Konayuki (see the picture below)

I like that word. It has a nice ring to it. Unfortunately, konayuki has little to do with my newest discovery, but it still deserves a pedestal. You'll see why, but before that there's this little something I want to share with you all.

People at Klout aim for nothing less, but to show each and every person the social impact (s)he makes online. In other words they measure the influence one makes sharing, recommending or creating content. And here's the best part: Klout is actually good at it. They won't only throw some random numbers at you. Well, they will. But my point is, that with those you'll have a clearer picture of yourself as a social (network) being.

Back to an old point, here's why konayuki sticks out of the crowd:

<div class="sarcasm">Insert Your Text Here</div>

Oh yeah, I went there. I made fun of code. Bold, huh? And it wasn't that easy either. Anyway, this can come handy till the actual sarcasm font is invented.

This is going to be one of those posts where the title has nothing to do with the actual content. Today I am talking about something blue (as in my favorite color) that awakes the fake-ish feminist in me turning a nice girl into a walking rage comic (see the picture).

It is, of course, Smurfette and all the ignorant people who accuse her of being a slot (typo intended). I mean, come on! Why all the other Smurfs are happy males (excluding Grouchy Smurf)? Because blessed are the poor in spirit for not realizing our blue friends are all archetypes of everyday people, mere virtues that only together can add up to a complete personality. As in Papa Smurf is Wisdom, Brainy Smurf is Know-it-all-ness, their names pretty much speak for themselves. In this picture Smurfette is the Female.

To understand femininity as a trait we have to bring up our good ol' friend's name. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Yeah, it is Karl Marx. Some say that Smurfs are living the dream, the communist dream, that is. Smurf Village is the perfect realization of the Marxist utopia with Papa Smurf embodying Marx himself. There's no money, property belongs to everyone and labor divisions couldn't be cleaner (see Handy Smurf, Farmer Smurf etc.). However, apart from currency this paradise lacks one more ingredient: women.

Thank God, this is about to change. Which will hopefully silence at least a few ignorant individual and I can push back the little raging feminist where it belongs: a deep corner of my mind. With the new Smurf movie (supposedly the first of a trilogy) a new era has began. That not only will give a deep explanation of Gargamel's past, but will let femininity rock the Smurf world. Can't wait to see that happen. Bound to be smurftastic!

Sweet September

Finally, I can say it out loud: Summer is officially over. Which means the end of the unbearable heat and sunshine dust. I've always preferred cold and dark places. Once a teacher of mine suggested the cemetery as the ideal home for me. I felt a little offended then, but if I think about it, he really needed guts to say that to a pupil and I respect that.

I'm taking great risks as well. At this precise moment I should be studying for an exam, and yet not a single shiet is given. Instead, I turned off all the lights, opened the window and as I write I listen to the rain and other noises of the night. I live in a village, so there's not much of it. This is my way of celebrating the coming of my favorite season.

Autumn. Read it out loud: autumn. Even the sound of the word is beautiful. Autumn. The season that celebrates death with the promise of rebirth. If I die I'd like to do it with as much grace and beauty as the trees around me every year. (Note: Trees are perennial plants, they don't actually die, but rather hibernate during the winter.) If anything, autumn teaches me (personally, but there's always room for more students) that the end of a life is not something I should mourn, but celebrate. It all breaks down to this: it's not the finality of it that matters, but the fact that life happened. Maybe.

Now, as I reached the level of optimism my body and mind can handle for the day I leave you with George Elliot's words of wisdom:

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

A speak out with your geek out moment

As part of something way bigger and much nobler cause than my attempt to entertain I am about to share an interesting story full of twists and unexpected turns.

I've never been called a geek. True story. Well, mostly because the word in my mother's tongue doesn't exist. Unfortunately, this doesn't mean that a few of my habits wasn't frowned upon with my parents leading the way.

