craves intensity. Perhaps because it only lives for a day, its only goal is to live its last day like its last, spreading havoc, herding humans over cliffs like a wayward sheepdog.
After fifteen minutes of ineffectual batting with my Guitar Hero controller – the crane fly was having none of it – I resorted to the old trap-in-a-glass-and-slide-paper-under technique. Predictably, it lost a few legs in the process. How pathetic you truly are, I began to think. I brought him over to my open window and ejected him into the night sky, almost throwing the glass in the process. I checked the glass several times afterward to make sure he wasn’t still desperately clinging to the base, ready to take his revenge on my face. I shut my window, and haven’t opened it since.
Saturday 30 May 2009
Sunday 24 May 2009
Toilet Seat Up: Match Point
There’s been something on my mind that needs to be settled. I’m sure you’re all familiar with a bathroom rule that’s been set by our lesser halves that continues to go unchallenged. Fear not men, I have come to champion our cause, no longer shall we replace the toilet seat once we have finished our business.
First, let’s look at the logic that our female counterparts have touted as to why the toilet seat should be left down. There is none. Let’s just be clear about this. What possible reason could there be other than their own preference?
I’m actually in the habit of leaving the seat down, but only with the lid down as well. This is because it looks neater and you can place things on it, such as towels or children. It also prevents the two million germs that are ejected from a flushing toilet from flying at my toothbrush. But it’s mostly the neatness thing.
Girls never seem to complain when they see the lid down, perhaps because they do not suspect that a boy is responsible, or perhaps a downed lid brings a natural harmony to the bathroom that puts them at ease. They see no object to lifting the lid, but when it comes to putting a toilet seat down you better believe they’re going to be pissed, or in some anomalous examples, terrified.
I have spent a great deal of time speculating on this matter (some would say, too much time), and I’ve come to the conclusion that there are only two possible reasons to explain this reaction.
1) Women have underdeveloped triceps, making it difficult to move things toward them in a downward motion.
2) They regard their toilet habits as a sacrosanct ceremony, which must be properly prepared for. They take great offence when a man does not respect their rituals and will either lash out verbally or use the sink in protest.
From a health and safety standpoint, it is in fact more considerate to leave the seat up. Allow me to explain: We now live in an age of (debatable) gender equality, where female bankers are not considered witches and house husbands are not poofs…well.
But it wasn’t always like this. In a time when a woman’s only boss was her husband, a time I like to refer to as The Golden Years, women actually evolved a stronger back so as better to carry offspring and linen baskets. This now means bending over imposes less of a strain on the small of their back. And as women tend be shorter, they’re already closer to the toilet seat, thereby decreasing the angle of the bend and the risk of slipping a disc.
This is a classic example of evolution doing its best to bring out the stronger traits of each gender. You may be interested to know that since The Enlightenment men’s necks have actually gotten thicker so as better to support their scholarly brains, imitating a pedestal, if you will.
As it happens, I’m gifted with an unusually long neck, which holds my head aloft most others I deign to speak with, lending me a regal air, and allows me to look down my nose at almost anyone.
The second point in my case is what should be fair.
If we want to talk about ‘fair’, let me tell you what is definitely unfair. If the woman expects the seat to be down and ready at all times, it would mean the man expends infinitely more energy in seat related lifting and closing. This is more than 100%, because 100% more than nothing still doesn’t mean anything.
Surely it is fairer if both sexes leave the toilet how they please? However, even in this instance, it would still favour whichever there are more of. For instance, in my house of five, I live with three other girls and a guy. So the chances that I enter after a girl is more than 3/5 (as I’m unlikely to use the toilet twice in a row). But even on a more even ground, the house still favours girls, because about 1/10 of a guys toilet functions will require the seat.
It looks like there is no winning this one, at least not with any arguments of fairness. Even so, women don’t learn through reasonable debate, much like monkeys, they learn from practical example. If I were to try and explain my theory, I could expect a stock phrase response such as “Fuck off” or “What?” But if I piss on the seat every time it is down, then they learn through the repetition of my actions. This may be the only act of domestic vandalism that I can feasibly get away with, so I try to take as much guiltless pleasure as possible. I like to imagine it is her favourite pincushion, and douse that motherfucker.
I’ve found this has had mixed results, from the lady in question terminating all contact and relations, to her learning to pee standing up, which is about as novel and miraculous as a cat that opens doors.
You want to talk to me about toilet seats? You lose.
* * *
Khyan is pleased that Microsoft suggested he make ‘mother fucker’ a single word.
