Fudge, Glorious Fudge

Fudge is exciting. Its caramelly flavour, crystallised and grainy texture, sometimes studded with nuts and swirled with dark chocolate - these things convince me that fudge is the quintessence of an old-time sweet.

One does not quickly tire of this smooth and visually stimulating candy: despite its almost indecent calorie-laden sugariness, it is possible to eat at least four pieces at one time - or a whole tray full, if you are of the male sex.
When I wrote the above few sentences a couple of months ago, I was feeling victorious after making a big dish of thick, smooth and just-the-right-firmness fudge without gloopiness, and without the hard, over-cooked texture commonly found in fudge trials.

It was maple and walnut. One triumphant tasting of fudge later I was writing the above lines, about to (modestly and understatedly) praise my brilliant culinary skills.

The success of the fudge made me heady: such a triumph over one of my Achilles' heels was worthy of a good glass of champagne.

Sadly, I didn't complete the post. You didn't get to hear the ravings of a girl in a fudge-mood.

Tonight I was waylaid by some Alison Holst books. (Beware of such an occurrence when you have been industriously studying all day. The sudden desire to make old fashioned sweets comes upon you more suddenly at such times, and you will be powerless to do anything other than obey your sweet instincts.)

I turned to the ginger fudge page. There it was, an old-school picture of creamy ginger fudge, sprinkled with walnuts and placed appetisingly in a little black box with tissue paper around it. Oh, so good. Seeing the picture was the point of no return.

Quickly, (before Mum could get back home and stop me in my illegal proceedings) I placed the butter, sugar and milk in the microwave-safe bowl, then pressed instant start on the microwave. And kept pressing the button and stirring the gloop and testing the sugary liquid in the bowl-of-cold-water-testing-solution.

I believed in myself.
The mixture was bubbling and becoming golden, then caramel-brown.

Finally, my instincts told me the toffee was ready, the fudge-making could begin. Engrossed in the mesmerising fudge process, I measured maple essence and a little salt into the mixture, then took the hand beater and began to beat.

After a minute I felt something was rotten in the state of the fudge proceedings - the mixture was becoming grainy. Then grainier.

It became at length so grainy that it was somewhat pointless to beat the resisting globules anymore.

Hastily, I grabbed the fudge tin, sprayed it and spread the hardening material inside it.

But it was too late: the fudge was overcooked.

My splendid visions of glorious, creamy fudge were gone. I had thought my fudge-making skills were invincible - that I knew the meaning of the mystery to true fudge production.

Now I knew the truth: happiness in fudge-making is entirely a matter of chance. There will always be vexations, and disappointments, but it is better to know as little about the trials of fudge-making before you start.

Do you guys have some tales of fudge making? Do you find fudge difficult to make - or at least, difficult to get right - or do you find it a breeze? And if so, could you please share your recipe? :)

Family Planning Assn. Seeking to Commit Own Abortions

You guys heard of the new debate around Mifepristone? Otherwise known as RU486, the name they gave it in its testing stage - this drug is an abortafacient in pill form, created to kill unborn babies up to nine weeks old.
This drug is good news for women who don't want to have surgery to 'terminate their pregnancy'. It's as easy as getting a couple of government-subsidised pills, drinking them down and waiting for the side effects. Nearly all women who take mifepristone experience abdominal pain, vaginal bleeding and/or uterine cramping. Other side effects include nausea, vomiting, dizziness and/or fever, and possible (but rare) death - rare for the mother, that is.

The first dose of Mifepristone blocks progesterone, a chemical that helps build up the uterus for the baby, giving it the nutrients it needs to survive. Starvation.

Then, a drug called misoprostol is taken to start contractions, and the baby is born - dead.

This abortaficient is being used increasingly around the world as a safe and easy abortion method. Here in New Zealand, our top 'sexual health' advocates, Family Planning, are vying to get the right to commit abortions using this drug. FP has 17 clinics around New Zealand, a friendly website and a clean image. At the moment they're starting with the FP clinic in Hamilton, as a kind of incubator for their idea. If the Government allows them to use this drug, our country's abortion statistics will grow gargantuan.

When all one has to do to get rid of a mistake is swallow a couple of pills, the life-death question becomes sidelined.

Welcome to our Brave New World.

There are things that people with conviction (John the Savage-ites) can do about this debate: Join us in our protest here in Christchurch.

