Tingle.

Help?
I need a new phone. I've been putting off buying it because I find phones confusing, but I've finally whittled it down to two finalists. Problem is, they're in a deadlock.
Help me decide between them?

Nokia 6700 Slide

comes in my favourite shade of purple
45MB internal memory
decent battery life
   (4 hours talk time; 12 days on standby.)
excellent camera with flash
   (5.0 megapixels;
   photo editing software)
Best Price: $199
   (from Vodafone store;
   locked, prepaid)

Nokia C5

fabulous battery life
   (12 hours talk time; 630 hours on standby.
   That's almost a month!)
50MB internal memory
decent camera with flash
   (3.15 megapixels)
has a document viewer
   (for MS Office docs, PDFs)
good-looking in a simple, classic way
Best Price: $216
   (online from Mimzthings;
   includes shipping; outright/unlocked)

So basically, if I'm smart, the C5 is by far the better option. It's just, the other one is frickin' gorgeous. They have several things in common - same screen size, same software platform, similar price.
I think maybe I just need to be talked out of the purple. I don't know. I mean, what if I get the sensible one and I never... never truly bond with it?
Oh, help!

-----UPDATE-----

I ordered the C5. In the end, I am more practical than flashy. I thank all those who offered their advice - but to be honest, my decision was based on the advice of my workmates today.

They ALL told me to get an iPhone.

And I said, you're all brainwashed sheep, all of you, shuffling along behind Apple's relentless procession of trendy new iThings. SHEEP I SAY.

And then I realised I didn't want to buy something just because it was pretty. Pretty is all very well. But it's not long before you start craving next season's version of pretty. And I prefer the kind of love that lasts.

Damsel.

Now accepting donations. Please give generously!

Um... not money. My Project Du Jour is a collection of words ("no! - how unusual for you, Miriam") that are used to refer to a man or a woman. Please help me expand my list!
For instance, for a woman:

maiden
dame
crone
amazon
coquette

Or for a man:

chap
bloke
master
lord
geezer

Obviously a lot of them are colloquial, slang, etcetera. And most have loaded meanings. They imply age, attitude, looks, sexuality, power. I'm not collecting job descriptions (so no "butler" or "nursemaid") - with the exception, so far, of prostitution. Only because the many (many!) words for prostitute are woman-specific and are constantly used in a metaphoric sense (a "whore" being a nasty, cheap girl, or a woman who sells her sex not for money but for status). Any other similar cases you can think of, let me know! (Hmm. "Sailor"?)

Anyway, it's the extra meanings that I'm interested in. You can't just call someone a "girl" without also implying youth, maybe innocence or naivety, a sense of sexual possibility (not necessarily with you - but if she's young she's fertile, if she's fertile she's sexable).
It's also interesting to see which meanings are prominent in current usage. We don't really say "wench" anymore, unless it's Talk Like A Pirate Day, but we do say "chick" a lot. How do we currently view men and women? What's disappearing? And what's replacing it?

Badger.

It's time to meet the

Magnificent Beast of the Day

the honey badger

Where'd you be today, if only you had listened to your mum?
If you were a honey badger, the answer would be:

The most fearless and resourceful predator
in all of Africa!

The honey badger listens to his mum. She has many wise lessons to impart. She fills his first few years of life with a thorough and varied schooling. She teaches him how to dig spectacular holes...

...track burrowing mice...

...chase prey up trees...

... and slay poisonous snakes.

If he is bitten by one of these venomous reptiles, he's not too bothered about it. He just takes a nap.

In a couple of hours, he feels all better again.

The honey badger has a lot to learn. None of these skills are instinctive, and it's a tough break living in Africa. There are a lot of whopping great beasties around, and the honey badger is only three foot long.

But if he's paid attention in school, he won't let that bother him. He might be small, but he's not afraid of anything.

He's got moves that'll take down an alpha lion.

Dirty, dirty moves.

Bet you thought, with an animal called the "honey badger", I'd be telling you all about how sticky sweet and adorable he was, huh?

"Honey? What's honey got to do with a poison-impervious foe-castrator?"

Well. There is another side to little Mister Honey Badger. He and his good friend, the honeyguide, like to go romping together on the plains. The honeyguide has a wicked sense of direction. She knows just where to find all the good beehives, and she leads the badger to them.

