Zoologists Users Guide

I have a life-sized version of a Zoologist strutting around the house. If you own one too, you’ll know they are very strange creatures indeed. For those of you who are unfortunate enough not to own one... a Users Guide:

Mine took me for a walk in a forest on our first date and introduced me to the smell of fox-pooh. Further dates acquainted me with badger-pooh, otter-pooh, rabbit-pooh and deer-droppings. This was closely followed by colourful accounts of encounters with hyena-, jackal-, moose- and bearpooh. Zoologists get excited about pooh you see. The significance of animal-pooh in a Zoologists life though, is one of their less unnerving characteristics.



When your Zoologist comes back home to you, all wet-nosed and pink after a day out in the field, and announces to you that she’s brought you home a present… be forewarned. Mine’s brought me badger-hairs. And mandibles. Understand this as a gesture of love and affection, an attempt to welcome you into their world.

And when you’ve taken your Zoologist out for a nice evening stroll at twilight, and she suddenly stops to sniff the air...do not question. It is most likely a decaying mammal body in need of investigation. Gently grab your Zoologist by the arm, point her in the opposite direction and question her about that bird that’s twittering away so happily. Subsequently trace back your steps and guide you Zoologist home.

Always have an emergency plan at the ready upon entering a vehicle with a Zoologist at the wheel. They are magnetically drawn to road-kill. And it would just happen to be that one dead otter in the middle of the M9 that needs investigating.

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Remember the bird-names and sounds they teach you, don’t mistake a Jackdaw for a Rook, or a Robbin for a Tit, it upsets them greatly. Banish mouse-traps, rat-poisons and bee-catchers. It makes them cry. Animal sanctuaries are off-limits. Unless you own a castle with room to set up 25 strays and a dishevelled donkey.

Cherish your Zoologist. They are very much mis-understood.

After 20years, I have finally bought myself some skiboots. I've always found them too expensive. And for that one week's worth of use each year, it didn't seem worth it. But now I'm in Scotland... well... I kinda have to don't I :-)

I got them from a mountaingear shop in town that was having a 20% discount night for students. Initially I'd just tagged along with The Fluff, who was on the hunt for climbing gear. But then I saw them... the exact ones I'd been dying to get. Holy double padded flexicomfort!!!! Anyway, to make a long story short... I bought them. I'll just have to eat beans for the rest of the semester :-)



We ended up chatting to the store-owner while my boots were being heat-fitted and found ourselves invited up to Glenshee this Sunday to testdrive next year's ski and snowboard gear for the manufacturers. It just doesn't get any better than that! I'm determined now to get a good Friday and Saturday's worth of data-analysis done, so we can head out to Glenshee at 6am on Sunday. Try out those puppies and get my first experience on Scottish snow!

Which probably means I should stop blogging and get on with work... *grin*

Wandering Accent Syndrome

Both Fi and I suffer from Wandering Accent Syndrome. Which is why Fi always seems to plop an "Aye" in an otherwise very English sentence. And it is why I always seems to do the same with "nooo eh nooo".
I love accents. Not for the aesthetics. Just because they are very cute & quaint. Although you can't call Liverpudlian, Glaswegian or the Brummie accent even remotely pretty, they are incredibly... quaint.
But I think I stepped on a few toes yesterday by saying Glaswegian is the Cockney of Scotland. And I'm still in doubt whether it was the reference to something English or the actual comparison that did the insult. Feel free to enlighten me ;-)

Faux Pas

So I joined the "Stirling Socialist" and the "Stirling People&Planet" student societies. Which is perhaps a bit of an odd thing to do seeing as I'm neither a socialist nor a student at Stirling. And I suppose joining the conversation on "how can the socialists win the next election" with the comment "I would never vote socialist" was bound to raise a few eyebrows and growls. :-)

But I was simply being genuine. No matter how you twist or turn the issue, Socialistic Ideals are highly valid and I would say I ascribe to them. Paradoxal as it may seem though, I ascribe to Liberal Democratic Ideals too. But when it comes down to casting a vote, I have yet to turn Socialist.




When asked why on Earth I would join a Socialist Society despite not voting as such, I could only explain my position as follows. "Socialism" as a concept has been through the mill a few times over the past couple of centuries or so. It is an umbrella that covers as diverse a spectrum of backbenchers as you could expect it to cover. The shades of socialism range from anarchistic, moderate communist, socialist, liberal socialist, democratic socialist, centre or... as is the case with New Labour, perhaps even moderately to highly rightwing. I find it hard to back any party that has such undefined boundaries, despite the validity of the underlying ideologies. When brought to power, such parties are most often found to waddle their way through a vague policy.

