The Return of the School Night of the Living Dead

It’s spooky what you can find out when you actually do some research!

Way back in October 2014, I tried to interest the media company I work for in running a short piece about a bygone NZ tradition in late night fright films - The Sunday Horrors. it seemed ideal to me as Halloween was just around the corner, and the period in which they were shown (the 1980s) was a time which most of our readership could easily recall. 

My employers passed, and it became a blog post instead:

http://fasmatodea.blogspot.co.nz/2014/10/school-night-of-living-dead.html

Three years later, with Halloween becoming less a twee splash-back of Americana and more the ‘geek Christmas’ every season, I tried again - and the successful result appears below.

https://www-alpha.stuff.co.nz/entertainment/tv-radio/98255843/school-night-of-the-living-dead-remembering-tv2s-sunday-night-horrors

This time I did some proper research and was dismayed by how badly wrong I’d got certain ‘facts’ from my first version. Admittedly, the 2014 blog post was written from a personal perspective - as usual I had assumed it was all about me, and the Sunday Horrors stopped when I ceased watching.

More Sunday Horrors then you can shake a stake at -
channel's 2 and 3 go head to head with the undead...

In reality something which I had always assumed was a strictly ’80s phenomenon didn’t care that I was living overseas in the early ’90s, and continued in rude health for the entire first half of that decade, too. The Sunday Horrors survived the introduction of TV3, hosting by Count Robula, and the advent of Shortland Street and MMP. It stared down Suzanne Paul, compulsory cycle helmets and the dawn of cafe culture.

Just how many countries can boast a former head of Government
as a TV horror host?  Only one that I know of...

So let the spirits take you - Karen Hay is once again bidding you goodnight and the main feature is about to begin. Settle into your Lazy-Boy and do not adjust your set - the film may actually be in black and white. No tricks - you’re in for a treat. 

Happy Halloween!

Size sighs

The stick who walks is giving some stick back

Apparently I was a chubby infant, but have been what is commonly called 'skinny' for as long as I can remember.

Clothes I wore as a teenager would probably still fit me now - until the opposite of liposuction is invented nothing is ever going to put weight on these bones.  I still have to put an extra notch in every new belt, and my decent height means that trouser shopping for a particularly absurd ratio between waist and leg measurements can take all day.

First world problems, right?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t make a big deal of it, but other people sure like to.

It's certainly no news to me that remarks are directed at those sharing my body shape with a degree of casual cruelty that no one would dream of using on an overweight person. Not in these apparently more sensitive and enlightened times.

It’s a shame that the occasions when these comments have hurt me the most is when they’ve come from friends. But as we all continue to age I suspect there might be increasing amounts of envy in those remarks - who knows.

Who cares?

Well, apparently some people do. In the space of a year I’ve just completed my second illustration for an article about what is apparently now known as ‘thin shaming’. The first was written by a male broadcaster whose modest physical stature comes from his family’s Asian origins (below), and the most recent has been a compendium of interviews with a variety of women (top of this post).

It makes compelling reading, but my own experience leads me to conclude that unless the result is physical or psychological health problems, (and make no mistake, it can be), there are far worse things to be ‘shamed’ for.
During a long stint in martial arts, the look on every single opponent's face at the moment when they realised that, despite appearances, I wasn’t going to blow away after their first punch, was all I ever needed to cope. (Well, not their very first punch, anyway).

Maybe writing a blog named after a stick insect also demonstrates the arrival at a certain amount of peace with a lifetime of putting up with size-est nonsense.

The article I've illustrated ends with a much better solution, however. Simply put: perhaps we all just need to be kinder to each other.

Busy-ness as usual

Generally I like to keep things on Phasmatodea very much like myself: lightweight, geeky and frivolous.  But just for a change, I'm going to have a rant.

busy:
ˈbɪzi (adjective)
1. having a great deal to do.
"he had been too busy to enjoy himself"

This particular four-letter 'B' word is fast becoming my least favourite in the english language.  I hear it lazily sprayed around every day as a quick-dry filler for deficiencies in time management, organisation and motivation, or waved like a little flag in attempts to increase a sense of self-importance - and so it is fast losing any sense of real meaning.

I'm as guilty as anyone, but I'm not about to try and list reasons why I think I'm entitled to wave that little flag.  Because we all have our own list: our own commitments, demands upon our time and energy - and some are even fortunate enough to have other people who depend upon them.
I'm privileged to be able to direct my own abilities, such as they are, towards creative projects. Whether at work or home they stimulate and reward me depending on my own level of commitment and enthusiasm. I try to keep fit, because I am no fun for anyone, including myself, if I don't exercise. Sometimes there are challenges which scare and daunt me - and always there is everyday life to be getting on with (which should never be taken for granted).

This all takes up time, sometimes all the time I have and more.  But I also know there are people out there who give far more of themselves, to their families, communities even countries than I can even imagine. There are volunteer workers, sports coaches, paramedics, athletes, carers, adventurers, mentors, helpers, parents and teachers who lead lives which would make mine look languid and selfish (which I couldn't entirely dispute).

Although the B word is often used for status, to me it also implies a loss of control - an inability to direct your life and apply your time as well as you might.  Worse than that, it's actually a rather excluding expression, a barrier and cold shoulder to others who would otherwise like to invest their time in you and share your enthusiasm. Instead it's a brush-off and worst of all - pretty boring.

This year, by all means work and play hard while you can, give 110% to whatever you do, always remember the people who matter, give your animals time and love and look after yourself.  Do what you can to find fulfilment, a sense of achievement and happiness.  Find your balance and be engaged, absorbed, involved, productive, industrious, devoted... even tied up on occasion - just don't be busy.