Day 1: A recent picture of you and 15 interesting facts about yourself

Ok, it was a little difficult finding a recent photo, but this is a drunken one from last Saturday. Yes, that's a real old-school bike helmet and yes, there are a shitload of books in that room. Additionally, it's probably the only time you'll ever see a photo of me without makeup online. Now, for the 15 "interesting" facts:

1.  I'm terrified of commitment. I always worry that I may be missing out on a better offer. As a result, I'm even terrible at making the most insignificant of decisions - just ask my friends what it's like to take me to the dvd store. I would love to be in a committed relationship with someone, but I always feel like I'd be settling and giving up the opportunity for something better. I also can't commit to a career path, which is why I've studied so many different things at university.

2.  I did karate for about 7 years when I was younger. I loved it at first but eventually came to hate it; however, my parents refused to let me quit until I got my black belt. I eventually won out though, and quit at the grade before black belt. Now I'm kicking myself for getting so close and wish my parents had been more persistent. Sometimes I feel like going back, but I've forgotten so much and I'd feel like an idiot.

3.  I can write fluently backwards, as well as upside down. I don't ever remember teaching myself to do it; the ability has just always been there. I thought everyone could do it, but I've read research that says otherwise and that it's possibly linked to atypical language pathways, so now I feel like a bit of a freak. Or perhaps awesome.

4.  I'm a diehard (men's) tennis fan. I could watch it all day and still not get bored. If you want to know who won Wimbledon in 1986, then I'm probably your girl. (FYI, it was Boris Becker.)

5.  I've only been given flowers once in my life. It was a strange experience too. I was killing some time by reading in my car at Bibra Lake and a couple of guys pulled up next to me. A few minutes later, the driver yelled out hello to me and he and I started talking. After a while, they left. They returned a few minutes later, pulled into the flower-shop across the road, and then the guy gave me a pretty bouquet and asked for my number. He did call me, but I missed his call and he had his number on private so I couldn't call him back. That was the last I heard of him, but hey, it makes for an interesting story.

6.  I'm a sucker for blue eyes. Not simply because they're pretty, but also because I'm stuck with dark eyes and dark hair so seeing someone with actual colour in their face is really awesome for me. Opposites attract, right? It's also great because you can watch their pupils and tell when they're interested.

7.  My first (and only) job was working for an auto parts store. My dad also worked for the company and knew the boss, so getting the job was easy. Subsequently, I've never been to a job interview in my life. I hated every second of the job with a burning passion, but it paid surprisingly well so I stayed there for five and a half years. I'm determined that my next job will be somewhere clean.

8.  On the topic of firsts, my first car was a purple '96 Hyundai Coupe. It was an awesome car - it drove like a charm and you could give it hell. However, my current car - a pretty blue '09 Ford Fiesta - is far better: it's sexy and has ipod connectivity. Best birthday present EVER.

9.  I've only once stepped foot in a church, for a christening, and I don't remember it at all. We joke that I would burst into flames if I ever did again.

10.  I'm fascinated by the darker side of human nature. Mass murderers, evil dictators, psychopaths, hate groups - it's all so very interesting to me. I think it's because it's so uniquely human: plenty of animals are loving and family-orientated and work well in groups, but it seems that only humans are capable of such premeditated hate and evil. I actually spent a lot of time studying neo-Nazi groups for a psychology project last year. Not as cool as studying serial killers (though it would be hard to find them), but it was eye-opening. Kind of like a car crash: really awful, but you can't look away. It all just amazes me in a sick sort of way.

11.  My favourite number is 3. Interestingly, my birthweight was 3.33kg.

12.  I used to be terrified of vacuum cleaners. I don't know if I thought I was going to be sucked up or what, but every time someone would turn ours on, I'd flee outside and hide until they were finished.

13.  I have a bigoted asshole for an uncle. He drinks heavily, wears boots and confederate caps, and once threatened to kill my gay best friend ... at Christmas. Needless to say, we don't see him anymore. Good riddance.