My father and mother had a hard time accepting that their precious little daughter refuses to grow up by constantly watching animated movies of all sorts. They were convinced that as an older sister I set a bad example for my sister, Laura. Long story short, I got my fair share of criticism.

At this point I have to admit my scale was indeed wide. I could sit and watch everything from Two stupid dogs and Powerpuff girls to The Beauty and the Beast. But as I grew older and my taste sophisticated ever so slightly I discovered Hayao Miyazaki's work and realized nothing I did till that point was in vain. I won't go into details about the brilliance of the man and his animation studio (not to mention Madhouse). That's something everyone has to see for him/herself.

My point here is that one day Laputa: Castle in the Sky was airing on TV. By that time I was already familiar with Miyazaki's film and managed (using superhuman forces) to convince my parents to give it a chance. I mean it won an Oscar, for Pete's sake. They can't deny its worth.

Unsurprisingly neither of my parents was delighted with it and by mutual agreement we changed the channel. The moral of this two-sided disappointment (parents in the film, me in them) made me realize one thing: I'm not the weirdo here. On the contrary. My folks are nice people, but they are undeniably narrow minded. And for that they are missing out on many great things.

Since that day I embrace my geekiness. Calling someone a geek can only be interpreted as a compliment, because those are the people who understand the world to its fullest.

Which, in itself, is the single most adventurous journey one can dream to accomplish.

What do you think of my conclusion? Any pros or cons?


In fantasy shapeshifters are like wearing a black cocktail dress. With suitable accessories and proper presentation things rarely go wrong. Not to mention that in the XXI. century one can hardly avoid knowing the true colors of a werewolf.

That said, I have to admit I've been foolishly ignorant thinking wolves seized all the blessings a 'were' prefix can provide. Apparently I was wrong. Being an ordinary human, I usually don't like it when I'm wrong. But this time I'm glad I made this little discovery for two reasons:

One: My open-minded-consumer-self learned yet another thing about mythology and folklore. But this I shall mention no more. Because, despite its benefits, it would be way too boring. Besides, who likes that unmistakable flavor of "Not sure if I'm being educated here". (A 'jk' might be due here. And yet, there's none.)

Two: My wooden-headed-critical-rascal-self laughs out loud every time I read werehyena or werecat. And this is not even the best part.

I let my imagination run wild, which led to a whole list of were-things.

The first item is Raspberry, my dog. Every time someone sets his/her foot in our yard she turns into a barking-yelping twister. For that, Raspberry deserves the title: werewoof.

The love of my life spends at least five nights a week in front of his computer. I've always been suspicious of that, now the mystery is finally solved. By day he's an ordinary geek, but by night he turns into a fearsome wereprogrammer.
Does that make the code he writes werecode? I wonder...

At last, but not least I give the title of weresloth to myself for the many days spent being a vast consumer of animes, mangas and Asian live action dramas. I should aware you. The weresloth's fate is similar to a creature named Gollum. It includes skipping meals, neglecting personal hygiene, sitting in front of a screen for hours and other hideous habits. Long term side effects may vary.

Advice corner: What to do if, after reading this, you start discovering new were-creatures on every corner?

Be a good girl/boy and introduce yourself nicely. And if, by chance, you survive the encounter, come back here and share your experience for the greater good of mankind.

Seeing someone actually heed my advices would be rather... well, rather surprising.

Treasure hunt

Before I tell you the story of an interesting August afternoon, there are two things you need to know.

Firstly, my in-laws are the nicest people I've ever met (no, seriously, they are), but my brother-in-law (hereinafter: B.) is downright crazy. Imagine middle-child syndrome meeting the selfish game-addict with no sense of responsibility whatsoever and you can't be far from the truth.

Secondly, his self-destructive lifestyle amazes the hell out of me. Which is why sometimes I just follow him around. It's a lot like seeing Jack Sparrow in action, only without the yummy Depp-like looks (sorry B.).