Then he jams his face into the hive and rips it to pieces with his teeth and claws. The bees fight back in the only way they know how, but their stings hardly penetrate his thick skin. Soon the little bee corpses begin to pile up at his feet. He ransacks the honeycombs and slaughters the bees as they try to escape.

He and the honeyguide enjoy the spoils together. The honeyguide's favourite snack is beeswax soaked in honey. The badger prefers the tender meat of bee larvae. He feasts upon the helpless creatures.

And then he takes a nap.

RUNNER-UP FOR BEASTIE OF THE DAY:

slow loris

The cutest animal in the whole damn universe. Click the name link to see a video of one being tickled. Good grief.

Deliquescent.

endangered english

words that paint pictures

These words are powerful in meaning and in sound. Or they would be, if only people remembered to use them any more. Many are beautiful (like deliquescent itself). Others have a gruesome quality (galgenhumor, for instance) that perfectly captures the darkness of their meanings.
These are words with atmosphere.You're unlikely to speak them aloud - but written prose and poetry will be all the richer for their continued existence.

galgenhumor. noun.
Gallows-humour; the humour of those well-acquainted with death.

februate. verb.
Purification; sacrifice; renewal.

afterwit. noun.
Knowledge gained too late to do any good (the locking of the barn door after the cows have gotten away)

filipendulous. adjective.
Hanging by a slender thread.

chirospasm. noun.
Spasm of the muscles of the hand, as in writers' cramp.

idioticon. noun.
A dictionary of a peculiar dialect, or of the words and phrases peculiar to one part of a country; a glossary.

revenant. noun.
One that returns after a lengthy absence;
One who returns after death.

scumble. verb.
Blur the line between one thing and another. (Originally in painting.)

scrivener. noun.
Scribe, notary.

slumgullion. noun.
Watery meat stew.

subboreal. adjective.
Utterly cold.

vulpine. adjective.
Fox-like; cunning.

zeptosecond. noun.
One sextillionth of a second.

Delphic. adjective.
Obscurely prophetical; cryptic.

ketchcraft. noun.
The craft of the hangman.

hecatomb. noun.
A mass slaughter or sacrifice.

deliquescent. adjective.
Diminishing, fading, or splitting off into branches.

Bandwagon.

I do so wish that comedians would stop and think a little before talking about politics.

Look, I have a slight bias, in that I am apolitical myself. I think that political issues are far too big to be summed up in glib one-liners. So often, a political "incident" is the result of a complex tug-o-war between the needs of five different interest groups. You can't chew it up and spit it out and make it funny in thirty seconds on stage.

And it shows. I'm sorry, but the great majority of comedians obviously don't grasp the issues they're discussing. You can tell when they start resorting to jokes about a politician's appearance, sexual proclivities or poor public speaking skills.

You might argue, "That doesn't show that they don't understand. They make those jokes for an audience who might not understand."

So?

It's still lazy comedy, and if anything, it shows that there isn't even demand for intelligent political satire.

Some humourists do politics well. Some humourists are even political by nature - they see their comedy as a medium through which their political criticisms can be aired. And that's fair enough, really. If you're passionate about something, and you've got the power to share your convictions, you use that power. When this is done well, the comedian's role becomes that of a political conscience for the people. He (yes, or she) encourages them to think more carefully about the governance of their society.

But let's be clear here.
It's not often done well.
The great majority of political humour is low-brow, ill-considered and pointless. As I said, as an apolitical type myself, I don't find it funny. Why make these jokes when they're not your area of knowledge? Why make these jokes - just because everybody else does?

The way I see it, comedy is a skill, just like surgery and computer programming and bubblegum blowing. If you're a dental surgeon, you probably shouldn't just get out there and try your hand at open-heart.

And look, you don't necessarily need to have a politics major to be able to talk about immigration policy. But goddammit, do a little research, or just butt out.

Wordsworth.

Hi folks!

Remember that essay I was writing about the value of the book? Well, I got it back a few days ago and I got a HD! Yay me!

It's a long shot, but if you're interested in reading it, I prettified it and PDF-ified it today. 26 pages, 1MB, colour illustrations... and look, a totally stunning cover! Yes, I love lazy days at home.

So here you go - available here to download - limited time only!

Borrower.

MIRIAM

I have a really crazy idea. I am afraid it falls under the banner of "community arts project". Have you immediately lost interest? 