14.  I love participating in experiments. I love the tests and the electrodes and getting to theorise about what they're actually testing. I've had electric shocks sent into my forehead, had to answer difficult maths questions with a baby crying in the background, been put in a big rotating drum with black and white stripes to induce motion sickness, had capsaicin smeared on my arm for several days, and been paid to taste-test beer. It's fun!

15.  Erm ... I own a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs.

So there you go. I don't know if that was actually interesting or not, but ah well.

30 Day Challenge

(No no, not the "eat a bowl of Special K every day for a month and see how you feel!" one)

I have a lot of trouble blogging. I'm not an exceptionally busy person, but I can never seem to find time to write. On the rare occasion that I do, nothing ever seems to come to me. Throughout the day, ideas will pop into my head and for a long time I've been thinking in blog-form, as though I were writing it all down, but it has all disappeared by the time I have a chance to actually do anything with it. Not to mention it's difficult for me to write: I'm so pedantic about everything sounding a certain way that I'll spend ages sitting there, writing and rewriting, suffering through lethologica to find the perfect words, and just staring blankly at the screen. It's frustrating.

So I've thought that maybe doing the 30 Day Challenge - the month-long blogging exercise that has been floating around the interwebz lately - would be helpful. It will give me something to write about each day and there will be no excuses not to do it. The lineup is as follows:


Day 1: A recent picture of you and 15 interesting facts about yourself
Day 2: The meaning behind your blog name
Day 3: A picture of you and your friends
Day 4: A habit that you wish you didn’t have
Day 5: A picture of somewhere you've been to
Day 6: Favourite super hero and why
Day 7: A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you
Day 8: Short term goals for this month and why
Day 9: Something you're proud of in the past few days
Day 10: Songs you listen to when you are happy, sad, bored, hyped, mad
Day 11: Another picture of you and your friends
Day 12: How you found out about blogging and why you have one
Day 13: A letter to someone who has hurt you recently
Day 14: A picture of you and your family
Day 15: Put you ipod on shuffle: first 10 songs that play
Day 16: Another picture of yourself
Day 17: Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why
Day 18: Plans/dreams/goals you have
Day 19: Nicknames you have and why you have them
Day 20: Someone you see yourself marrying or being with in the future
Day 21: A picture of something that makes you happy
Day 22: What makes you different from everyone else
Day 23: Something you crave a lot
Day 24: A letter to your parents
Day 25: What I would find in your bag
Day 26: What do you think about your friends
Day 27: Why are you doing this 30 day challenge
Day 28: A picture of you from last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29: In this past month, what have you learned
Day 30: Your favorite song


Simple, right? Let's see how I go...

Donald Duck Meets Glenn Beck

I was intent on posting something tonight because I've been thinking about the casual dropping of English pronouns all day, but I'm feeling all achey and crampy and angry at the world. Blogging while cranky probably isn't the best idea so I'll leave it for tomorrow instead.

However, I did notice something else interesting today. I was driving home from uni and was following a truck on the freeway. I had planned to turn off at South St but as I approached the Leach Hwy exit, I had a last minute change of heart and exited there instead. As I moved into the turn-off lane, I looked back at the truck in time to see a long metal rod fly off it, right onto the road where I would have otherwise been. Lucky. Another interesting coincidence - maybe I'll start documenting them all just for amusement? Look, the almighty hateful and vindictive god doesn't leave the rebellious atheist to die! :P

But anyway, since I'm not providing any amusement today, I shall leave you in the capable hands of Donald Duck:





If you're not following: Glenn Beck is the Jesus - well, the other Jesus - of the angry, white, Christian, conservative Americans. I was going to call him their Hitler, but decided against it for fear of invoking Godwin's wrath. Suffice to say, listening to Beck is like listening to one of those late-night television evangelists and his followers just lap it up.

Cheese or font?

Cheese or font?

Can't tell your Goudy from your Gouda?

