Real Work Shocks Blogger.

I'll be off line for a few days on work related mumbo jumbo.
Ciao.

Pontius Pilot Parenting.

You have to wonder what chance a kid has of making anything of their life if her own parents can't even be bothered their holes to turn up to a police station upon learning of the child's arrest.
Imagine being 14 and in trouble and knowing that there is no one who cares enough about you to come to your aid. Poor kid. I don't like thieves, but fuck, kids make mistakes and if they're lucky they learn from them. Maybe this child is a little brat, maybe she's a handful, it doesn't really matter. Whatever the circumstances, parental care should not be conditional.

Saturday Repair.

New running inspiration, Speedy von Hairalot/Binkley-->




Back at it, lets go.
AIMS.
A dead lift at 100k ( that's kilos none of your sissy pounds malarky)
A bench press at 50 k
To squat 70k
To Push Press 40k
To Military press 30k
to perform one set of over head squats carrying 30k with falling over backward or forward.
To perform 10 ( count 'em) Dead hang pull ups, no kipping, no swinging of any sort.
To row 5k in 20 mins.
To run 10k in 50 minutes.



This Week.
Bench- 30k
Push press- 32 k

Military-Press- 22k.

Ran 5k- 27:40

Deadlift, a personal best of 92 kilos. My goal of reaching 100k might have been a tad conservative.

No pull ups were done, and I rowed a 4.08 k on Monday which was fast for me.

Yesterday was kickboxing, after a 5k warm up Non Memnoch ran us ragged for an hour. My biceps hurt, which is odd.

Today, when my rather unpleasant headache clears, I intend to go to run 10k. I've hitched my wagon with Gimmie to run a ten kilometre race in the park, he means run it, not poodle along at a comfortable pace. I feel an eeep deep inside.

Rape of a child brings out the wrong, but expected, Condemnation.

I'm sure at this stage everyone has read of the poor nine year old child in Brazil who not only endured sexual abuse, but rape, allegedly at the hands of her step father. This poor little girl was also impregnated with twins.
If this is new to you, the story can be read here.
Of course people are up in arms over the reaction of the Catholic Church.
"The Archbishop of Olinda and Recife, Jose Cardoso Sobrinho, told Brazil's TV Globo that the law of God was above any human law.

He said the excommunication would not apply to the child because of her age, but would affect all those who ensured the abortion was carried out. "
Many people are outraged that he would take this line, wondering aloud why those who showed realistic compassion to a child victim should be threatened with ex-communication, but nothing was said about the rapist or those who would rape children.
Well, I'd like to say I am surprised but I am not. This is my church we're talking about here, born Catholic and raised until early teen Catholic, I understand their squawks, this is their line, and pretending it isn't ain't going to cut it.
Here's how it breaks down,
Sex= for procreation. Only.
Man= sacred sperm carrier.
Woman= vessel,
baybee = of greater value than woman, 'gift' from god' person of more rights than vessel.
impregnantion= act of god, 'gift'.
Age= Irrelevant.
Consent= irrelevant once baybee is on board.
Personal sovereignty= utterly irrelevant once baybee on board.
Compassion= irrelevant.
This is it, this is what it boils down to. Celibate men can hold the party line because they will never have to think about anything other than the party line. It matters not that this child was physically attacked and forcibly impregnated against her will, or that physically she is too immature to carry safely to term twins in her tiny body, it matter only about the baybees see? God's gift to us all.
Naturally I reject this notion, even as I reject the church I was baptised into against my will. I reject its teachings and condemn them for their backward views and disregard for a child's true wellbeing. But I also recognise there there is no moral ambiguity at play here, people should not be shocked or outraged by what they have said. This is it, this is what they do. This is what they think. No smoke, no mirrors, no holy hosannas.
The CC is an outdated male centric bastion of dogma and hierarchy. If it's your club so be it, but be aware of your club rules. They are written for all to see.

World Book Day!

It's world book day today, I've no idea what this means but there was an enjoyable article in the Guardian about it and the books we claim we read but don't.

However it was this that caught my attention.