CHRISTINE

Do tell. I'd like to hear it.

MIRIAM

So basically, it's to create a sort of library within the major train stations.

Each station would have a bookshelf installed, with a random collection of books people could pick up and read on their journey. They return them to the shelf at any station when they're finished.

In fact, it's better if they don't put them back where they found them: that means the books really circulate all over the city.

It's not a moneymaking scheme.
It would be free to borrow stuff: you would just need to join the "library" or "book club" or whatever so you had an ID key to access the shelves. (They'd have to be protected somehow from vandalism.) But it's a way for knowledge and literature to circulate.

Writers/publishers could put promotional copies in; people could sign the back pages of the books to say they'd read them and they liked them (or not)!

The books would be donated secondhand, so it wouldn't be a major problem if some weren't returned. (Although if they're shabby/not new, people are less likely to want to keep them, anyway.) They would just need to be bound with protective plastic like regular library books, because they'd go through so much handling.

Am I crazy?

CHRISTINE

Multiple problems.
Cost: Cost of shelving at all train stations, cost of books, cost of replacement books for those that are never returned/damaged beyond repair/cost of ID key.

Permission: Trains stations are government property and they're not going to be willing to have bookshelves installed or a business running from it. Even though it's not a money-making scheme you'd need to identify as a business to even get their attention, but in doing so you'd immediately lose it as well.

Realistic: You're putting a lot of faith into people bothering to return the books/remembering to return them. That and people prefer to own books, not borrow. And if they do borrow, libraries are easier and have a greater variety of books than a train station library could provide.

Sorry to cut it all down, but personally I don't see a market for it and I think you'd end up ridiculously out of pocket. Has something like this worked elsewhere?

The very cynical Christine.

MIRIAM

No, I've never heard of it being done before.

The idea would be to get funding and support from some official body, therefore making it a community arts project with valid backing. It wouldn't be a business at all, and it shouldn't cost money to the individual. If train stations are government property and the project is funded by the government, there wouldn't be a problem there.

I know it's whimsical and idealistic, but that's the point. It's not meant to be a profiteering exercise, and one of the overriding messages would be - honesty, shared experience, interconnectedness, sustainability. Linking it with the world's current craze for renewable resources, it would be a reminder that knowledge can be passed from hand to hand and is never used up.

I know the biggest problem would be assholes stealing and vandalising the books. It's a shame to have to acknowledge how stupid and cruel people are. But if the books were continually being donated, this would be less of an issue - the shelves would be refilled regularly.

And - the thing is, these would be MORE convenient than libraries. At a train station, you're catching people at the very time and place that they are most likely to read. So many people don't even go to libraries - but they'd pass by these shelves every day. If they had no other choice but mX, why WOULDN'T they pick up a book?

CHRISTINE

mX is light and fluffy and inconsequential. And easily disposed of/left on the train for others to read.

MIRIAM

Okay, cards on the table. I really just want to bring down mX. It's total junk. Honestly - page three news is just a bunch of celebrity tweets.

PLEASE JOIN ME!

Knuckles.

I am not an angry person. I don't like confrontation and I really don't like blame. But today I'm having trouble getting rid of the angry.

It's this damned producer. She's really gotten under my skin somehow.
I already whined for ages about the piles of criticism she heaped on me in the first week, when I was getting a feel for the job. So I won't go into that.

But after the first week, I thought, "Surely I'll start to feel comfortable soon. I'll get into the routine." And yeah, I did my job just perfect. I did it just the way she seemed to want it and I stayed out of the way. Unfortunately, that drove me crazy with tedium, so I decided I'd better pull out before I fell asleep on the job.
I offered to help out on one final week, just to give her time to find somebody else to do the work. But I didn't receive any scipt material until this morning (the day I'm supposed to have the script ready). One of the emails had older correspondence attached to it, including a note from the producer to the cast, about the meeting, TODAY, that I assumed I was attending.

Of course I called her. Three times. No reply. Gave up, sent a text. Got a text back - "Oh sorry, I thought you were finished last week." Uh, no. Quite clearly no. I told you I'd be there for a final week. You thanked me for the notice. I've kept the production days free, I've kept in contact... and also, I've left something important of mine in the TV office. I've been waiting to pick it up for a week. I couldn't get it earlier because they keep the office locked. Guess now I'll just have to buy a new one.