Don't worry, neither can I. But I stumbled across this interesting game, Cheese or Font? just before and thought I'd share. It's pretty simple: you're given a funny-sounding name and all you have to do is guess whether it's a cheese or a font. I like fonts and I love cheese, but I honestly don't know a whole lot about either. Sans-serif, bold, condensed, cheddar, smoked, blue ... that about does it for me. So I had a bit of fun with it.

There are 268 items, but there was no way I was going to do all of them so I just settled for 38. The first time around I just did a blind test, clicking randomly on either without looking at the name given. 52%, pretty much what you'd expect from chance. Then I went through again and actually attempted to get them right, and I managed 63%. Eh, not too bad, but I certainly won't be calling myself a font or cheese connoisseur anytime soon.

(Oh, and for the record: Calaveras is a font)

A story begging to be told

I know I promised to talk about those videos today, but I'm currently in the uni computer lab (during study break - that's dedication!) and don't have the links. But sitting here and looking at last night's post has just reminded me of probably the greatest coincidence I've ever experienced. Not great in the sense that it was so uncanny that I threw myself into the worship of a higher power, but great in the sense that I'm so happy it happened.

Firstly though, I just wanted to point out the amusing and unhelpful definition of 'coincidence' that Wikipedia used to have:

Coincidence is when something uncanny and coincidental happens.

No, really? I'm positive that 'don't use the word in the definition' was one of the first rules of defining that I ever learnt. But you've just got to love the collective mediocrity of Wikipedia, right? Anyway, I digress.

Back in semester two of 2008, I started having some issues with anxiety. I hadn't been particularly happy with how things were going: I think the semester previous had been my last semester of law and I was still miserable from that, and I was taking a 4th year unit in which I was way out of my depth. You see, I had intended to apply for Medicine at that point and I wanted to do so as an undergrad. With the Murdoch psychology degree, you can either leave at the end of your third year with a BA or do the final year and be awarded a BPsych instead. That was the end of my third year so I switched around a couple of units so that I wouldn't be able to graduate and wouldn't be counted as a post-grad student for Medicine. Now that I think about it, it was an incredibly stupid idea. Why on earth would I throw away three years of my life to not walk away with a degree? But at the time it seemed right, somehow. So here I was, stuck in a unit about which I knew nothing. I already wasn't happy.

But then there was one particular trigger and it really shook me. I'd lay awake at night, worried, crying, and hoping. It wasn't even anything major and it all turned out fine afterwards, but it really sent me into a downward spiral. I started worrying about everything. What if my parents get into a car accident while they're out? What if I do? What if people are thinking awful things about me? What if I look like an idiot today? What if I don't get into Medicine? What if I fail everything? And then even the minor day-to-day things too. I didn't want to go to uni, I'd freak out every time I tried to sit down and do an assignment, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my future. I don't know how obvious it was to those around me - nobody ever said anything - but inside I was anxious all of the time. Ironic, no? The psychology student with a psychological problem. At least it meant that I knew all the signs; I knew the relevant parts of the DSM like the back of my hand. But I didn't want to see anyone about it. One, because I didn't want my parents to know; two, because having a record of it would compromise my chances in some of the jobs I'd been considering; and three, it would mean admitting weakness and I'd always been so mentally strong.

So I just soldiered on. I ignored the persistent aches in my back, neck, and shoulders, as well as the mild heart arrhythmias that had developed. I took the UMAT and aced it, beating 98% of people in the country. And then I missed the application deadline. I don't know how, it simply slipped my mind and I didn't remember until the night before, by which time it was too late to obtain the academic transcript that I needed. So, defeated, I continued on with the next year of my psychology degree. At this point, they'd made changes to the structure of the course so I had to take more electives and complete a minor, so I'd still only have a BA after four years. Not to worry, I hadn't been too interested in doing the research component anyway.