First, let’s look at the logic that our female counterparts have touted as to why the toilet seat should be left down. There is none. Let’s just be clear about this. What possible reason could there be other than their own preference?
I’m actually in the habit of leaving the seat down, but only with the lid down as well. This is because it looks neater and you can place things on it, such as towels or children. It also prevents the two million germs that are ejected from a flushing toilet from flying at my toothbrush. But it’s mostly the neatness thing.
Girls never seem to complain when they see the lid down, perhaps because they do not suspect that a boy is responsible, or perhaps a downed lid brings a natural harmony to the bathroom that puts them at ease. They see no object to lifting the lid, but when it comes to putting a toilet seat down you better believe they’re going to be pissed, or in some anomalous examples, terrified.
I have spent a great deal of time speculating on this matter (some would say, too much time), and I’ve come to the conclusion that there are only two possible reasons to explain this reaction.
1) Women have underdeveloped triceps, making it difficult to move things toward them in a downward motion.
2) They regard their toilet habits as a sacrosanct ceremony, which must be properly prepared for. They take great offence when a man does not respect their rituals and will either lash out verbally or use the sink in protest.
From a health and safety standpoint, it is in fact more considerate to leave the seat up. Allow me to explain: We now live in an age of (debatable) gender equality, where female bankers are not considered witches and house husbands are not poofs…well.
But it wasn’t always like this. In a time when a woman’s only boss was her husband, a time I like to refer to as The Golden Years, women actually evolved a stronger back so as better to carry offspring and linen baskets. This now means bending over imposes less of a strain on the small of their back. And as women tend be shorter, they’re already closer to the toilet seat, thereby decreasing the angle of the bend and the risk of slipping a disc.
This is a classic example of evolution doing its best to bring out the stronger traits of each gender. You may be interested to know that since The Enlightenment men’s necks have actually gotten thicker so as better to support their scholarly brains, imitating a pedestal, if you will.
As it happens, I’m gifted with an unusually long neck, which holds my head aloft most others I deign to speak with, lending me a regal air, and allows me to look down my nose at almost anyone.
The second point in my case is what should be fair.
If we want to talk about ‘fair’, let me tell you what is definitely unfair. If the woman expects the seat to be down and ready at all times, it would mean the man expends infinitely more energy in seat related lifting and closing. This is more than 100%, because 100% more than nothing still doesn’t mean anything.
Surely it is fairer if both sexes leave the toilet how they please? However, even in this instance, it would still favour whichever there are more of. For instance, in my house of five, I live with three other girls and a guy. So the chances that I enter after a girl is more than 3/5 (as I’m unlikely to use the toilet twice in a row). But even on a more even ground, the house still favours girls, because about 1/10 of a guys toilet functions will require the seat.
It looks like there is no winning this one, at least not with any arguments of fairness. Even so, women don’t learn through reasonable debate, much like monkeys, they learn from practical example. If I were to try and explain my theory, I could expect a stock phrase response such as “Fuck off” or “What?” But if I piss on the seat every time it is down, then they learn through the repetition of my actions. This may be the only act of domestic vandalism that I can feasibly get away with, so I try to take as much guiltless pleasure as possible. I like to imagine it is her favourite pincushion, and douse that motherfucker.
I’ve found this has had mixed results, from the lady in question terminating all contact and relations, to her learning to pee standing up, which is about as novel and miraculous as a cat that opens doors.
You want to talk to me about toilet seats? You lose.
* * *
Khyan is pleased that Microsoft suggested he make ‘mother fucker’ a single word.
Monday 4 May 2009
Personality test results from discredited psychologist, Dr Mikel
Took an online personality test and learned a few things about myself. The results follow.
ISTJ – Introverted Sensing Thinking Judging. Inspector or Duty Fulfiller
Often referred to as Inspectors, the ISTJ has an almost needless attention to detail that is rarely of any use. They make a grand show of being careful and thorough in everything that they do, perhaps to cover up the fact that they seldom know what they are actually supposed to be doing. Indeed, they spend a great deal of time floating through life in absolute confusion. Nevertheless, they enjoy cultivating their image as an inspector, and can often be identified by their monocles, whether they have good vision or not.
ISTJ’s are the most conservative and traditional of the personality types. They fear the chaos of individuality, and find great comfort in the homogeny offered by uniform, feeling uncomfortable in any clothes not decided by an authority.
ISTJ’s like to emphasise the importance of being true to their word, indeed, they consider this the most binding and effective of contracts as they rarely learn to read. They regard written characters with a mixture of reverence and fear, and feel greatly discomfited when books are left open too long.
