I am so relieved to be feeling nearly normal… of course, the very second I type that, I see something swim across my eyes – d’oh! But the pressure on my head isn’t quite as bad, even if a tag-end of dizzy remains. When that happens, I remind myself to drink up the good water, ’cause that’s always nice.
Unsurprisingly, we’re still here on earth today – a billboard that my reputedly dedicated Christian future brother-in-law posted kind of covers that bizz:
I must say I feel bad for anyone that was taken in by this man, and gave him money. If there’s one thing I abhor about organized religion, it’s the whole gimme money-ness of it. Oh sure, I get that churches need money to function; our little place back home couldn’t scrape together enough to keep going, in spite of having the coldest Dr. Peppers in the world. They couldn’t even find a stable priest for our parish, and that was just sadness.
Anyways, I hope that Mr. Camping’s followers find solace and comfort in those who are opening their arms up to them, and as a church deacon was quoted as saying – ‘It’s easy to mock them. But you can go kick puppies, too. But why?’ So let’s knock them, but obviously… boo to the jerk that took ’em for a ride.
In the vaguest relationship to the above, I completed my submission for the Forgotten Contest on Figment. I have to admit that the build-up to the fizzled out non-Rapture did give me my inspiration, though I assure anyone concerned that it is not meant maliciously. Rather, there is some influence from one of my favorite Piers Anthony series, The Incarnations of Immortality. If you’re on Figment and you happen to like it, go ahead and y’know… give me a heart-vote? *chuckles* And if you’re not on Figment and you happen to want some writing inspiration, it’s a good place to go. The max length of contest submissions makes it rather relaxed and easy to do, so…
Anyways, back to refreshing the Sunday Herald to see if I can get a peeksee at the bemusing aftermath of the Streisand Effect in action. Since we don’t have this kind of crazy hiding behind mummy’s legal skirts bollocks in the States, I find the whole super-injunction thing delightfully perverse. I don’t wish ill on anyone at all, mind, but I do find this hyper-obsession with peering through people’s bedcurtains kind of insane, and blame the culture as much as the law for setting up such a completely weird situation. There was a good piece on this exact thing in the BBC, and since I can’t remember if I shared it or not before, I’ll put it up for you now:
Why super-injunctions don’t happen in US
But really, if Mister Unnamed Footballer had taken his lumps like lumpy old Rooney, I suspect it would’ve blown over rather quickly. But that’s just my opinion on the matter, tee hee! For now, I’m just going to kick back and watch it unfold, ’cause really… so strange.