But that year wasn't any better. The anxiety stuck around, flaring up worse at times, and it really impacted on my grades. I mean really impacted. It was a vicious circle, really: most of my self-worth was based on my academic performance - I was always the intelligent one, the easy-A student - so whenever my grades would drop, I'd feel even worse and my grades would subsequently drop further. I just couldn't win. So I did very, very badly that year. I've never had the guts to tell anyone just how badly I did, and I still don't. It wasn't a matter of "Oh, I'm so upset, I only got a C!" - it was truly, truly shocking. Now I had no idea what I was going to do with myself. I couldn't still do Medicine because my GPA was too low by then. But I definitely wasn't ready to go out and work - my place was at school - so, embarrassed, I looked into TAFE courses.

There was an interesting-sounding animal handling course available. I love animals so I figured that would be a good way to get back into study and get my grades up so I could look into another university course afterwards. I sent in an application and crossed my fingers that I wouldn't be left high and dry, trying to explain to my parents why I was rejected by a TAFE. However, in the meantime, I had also been browsing the UWA website, curious about what sort of courses they had. I loved the idea of an Arts degree, having so many majors and electives to choose from. The freedom sounded like fun. I noticed Linguistics on the list of majors and was instantly drawn to it. I'd enjoyed studying psycholinguistics (child language acquisition and the likes) in my last degree and just loved everything about language in general. It seemed like the perfect major for me. The only problem was, I didn't stand a chance in hell at getting into UWA. It's the hardest university in the country to be accepted into and, after the previous year and a half, I was certainly not up to standard.

I mentioned it to my parents and, after the initial "What's linguistics? Where will that get you?" that you get from everybody, they encouraged me to apply. I didn't see the point, but since I couldn't explain to them why, I just went along and did so anyway. It's free to send an application so what's the harm, right? But I was absolutely positive I wasn't going to get in. I told my parents that they didn't take very many non-standard entry students (as I was classified) so at least I had an excuse when I was rejected. So that was that, and I held out for the TAFE course. At least now I knew what I'd apply for at university after I finished that.

The end of the year eventually came and it was almost time for semester two results to be released. When that happened, mine would then be sent off to UWA by Murdoch and they'd see how awful I was and reject me instantly. However, it was right around that time that university staff got really pissed about something (pay?) and decided to take industrial action. They refused to officially release any of the student grades to the university. We still received them, but the university didn't. I received a letter from UWA letting me know that due to the action, they hadn't been sent any of my grades, but that it was ok and they'd probably get them after the staff relented.

I didn't really think about it much after that; in fact, I think I forgot about it completely. I was too preoccupied with the date that the TAFE offers would be released and with keeping myself together. I remember going online and waiting with bated breath for the page to load and was ecstatic to find I'd actually been accepted. Phew, I'd gotten lucky and my next year of study was confirmed. That just so happened to be the same day that university offers were released and my brother was online checking if he'd got the course he wanted. He had, of course, but that reminded me to go on and acknowledge my rejection. So I went on and waited patiently while the server crashed multiple times. Eventually the page loaded and I was just left sitting there, staring at the computer screen in shock. There was an offer: UWARC - Bachelor of Arts, UWA. I didn't even know what to think. Was that telling me I had an offer, or was it just showing the details of my application? I went and checked over my brother's shoulder again and he had the same sort of thing. I couldn't believe it. I had 100% written off any chance of getting into that course, put it out of my mind completely, yet here it was.

How had it happened? The lecturers still hadn't released the grades and UWA never received my results for that semester. It wasn't until a few weeks later that I finally got an email telling me the grades had been released. They'd held out long enough for me to sneak my way in to my dream course. I still can't believe it. Just when all hope is gone, BAM, here comes a spanner in the works and oh-so-conveniently the university misses out on a potentially crucial piece of information to judge me on. It's an amazing coincidence. At times, I still don't feel like I deserve this chance. Some other hard-working student probably missed out on a place because of me. All I did was get lucky, like I always do. But I like to see it as a second chance. It wasn't some sort of divine intervention ... rather, it was simply one of those funny things that life occasionally throws you. You just have to appreciate the opportunity and make the most of it.

And that's exactly what I'm doing.

