Tag: moving of site

Jaro, sulc v punčochách, Kuvajt a můj nenositelný kousek šatníku

První teplejší dny jara konečně dorazily do Newcastlu a lidé jako smyslů zbavení pobíhají po ulicích v tílkách, minisukních tak mini, že už to jde snad i do mínusu, co se délky týče; a vůbec jaro je ve vzduchu a všichni jsou najednou jako diví, svlečení z legračních zimníků (zbytek se nemění, minisukně či žádné sukně tu potkávám vcelku často; leč přiznávám, že dívka s velkým pozadím, jež joggovala v tangách a poloprůhledných punčochách bez sukně, kraťasů, trenýrek, čehokoliv pokrývajícího okolo mne mi způsobila dozajista chvilkovou zástavu rozumu, neboť kopa bílého, ťupkovaného masa sulcovitě se třesoucího v rytmu poskakujících boků byla po ránu opravdu příliš mnoho pro můj žaludek a smysl pro soudnost); a já se zase po pár měsících začínám cítit oblečená, protože délka teď zrovna není in, nemluvě o trvalé ‘outovosti’ šátku hlavového. Ale což, potrvá mi to tak tři dny, než si zvyknu na to, že lidé občas koukají. A lidem potrvá zhruba tři dny si uvědomit, že někteří se prostě neodhalují s postupujícím sluncem na nebi.

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O jazykové integritě

Někde mezi 90ti procenty levelu 139 mé Force Bladerky v Cabalu (ano, jsem hráč, přiznávám) a odstraňováním dva dny starých špaget ze dna našich úžasně zelených talířů jsem si uvědomila, že veškeré mé pokusy o jazykovou celistvost mého internetového pseudozápisníčku jsou naprosto marné a tudíž bych se na to měla zvysoka … vydlábnout. Koneckonců, můj papírový deníček, tedy spíše příležitostníček, je také bilingvní a nikdo mi do toho nekecá. Jediným problémem je tedy ona nedvoujazyčnost některých mých přátel, kteří sem čas od času páchnou, ale čert s tím. Víc mi dělá problém po dvou letech psaní na anglicko-arabském notebooku najít správné české znaky (což vysvětluje moji lenost psát v češtině, kdo by se s tou intepunkcí pořád otravoval; a psát v češtině bez interpunkce do článků mi přijde barbarské.)
Po odstranění betonových špaget ve mne tedy uzrálo rozhodnutí, že na to kašlu, a budu si psát, jak mne zrovna napadne; vždyť koneckonců stránku jsem si vytvořila hlavně pro sebe, abych se po letech mohla zasmát našim postřehům i peripetiím v nové zemi… že to díky podělanému serveru u WordPressu nevyšlo, to už je věc jiná, doufám, že mne Drupal zachrání a je skutečně natolik spolehlivý, jak se povídá.
Budu holt muset naučit některé Čechy anglicky a pár dalších národností česky; oj, kéž by.

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Skinny Stick or Chubby Muffin?

I always dreamt about being slim as a Jalapeno on a stick, and it was my goal, not a life aim, yet a nice goal to achieve. I managed to maintain size 34/36 (US chart 4) for the years of having no money, work, and no money and lotsa stress.
Now, as a satisfied housewife, I jumped to 38/40 (8), and my hair got much more better, skin doesn’t have pimples anymore, well, mostly; my moods are not swinging and I feel actually happy. My husband loves my body and I learnt to like myself too. I just so hate to throw away my old clothes, because my hips got twice as wide.
Now my question is, do men actually like skinny woman? Or do they prefer chubbiness? I like to persuade myself that men don’t go after those skinny ladies whose hip bones always go first and than enters the rest of theirs, breasts included; but am I right? Last days I gathered so many complimenting comments on pictures of ladies who have 40 to 50 kg, that I really don’t know anymore, where’s the average truth.
Naturally; skinny women shouldn’t be even attractive to a normal man as they are supposed by Mother Nature as the less fruitful, if I may write it in the fancy way; while normally fit or a bit chubby women have much more probabilities to carry successfully a baby, and not only one, but many, without problems; all from nature point of view, hence the instinct of an average man should lead to a woman, who has some curves, not many angles.