See you there.

Twilight.

I watched it, finally.

Because I didn't set my hopes very high, I wasn't disappointed.

I guess, because there had been such a big song and dance about 'Twilight' and since I'd heard teenage girls saying things like: 'Oooh, Edward!', 'Oh my gosh, Edward.', and seen pictures of a pale-faced guy hovering over a fairly normal-looking school girl, I was ready for an emotionally-charged movie full of smoldering guys and drooling girls - not my cup of tea, to say the least.

And for anyone who may want to challenge me on my liking for period dramas - with particular reference, if you're being specific, to North & South and Pride & Prejudice - it's an insult to those movies to compare them with Twilight.

Because it's really late (11:10pm to be exact) I'll bullet point my thoughts on Twi.

1. Isabella Swann/Bella has: A poorly-formed character. There is little getting-to-know-the-heroine time. As a concession to a character, Meyers made her clumsy, anti-social and humourless.

What you see of her character is almost always in the context of conversations (or sneaky glances) between her and Edward, the pale, jaw-jutting hero. Through these stilted conversations, Bella shows her obsessive traits. For example, she's not content to leave Edward alone - but stresses over whether he's at school or not, and when he's at school she's always.. staring at him. Eugh. Not only this, but she goes full speed into a relationship with a vampire - don't try this at home, kids. She doesn't seem to care about the consequences, the danger or the morals of the issue.. one wonders whether she has even thought about these things.

2. Edward Cullen. His chief characteristics are: following Bella around to tell her to stay away from him/declaring that they should never be friends, glittering in the sunlight (bizarre, but a wise alternative to becoming ashes) changing eye-colour (I found the golden-brown eye contacts Pattison wore alarming), crawling up trees with Bella and saving her from perilous situations. Very similar to kids stories where the hero always turns up at the right time to save the Damsel In Distress (see Snip for more info.) Oh, and did I mention he's a vampire?

3. Edward's problem. He's a vampire, he's in love with Bella, and he most desperately wishes to DHB. (Drink Her Blood). Since he cannot both love Bells and DHB as well, he has to abstain.

(Abstinence 101)

The other thing he's got to cope with is that Bella most un-Victorian-ly throws herself at him.

Fortunately for him, he's from an age when pre-marital relations were totally unacceptable. He is faced with one of two options therefore: stay with Bella and eventually kill her - or leave her. No third option because Bella, completely unable to do without him and unconcerned by the danger, won't leave him.

Right. On to a couple of the things I felt were wrong in this movie.

1a - This movie is exactly the kind of thing that all teenage girls and boys should be kept away from. My reasons:

This move apparently upholds 'abstinence'. However, Bella's obsessiveness in this relationship, the overtly sensual tone of the whole movie, and the very fact that 'abstinence' is so strongly shoved into what could have been an innocent friendship makes this movie very R18. In fact, I would prefer that no one watch this.

Bella surrenders her mind to Edward - she may have started out with a poor character, but by the time the movie's over she has nothing, she just wants to spend the rest of eternity with him, being eternally damned.. She has no control over her emotions. Because of this she lets them lead her to do all sorts of stupid things.

What a great message that's sending to kids desperate to get into the boyfriend-girlfriend thing.

One of my biggest problems with this movie is the blurring between good and evil. Edward is portrayed as being a 'good vampire' - an alarming concept since traditionally vampires are those living dead (zombies?) that are eternally damned.

But here's Edward - and how could anyone so handsome be wicked?

It's really important I think to have clear lines between good and bad in stories. Once you start getting 'good vampires' and 'bad vampires' in stories, a message is going out to impressionable teenage minds that there is good occult and bad occult. For instance, seeing the future, reading people's minds and being eternally damned is okay, if you're a 'vegetarian vampire' (haha, whatever next? In the next movie, New Moon, will there be vegan and fruitarian vampires?).

I don't think it's wise to mix good and bad in that way. Anyone agree/disagree?

Summertime

There was a most un-tranquil storm today. It was so exciting that I felt compelled to grab my diary and write about it. Seeing and hearing a storm is like having a tantrum - except someone else is doing it for you, and you can sit there and agree, silently.

....

IT happened quickly, this change. Ten minutes ago there was a vast sky that stretched out, on and on with no clouds. The blue shone, the sun brightened everything and bathed the earth in warmth. Curling leaves on the hydrangea bushes radiated a golden glow and the azure above them spoke of possibility. Music coming from the piano danced with the sunlight around the little room, in tune with the day.

