Anthropomorphism.

It's the turning of everything in the universe into something akin to a human being. It's the reason there is an animal rights movement. Fortunately, some of these dopes realised not everyone gives a toss about panda bears so they changed their focus to the people for whom panda bears exist and pointed out, quite correctly, that ecosystems depend on diversity for survival and we fuck with them to our own detriment and peril.

That much I can handle.

What I can't stand is people getting fretful over the idea someone would make a video of themselves shoving a stick of dynamite up the arse of a teddy bear and literally blowing the stuffing out of it. That sort of anthropomorphist needs their own stick of dynamite shoved up their arse with stern admonitions to behave themselves or else.

It's for this reason I treat those who confuse personality with character when referring to inanimate objects with no small degree of scepticism. (And yes, it's perfectly acceptable to spell it with a c rather than with a k.) Old cars and buildings have character, they do not have personality.

Personality requires recognition and volition.

I read a book today from cover to cover. I couldn't put it down and now I have to put it down because I've finished it. I picked it up in the first place because I'd finished reading The Count of Monte Cristo for the third time. The book I read today is called The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.

It's a first person narrative and the narrator is a 15 year old autistic boy.

I'm sure if anyone reading this blog picks it up and does with it what I did with it today, they will feel a terrible urge to come and bug the shit out of me with all sorts of sudden revelations they've just had.

Word of advice - don't bother. I won't be impressed. By all means read the book, just keep your revelations to yourself or blatt them somewhere I won't see them. That way I won't feel inclined to put my head in the corner of a wall and groan.

In other news, I knew weeks ago I should have put the Saab back up on eBay to sell it. I got scarcely a mile up the road in it yesterday when the cops pulled me over and told me it was out of registration. That much I did know, by how long was a mystery. The upshot of it was I had to leave it parked on the side of the road while the cops took my plates off and told me I couldn't have them back until I got the thing registered - which isn't going to happen any time soon. Fuck it. Now I have to get the Mit fixed because it is, at least, registered and it's only going to cost me $400 to get back on the road. The Saab is going to cost a grand and a half and it's just not worth it for the convenience of having a car AND the nice feeling one gets from owning a Saab. Double fuck it.

Oh well. Time to step up the gears a bit and get in touch with more people who pay for the sorts of skills for which I am currently renowned in too small a circle. Provided nobody passes a platter festooned with vol au vents, I should be fairly safe.

This blog entry has been brought to you by some exceptionally shitty weather - the sort which makes Sydneysiders glad they live in Sydney and which Melbournites wouldn't trade for all the fine weather in Sydney they could ever see.