Much like vampires B. rarely leaves the house during the day. But when he does, something big is about to happen. Last week, for instance, he found a 200 years old sword in his grandmother's house. That was the day, when he decided a treasure hunt was due.

About two centuries ago there was a huge battle near to our village. Luckily, he found a few other dreamers and with the motto "Let's tear up the place!" we went on a life-threatening quest. The funny thing is that everyone had a different goal. B wanted to find another sword. A little boy searched for World of Warcraft items. There was also a guy who kept wandering how did B. manage to convince him to tag along. And I went out for a good story.

After two hours of digging the hard soil (excluding me, I just watched) next to an ancient looking poplar B. and the boys gave up. That day I was the only one who got what I wanted. But this is not the end of the story. B. purchased a metal detector and we are going back. As soon as the rain stops, that is.

Advice corner: What to do when you're bored out of your mind and/or are under a lot of pressure (reasons may vary)?

Find a dreamer and dream together. And if it doesn't work, if you can't laugh with such people, you can still laugh at them. The latter might seem mean, but all is far in a war to stay sane.

Needless to say pretending to be a cartoon hero by digging in someone's backyard is rather adventurous.

Fetch the (hair)ball!

Letting a Yorkshire terrier use your backyard as a hunting territory is not necessarily a bad idea. Although it might turn into one if the above mentioned yard is the Bristly foxtail's favorite place in the whole wide world.

The Bristly foxtail is a weed that grows faster than Asia's GDP. If that wouldn't be bothersome enough, its flower has that annoying nature of sticking into clothes and fur. Apparently my dog refuses to get disturbed by any of this. You can imagine the horror I felt when the other day Raspberry presented her new looks to me.

Advice corner: What to do with a dog that turned into something you are positive if E.T. had it he could probably phone home?

You are in need of three sharp items: scissors, sight and reflexes. It also won't hurt if you build up a little patience. And by little I mean a vast amount: almost as much as you need to suffer through a summer day without internet, cell phone, other people, any sort of food and liquids. If you reach a level where even Buddha would be jealous of the result, you can be sure that no blood will be shed on either side.

Did I mention that the two hours of life-and-death hairdressing were rather adventurous?

Have you ever had a life threatening encounter with a Bristly foxtail, a dog or both? This is the perfect place to let it all out.

A stick-y situation

Many people had heard about stick insects. A few of them even seen one. Thanks to a couple of friends, starting today, I live with seven.

As long as I don't have to touch them, I don't have anything against non-mammal animals. Stick insects are on the top of my list, since all they do is pretend to be tiny branches. Turns out, they sometimes take breaks from motionless stand and engage in other activities. Which brings us to the story how did I became the proud owner of Sneezy, Sleepy, Dopey, Doc, Happy, Bashful and Grumpy. My seven little dwarfs came from a friend, whose insect staff proliferated. As a two birds, one stone solution, she brought a few to our housewarming party, eight of them, to be exact.

The love of my life was very excited about our new pets and decided to make the perfect terrarium for them. Long story short, it looked good. We put the whole thing to its temporary place: the kitchen table. With a job well done, we went to sleep. It wasn't till the next morning that we found out the terrarium's sole issue: low survival rate.

We are lucky people. Our kitchen baths in sunlight all morning thanks to the windows and terrace door. Since we are in the middle of summer season it doesn't only mean light, but hot, hot, hot. Let's just say the stick insects don't appreciate the latter. Their up close encounter with the Greenhouse Effect turned to a near-death experience for the most of them. We have one nameless soldier, who died permanently.

When I discovered the poor little fellows neither of them looked too promising. But thanks to my fast thinking and fanning the remaining seven survived.

Advice corner: What to do with overheated stick insects?

The most effective way to save them is to take the terrarium to a dark and preferably cool room. Open the glass box, spray a little water on them and fan and fan till your hands fall off. After a short period of time they should start moving again. If not, well, we all know what that means.

Bottom line: keeping stick insects as pets is rather adventurous.

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