Saturday 22 September 2007

Facebook? Blah!

Some of my friends and acquaintances have sent me Facebook invitations.
So far I have not signed up, and can not see any reason why I should.
When I went to the Facebook site, I could not step through the door even to take a look, unless I signed up. Yet at the same time there was no information there as to what Facebook is, nor why I would wish to join up.
A social networking site?
What is that?
I've looked at Myspace, and found it thoroughly dire, I understand facebook to be myspace for grown-ups. Do enlighten me, dear people. Do, please try to explain to me a few reasons why I might want to sign in. Bearing in mind that I have no idea what blogging is about, and have recently been neglectful of my implied commitment to blog every now and then.
Facebook? Blah!

Friday 7 September 2007

Revisited: The Sisterhood of the Pointy Heels

You may recall that I spoke of the "Sisterhood of the Pointy Heels" long ago.
This once-secret movement, is now growing in power, and confidence.
They are marching and training openly, across the globe.

They even had a short-lived blog on Blogger a while back, I recall.
I suspect one of our blogosphere's number, recently having announced a break from blogging, was in fact called up for Officer Training.
She has been for some time, blogging, amongst other things about shoes, and seems particularly attached to the pointy heeled variety.

Sisterhood graduation. The senior Officer is not a man, but is in fact an undercover spy, called Mildred X, and is a special forces officer, trained in the infiltration of male-dominated militias.

Note the wearing of non-standardised footwear.- As we know, matching shoes with another woman is just not to be contemplated. No standard-issue Blahniks here.

Although there IS a uniform code, stockings, waistlines, hemlines (and shoes!) seem not to be regulated.

The Airforce operate in a sunny warm place, called the "cockpit", perfect for working on a tan, and evening out the skintones. (the Jimmy Choos are packed with the parachute).

The 5th-15th Forward Oriental Can-Can Regiment, on parade. Calf length boots are de rigueur for these crack troops, whose high kick advance is invincible.

The Camouflage division know the vital importance of ice-cream to forward troops.
This Ice Cream van is air-portable, and dropped by parachute into operational zones.

Engineers here are seen crocheting a camouflaged tank-cosy.

Tank Crew-members relaxing after a sortie into male-held territory
(on a "bring your toddler to work" day)

The Sistehood's jet crews found larger jets a bit pesky to park, so pointy-heeled aviation designers came up with an easier version. We catch these two right at the very moment of take-off, in early flight trials. Expendable male test pilots are used until all the glitches are ironed out.

Shoe-phones are standard issue. Hairdressing and waxing appointments are on the red "hotkeys" at the bottom of the keypad.

The phone doubles as a weapon. It can be hurled a surprising distance.

Why this post?
Just a reminder, ladies, You're not un-noticed.
We men have a defence strategy worked out. It might involve chocolate, or something even more fiendish, -such as tickling.

Sunday 2 September 2007

Insomnia - Irving Layton 1912-2006

After the bath
you lay on the bed
exposing layers
of beautiful washed skin
we both stared at in surprise;
long strands of hair, shiny and damp
under the yellow sunlight,
fell over your shoulders:
they made two exclamation marks
with your stiffened nipples.

And gently you fell asleep
at my side;
while I, my sweet, stayed awake
all night
who had your uncovered beauty
to think about,
your nipples troubling me
in the night
like two mysterious asterisks.

" I Knew a Woman" Theodore Roethke 1908-1963

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods could speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek)

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand,
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).

Loves likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile noise
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay;
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).