This is pathetic. I'm really glad I'm getting out, but I'm angry I was even so helpful in the first place. This woman needs to grow some human parts.

Game.

I've had a total brainwave, oh yeah.

Do you like playing games?
Do you like avoiding real work?
Do you like enacting your fantasies?

Do you HATE PEOPLE WHO JUST PLONK THEMSELVES ON THE RIGHT-HAND SIDE OF THE ESCALATOR, and you're in a hurry and they just stand there and you can't get past and they're just the biggest lazy bastards in existence, can't they see they're IN YOUR WAY?

Yeah?

Then you'll like my idea. Probably.
Okay, so basically, it's an online flash game where you're an irrate commuter and you have to get up to the top of the escalator. Armed with a staple gun and a steel-capped briefcase, you battle the hoardes of right-standing escalator passengers. Shove them out of your way! Staple them to the left side! Hurl them from the railings! If you make it on time for work, you'll be flown to your desk on the wings of doves! If you're late, you'll get fired - with FIRE!

I think there's a franchise opportunity here. Take revenge on all the people and things that are doing it wrong, but who you can't punish in real life... unless you want to be charged with assault. It's like therapy for your workaday rage!

I apologise that this game doesn't already exist. To make you feel better, I've provided a few fun flash games for you to play instead.

Realistic Internet Simulator

Kill the popups! Kill! Kill!

Kitten Cannon

How far could you fire a sweet little kitten?

Double Wires

Like Spider-Man, swing, swing from your magical string!

Dino Run

You're a little dinosaur running away from the apocalypse.

Flow

You're a multicellular organism that eats and grows and evolves. Like Snake, really... but way prettier.

Katzenjammer.

endangered english

words disguised as names

These are words you might recognise. Not because they're common words, but because they exist in our culture, in the form of names. These ones are from TV shows.
Fictional characters with interesting names always make me happy. Dickens did it damn well, with characters called Sweedlepipe, Bumble the Beadle, Polly Toodle, and (totally not making this up) Fanny Sparkler. J.K. Rowling's writing is absolutely bursting with terrific character names too.

katzenjammer. noun.
From the Middle German words katzen (cats) and jammer (wailing).
1.  A loud, discordant noise.
2. A hangover.
3. A state of depression or bewilderment.

You may remember me as the surname of Fran from Black Books. I wonder if the writers realised the name had these meanings? You’d think so, since all three meanings are so perfectly in tune with the show, but Katzenjammer is also a normal surname, so who knows?

baldric. noun.
A leather belt, worn across the chest to support a sword or bugle.

You may remember me as the name of Blackadder’s tiny, downtrodden dogsbody in each series of Blackadder.

agrestic. adjective.
Rural, rustic; crude, unpolished.

I am the name of the town where Nancy Botwin lived in Weeds until I was ruthlessly burned to the foundations by a South American drug smuggler. Funny that it means tumbledown, though - Nancy's habitat is the height of upper-middle class suburbia, not rural or rustic at all.

kakistocracy. noun.
A society ruled by the worst of its citizens.

The majority of you will be thinking, “how does this relate to anything I’ve ever heard of?” And Buffy fans will be thinking, “eeeee, I know!” (Or perhaps "why would anyone want to kiss toast?")

quahog. noun.
A hard-shelled clam.

Why on earth would Seth MacFarlane name the town in Family Guy after a species of shellfish? Oh, no, I don't care, I know his answer would be "why not?"

roky. adjective.
Misty, foggy, cloudy. There is an area in South Oxfordshire called Roke. One presumes it is in a constant state of mist, fog and cloud. How atmospheric!

Okay, this one isn't from culture. I just have a friend called Roke (say it “ro-ki”) and I think it's funny that his name means something . Hi Roke!

rabiator. noun.
A noisy, rowdy, violent person.

Again, doesn't strictly belong to the "words that have become names" basket. But surely, by now, you’ve all heard of dearest Rabia, who should enjoy the irony of this word containing her name.

Cheapo.

Say you were feeling comfortably cashed-up, and you had an afternoon spare, and you decided to go on a little shopping adventure. What would you buy?

Okay, say you were me, and you had a hundred bucks, and you were bored. What would you buy?

