Dictothon Day 3: Pulse

Drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum, drum.

That’s the sound your pulse makes if it’s loud enough for you to hear.

Thanks to Katy, today’s blog is our thoughts and thanks to me, the thoughts must be about the word ‘pulse’.

There are multiple different types of pulses; a seed that is edible like chickpeas, lentils and beans, or the throbbing of your artery as the blood is pumped around your body.

I don’t care much for chickpeas or lentils, or even most beans (I’m a fan of baked beans, but I would rather starve than eat kidney beans). The throbbing under the skin though, well, it’s vital, isn’t it? Without it you would probably be dead, unless you’re one of those people that has an artificial heart.

Yes, they exist.

‘Currently, 50 calves and three humans are using the pump, which completely replaces their natural hearts.’


Though a little scary, imagine having no pulse, no real heart?

It would be like not having a belly button. You couldn’t test your pulse to see how healthy you are, you probably can’t get on a plane without it causing you some sort of problem. What if there was a malfunction like there is with mobile phones and other technology? What if you drop down dead because of it?

I’m sure everybody spent at least one physical education less at school testing their pulse. Your teacher would make you put your fingers to your neck or wrist and count. Then you’d run around and do it again.

I could never feel mine before the exercise, not strongly enough to count it anyway. I probably made up some number similar to everyone else’s.

If you didn’t have a pulse, you wouldn’t be able to do that task. Imagine a child in a school all ready for PE, standing there checking their pulse and not being able to find it. Would they know that they don’t have a pulse at eight years old if the machine had been fitted when they were younger? It’s a strange situation that probably has no current answer, after all, just three people had been fitted with the artificial heart at the time of the article in March last year.

If you want to know more about the artificial heart, you can find out here: http://www.dailytech.com/10000+RPM+Artificial+Heart+With+No+Pulse+Replaces+HumanAnimal+Hearts/article24157.htm (the link made my computer go slow until I forcibly closed Firefox and opened it again, just to let you know.)

I wonder what tomorrow will offer up…you’ll just have to come back and find out!


Dictothon Day 2: Oulitic

Only the second day and I’m already behind in this challenge, but it’s okay, it’s still Tuesday somewhere in the world, ergo, I’m not really behind after all. Besides, I have a good reason for being so late in posting this, two very good reasons in fact.

1) I have been re-watching Charmed and tonight I reached the final episode, it always makes me blub like a baby.

2) I was working on a crocheting project producing an Amineko, unfortunately mine didn’t turn out quite as cute as the ones in the book.

Onwards and upwards, we have a blog to complete…

After selecting the somewhat interesting option of ‘define’, I was handed an unusual word by Katy, one that is so unusual in fact that even Google hasn’t heard of such a word. I know, right? Google knows everything, so much so that you can ask it almost any questions and it will give you some sort of valid answer.

The word it decided I would be given information on is oolitic, which is about rocks and stuff. Not really something I’m at all interested in, that’s our Twitter friend Colin’s department. He’s a Doctor of Rocks, or something. I digress…

For this reason (the one previous to the tangent about rocks and Colin) I was forced to take a sneak peak at Katy’s blog (since she posted it hours before I’ve even started mine) and the definition is rather quite a simple one:

oulitic – {adv. phr.} Outside of your natural surroundings; where you do not belong or fit in. For example: ‘Wild animals are oulitic in their cages.’

So I suppose you can say that I am rather oulitic in my crocheting, in a sense. It’s not something I’m used to. Though in many ways that isn’t really what oulitic means after all – what I’m talking about is more the comfort zone and ability/skill level.

My mind is ticking over, if you listen carefully you might hear it, but I am yet to come up with any prophetic definition/example of the above definition without resorting to the one already given.

I could suggest that my trip to the USA a few years ago to work in a summer camp was somewhat oulitic. I was not in my natural surroundings staying at a camp in the middle of nowhere without phone signal or internet, sleeping in platform tents and listening to American accents all day. But at the same time, surely being surrounded by humans is my natural surrounding? Especially when you compare it to the difference between wild animals, and being trapped in a cage.

Actually, it’s interesting because though wild animals who have been locked in cages (such as wild animals who have been injured and taken to a vet for treatment) may be oulitic. But is an animal oulitic if it was brought up in a cage? I doubt it, because even though the natural environment of an animal may be the wild for that animal in particular it has only ever known the cage. Cages may not be natural, but it’s the one place it may feel safe.

