Letter to an Almost-Teenage Boy

I had a silly post all lined up to finish and post tonight. It had board games, and self-portraits of me pulling faces, and enough Caps Lock to eclipse the sun. And, don't get me wrong, those things are important. But then I got to reading things that made me realise that, just this once, I had to put my serious hat on.

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Rick Santorum. But no, it's not about him. Sure, he thinks women should accept getting pregnant after being raped as God's gift. And yeah, he thinks contraception is a bad thing. But it's not about him. It's about the warped, damaging, and indescribably dangerous mindset he represents. And it's about that fact that people like him are allowed to control the discourse by virtue of the power they hold. Which means that the sort of toxic crap they say is what people get to hear. Which, in a very real way, legitimises that selfsame toxic crap.

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The Yeomen of the Guard, More or Less (But Rather Less than More)

You guys, I'm in a show. A real one! With costumes and singing!

I should point out that I'm not in a show because I'm talented, although that would be nice. I'm in a show because the Gilbert & Sullivan Society has a non-auditioning chorus, which means that, with little real skill, I get to be in that section of the cast responsible for overreacting to everything in the most dramatic way imaginable.

Confession time: I don't actually know much Gilbert & Sullivan. Before I joined, more or less the extent of my G & S knowledge was being able to say "So, the Pirates of Penzance, right?", and then hoping that no one actually tried to make a conversation out of that, because all I really know about The Pirates of Penzance is that it's a thing. Presumably, a thing with pirates in it. Pirates and a modern major general. And they probably sing.

And are possibly vegetables.

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The Five Signs of Exam Madness

It's always easy to tell when it's exam time. And it's not the jacarandas. All the jacarandas mean is that it's too late to start studying, which I've always thought was a bit unhelpful, since it's not like they come with a warning three weeks before they bloom to let you get the jump on them.

Oh... Well, never mind, then. (Source)

There's something about exams that makes my brain go haywire. It's not even that I'm a particularly good student, because if I were, I'd work hard the rest of the year, too, instead of spending all that time on the internet. But when exams and deadlines loom, for a brief few weeks, I actually turn into the sort of organised, diligent student I like to pretend I am, and I draw up timetables and I go to the library and I spend hours and hours making notes and colour coding them.*

And also, I go mad.

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Absent Officers and Sherlock's Trousers

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the place to go to find husbands is Brighton.

And so, with a blatant disregard for scandal and the blackening of our good names in civilised society, Emily and I put on our best dresses and made our way to Brighton in search of officers. Without a chaperone. We’re so scandalous.

And also quite seductive. But not very.

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