peanuts not included
Dec. 20th, 2005 02:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bending_sickleO...kay. There´s quite a bit of stuff to say.
First off... When the HELL did it get this late in the season? I´m wandering about, all ladida and suddenly *whoop*, December gives me a ninja-sickerpunch. It´s freakin´ Christmas this week.
Second: I have an amazing brother. The sole evidence I need for this, despite all the incrimiating evidence proving otherwise, is this: he´s totally getting me Serenity.
Speaking of movies, I´m doing my damnest today to get to see Narnia. Harry will just have to mope about on his own for a spell. (Ha! Pun! ...unintended).
And speaking of the emo boy, I overread (if you can overhear then you can also overread*, I think) a line from The Da Vinci Code. It said, and I shit you not:
"Don´t tell me Harry Potter´s looking for the Holy Grail too."
Yes. Very funny, Mr. Brown. We bask in your witty reparte. (But we all know basking gives you cancer. Suntan lotion, people!)
I refuse to read this book, even if it mentions Harry Potter.
If it mentined Monty Python, however, that might indicate some acceptable level of wit and good taste.
Even then, I still might not read it.
...and I had a few other thoughts that had to do with Harry, a goblet and zombies, but thankfully cannot recall.
Thursday I watched a documentary about the Doni or whatnot people who live in New Guinea (you know the ones: they´re the ones with those penis-sheaths). I can sort of deal with the fact that they make their women do all of the work, that they make ´em live in separate huts with the pigs (which, coincidently, are the reincarnations of male ancestors**), that they don´t let the women participate in religion. Hell, I can deal with them denying women souls. (It´s been done before in places much closer to home.)
What I can´t deal with is how they honour their dead (male, duh) comrades. Take a woman who´s just lost a husband, son, father, or hell, even a pig (sorry, "venerable male ancestor") raised by her. What they do to pay homage is . They put her hand on a banana-leaf covered log, take a sharp stone and cut off her fingers. Tips of fingers, just one finger, whole loads of fingers, whatever the men decide. WTF!!!
Of course, the documentary showed this. I´ve been scarred for life. Images of a hand on a log keep jumping out at me.
And the next day, on the train home, I saw a woman with the tip of her index finger missing. I got seriously creaped out all over again.
That said, and I seriously appologise to all who read the lj-cut (I just couldn´t deal with it anymore), a very happy holiday season to you all. I wish you tons of fattening goodies. (But magically non-fattening. Of course.)
* i.e. be the creepy person reading over someones shoulder
** Although, would you leave your women alone with a bunch of reincarnations of powerful and venerated warriors? Would you trust those lecherous old folk to keep their reincarnated hands off of them? I sure as hell wouldn´t.***
*** It´s religions. It doesn´t have to make sense.
First off... When the HELL did it get this late in the season? I´m wandering about, all ladida and suddenly *whoop*, December gives me a ninja-sickerpunch. It´s freakin´ Christmas this week.
Second: I have an amazing brother. The sole evidence I need for this, despite all the incrimiating evidence proving otherwise, is this: he´s totally getting me Serenity.
Speaking of movies, I´m doing my damnest today to get to see Narnia. Harry will just have to mope about on his own for a spell. (Ha! Pun! ...unintended).
And speaking of the emo boy, I overread (if you can overhear then you can also overread*, I think) a line from The Da Vinci Code. It said, and I shit you not:
Yes. Very funny, Mr. Brown. We bask in your witty reparte. (But we all know basking gives you cancer. Suntan lotion, people!)
I refuse to read this book, even if it mentions Harry Potter.
If it mentined Monty Python, however, that might indicate some acceptable level of wit and good taste.
Even then, I still might not read it.
...and I had a few other thoughts that had to do with Harry, a goblet and zombies, but thankfully cannot recall.
Thursday I watched a documentary about the Doni or whatnot people who live in New Guinea (you know the ones: they´re the ones with those penis-sheaths). I can sort of deal with the fact that they make their women do all of the work, that they make ´em live in separate huts with the pigs (which, coincidently, are the reincarnations of male ancestors**), that they don´t let the women participate in religion. Hell, I can deal with them denying women souls. (It´s been done before in places much closer to home.)
What I can´t deal with is how they honour their dead (male, duh) comrades. Take a woman who´s just lost a husband, son, father, or hell, even a pig (sorry, "venerable male ancestor") raised by her. What they do to pay homage is . They put her hand on a banana-leaf covered log, take a sharp stone and cut off her fingers. Tips of fingers, just one finger, whole loads of fingers, whatever the men decide. WTF!!!
Of course, the documentary showed this. I´ve been scarred for life. Images of a hand on a log keep jumping out at me.
And the next day, on the train home, I saw a woman with the tip of her index finger missing. I got seriously creaped out all over again.
That said, and I seriously appologise to all who read the lj-cut (I just couldn´t deal with it anymore), a very happy holiday season to you all. I wish you tons of fattening goodies. (But magically non-fattening. Of course.)
* i.e. be the creepy person reading over someones shoulder
** Although, would you leave your women alone with a bunch of reincarnations of powerful and venerated warriors? Would you trust those lecherous old folk to keep their reincarnated hands off of them? I sure as hell wouldn´t.***
*** It´s religions. It doesn´t have to make sense.