Today, I became the proud owner of:

• One pair running shoes*
• One pair neat black boots**
• One pair sunglasses***
• Three seasons of TV on DVD (12 discs or 54 episodes total)****

*Shut up, I know, I never run. They're comfy, all right?
**Yeah, I said I don't wear heels, but they have a mini-heel. For when I need to not be dressed like a twelve-year-old.
***For driving. I have never, ever looked good in sunglasses.
****Includes the final two seasons of Buffy that I needed to complete my Buffy collection! This is indeed a marvelous day.

In total, these items cost me $97.
I win at shopping.

I never used to enjoy shopping, but I've now realised that's because I was doing it wrong. I was trying to shop the way girls are supposed to shop - in boutiques, where items are fashionable and feminine, and the shop clerks are trained to be BFFs with you while you're in their store. My god, what an uncomfortable experience that is.

Now I realise the trick is this: don't just "go shopping". Put it off until you really need a few things. (Hey, I needed all of those things. Except the third DVD - the non-Buffy one - but that was free with the first two.)
If you buy the needed items first, you'll feel less inclined to dally about buying other stuff you didn't need. I mean, yeah, you'll still do it, but not as much - because you've already bought something you're really happy with.
Avoid "advice" from paid strangers.
Buy cheap rip-offs when you know nobody's going to scrutinise them. (Like SHOES. Goddammit, women. Nobody looks at your feet. You do not need eighty pairs of shoes. You do not need eighty pairs of shoes.)
Play with all your new stuff as soon as you get it. Don't wear it out or anything - just spend a bit of time bonding with it. This ensures that you'll remember you own it, and you'll remember to use it. Which is the whole point of having stuff!

Now please excuse me. I have footwear to fondle.

Expletive.

Content warning:
This post contains a bunch of profane language.
Sorry Grandma.

In the 19th century, it was considered awfully risqué to make an allusion to a lady's undergarments - petticoats, stockings, drawers, and so forth. Gracious me - how naughty! 

In 2010, people think "panties" is a cute and innocuous little word, perfectly acceptable in a G-rated setting. It's "pussy" you gotta watch for. "Gay"? Totally fine. Just don't say "faggot".

But here's the difference. In 1854, it was the subject that brought forth the titters. The language itself was just an indicator. Today, we seem to think it's funny just to say the offending words. We hardly even care what they mean - they're just naughty, hee hee hee.

I'm here to tell you it's not funny.

Look, the offensiveness thing, I don't even care any more. Say "cunt" all you like. It's just noise. But funny? It's not funny. It's tired. Expletives are spread across our speech like nutella. "Fuck"? It's a noun, it's a verb, it's an adjective, it's an interjection. It's even started replacing "um" and "ah". We've totally forgotten what it's supposed to mean - and it has zero impact. So who cares?

Once, swearing was a sign of rebellion. You tell it like it is. You're a free-thinker, an anti-establishment revolutionary. Comedians of the 1970s, like George Carlin and Richard Pryor, showed us how this could be done.

Uh... but that was decades ago. Honestly, we need a new schtick. Entertainers, writers, comedians, actors - get creative, won't you? Say it your own way. I know it's hard to kick speech habits. I'm still struggling to avoid "random", "retard", and the vacuous repetition of "like". But these are your careers, people! Do you want to be swept off with all the other derivative trumpery of your generation? Or do you want to leave a legacy?
Be remembered. Be treasured.
Be different.

Buxtonian.

I spent the last four days in overfed bliss at my friend Tom's holiday house. If ever there was a time to use the word "jentacular", this is it. Every morning was another breakfast extravaganza: bacon, eggs, english muffins, sourdough, jam and syrup and Cheerios and a tower of spectacular fat pancakes with fruit and cream.

Nothing in the world starts a day quite as good as a good breakfast. I'm not talking about nutrition here. Who cares that bacon is basically fat-soaked fat strips? Who cares that pancakes are nothing but empty carbs? The point is, if you sit down to really bloody enjoy yourself, then the rest of the day will be a cinch.

I don't want to blather on about my holiday too much so I've written about it in hard news style. I figured that would keep it from going all tangental on my ass. Enjoy!