Then a shadow fell across the book sitting open on the piano stand. Suddenly the warm light left the room, disappeared. An inky cloud that had amassed from the north suffocated the sun and swelled, spreading outwards. A smoky gray blanket draped itself over the azure brilliance - and spat. Wet splotches were first visible on the neighbour's roof, like polka dots, black splashes on the sloping lines. White pellets fell among the droplets, bouncing on the hydrangea leaves then finding a place on the gravel path. A roar shook the sky, starting with a low, ominous growl then becoming more angry, dropping bigger specks of white that started to crash on the resisting aluminum.

Too soon it was over. A cloud, dazzlingly white against it's contrasting backdrop, moved cautiously across the dark sky. The light caught on the leaves and in the room, defining shapes with a hard brilliance.

....

Anyone else out there with a thing for storms?

Blossom

Here's a poem my brother Andy wrote - thought it was so good more people should read it :)

Blossom

half-past midnight; it's dark out here,
blossom petals floating through the air -
defy gravity, time and space;
the warm breeze blowing against your face

dewy grass, my jandals slippery,
holding hands, we walk very quickly.
stars come out in a cloudy sky,
the moon is shining for you and I

forever young I want to be,
walking forever; just you and me.
we need no sleep, we'll talk all night,
thinking out loud til' the sun is bright

we speak of doubt; uncertainty,
and if what's happening is meant to be
we can talk our problems away -
and everything's gonna be ok.

you've got to go, i understand,
things never happen the way we'd planned
lifting my head I see again,
blossom petals floating down like rain

The character of a blog and the analysis of a villain

I've just realised something: I glanced at the header for my blog just now, the pretty picture of the bee and the apple blossom, and asked myself why I have that picture as the header for my blog. I like it for what it's worth, but the header of someone's blog ought to convey their character.

A cute wee bee sitting on an apple blossom spray does not convey my character, or the character of my blog at all. Now I'm wondering why I didn't think of this before, now that I've had that picture sitting there for about a year.. I'll have to get my brother to sort it out for me, see if we can find a picture that is suited to most tranquil.

Anyway, here's an essay I've just finished, for English. It's on the play Othello (yep, I'm obsessed) and it focuses on Iago. It was difficult to write because Iago is an incredibly complex individual who has a split personality (very Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde) and it was hard to cut down my ramblings to 500 words. This version is the pre - 500 words massacre.

Activity 11 A

Topic: The play Othello should really be called 'Iago'

There is some debate over the name given to the play Othello which is arguably the greatest of the four tragedies that Shakespeare wrote. This argument centers around the two main characters of the play: the tragic hero Othello, and the devilish villain Iago. Shakespeare's main villain has greater character development, power used for manipulation and knowledge of every situation than the other characters within the play, therefore the play 'Othello' would have been better named 'Iago'.

Iago is a fascinating villain. His character is explored and developed to a greater extent than most of the other characters within the play, including Othello and Desdemona, the hero and heroine. It is difficult to understand who the real Iago is, as he has a split personality. One side is all honesty, love and caring while the other is a deep abyss of vengeance, hatred and scheming. Often however, these two sides merge and he shows his true character when he is giving someone advice, for instance when he says to Othello, "Do it not with poison. Strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated." (Act 4, Scene 1, Lines 206-207). Here Iago has no other reason for Desdemona to die by strangulation other than that he is driven by a sadistic nature, part of the darker side that he usually conceals. Othello, on the other hand, has a comparatively shallow character that lacks the intricacy and depth of Iago's more complex psyche.

Because Iago presents an honest and caring front to the other characters in the play, he possesses great power that he uses to devastating effect. He holds this power because everyone believes him to be what he pretends to be and confides in him, and Iago takes their trust and uses it for his own evil purposes. In this way he could be compared to the puppet master of a puppet theatre, pulling the strings of each 'puppet' character in the play, and orchestrating each disastrous event. An interesting aspect of Iago's manipulation is that he uses reverse psychology when giving advice to characters within the play. In his early insinuations to Othello of Desdemona's unfaithfulness, Iago says: "I am to pray you not to strain my speech to grosser issues, nor to larger reach than to suspicion." He uses this devious device throughout the play, with terrible consequences as each of his victims falls for his 'honest' farce.

