“

Oh Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!

”

I heard that song on the bus on the way back from the gym and now I can’t get it out of my head, so I feel the need to share the pain. Mwhahahahaa!!! (I told you the gym was bad for you!) Once more on the topic of exercise, at last I am not alone in the wilderness! Jo is no longer a gym-virgin, for she was inducted today.
Three cheers for Jo!

Finally I am vindicated – ever since the first time I got on a cross-trainer, I have been saying how they are evil, evil I tell you! (*gibber*), and when I espouse this theory, people have been looking at me a little more strangely than they usually do. The only support I have had has been from my mother who had the following little anecdote to share about cross-trainers:

A gym-virgin herself until just a few months ago, my wonderful mother finally took the plunge and joined the (theoretically) lycra-clad brigade at the local gym. She had just been on a cross-trainer for the first time ever and managed a very creditable 3 or 4 minutes (embarrassingly my pb is 4.30). As the talkative type, she strikes up a conversation with the dashing young man on the cross-trainer next to her. She was openly impressed that he had been going on this thing for upwards of half an hour and said so. Very forthright my mother. Only for said stud to ruefully admit that for his first time he had managed 30 seconds before falling off!

Now, aside from the fact that my mother gets to chat to handsome men at the gym but I don’t, I took this to be two for my side on the whole cross-trainers: Lucifer or Gabriel debate, but against me the ranks are legion. Then I bullied Jo into having a go on one (I am mean). Hurrah! I am alone no more! Whilst she didn’t look in immanent danger of falling off, she didn’t look like a happy bunny. Following the little experiment, she confirmed my suspicions: Cross Trainers are the creation of Satan, or at least one of Satan’s lycra-clad lesser minions who realised late one Friday afternoon just before clocking off for the weekend that he needed to devise something fiendish to fill his quotas. They may not be up there with WMD, smallpox, or Dan Brown*, but they are definitely on a par with certain evil pairs of shoes that rub no matter how many plasters you wear, penguins, and certain members of the cafeteria staff who hate me.

*Let me clarify in case you got the wrong end of the stick. I have nothing against Da Vinci Code on religious grounds. People are free to think what they want to think, and credit to the guy for making money out of (someone else’s) odd idea. My problem is this: THE MAN CANNOT WRITE FOR TOFFEE!** The Da Vinci Code is just badly written.*** Angels and Demons is no better. I haven’t read any of his other books but apparently they are just as bad.

**Or any other sweet you would care to mention. I am not prejudiced about confectionary.

***Again, I should clarify before someone yells at me. This is just my opinion. I am not a trained author, literary critic, or English teacher, but I like to think I have a moderately good grasp of the English language, and that I can appreciate what is well written and what is not. Dan Brown is not one of this generations finer writers. He is not even one of this generations mediocre writers. He was just intelligent enough to write his latest book on a topic that got him notoriety. Cynical, probably, but there you go. This is my blog, and that is my opinion, so there 😛

I’ve written a new book review and it is available to read over at the Holm.
–> Clive Cussler, Sahara review

*twiddles thumbs and waits for the post she emailed in several hours ago…*

I know I have said it before, and undoubtedly I will say it again, but exercise is bad for you. Not only is it bad for you physically – I could barely walk up the stairs to the flat after todays outing at the gym – but it is bad for you socially as well. Think about it for a moment.

You are a single female and, whilst you may not be a supermodel you don’t believe that you are stomach wrenchingly ugly either. Despite this, whilst acknowledging your non-nauseating appearance, you have a low opinion of how you look, which isn’t helped by being a few pounds heavier than ideally you would like to be. This, assorted other self-esteem issues which would take more money for therapy than Bill Gates could afford, spending more time in front of a computer screen than is strictly healthy, and preferring a quiet night in than going clubbing, means that the chances for meeting eligible men are few and far between. The usual avenues of work and uni are restricted for numerous reasons. So what is a girl to do? Well, she decides to go to the gym to try and shed those extra few pounds. A noble enterprise. If, in the process, contact is made with individuals of the opposite sex, all the better. Except you’ve forgotten one thing.

