First off, what the fuck is an Emerald Stormtrooper? Apparently this blog is frequented by them. Are you an Emerald Stormtrooper?
Here at the Ruminator we like a bit of audience interaction, so here’s a question for you:
Something is happening in my local community that makes me cringe. Where I live, people drive big shiny black block-of-flats cars. They pull hair-raising u-turns outside busy school zones, mount two wheels on the footpath as five-year olds walk past.
So in the course of discussing how I find it appalling that the Prime Minister of our country interacts with – and provides copy to – Cameron Slater given his “hilarious” revelling in the death of children with ethnic names, a few people called me out on my pseudonym.
Over the weekend I was emailed a post entitled “The sisterhood of the travelling racist jacket”. It was an opinion piece on the comments between Anne Tolley and Metiria Turei about who can and can’t wear flash jackets to parliament.
The other night I was watching a discussion between sage-like knicker machinists Sean and Julie of Coronation Street. Julie, who is pregnant, was concerned about the world she was bringing her unborn baby into. This is said often. “What kind of world am I bringing my children into?”
I have spent most of my life playing down the impact of my disabilities on my identity. This will always be a totally futile and quite ridiculous exercise.
We’ve heard a lot of angry rants about click-bait headlines. The sort of headlines that say things like “20 Secret Santa gifts you won’t believe actually exist.
“The first week I lost two pounds. That was easy; just water weight, it’s all just water. Week two I only lost a pound. Week three I lost half an ounce…no, sorry, more like two thirds of an ounce. Week four I regained a pound…”
Every year, Time Magazine gives out its person of the year award (used to be Man of the Year but they had to change that).
On Monday, 17 December 2013, I ended a six-year relationship. Well, I say ‘ended’, but we’re probably just going to be on a break for a while – it’s quite likely I’ll turn up on the doorstep, begging for forgiveness and asking to be taken back.
This November, in preparation for the return of my lovely wife and her precious cargo, my father very kindly helped me to paint the inside of my house.
Remind me never to play poker. With a face like mine there’s no hope in hell I’d ever win – one glance and you’d know if my hand was a winner or a loser.
It’s the ultimate underdog story – two renovation rookies with no experience at all up against plucky, experienced DIYers Alisa and Koan, first-rate, four-time renovators Alice and Caleb, and of course the boys – Andy the builder/farmer and Pete the plumber/every-kind-of-handyman.
Some time between your first major disappointment and the arrival of a girlfriend – Morrissey gets you.
We’ve invited a group of well known New Zealanders to submit pieces about subjects that they aren’t well known for.This will be an irregular series so check back often. This is the second such piece and it’s written by Seven Sharp and TVNZ reporter Heather du Plessis-Allan.
Loren Heaphy of the Block fame has become a little bit well known for having a cry on national TV. She very kindly wrote a post on just that.