On the other hand, where you do not belong or fit in brings a new dimension to the definition and my concept of being at summer camp would fit nicely. It wasn’t somewhere I belonged in many ways and I’m not sure I entirely fit in.

A wild animal wouldn’t fit in in a circus, but an animal kept in captivity from birth would be more likely to.

Wow, for a word that I couldn’t even find, I sure found it an interesting word to come across and use. I like it, actually, it’s a very good word and I may attempt to use it in a proper sentence in the near future.

P.S. Having had a look at Katy’s blog, I now see that I have pretty much stolen her whole blog and then babbled on about nothing. Oops. Sorry, love!

Dictothon Day 1: Crudeness

Here we are again in the world of the thonning, such crazy ideas we continue to bring to the party and this one will not disappoint. After all, who chooses a random word out of a dictionary and then writes a blog about it? The craziness!!! Anywho, Katyo and myself are busy putting fingers to keyboards once again to create, well, stuff…I don’t know if there’s another word for it, because this blog has certainly turned out to be nothing short of weird. In addition to the randomised word we are also choosing whether to write a ‘thought’ a ‘story’ or a ‘definition’ about the word. I know you’re probably thinking ‘how can they define a word that’s already been defined?’ well, the success of that is yet to be seen.

Today’s words is Crudeness from my Collins dictionary, perhaps next time I will use my French dictionary…and Katy decided (with a hat full of papers – well, her friend Greg) that we would write a story and a story is what I…well, I’m not sure if I wrote a story, really. But here it is anyway and enjoy the random.

A long time ago in a land far, far away from here lived a man in a small cottage in the middle of a deep, dark forest. Though you may assume to have heard this tale before, you should immediately forget everything you think you know and everybody you think you’ve met. This man is not like any others you’ve come across in fairytales or other such fiction; he is not a man who is taller than the tallest tree, nor is he considerably shorter than the average human being. He doesn’t possess perfect looks, nor does he have much luck attracting women of any shape, size or quality. In fact, he’s rather unlucky in love for various reasons beyond his control.

You may be wondering who this man is and what name he holds as his own. I’ll have you know that names matter little in this world, a strange but considerably great man once told me that they are merely labels to help separate each individual from the masses. You can choose a name for our hero, if you will, but do not choose something generic like Bob, Steve, or James. Nor should you opt for the weird and not so wonderful creations such as Rumpelstiltskin, Pilot Inspektor or will.i.am.

Our hero is a man of the land; he lives a lonely but very fulfilling life wrangling a small flock of sheep, chasing down a handful of chickens and growing vegetables in the space behind his home. He reads the same handful of books, cooks only by taste and doesn’t own a mirror.

It is for this reason and this reason alone that he has come to look the way that he does. How else does one expect to look when they have no reflective surface in which to see what others see? His hair is a tangled mess of dark brown curls, he attempts to maintain them with the lengths of his fingers but as many of you will know, it’s something that may not quite be the greatest of ideas in the long run. The skin upon his face is always speckled with the dirt from his garden and his hands, though he attempts to keep them clean, are just as difficult to uphold. He doesn’t care much for a bar of soap; after all, he’s only going to get covered in dirt again. What? You’re surprised by this? Well, it’s hardly unexpected since you come from a world where beauty is defined by insignificant elements such as face paint and a daily shower.

For a man who lives off the land, water is as precious as gold may be to many people out there. After all, plumbing and water filtering hasn’t quite reached the furthest depths of the forest and probably won’t for some time.

There’s no internet either.

There, I said it. Before you die of shock, remember that this man lives a solitary life (bar his animals) and so, with the demands of his smallholding, he has little time to spend browsing the spider web or talking to strangers in blue books or turquoise birds even further away. The man can’t even withstand relationships in his own lands, let alone yours.

Even if he did, do you expect him to be a nice man? Would you be kind and generous if you’d lived in seclusion for the past twenty seven years? I doubt it. He’s foul mouthed and very crude, he would probably come across as racist, homophobic and sexist too. Not because he means to cause you offense, but because he merely has no idea what another human being looks like, sounds like or even acts like.

So, you’re probably sat there wondering where the story will truly begin and why I have chosen a man of such aversion to your world as the hero?

Well, this is all the story that there is to tell. After all, where’s the story in a man that lives alone, has no contact with the outside world and knows nothing about modern technology?

He probably doesn’t even brush his teeth, and I know how particular you people are about that.

The End