The days of embossed leather bookmarks are of course long gone and 62% of people in the poll admitted they turn the corner of the page to keep their place. "I consider that mutilation," said Simon. "I would never do that, what's wrong with using bookmarks - tickets, pieces of paper?"


The other week a few of us were discussing this very thing. The Paramour puts books down flat and open. My other chum WRITES on her books, and folds the pages. I nearly had to get the smelling slats out. I place a bookmark in my books when I close them, no matter how tired.

Anyway, who would I read that I might consider a guilty pleasure? No one actually, I read what I like, no guilt involved, but I tell you what, I am currently struggling to finish In the Name of The Rose, and since this is my second attempt I will finish the damned thing.
Do you have a touch of the guilts over books? Hide your Cecila Aherne's behind your Flann O'Brien's? Own up now.

Women and Weight Training.

Why don't more women weight train? I'm not talking about using pink/purple dumbbells that weigh less than 4k either. I mean why don't more women actually get down and dirty in the gym?
Every day in my gym I see plenty of women on the machines, firing off rep after rep with little or no resistance, but hardly any in the weights sections. I don't understand it. Is is fear? Nervousness? Worrying about how they'll look? Shit everyone looks pink faced and sweaty in the gym.
My friend is getting married soon, and she wants to look fantastic for her wedding day- she will of course. She is concerned about her arms and shoulders.
'I want to tone up my arms' she said.
'Weights', I said.
'I don't want to get bulky.'
'You haven't a snow balls chance in hell in getting bulky.'
'I just want to tone.'
'What do you think 'toning' is only building some muscle and reducing fat?'

And so on.

Seriously, I know woman read this blog and I'm asking, do you go to the gym? Do you ever venture into the free weight area when you do attend? If not, why not? What do you do when you're there? What are your goals? Is it just over all fitness or do you go with something specific in mind?

This enquiring mind would like to know.

No! Not Snoop Dogg too!!

Snoop Dogg, real name Calvin Broadus, talked about his reasons for joining the religious group in relatively loose terms. “I’m an advocate for peace. I’ve been in the peace movement ever since I’ve been making music,” he told followers. “My whole thing is not about really trying to push my thing on you. It’s just about the way I live, and I live how I’m supposed to live as far as doing what’s right and representing what’s right. That’s why I was here today.”

The Nation of Islam was founded in 1930 with the aim of promoting the conditions of black Americans. The group’s most famous convert is activist Malcolm X.

Discussing his religious beliefs at this weekend’s Nation of Islam event, the Doggystyle rapper referred to himself as the “leader of the hip-hop community” and hinted that his affiliation with the group is not new. “It’s about seeing yourself and what you can do to better the situation,” Broadus said. “We’re doing a lot of wrongs among ourselves that need correcting.”
God Damn! First Prince goes from being a Raspberry Beret Wearing Sexy Muthafucka to a non drinking non chaps wearing god warrior, now the fucking shizzle loses his sizzle? The D O double G? The Dog Father? What the hell? Say it ain't so Snoop? Will you be putting the blunt down too? I feel tears. This day now officially squicks. Turning my dial way down while I wallow in the days when dogs like Snoop hung with hogs like Dre and made summer time music. Fo' reals.

Caught Red Handed? So What?

David Keegan arrived and found his house ransacked and the property missing. He told gardai, who searched the accused's car.

Their son Aaron "protested" and most of the property was found under a rug under his seat. One of the two cameras was in a pocket on the driver's door. The accused initially claimed the camera was theirs, but pictures of Mr Keegan's girlfriend's cat were found on it.


I hate thieves, I really do. Burglars are the scum of the Earth. I honestly don't know what I'd do if I caught someone breaking into my home, but I suspect there would be skin and teeth flying, even if I came off the worst of it.
The problem with most burglaries is you never catch the fuckers. You come home and bam, your home has been ransacked or someone has been in snooping around your property and long gone. Horrible, frightening upsetting feeling.
It's therefore really amazing to read that when caught RED BLOODY HANDED, a judge would let an entire family of thieves off scott free. Even with the evidence on them, even though their lies were so obvious. What kind of message does it send out? Why carry on of course. The law is an ass.

Observe

ROCK STAR IN COCAINE SHOCKER!