So why did I join? I supose it was partially because I want to be convinced. Perhaps my views and opinions are tainted. In a way, I would also like to regain some hope that an entirely new and viable definition of current socialism is possible. And... I want to learn. The discussions I had with people last Wednesday have already given me insight, perhaps not as much into the global issus of Socialism, but very much so into my own. Into the flaws of my own reasoning.

Apart from this, it was lively bunch of people. Who chuckled friendly at my faux pas of buying Appletizer (A coca-cola brand)right after a debate on "How and why to boycott Coca Cola". Who listened to my arguments and gave them thought, without the need to attack. Who calmly explained to me why they so passionately believe in what they do. And who allowed a Liberal Democrat to join their ranks, for sake of diversity. Now how's that for a contradictio-in-termis in my train of thought ;-)

Film to watch

May I recommend: A Very Long Engagement (Un long dimanche de fiançailles ). Went to see it yesterday and loved it. It's got that trademark French subtle balance between tragedy and humour. Definitely worth seeing!

Haywire

I'm generally not the superstituous type. Although I DO always wear the same socks when I have to take a plane. But overall, I'm reasonably down-to-earth.

However.

I could swear that every year in February, I go through a week where EVERYTHING just goes wrong. I warned Fi about this a few months ago and she laughed it off. Unfortunately for her, by choosing to live with me, she has also chosen to bear the brunt of the tragedies this week usually brings about. And it started yesterday.

I woke up with Leo (the feline) on my head again and although this has become common practice, I'm certain he had an ominous attitude about him this time round. Half an hour later, my normally perfect "sunny-side-up" breakfast ruptured before it even hit the pan. No cause for panic yet. And I could cope with the fact that when I hung out my laundry, it had NO matching socks, only singles. But when three hours later BOTH my laptops had crashed and subsequently broken, I admit, I panicked. To calm myself down, I put on my PJ's again and snuggled up in my freshly clean bathrobe with a cup of very orange lentil soup... which I then spilled... over my otherwise very WHITE clean bathrobe. By this point, my bottom lip started trembling dangerously.



In an effort to distract myself, I switched on Fi's laptop. Which crashed. And now refuses to start up. This has to be a record. I managed to break not one, but THREE laptops in one day. When I rang Fi to tell her the bad news, I was positively in tears. Big long sobs.

For mine and other people's safety I have decided to hide myself in the university library for as long as possible. Which is where I am now. If the university network crashes, or the science book section catches fire... you'll know who caused it :s

Bowling, Single Serving Friends & Creepy Critters

In a bid to lead a slightly more sociable life, The Fluff and I have agreed to push eachother away from those comfortzone "let's stay in with a DVD"-excuses. So yesterday we went Bowling with a bunch of other PhD-syndrome sufferers. We hadn't met those people before and although I love bowling, I was slightly hesitant to go. Last time I played, I inadvertently knocked over a seven-year-old kid in the lane next to me. Not the kind of impression you want to instill on a first meet-n-greet with intellectual strangers :s

It was an unusually refreshing night out though, with an incredibly well-balanced mixture of individuals. Who knew there was such a thing as a PhD on Jazz-perception? Or a study into Middle English references to religious indoctrination? Whooooosh *grin* I'm sure I stood gaping at people a little longer than appropriate, but hey... cut me some slack :-) We ended up at a lovely little jazzie-ecclectic pub in town, huddled together over a few ales. And it was in that smokey warmth that it dawned on me... how screwed my perceptions of the "single-serving-friends" phenomenon have become.



Having moved around so much these past couple of years, I've been meeting more single-serving-friends than I ever cared to meet. Often out of necessity, I've thrown myself onto every social event in the book. But most often the people I enjoy meeting, are the type of people that like the "on-the-move" lifestyle as much as I do. Which unfortunately makes for very short courtship. And eventually you find yourself bored of your own story, for need of having to recount it anytime you meet someone new. The excitement wears off and you find yourself longing for a quiet night down the pub with a couple of childhood mates.

But yesterday night, I realised that the people facing me, didn't need the short and long. Somehow, we all shared common ground which was enough to build on. The effortlessness of our conversations took me entirely by surprise. As did the fact that The Fluff threw four strikes in the game, but that's another story entirely :-) I guess my point is... I was wrong.

Anywho. I woke up this morning with a neurotically purring feline on my head, which is as weird a start of the day as any. I guess inadvertently feeding him tabasco yesterday hasn't helped his psychosis *grin*.

Got a deadline to meet on Monday, which inevitably means an increase in displacement activity, so watch this space.