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Flickr Cleansing

My contact list got cut in half; one piece got classified as a junk, second as inspiring, having potential, great talent or just really professional photographers. I got really, really pissed off when I saw certain people re-uploading one and only one picture of their, which was taken with mobile and the main subject of picture was something like “My awesome and cute eyes,” “My new fingernails,” “The piece of hijab, which should be covering my head, but slipped away,” and this one picture having 5 pages of comments of “Awesome work, keep it up!”, “Great talent, superb bokeh,” and other pearls of hidden dating communication.
And yes, it took me 2 years on Flickr to realize that 98% of Middle Eastern community residing on that site uses photography as a poor excuse to pick up guys and girls. I never claimed to be a thunder bolt of thinking; and Abood always claimed I’m too nice to people and I want to please everybody (in that particular case by reciprocating when added as an contact).
My salutations to ingenuity of society where dating is still frowned upon, but pals! Do not try to include me in it, please. I’m happily married to an handsome Kuwaiti man, but it doesn’t really mean I wanna network and chit chat with all Kuwaitis on site where I want to only share some captures with my family and friends and, of course and without any doubts, look for talented photographers, unexplored artists and commonly persons, who inspire me and push me towards better photography.
I therefore beg your pardon if I deleted you in yesterday’s cleansing hurricane, but I really, really got pissed off. There’s no art in mobile shots of lipsticks and nail polishes, girls, and there’s no art in mind-numbingly repeating self-portraits of your right cheek (which is in your point of view probably more good looking) and awesome new off-road and eagle, guys. The art of photography is in seeing the world by your own eyes, capturing the fragile moments of running life, snatching the right amount of soul in your portrait, having a message behind the capture, or simply outstanding view of pretty normal things. Not a lipstick, not a heart made from 2 pages of book, and no, no, no, definitely not a self-portrait gallery. If you wanna network and date, you got Facebook.

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Mundane

So I was trying to find out what is mundane in photography. It seems to be another very used word except “bokeh”, and as well I seem to be that last uneducated freak who doesn’t really know what is that all about.
I already found out, what is bokeh, and with that came up that most of the amateur photographers actually confuse bokeh for blur; maybe because it sounds cool, to have a great bokeh in the capture… So bokeh, the out-of-focus light things in the capture, with many things around it (like shape of it, number of blades in the used lens, the filling of the bokeh, border of the bokeh, many, many quite unimportant things when it comes to really great photography), bokeh is finally clear to me.
But, what is mundane? I reckon something about everyday details of life, yet I’m not sure, as it seems again that many people just take that cool sounding word and place it with pictures which doesn’t have much in common with the actual “mundane” thing…
Confronting uncle Google, I am finding definitions of mundane:

  • Everyday: Found in the ordinary course of events.
  • In science fiction and related fandoms, a mundane is a person who does not belong to a particular group, according to the members of that group; the implication is that such persons, lacking imagination, are concerned solely with the mundane: the quotidian and ordinary.
  • Earthly, ordinary objects and concerns; worldly, profane, vulgar as opposed to heavenly; ordinary; not new; tedious; repetitive and boring.
  • Mundaneness – sophistication: the quality or character of being intellectually sophisticated and worldly through cultivation or experience or disillusionment.
  • We use this word to refer to that which is modern. People sometimes refer to their “mundane life” when talking about their occupation, or their “mundane name” when introducing themselves.
  • So, tell me, what is mundane photography? How do I capture mundane detail? Can I even capture mundane detail, when I believe there’s something more behind everything?

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    Odd, you are Odd

    And they say, “Why did you marry him?”, so what I should reply to those curious people? And are they even curious, or just asking to state a fact, “We don’t like him.”
    I am so sure you all do not, so what, do I really care? The world is so silly, not the world, the people, these terrible creatures of God. So what, do I care? Not at all, cut me some slack. Did you marry him to talk bad behind my back? Backbiting, that’s how is it called, and that word sounds so true suddenly, feeling like small vicious demons jumping around with sharp teeth tearing our skin apart. Teeth, so sharp and poisonous, as the minds of the celebrated humans of my civilization; “The only free and true society,” they say; and they hold their fingers crossed hidden in the dark, blending into the shadows, whispering, “It is a lie, it is a lie!”
    I know, it is; I see behind that heavy curtain of lies, but that curtain was knit for so long, and so tight; that you may be called mad if you try to see behind; and I know sometimes you try to lift the heavy beaded corner and see, “Is there any light behind?”
    There isn’t any light behind, but once you see through, you know; people are not gray, and world is not just shades of black and white. They told you that and they taught you that, but when you see, your eyes wide open; not gray, but colours. But who can really see? Mad people, mad people, that’s how they call them. But who is really sane, in this society?

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