Irish version of Rock God-->


Stop the presses! Get the smelling salts out! Irish rock God, lead singer of Boyzone, husband, father, and leather pant wearer, Ronan Keating, has shockingly revealed he has NEVER been offered cocaine in almost 15 years of being an Irish Rawk Star. The 'Life is a RollerCoaster' singer expressed bemusement. This reader expressed bemusement. Puddy expressed bemusement.
Next week, Shane McGowen SHOCKINGLY reveals he doesn't like go to the dentist much and Enya, will she or won't she wear white on her next albumn cover? Who can say, all I know is I can hardly STAND waiting to find out.

The young atheist has a reluctant champion.

Despite my oft out spoken wittering here, I make it my business not to go around in real life demanding public reiki blunderbussing or giving long tedious talks on the joys of lifting weights (except for a ten minute monologue over a few drinks the other week, but that was at a chap who gets it, so I don't feel as guilty, sorry G).
Anyhoo, blog = talk about whatever I like- yes monkeys, whatever I LIKE. Real world = Far more reigned in and considerate of others and their various opinions. That's the way it ought to be no?
But yesterday I was forced out of my shell of mild mannerisms to address what I saw as a rather pitch fork wielding moment.
A dear friend phoned, and as I am wont to do I just let the phone ring. But the paramour was here and he answered and after a moment of pleasantries dropped the phone into my office where I was forced to accept it.
This dear friend- let us call her R- calls me about once every two months. We went to the same college and have remained casual friends over the years. We meet up for lunch every few months or so. I like her, I do. She likes horses, me too. She likes dogs, me too, she likes books and films, HUZZAH, me too. She likes god a lot. Er, okay then.
Now see, this was never a problem for me, mostly because I didn't know anything about it. God talk is not something I would specifically engage in, anywhere. I don't wear an atheist cap or badge, so unless someone asked me, 'Say Fatcat, are you an atheist?' I would have no reason to divulge it.
Certainly R and I have never discussed religion over the years, so it was with a furrow dropping sigh I listened to her complain about her nephew and his atheism yesterday, how his disbelief was 'making her father sick' and his refusal to attend mass was 'making a holy show of the family.'
'What age is the lad?' I asked.
'Sixteen.' said she.
'Ah.' I said.
'Ah what.'
'Well a natural age to question beliefs.'
'We don't mind him questioning, but this lad refuses to accept a word anyone says. My mother even had the parish priest have a chat and nothing.'
'Your mother called the priest in?' I admit I was astounded.
'Just for a talk.'
Anyway in heel of the hunt, it turns out the lad- being like most teenagers, is chaffing under the yoke of parental control and also like most teenagers, is a little know it all, quoting Dawkins and Russell's teapot at ever attempt to corral him back into the Catholic/God fold. I admit I laughed, imagining a lanky youth, sneering gently at the parish priest as the god talk drifted right over his head. I attended a Catholic Boarding school you see, I was that youth.
I said so to my friend.
'What do you mean?' She said.
'Well, I'm an atheist, but less militant than I imagine your average teenager would be ho ho ho.'
A long silence followed. Then.
'You don't believe in God either?'
'Well no, I don't believe in any deity.'
'At all?"
I detected an incredulous note.
'Well, no.'
'What do you believe in then?'
Then I had a short, but slightly tense conversation about why I did not believe in an all powerful creator god who makes women from ribs, dudes from dust and could be called upon to help pass driving tests or find missing house keys while letting millions starve elsewhere. It seemed illogical to me, I said. I believed in nothing supernatural, I said.
We said our good byes shortly thereafter. But I admit, I was glum. I found the paramour changing into football gear and explained that I thought I'd been scratched off another Christmas card list.
'Is she the girl that sent you that book on angels' The paramour asked.
'No, that's the other one.' I said, growing ever glummer.
'Oh well,' Said he, 'Another one praying for your soul.'
'I'm going to start carrying a card. 'Good day to you, Fatmammycat, Next of kin. 0 Neg, please use organs, Atheist.'
Sigh, I wish I had a scrap of sneering teenage vigour in this quagmire of life. Oh wait, I have this place. That will have to do.