I feel fantastic now. I can't remember the last time I was anywhere near this happy. I haven't felt anxious or depressed or anything negative since I started here. I've managed to pull myself out of the slump and it feels amazing. The classes are great, the people are great, and the two Linguistics lecturers I've had so far are the best lecturers I've had in my five years of university. I'm making grades in the 90%s and it's just fantastic. I feel refreshed and content and incredibly passionate about what I'm studying. That's something I haven't feel in a long time, and never to this extent. It's a really nice feeling, and it feels even better now that I've got that story off my chest.

My friends and family couldn't understand why I didn't go to my Murdoch graduation ceremony. Well, that was why. I hated everything about being there. I hated the classes, I hated the staff, I hated the students, I hated the work. For that last year there, it was a miserable place for me. So is it any wonder that I didn't want to go back and celebrate the experience? I'm just glad that I've finally found something I'm truly passionate about and that, by some crazy stroke of luck, I'm able to pursue it. Life really can be great sometimes, can't it?

Coincidences

I'm currently listening to the replay of a radio show (Behind The Mirror on RTR FM, in case you were wondering) from last Wednesday. I didn't pay any attention to the time when I started it and I've paused it along the way to make tea and watch some amusing videos (more on that tomorrow). Anyway, one of the hosts just announced, "It's exactly a quarter to one," and out of instinct I glanced down at the clock.

12.45am on the dot.

Man, I love coincidences. That's almost as cool as the time my ipod shut off halfway through a Kanye West song a couple of days after he cut Taylor Swift off at the VMAs. Perhaps even cooler.

Why?

The thing I hate most about humanity is our persistent need to know "why?"

Not everything needs a reason. Time progresses; the world changes; things naturally happen. That's just life.

Why do we always insist on searching for a higher reason? How arrogant must we be to think that we, at an individual level, are of any importance whatsoever to anyone or anything outside of our circle of family and friends? How dare I think that some supreme being, with the entire infinite universe at his or her fingertips, cares so much about me as to lovingly plot out my whole future. And how dare we think that this entire universe was created simply to satisfy our own tiny, greedy, selfish race.

So why are we here? What's the meaning of life? Why do things happen the way they do?

*shrugs*
No reason.

The election conclusion (part uno)

Keep dreaming, Tony. We've all seen you in those speedos...

At last. Seventeen days after the Australian people went to the polls we finally have ourselves a new government. Hooray!

Personally, I'm thrilled with the result ... but not surprised. I think most of us predicted before the election that Labor would just scrape a victory. It was clear they would lose a lot of seats and a lot of support, but we also knew that a lot of those turning away from Labor were not running to the Coalition. Instead, they were turning to the Greens, and through the preference deals those people were still backing Labor. So it's no great surprise that they managed to hold onto power. But that said, I don't think any of us expected it to come right down to the wire like this. Who would have thought that the fate of our country would be in the hands of three independents? And who would have thought that two country conservatives would ever throw themselves behind the left-wing ALP? My mind boggles.

So what does the twittersphere think of it? Well, I've trawled the popular #ausvotes and #auswaits hashtags (that's a lie, I actually skipped uni to spend all day following them) and collected a sample of tweets:

"I especially liked the bit where Tony Abbott didn't become prime minister; that was my favourite bit."

"Now at least when the aliens come and ask us to take them to our leader, we won't look like complete idiots."

"It's been an exhausting week, but at least the Evil Empire has been thwarted, and Oz has its first (sort of) elected female PM!"

"Julia Gillard is not my prime minister, and Labor is not my government. Fuck despotic, lying, deceitful Labor. VIOLENT OVERTHROW."

"It's hilarious watching the conservatives devolve into sweary, bitter, incoherent messes after about an hour of relative peace."

"I do love the idea of a minority govt — hope it acts as a precedent so we can see more indy MPs and shift away from the two majors"

Surprisingly, the response is mostly positive. From what I've seen, there are a lot more politically-active conservatives than liberals on twitter, so it's odd that everyone has taken the result so well. I guess those Young Liberals aren't as ferocious as everyone makes them out to be.

