This is what I mean by the headline:
They do look pretty sick, don’t they? Fascutis? Busters? But after all, their native language is Chinese so they’re excused. Anyway, if I were a Gen Z or Millennial, being called sick is a compliment, isn’t it?
However, I’m amazed and disgusted at the lazy, ignorant and incredibly low standard of written English in this country, right here. People don’t look at what they write, they don’t check it, they can’t write proper grammar, they can’t spell, they don’t understand syntax. They just don’t care!
I’m on this rampage after spending a few hours on Facebook and the Nextdoor website. I feel dirty when I’ve looked at the garbage people write; unclean, contaminated, stained by their sloppy, careless howlers. How can people care so little about how they’re seen?
I refuse to drop my standards. I learnt to read and write from good books and I’m proud of the way I write. I look down on misspellers, grammar fools, syntax idiots.
Speaking of Chinese, would you like to try their latest tools?
Ingrown toenails? Time on your hands? High threshold of pain? Try these high tech solutions for your ingrown toenails. Just go to Wish.com. 🙂
My last book finished is My Place, by the local writer Sally Morgan. I was a little disappointed because before I started it, I was under the impression that it was a biography of the woman who married Ernie Dingo. I’ve heard her talk on radio and it was a very, very interesting story.
But that’s not this book. Sally Morgan was born right here in Perth and lived in Manning (a suburb just south of Perth city) for most of her life as described in this story. She’s still with us, I don’t mean to imply that she’s died. But it’s the story of how she grew up not realising that she was Aboriginal, thinking that her slightly darker skin was Indian, from being from India. Only slowly did she learn of her heritage, despite denials and prevarications mainly from her grandmother but also her mother.
As she learnt more, and gained a degree in psychology from UWA along the way, she determined to find the complete story and write a book about it. It’s a story of how “natives” like her gran and mother were employed almost as slaves at the huge pastoral stations in the Pilbara and Kimberley. However, many of the relationships were close and kind, and many children were born of relationships between the white male station owners and the Aboriginal women.
It’s a thick book, 450 pages or more of small type and to be honest, I skipped ahead in a few places, but I’m glad I finished it. It’s a well regarded book and I can see why. It’s nothing to do with Ernie Dingo, though. I’ll have to dig a bit to find that one.
My current book is The Time Machine by H. G. Wells, that classic of science fiction. It’s a slim book, less than 200 pages, I think. Despite knowing of it for most of my life, I’ve only now got around to reading it.
I’m only 2/3 of the way through and despite the flowery prose, it’s holding my attention, even if putting me to sleep as intended. It’s set in about 1890, I think, telling the tale of a London well-to-do gentleman (he must be, to be able to afford a big house, servants and a laboratory) who invents a machine that enables him to travel forward in time, to the future, the year 8021207 to be precise.
There he lands in a world of little people, small in stature that is, who live in a lush garden world and who seem to have no apparent work or means of production of their food or clothing. Except for the abundant fruits of the gardens.
But his time machine disappears and he is forced to search for it. In doing so he discovers an underground world inhabited by what seems to be a separate species, the Morlocks, dark adapted, with large eyes and who try to capture him. He escapes, but realises that these subterranean creatures do the work producing the clothing that the upper world people wear.
I’m at the point where he’s finding another group of people at the moment. It strongly reminds me of episodes of Dr Who. Stay tuned for the finale.
Urrrgggh, I’m finding that sitting all day is producing pain in my left buttock, radiating down my left leg and into my foot. Luckily it’s not sharp pain, just an ache, but unless I take all the weight off that left side, it hurts. But try sitting with all your weight on the right side for a while. It’s too hard.
Therefore I’ve fallen for an ad of F/B for a kind of foam cushion:
It’s coming from the USA, home of big bums. It costs about US$50 so it better be good.