So I've been struggling for things to write about and have been sifting around for interesting things to fill this blog with, when I came upon something interesting; that is to say, something I thought was interesting, which is not necessarily interesting to anyone else but, what can I say? It's my blog and if I want to write about interesting stuff that I think is interesting, well then, that's just something I'll jolly well do and really, who says 'jolly' anymore these days? What am I - a crusty old Dean from some obscure 80's frat boy movie, somehow set in Oxford England, rather than Iowa or Pennsylvania or some other place that I can't be bothered looking up the spelling for because I know I spelled Pennsylvania wrong and it'll show up in spell check and I'll correct it, so half of this blog is not going to make much sense because Pennsylvania will actually be spelled correctly, unless I don't correct it via spell check, which I can't really do because I'm physically and mentally incapable of not correcting something that's been pointed out to me. I tend to believe everyone but myself in most things in life; I have a very hard time thinking for myself. But whatever, it's winter and the last couple of days have been beautiful but cold; full of sun, no clouds and mild in the afternoon. The cold has just been for the morning. But today is grey and cold; it's Friday and I have to go to a party tonight, which I'm not complaining about - I love the people I'm going to be hanging out with but Lady Hem has to work so she won't be able to come with me and, like I said, it's Friday - grey and cold - and I haven't anything more to say.
Showing posts with label typing - not writing - typing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label typing - not writing - typing. Show all posts
Friday, June 3, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Another post where I attempt to alienate my female readership
I've always been intrigued over the whole changing your last name after marriage thing. I'm not opposed to it one way or another. Hell, being a bloke, it doesn't even effect me, it's purely a female thing. Still, it's always given me pause for thought.
Lady Hem changed her name when we got married. For the record, I encouraged her not to. In fact, I wanted to do the Danish tradition and change my last name. But she wouldn't hear of it. She was proud of the fact that she was marrying me and wanted her last name to reflect that. Now she's had second thoughts and wishes she took my advice but she won't countenance doing it this far into the marriage. I'd still do it. I've always hated my last name. Hemingway - who'd ever get famous with a last name like that?
What's interesting to me, is the main reason that women don't want to change their name - they'll lose their identity. Of course, many women don't change their name, because their careers have been built on a name they've used for years. Some do, many don't. Doctors and other health professionals, for example. My boss didn't change her name after she got married. And a good thing too. Her husband's last name is terrible. The thing that really amuses me though is, for women who 'don't want to lose their identity,' it isn't really your identity in the first place. Your last name is your father's name. Unless, of course, you're in Scandinavia (or other countries I'm not aware of) where you take the mother's name. Even if your mother has a different name, you still are Christened with your father's name. It's not even your name, so to speak.
The main agenda seems to me to be, I'm not your property, so I won't change my name to yours. But, isn't it only a name? Are you saying that, if you keep your last name, you are then still your father's property? Is your identity solely wrapped up in your name? Or is there another reason that I haven't thought of? Listen to me: is there another reason that I haven't thought of? Ah...yeah. Probably about a million.
Anyway, that's my pathetic two cents on the issue. And what a pertinent issue it is too. What with all the wars and stuff going on. I'm really on top of the news this week. If my namesake were still alive, he'd kill himself.
Lady Hem changed her name when we got married. For the record, I encouraged her not to. In fact, I wanted to do the Danish tradition and change my last name. But she wouldn't hear of it. She was proud of the fact that she was marrying me and wanted her last name to reflect that. Now she's had second thoughts and wishes she took my advice but she won't countenance doing it this far into the marriage. I'd still do it. I've always hated my last name. Hemingway - who'd ever get famous with a last name like that?
What's interesting to me, is the main reason that women don't want to change their name - they'll lose their identity. Of course, many women don't change their name, because their careers have been built on a name they've used for years. Some do, many don't. Doctors and other health professionals, for example. My boss didn't change her name after she got married. And a good thing too. Her husband's last name is terrible. The thing that really amuses me though is, for women who 'don't want to lose their identity,' it isn't really your identity in the first place. Your last name is your father's name. Unless, of course, you're in Scandinavia (or other countries I'm not aware of) where you take the mother's name. Even if your mother has a different name, you still are Christened with your father's name. It's not even your name, so to speak.
The main agenda seems to me to be, I'm not your property, so I won't change my name to yours. But, isn't it only a name? Are you saying that, if you keep your last name, you are then still your father's property? Is your identity solely wrapped up in your name? Or is there another reason that I haven't thought of? Listen to me: is there another reason that I haven't thought of? Ah...yeah. Probably about a million.
Anyway, that's my pathetic two cents on the issue. And what a pertinent issue it is too. What with all the wars and stuff going on. I'm really on top of the news this week. If my namesake were still alive, he'd kill himself.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Tuesday
It's 3:56pm, Tuesday afternoon.
It is vaguely blue outside, if you discount the wispy clouds obscuring the view. There are no birds in view but I can hear them quite clearly. They don't seem happy.
Cars race up and down the highway. It's a main road, so I'm not really surprised.
Wind does not blow, sun does not shine.
It is Autumn. In two days, it will be Good Friday. We all, except WA and TAS, have five days off to 'spend with the family.' It's Easter after all. It's sort of mandatory.
Can anything actually be 'sort of mandatory?' It's either mandatory or not, surely.
I am bored.
Obviously.
It is vaguely blue outside, if you discount the wispy clouds obscuring the view. There are no birds in view but I can hear them quite clearly. They don't seem happy.
Cars race up and down the highway. It's a main road, so I'm not really surprised.
Wind does not blow, sun does not shine.
It is Autumn. In two days, it will be Good Friday. We all, except WA and TAS, have five days off to 'spend with the family.' It's Easter after all. It's sort of mandatory.
Can anything actually be 'sort of mandatory?' It's either mandatory or not, surely.
I am bored.
Obviously.
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