ISTJ’s are known for being hardworking, but no matter how much time they spend on any project, their results are always the same. Their work lacks pizzazz or distinctiveness and is at best, unremarkable. ISTJ’s never pursue a career in the arts, and are often mistaken for being colour blind, due to showing no preference whatsoever when it comes to decorating their homes.
Extravagant gift-wrapping is the fastest way to anger an ISTJ, and the sight of a bow can cause vomiting. Their font of choice is Times New Roman.
ISTJ’s can be difficult to approach because of their serious airs, which can lead other personality types to thinking them dull. They are also often mistaken for autistics because of their inability to distinguish irony, and their literal minded approach to everything. However, it is encouraged that you take the time to get to know an ISTJ, as what they lack in social flare, they make up for in foreign currency collections.
Much like a dog, the ISTJ has an unquestionable loyalty to anyone that calls themselves master. They pride themselves on their dependability, but oddly enough, frequently end up in positions of leadership. There is no real explanation for this phenomenon, but what’s more unusual is their ability to maintain their job without attracting any attention, or making any major faux pas. Some attribute this to a powerful intuition, or perhaps even psychic tendencies, but further study has linked 95% of ISTJ’s work based decisions with their reliance on magic 8-balls. Their preferred sexual position is missionary.
ISTJ – Introverted Sensing Thinking Judging. Inspector or Duty Fulfiller
Often referred to as Inspectors, the ISTJ has an almost needless attention to detail that is rarely of any use. They make a grand show of being careful and thorough in everything that they do, perhaps to cover up the fact that they seldom know what they are actually supposed to be doing. Indeed, they spend a great deal of time floating through life in absolute confusion. Nevertheless, they enjoy cultivating their image as an inspector, and can often be identified by their monocles, whether they have good vision or not.
ISTJ’s are the most conservative and traditional of the personality types. They fear the chaos of individuality, and find great comfort in the homogeny offered by uniform, feeling uncomfortable in any clothes not decided by an authority.
ISTJ’s like to emphasise the importance of being true to their word, indeed, they consider this the most binding and effective of contracts as they rarely learn to read. They regard written characters with a mixture of reverence and fear, and feel greatly discomfited when books are left open too long.
ISTJ’s are known for being hardworking, but no matter how much time they spend on any project, their results are always the same. Their work lacks pizzazz or distinctiveness and is at best, unremarkable. ISTJ’s never pursue a career in the arts, and are often mistaken for being colour blind, due to showing no preference whatsoever when it comes to decorating their homes.
Extravagant gift-wrapping is the fastest way to anger an ISTJ, and the sight of a bow can cause vomiting. Their font of choice is Times New Roman.
ISTJ’s can be difficult to approach because of their serious airs, which can lead other personality types to thinking them dull. They are also often mistaken for autistics because of their inability to distinguish irony, and their literal minded approach to everything. However, it is encouraged that you take the time to get to know an ISTJ, as what they lack in social flare, they make up for in foreign currency collections.
Much like a dog, the ISTJ has an unquestionable loyalty to anyone that calls themselves master. They pride themselves on their dependability, but oddly enough, frequently end up in positions of leadership. There is no real explanation for this phenomenon, but what’s more unusual is their ability to maintain their job without attracting any attention, or making any major faux pas. Some attribute this to a powerful intuition, or perhaps even psychic tendencies, but further study has linked 95% of ISTJ’s work based decisions with their reliance on magic 8-balls. Their preferred sexual position is missionary.
Saturday 2 May 2009
See you soon
No post this week because I'm snowed under with uni work. I'm being dramatic of course. If I was a real man I could shovel it all away in six dedicated hours, but I'm not. I'm a whiny little boy. You might see the results of my personality test instead, which I've sent to McSweeney's first. So once they've given me the courtesy of rejecting it, I can post it here.
In other news, I've joined the Internet phenomenom that swept the virtual plains ages ago, Twitter. I needed something smaller to keep me distracted whilst I do my work, and if you look to the right of the page you'll find a new Twitter widget that displays recent posts, so you don't even need to be a member to admire my dull thoughts, how great is that? If you are a fellow twitterer, then feel free to stalk me. The first person who does gets a medal, redeemable value is one comb tooth. Tarra
In other news, I've joined the Internet phenomenom that swept the virtual plains ages ago, Twitter. I needed something smaller to keep me distracted whilst I do my work, and if you look to the right of the page you'll find a new Twitter widget that displays recent posts, so you don't even need to be a member to admire my dull thoughts, how great is that? If you are a fellow twitterer, then feel free to stalk me. The first person who does gets a medal, redeemable value is one comb tooth. Tarra
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