The reason for Iago's success in controlling and manipulating the other characters in the play is that he has a comprehensive knowledge of each situation, and of the various foibles of his victims. In one of his soliloquies, he says of Othello: "The Moor is of a free and open nature that thinks men honest that but seem to be so; and will as tenderly be led by th' nose as asses are." This saying turned out to be prophetic, as Othello, who had complete trust in him, believed everything that Iago insinuated about his wife. Iago continually seeks to find information that will aid him in his schemes to achieve a higher rank and take revenge on those people who prevented him from attaining it in the first place. Contrastingly, Othello is a pawn in Iago's chess game, never knowing that he is being used, or that his trust in his 'honest friend' Iago is misplaced until he has killed his wife and destroyed his own chance of happiness.

For these reasons, the play Othello would have been better named 'Iago'. The villain Iago presents his audience with both a captivating and a deadly character, a clever, manipulative power, and a comprehensive knowledge of his victims and of each situation. The psychopath Iago is the driving force behind this play, and he deserves to have his own, tragically engineered story named after him.

Sacrifice

Here's something I wrote a while back..

comments gladly accepted :)

The burning heat of the sun falls heavily on the group standing in the middle of the podium. They are all men here, soldiers, dressed in their summer uniforms - white linen tunics, brown sandals, belts - their more formal attire discarded because of the intense heat of summer.

They all laugh and point at something that stands in the middle of their group, we cannot see what it is yet because two giants of men block our view. Sweat rolls down the men's faces, glistens in beads on their necks and shoulders. One of the men to our right, short and balding, laughs extra loudly - cackles, and screeches out words that must be swear words. A ripple of barely - suppressed laughter moves over the crowd like the disturbance of water - like rings in a pond.

Suddenly, there is a hushed silence, heads turn around to look behind them, the crowd parts hesitatingly. A man strides through their midst. The muscles on his golden arms ripple as he swings them, his crisp, bleached hair lies in waves on his fine head. He is indisputably their leader - everything about his confident air and flung back shoulders proclaims it. His eyes flash, almond shaped, brown - he moves down the aisle of perspiring men with a careless grace. He carries on one arm a large piece of Egyptian linen, died a deep purple, like the curved insides of seashells, the colour reserved for kings and emperors only. In the other hand he is holding, very carefully, a wreath of thorns. A scratch runs down the back of one perfect hand, wet with crimson.

Men push against each other, damp tunics to damp tunics, sandals shuffling in the dusty sand, to make way for their leader, and to see what will happen. As they move we see a figure standing alone in this arena of men. He stands a little to one side, his head bowed, his arms hanging by his side. Despite his despondent attitude, there is an aura of peace about him that singles him out from the tense, watching crowd. The crowd catches a glimpse of the man's mutilated back and shoulders - cruel Roman whips have turned his back into ribbons of flesh, skin and blood. Silence grows, throbs like a living organism in its breathless persistence. The leader stands in the ring now, the chiseled head held high, arms crossed, feet apart, a magnificent specimen of manhood, taunting, defiant.

Silence. The man in the center does not look up. The leader advances, stops. In one smooth motion he lifts one hand and drapes the rich purple cloth over the silent man's bowed shoulders. Then, as if he were baiting a wild beast, he lifts the wreath of hideous thorns and with both hands pushes it hard on to the man's head. An expression of intense pain crosses the man's face, his hands clench, and he inhales in one quick, gasping breath. In an attempt at nonchalance, the leader puts his hands on his hips and looks up and down at the silent man. He strides around him triumphantly and then, right up in front of him, he kneels in the dust.

In a voice dripping with sarcasm and barely veiled anger, he says:

"Hail, King of the Jews."

The man's eyes look into the leader's eyes sadly.

"Strike him, Strike him!" Shriek the crowd, unable to bear the suspense.

The leader jumps up, raises his open palm and strikes the man hard, across the face. Instantly the cheek goes chalky white, then burning red. The man winces but continues to look at the ground. The leader scowls, his face contorting with hatred and fear. He purses up his full lips, spits. The mob raises a cheer.

..

Jesus. He sacrificed everything for the people He loved. Just as Jesus showed His love for us by giving us His life, so we show our love by daily sacrificing our own desires for the people we love. We seek their good before we even think of our own. We love in this strange, seemingly contradictory way because God, through His Son, has shown us how.