You turn the colour of a tomato at the slightest sign of exertion. Factor in already low confidence in body image and unflattering clothing and… No. Apparently the knowledge that you go to the gym/do any exercise is a good sign to the opposite sex because it shows you look after you self and conjures up all kinds of mental images of athleticism and things I won’t go into because you never know who reads these things (I think both my brother and father have the link for starters). This I can see the logic of. I am the same way – I freely admit I go all wobbly-kneed for (among others) climbers. It’s the collarbones you know…
*snaps out of dream*
Anyway, back to my point (I do have one in the midst of this ramble somewhere). You would have to have serious doubts as to the mental health of a man who found me (yes, all the above is a personal rant, you saw through the ruse :P) attractive if he ran across me at the gym. Never in a million years would anyone ask me out if they had seen me for the first time falling off the cross-trainer. I even expect that the sight of me at the end of a workout would cause anyone harbouring secret desire for me to run away! run away!

So there we have it, Cas’ Catch 22. She meets no blokes/those she does meet she lacks the confidence to talk to. So she goes to the gym to (1) try and do the best with what her genes have handed her so that (2) her confidence level increases and (who knows) (3) she might meet new people. But going to the gym to do all of the above actually makes her feel even worse about herself because, face it, no one looks good at the gym!

And if all of the above wasn’t bad enough, me going to the gym is bad for you, because when you’re doing your thing on todays instrument of torture (sorry exercise machine), you tend to be staring at the wall. In my case, glasses have to come off – they look snazzy but aren’t built to remain on at velocity – so I am staring shortsightedly at a fuzzy blob I assume is the wall. Listening to music does help pass the time, but that doesn’t turn the brain off totally, which means I have lots and lots of time to think of things to rant about in my blog. Hah!
I am a firm believer in sharing the pain around *devil*

It is always faintly disturbing when you find that, in order to do research into your chosen area of archaeological theory and practice, you are spending more time looking at technical papers and the hypothetical wish-lists of the great and good, than you do at established journals and books. I am also learning to be wary of the words “in print”, “forthcoming paper”, and most dreaded of all, the phrase “we talked about this at TAG last year and it sounded like fun!”

I had come to accept that, given the rate of change in the field of computing and archaeology, I would have to be wary of things written six years ago. I hadn’t, until today, quite grasped the fact that it would behoove me to be wary of articles written as little as six months ago.

This is the position I find myself in.

It seemed like a good idea back in February, when initial discussions for a dissertation topic were underway. Something exciting, fresh, and new that hadn’t been looked into yet. Roll on April, an attempt to compile some form of basic bibliography, and an incipient nervous breakdown. Not one article in the pile on the floor has (1) come from a published book, or (2) got a publication date before 2002. I lie. One has a date of 1999, but that is purely theoretical in bent, talks only of the potential of ICT systems, and is positively antidiluvian in its out look anyway. Add to that there only seems to be ten names making any sense in the field as it is, the growing appreciation that as a post-grad I am rapidly reaching, if not the same, then the level just below, that of these people, and you have one Cas wishing she was back digging in a hole somewhere on the Isle of Man. At least I got a good tan that summer!

This might be a good time to explain to y’all what this Blog is going to
be about. Quite simply it will be whatever I feel the need to share or
unburden myself about at the moment. I have increadibly vague plans
for the future to do with… but that would be telling 😉

For now at least, read, hopefully enjoy, and go look around the ‘Holm for a more indepth tour through my deranged little mind.

Well I’ve finally done it. Whether it is a good thing or not remains to be seen, but I have finally done it. Done what?! I hear you cry? Joined that (apparently) rapidly growing global community of ‘bloggers’. Blame the BBC Online news service and their continued articles, especially one today. The proverbial straw – http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/4397899.stm

For the past… For ages, I have been growing progressively more and more fed up with the hosting of the ‘Holm, and that, combined with the fact the News page was the only thing really growing on the site, made me decide to start a proper blog. In the future, when I get around to paying for proper hosting, hopefully this blog will nest nicely inside that website, but for now, consider this your first place to look. I will point you in the direction of any changes to the ‘Holm when (if) they occur.

So, for now, whilst I go and make this blog look as snazzy as a predetermined template can be, toodles

*huggles*

Cxxx