The
[ B U X T O N I A N ]
____________________________

Girl builds large, misshapen
snowman in war zone

MIRIAM REYNOLDSON DEVOTED almost two hours to the construction of a snowman on Friday afternoon. She appeared not to notice the vicious battle being fought around her. Six agents of war patrolled the area, all wielding snow-based projectiles.
   Once the snowman's body reached a conspicuous size, several agents began targeting the snowman itself. But the ice structure could hardly be described as flimsy. The snowman sustained no serious injuries nor damage to his facial features, although one “arm” was severed in a sly peripheral attack. The arm was soon replaced, and the snowman reigned triumphant over its would-be destroyers.
   Public debate continues to rage over the question of the snowman's artistic merit.

____________________________

CLUBBED, SUFFOCATED, GUTTED
Fish refuses to die

A LARGE RAINBOW trout survived numerous attacks this week. Caught by Miriam Reynoldson, the fish was clubbed by multiple assailants and appeared to be dead when it was relegated to the catch bucket, but soon resumed flopping and gasping amongst the corpses of the other fish.
   Even after the girl at the counter cut through the trout's body, removing its organs and digestive system, the trout continued to spasm wildly. It even survived the trip back to the house.
   The trout’s exact time of death is unknown, because after being gutted the trout was placed in a refrigerator and Schrödinger’s paradox came into effect.

____________________________

“Cute, reliable” car sinks deep into muddy driveway

A RED-FACED MOTORIST was just moments from exiting the Kergunyah driveway when suddenly her car's front tyre began whirring helplessly into the mud. Several attempts to accelerate away resulted in creating a deep hole of muddy despair.
   Driver Miriam Reynoldson begged witnesses not to reveal the incident to her girlfriend, Christine Todd, who is a long-time critic of the car and its ability to cope with unusual terrain. However, several photographs were taken and the story is expected to leak to Ms Todd's Facebook page within a week.

____________________________

HEALTH WARNINGS IGNORED
Girl eats over 400 pieces of candy

MIRIAM REYNOLDSON ATE an estimated 439 pieces of candy during her stay at Kergunyah.
   The sweets hailed from multiple sources: supermarket purchases; the contents of the Fulford pantry; products of the Marysville lolly shop; and privately owned candy, stolen bite-by-bite while the rightful owner's attention was distracted.
   The avid sugar-gobbler said she was “pleased” with her efforts, and that she was now experiencing “many great belly-rumblings of joy.”

Marry.

Ladies' ladies and gentlemen's gentlemen,

It has come to our fabulous attention that gay marriage is not high on the Gillard priority list. In fact, she's perfectly happy with the Labor status quo ("marriage is between a man and a woman, to the exclusion of all deviant freakazoids"). Oh dear! What a shock! I had assumed, what with Gillard being a woman and all, that she'd have a softer, gentler, altogether more liberated view of the issue. What a terrible disappointment.

Oh, for crying out loud. Listen closely, for I am about to tell you two Very Important Things.

Thing One. Julia Gillard is not the President of Australia. She is the leader of the party in power; that party is the "leader" of Australia. Her personality doesn't come into it. If it does, it shouldn't. She might have a cool idea, but if the party don't like it, she don't get to put it in the book. Labor runs the country.
So: stop trying to personify politics. If you're a fan of Julia Gillard, you're a fan of her policies, not her double X chromosomes or the colour of her hair.

Thing Two. Gay marriage. Really?
Okay, I too would love to be recognised and accepted and loved and cuddled by the Australian legal system. But honestly, gay marriage is not something I'd wave a placard for. Yes, I know it's idiotic to give us all the same rights and label them differently. No young Romeo is about to fall to his knees and cry:
"Julian, my darling. Will you civilly unite with me?"
But that's exactly why it doesn't even matter. He's going to say "marry" anyway. Government can't bleep out the M-word whenever we use it. So use it. If you wanna get married, GET MARRIED. Have an ENGAGEMENT PARTY. Buy a WEDDING RING. Become a HUSBAND (or a WIFE... whatever turns your cogs). Live in MARITAL BLISS.
Ain't nobody gonna stop you, 'cept for you.

And look, if you care that much about the law itself, take heart. Iceland, the country-sized poster-boy for progressivism, legalised same-sex marriage this year... a full fourteen years after creating its same-sex partnership register. We did the register thing in 2008, but as if it's going to take us fourteen more years to get to marriage. So just live and speak as you like.
Just give it time.

Attitude is the important part. We seem to think it's everybody else's attitude that's the problem. Well, we can't change that by a technicality. So focus on your own attitude. Live, love, be happy.
The world will soon catch on.