(no subject)

The caramel slice I just made is going to taste like crap.

How do I know? Well, it might be because the base got spread everywhere and is all uneven, courtesy the too-large pan. It could possibly be because, in the process of annihilating the smaller blue and white pot*, the caramel got all lumpy and burn-y. But I'll go with the fact that I used olive oil with the chocolate mix instead of, something, oh, I don't know, BLANDER.

I can't even cook something OUT OF THE FREAKING PACKET. I belong in a special facility. No, not for the deafblind. One where ovens do not exist.

*The larger blue and white pot fell prey to my cooking attempts not long after Matt and I met. Those pots had it in for me from day one.

Intimate Encounters

For anyone who's interested, a link to a photographic exhibition on disability and sexuality. Very well done, and very thought provoking. No idea how accessible the pages will prove to be, though.

My favourite quote was the following:

I HATE when people tell me how well I've overcome my disability. To me, it's suggesting that I am separate from my body. But my body is me and I am my body. This includes my disability. It is a part of who I am and a part of what makes my body beautiful and a part of what makes me a beautiful person. My disability CANNOT be separated from who I am. I cannot overcome my own body.

Oh, and a warning. Anyone reading this who knows Darren Fitler should, um, be prepared. Because I wasn't. Not that it proved much of a problem or anything.  :)