Posts by Dinah Dunavan
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Hugh Grant's performance was equally good
"you should try real journalism Paul, you're not an idiot, you could probably do it"
Brilliant!
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Arriving late to a discussion can be frustrating.
Has anyone else linked to this?
Not a humourous subject but I still laughed a lot.Humans are supposed to able to make rational choices, we are not 'animals' (ok pedants, we are but you know what I mean).
I'm sure I could train my dog not to chase fluffy running things, but it is in her nature to chase, shake and crunch.
I wouldn't rely on her to make a sensible decision about whether the next door cat is ok to chase or not.When someone is violent and says "I couldn't help myself" that the victim "asked for it". They are saying "I am an animal, I can't stop my 'natural' behaviour"
I say animals don't vote, they can't stand for parliament, they don't drive, or teach, or wear clothes, etc... Humans are different from other animals, we can think about what we do and make decisions based on reasoning. (Sometimes we take medication to help.)Of course given our inability to not screw up this planet I am wondering just how far advanced we are.
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We arrived at the local shop (to check our PO Box and buy a paper) a short 30 hours after a double fatal accident near-by. The gentle sound of trucks rumbling by was shattered by the siren. We all looked at each other and laughed nervously.
It was the fire-brigade being called out to assist the crane that was working at the accident site. Was a siren really necessary? Turns out the local crew weren't required anyway.
And as an aside, our number two dog could get a job as a siren, but he does need that first wail to get him started.
A second aside, apparently these volunteer firebrigaders never get any trauma counseling. Even after attending a burning vehicle (driver inside), or a suicide.
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What better eulogy could anyone wish for. Emma, that was lovely. My sincerest condolences to you and everyone who knew your mum and loved her.
As my parents get older and frailer I know how my mother felt when I was a teenager and I went out with friends. When the phone rings and it is mum or dad calling I have a little shiver worrying that something has happened. I've told them to never leave a message on my cell phone, unless it is important. My phone knows that they called and if they leave a message I get a bit panicky. (Until I hear the message, which is usually my Dad saying, "oh I'm not supposed to leave a message" or similar.)
When my father-in-law died I was joining the rest of the family late. When I arrived at LAX he was alive, several hours later when I flew in to JFK he was gone. Literally. He had died and his body had been removed from the house along with much of the cancer patient paraphernalia. It was spooky. He wasn't even at a funeral parlour. A jar of ashes was delivered to the house and taken to his memorial service a week later for burying at their church. It was the right thing for his closest family but it was so unlike anything in my experience I was slightly at sea at how to deal with his death, and disappearance.
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December and christmas then new year whizzed past. Thankfully the rain is still falling so we aren't worried about a drought, yet. It would be nice to be able to see across the driveway though.
New Years' Eve was bonzer. We went down the hill for a hangi. All local product. Venison (courtesy of yours truly (well hubby of)), rabbit, wild pork, local fish, freshly dug potatoes, and much more. I have suspicions that disaster was averted by the wonderful assistance in putting down the hangi by local expert. Music supplied by local musicians and singers. Convivial company found in neighbours. Amazing what a town of 200 can produce.
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Hard News: I'm not a "f***ing cyclist".…, in reply to Kitt McGregor,
As usual, I'm arriving late to this discussion. Here are my two cents worth.
Shortly after I met the man who was to become my husband he was knocked off his bicycle by a jogger. From memory the jogger ran off swearing. My fella struggled to his feet, bruised and grazed and discovered his rather expensive bicycle had sustained some rather serious damage.
We had a visit to Bellingham, Washington (north of Seattle) this year. During my stay I walked a couple of miles every day along a road with no verges. Nearly every vehicle (notably always the big trucks and SUVs) pulled as far out of their lane as possible to give me room. I waved to every one of them in thanks. Imagine a truck giving a pedestrian space in NZ! My husband road most days for the two months he was there and he experienced the same courtesy from drivers. Bellingham is a fairly bike friendly town but we were staying out of town where there seem to be more conservative farming, logging, hunting (right-wing christian) types. So it wasn't a hippy beardy bike friendly thing.
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My mum used the slut word on me when I was 16 (or was it 17) and I'm pretty sure she was referring to my lazing around the house, not doing homework, and general lack of tidying up after myself, and not my (non existent at the time) promiscuity.
I'm with Jackie,, 18 years of marvelous monogamous marriage has followed several years of busy promiscuity, which followed five years of faithful teenage coupledom.
I've worn short skirts, and low necklines, and tight clothing ever since I got a clothing allowance when I was 13 (over 30 years ago) and then realised I had legs and boobs worth showing. Age and wobblyness has given me some thought but get me back in the pool and my legs shaped up (down) and the short skirts will be back (especially the ones that go with those lovely long black boots with the buttons up the side and a neat little heel, or the equally lovely red ones with tassels).
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Sorry if all this has been said before. Internet not working properly and new/2nd hand kitchen being installed.
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Did the teacher mean 'slut' in its traditional sense, ie. slovenly, untidy, dirty? A person who has lost all interest in her appearance and by inference her self esteem. That would be a concern. But not really an excuse to say "you look like a slut". Maybe the right approach would be to say, "you seem to have little care for your appearance, are you depressed? Can I help you? Or am I so out of touch with teenage fashion that I am unaware that the way you dress is the height of fashion?"
I think that the teacher meant 'slut' in its more modern definition, as in a woman/girl who will have sex with anything that moves. Not necessarily a woman who is friends with men, for very long that is.
Maybe the teacher really meant "I think your low self esteem makes you dress the way you because you equate casual sexual encounters with love or appreciation from men. Can I help you build your self esteem up so that you become fussy about the boys you have sex with and realise that they should be damned grateful that you're prepared to spend time with them at all". Of course the average teen response to that would be "whatever" (or am I out of date on teen vernacular).
There is always the possibility that the young woman enjoys sex and/or the attention, and what the hell is wrong with that. Seems that society still thinks that women who have casual sex are dirty whores but men who do the same are studs, or at least damn lucky.
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What pisses me off about the whole marriage vs civil union thingy is that marriage is basically a civil union in NZ. Just because sometimes a church is involved doesn't mean that a couple are married in the eyes of NZ law. Whatever you call it and wherever you do it you still have to fill out the paper work and file it with the department of Internal Affairs. So why are some people allowed to get "married" and others not?
And weirdly it is illegal for someone in a civil union to then get married to someone else (without a legal separation). Even if they weren't legally allowed to marry their first partner.
I got married, and took his name. The old name was my father's, and his father's etc. And we're the only two people in NZ (that I'm aware of) with our name, so that is kinda cool. And if you always have to spell out your first name you may as well spell out you last name too.
A couple of our conservative friends still send letters to Mr and Mrs (his name). We chuckle. But when his mother did it I politely (not) pointed out her error. One long time friend writes letters to Mr and Mrs (his name) but still introduces me in company as Dinah (the old name that I grew up with), made me chuckle even more.