I think the last poster has a good point too. There's a lot to be said for the European style of proportional representation, where a number of smaller parties form complex coalitions that cater to a wide variety of interests. Here, the Greens polled about 12% of the primary vote but won only one seat. How is that representative of the public opinion? I'm glad that the Greens will be working with Labor over the next three years, but it would be far better if they had a more active role. 

So yes, as you can probably tell, I voted Greens. I would have voted for the Sex Party if they'd had a candidate running in my electorate, but the best I could do was preference them first (followed by the Secular Party and the Greens) on the Senate ballot. So the Greens were the best bet in order to help send a strong message. They're the only party who actually understand social issues like marriage equality and refugee rights. There's just no place in today's society for social conservatism and it frustrates me that neither of the major parties are willing to take any action on gay marriage, especially considering that around 70% of Australians support it. The ALP has also shifted significantly to the right on immigration, catering to the racist bogan vote. I hate that greedy people smugglers are able to profit by sneaking people into the country in leaky old boats, but the idea that these people are 'illegal' and must be turned back is even more disgusting. Just look at where Labor have shifted to on the political spectrum this election:

Graph from www.politicalcompass.org

The two major parties have been stealing policies from each other and the line between them is becoming blurred. It's no wonder that people are becoming disillusioned. There's just so much to hate and I haven't even touched on economic issues yet. It all comes down to the lesser of two evils and, fortunately, I think Australia has done a good job of choosing the right one this time. But we've also made it perfectly clear that we weren't happy with how things were (not) progressing before. If our delightful red-headed overlord expects to win another election, there are a lot of issues she'll need to take a stand on. I just hope that this precarious minority government situation will force them all to think things through and genuinely work in the country's best interests.

Australia has spoken, Julia. Do us proud.




(there will be more on this when it isn't 2 in the morning)

The fraud that is psychism

I was watching Home and Away tonight (don't judge me) and I noticed that they've now brought a psychic into the story. It got me thinking about just how ridiculous the whole idea of psychism is. And just as I was struggling to find the words to write a snarky blog entry about it, I happened across this piece by Charlie Brooker. It's probably a harsher than I would have gone with, but nice nevertheless.

If I walked into a single mother's house and said I could read her baby's mind, then started shouting four-letter words, claiming I was simply voicing her offspring's thoughts, I would expect to be arrested the moment I stepped outside.

And if, during my "psychic reading", I also speculated about the mother's sex life, and a potentially abusive relationship with a former boyfriend, claiming her toddler was concerned about "men who want to touch mum's privates", and I went on and on in this vein until the mother burst into tears, there in the living room, in front of her child, I'd expect to be arrested, sectioned, and beaten in the back of the van.

And if I allowed a TV crew to broadcast what I was doing, I'd expect to be attacked by a mob, who'd pull me apart and kick my remains around the street, pausing only to spit on any bits of my face that got stuck to their shoes.

But no. In fact the outcry would be muted at best and Ofcom would turn a blind eye - as it did last week, while clearing Channel 5's unbelievably disgusting Baby Mind Reader of any wrongdoing.

I've never fully understood the public's docile acceptance of psychics, or why, when it comes to their supposed abilities, the burden of proof is assumed to lie with the sceptic, as opposed to the sort of shrieking idiot who claims to be able to contact the spirit world (or in Derek Ogilvie's case, communicate telepathically with kids too young to talk).

I'm quite hardcore on this. I think every psychic and medium in this country belongs in prison. Even the ones demented enough to believe in what they're doing. In fact, especially them. Give them windowless cells and make them crap in buckets. They can spend the rest of their days sewing mailbags in the dark.

The audiences that psychics prey on are equally infuriating, albeit less deserving of contempt. They're just disappointing, like a friend who's let you down. Often, they're simply grieving and desperate.