Comments

Just to answer a question... yes, you CAN comment on my posts. Simply click the word "comments" on the bottom of a post and you'll be able spread your wit or simply slag me off for boring you ;-)

Scary Dives

Three washloads and an expensive grocery shop later, we've finally settled back into our little flat. To be concise: we had fun. There was no extra snowfall throughout our trip, but we owe a great skiing experience to the dozens of wee French men in their huge monstertruck snowploughs. They groomed the slopes brilliantly :-) Merci!

Although we were a bit wary of the whole "British Package Holiday" experience, we found ourselves surrounded not by rowdy Brittons, but hundreds of loudmouthing Belgian students. All my attempts to depict the Flemish to Fi as sophisticated cosmopolitans went straight out the window *grin*. For which thanks, people! ;-)

The first night of our arrival, the Fluff got a wee bit overexcited with anticipation of our first day of skiing. Which is probably why I came out of the bathtub that evening, to find her all geared up strapped into my skiboots and ski's pretending to swoosh down the slopes of our very own room. I have pictures. But as I have a desire to make it through the day alive, I won't post them *grin*.
The rest of the week evolved pretty much as any holiday week would. As always, I have failed to avoid the "beard-tan" phenomenon, due to my humongous ski-helmet and goggles. I have pictures. I won't post them.

Although I've made brilliant improvements in conquering my fear of ice, I am now convinced that being terrified of the whole flying experience is justified and plain common sense. Upon our descent into Glasgow Airport, our pilot miscalculated the runway-course due to heavy winds, and we were forced into a VERY last minute evasive manoevre. Engines roaring to pull the heavy Boeing back upwards away from the nearing runway, even the big bloke next to me went pasty pale, bareknuckledly gripping on to his seat. *shudders*.

Either way, we're back in Bridge now, safe and sound, although I will most likely have to go in hiding for a week or two until the beard-tan has disappeared. ;-)

just got home... too.tired.to.write....

more later ;-)

packing battles

So we wanted to go snowboarding/skiing this year, stretched our funds and settled on some random package holiday. The Fluff's gotten really excited about it all and has been counting down the days for months, frantically checking the online snow reports for the resort. We're due to leave tomorrow.

Today's Snow Report for Risoul:
"Last snowed: 23 Jan 2005 "
"No fresh snow today "

Figures doesn't it? ;-)

Meanwhile we're in that "day-before-holiday" mode. You couldn't get two more polarised people. Being the obsessive compulsive one, I started packing a year ago: thermal blanket, survival kit, dentistry kit, protector pads, protein bars, hydropack, ... only one step away from packing the emergency flares. All the while Fi's stretched out on the sofa watching the Six Nations Rugby, giggling away at my frantics, muttering the occasional "Geek!" comment every time I pass her with yet another load of emergency batteries.

Fi, being the cool relaxed one, has a simply mesmerizing packing ritual. Wouldn't be the first time we're up at 5am, two hours before departure time, to pack her bags from scratch for her three month stay in Canada. I have to hand it to the girl though, she always pulls it off. So today's no different. Bags are still empty, but her MP3 playlist for the trip is sorted, so... we're ok! Glad someone's got their priorities sorted ;-)

Anyway... if we do indeed make it to the airport tomorrow morning, we're off for a week of winterwonderland (Or not apparently...pray to the gods of snow for us :-).

Freedom of Speech

I was half asleep last night when Fi mumbled something about freedom of speech. She was reading an article in the New Statesman about Labour's plans to introduce a new offence of incitement to religious hatred.

We got into a discussion about how to define the boundaries of Freedom of Speech. Or whether or not any curtailment of it by boundaries is even appropriate. No matter who you'll talk to, you'll hear the same hesitations about this topic.

I don't pretend to know much of the legal aspects of Freedom of Speech. I can merely talk about my own inner conflict with this topic. I think most of us will instinctively want to make others with different opinions (of the extreme kind: religious zealots, homophobes, fascists,...) shut up. Because that gives us a feeling that the problem is dealt with. If it can't be talked about... it can't spread... right? The fact is though, that taking away someone's right to speak out about their opinions, doesn't make the opinion go away. And who's to say it should?

It's a conflict of the two big forces of freedom. Allowing anyone to speak their mind. And protecting everyone's rights to do so. Even if people that attempt to breach the latter, make use of the first to do so.

In the end, I feel Freedom of Speech should be preserved in it's purest and most unbound form possible. I hope Labours experiment fails, and that with it will come the realisation that the incitement of hate, in itself, is not what needs to be solved. And that it's perhaps the issues that feed the urge for this incitement that ought to be tackled.