I mean, if you want to believe in psychics, fine. You're a dangerous idiot and I wouldn't trust you to operate a spoon without putting an eye out ... but fine. Your choice. Delude yourself silly. Your world is probably more fun than the real one. There's no death, just an afterlife filled with magic spirits who like to communicate with eerie, ugly, otherwise-unemployable bottom-of-the-barrel "showmen" back on Earth.

But don't accuse anyone with the temerity to question your sad supernatural fantasies of having a "closed mind" or being "blind to possibilities". A closed mind asks no questions, unthinkingly accepting that which it wants to believe. The blindness is all yours.

(If you want to feel your eyes pop rudely open, swot up on the "cold reading" techniques fake psychics use - a combination of guesswork and sly conversational tics which give the impression that the "psychic" is magically receiving accurate information from the ether. A fantastic (albeit pricey) step-by-step guide is available from Ianrowland.com.

Anyway, back to my psychic prison fantasies. The problem with trying to jail all the mediums in Britain is they'd a) see it coming, and escape overseas to somewhere even more gullible, like Narnia, before you'd passed the legislation, or b) call on their ghostly friends in the spirit world to whisk them from harm's reach.

Except they couldn't because ghosts - unlike scumbags and conmen - don't exist. Pity. But that's the real world for you. Often disappointing. But real. At least it's always real.

IgnopediA

Continuing our uniquely unreliable interactive knowledge resource.

Creationism (requested by Matthew Roberts)

Creationism, simply put, is the heartfelt conviction that man was created by God, using some kind of celestial putty. This is perhaps the most arrogant belief a human skull can contain without exploding. After all, God has far better things to do than creating self-important little species such as ours. He's got wars, deaths, disasters and diseases to ignore for starters. And a fair bit of not-exist-ing-at-all to be getting on with.

Creationists reject Darwin's theory of evolution on the grounds that it is "just a theory". This is a valid criticism: evolution is indeed merely "a theory", albeit one with ten billion times more credence than the theory of creationism - although, to be fair, the theory of creationism is more than just a theory. It's also a fairy story. And children love fairy stories, which is presumably why so many creationists are keen to have their whimsical gibberish taught in schools.

In recent years, creationism has been rechristened "Intelligent Design" (or ID), because that sounds more like proper science, which is precisely what it isn't. ID is largely supported by religious zealots who believe they can best serve God by clashing with school boards and scientists, instead of, say, spreading peace and goodwill or loving their neighbours, neither of are half as much fun.

 
Nice, huh?

A success so far

So, it's day one of my vegetarian month. Morale is high and there have not yet been any casualties, so it's a good start. I mentioned in my last post that there are a lot of meat replacements on the market, and I've since gone out and bought pretty much every one I could find:

Smoked deli slices. They look and feel like polony but taste like beef jerky.

BBQ sausages.

Hot dogs. I have to say, I'm a little apprehensive about these.

Gourmet sausages. Yep, it seems like they're big on the fake sausages.

Vegie kebabs. They look tasty enough.

Sweet chilli and lime vegie burgers. These are full of chickpeas and taste far better than regular burgers

Fake bacon. Fakon? Facon? This sounds all well and good until you see what it actually looks like ...

Eww.

Lentil burger 'meat'.

Casserole 'mince' ... in a tin?

I have no idea what nutmeat is supposed to be or why it's a tin, but I guess we'll see.

Vegetarian mince, in a box. I'm very curious to know how that works.

As you can see, I'm very well prepared! Also, Sanitarium ought to pay me for advertising their products ;)

I had dinner a little while ago and I can really feel the difference already. The vegie burger is a lot easier to digest than meat; my stomach isn't gurgling like it usually does and I don't have that heavy feeling in my gut. Also, the smell of the meat burger that my dad started cooking afterwards made me want to vomit. You could smell the fat just pouring out of it - practically feel it in the air - and I can't help but wonder how I ever would have wanted to eat that. Amazing on just the first day, right?

Let's just hope I can stay this positive for the next 29 days. Unfortunately, there don't seem to be any artificial chicken products out there and god knows that's what I'm going to miss the most. How on earth does one survive without chicken?