Tuesday, May 24, 2005

First the Worst

Two competitions I always win (and wish I didn't):

Who's got the worst eyesight
Who's got the hairiest legs

Friday, May 20, 2005

Fair to Moderate

I don't miss much about being a teenager - don't miss the insecurity, the feelings of isolation, the all-consuming lusts for revolting fellow teens I'd never spoken to, not even the comfy grunge uniform that required no breathing in or tottering about or matching accessories. But what I do miss is the certainty. The certainty that my views are the correct ones and that anyone who thinks differently is both a moron and beneath me. Don't like the same bands as me? Piss off, saddo. Think that TV show is cack? Keep walking. Read that author? Don't even bother. Basically, if you wanted to be in my gang you were going to have to tow the gang line.

Sadly, that kind of certainty didn't last long. I found myself hanging out with some dull humourless people just because they looked the part, and ignoring kindred spirits because they shopped at River Island and owned a Take That album. So I compromised: made friends with people without asking them to fill out a questionnaire first; listened to alternative viewpoints without blanching; discovered the joys of Back For Good.

But it's all gone too far now and I find myself constantly thwarted in my attempts to make broad generalisations or foster impotent rages. Every time I try to make a rule, for example: I despise all people who like Two Pints of Lager... , I go and meet someone I like who sincerely finds it funny. Granted, in that particular case I did strongly consider terminating the friendship, but since we were business partners it wasn't really practical. All 4X4 drivers who don't live off road are the spawn of the devil - except my sister. Anyone who doesn't like The Smiths should be shunned and pitied - except my good (misguided) friend. And it gets even worse than that, I know and like people who do the following: stand as a Tory parish counsellor; go foxhunting and shoot things; snort coke; vote UKIP and attempt to say outrageous things until I hastily change the subject (in my defence he's my neighbour and we all own the freehold, and he's really kind and helpful, and about 20 other excuses); shop at the Gap, Nike and Primark (and now I'm guilty of at least one of those as well - the self loathing just keeps getting fruitier); and enjoy saturday night television on ITV.

Now a lot of the time I don't even care when someone lets slip their terrible passion for shit music and shit television. But I suppose if I'm honest, I kind of like it this way. Sure, I love to have my little snobberies and discriminations, but you can be sure that as soon as I get one certainty on the go, someone comes along and foils my prejudice. And when I meet new people now who utter violent objections to particular foibles or disregard entire types simply for liking the wrong thing, I feel a bit taken aback and a little exasperated. The only trouble is, sneering condescension is a look that really suits me - I'm very good at disdain and sarcasm - but I just can't seem to get a good bit of acerbic wit on the go without some bastard blunting my sharp tongue.

Jenny Powell: Ambassador for Good Old Fashioned Values

Just been watching a spot of Loose Women whilst eating my burp-tastic cheese, onion and cucumber sandwich. For those who actually have to go to work during the day, Loose Women is a strange kind of all-women panel show, during which various semi-famous women discuss the issues of the day, proferring their opinions in a manner intended to give the impression of ladies having a chitter chatter round the kitchen table over coffee. Today's show featured, amongst others, Jenny Powell as a guest opinionator. Well, what an odious hag she turned out to be. I knew she was thick thanks to Brass Eye, but thanks to Loose Women I now also know she's thick *and* bigoted. Among the various gems that the professional Grinning Gameshow Glamour Gal (stroke Wrestler) had to offer was the follwing information:
  • Her daughter plays with dinosaurs so she's far too manly and Jenny's worried about her ("why doesn't she want to play with dolls?")
  • Only men should be plumbers or mechanics and only women or gay men can be hairdressers.
  • Female sports presenters should shut up and start presenting home crafts shows. At one point she said "When I see them, I'm like 'yeah, alright love, stop pretending you know about football'".
  • Jenny Powell worked hard to get to where she is, so Rebecca Loos shouldn't keep showing people her tits (Jenny herself prefers to pose in disgusting bras)
  • Television presenters are "talented".

It was the last one that proved the final straw for me. I don't mind people making money out of saying things on television, but for god's sake don't try to tell me that your celebrity is any more valid or worthwhile than a woman who once wanked off a pig (insert the John Leslie punchline here). I'm not about to turn on the sisterhood by implying that when Jenny says she "worked hard" she really means "got a lot of bruises on my knees", but there's no way on this earth that Jenny has made a living out of any particular talent - other than a knack for gurning on cue and keeping her nails the same length. She's not witty, she's not intelligent, she's not even enthused with an irresistably contageous joie de vivre or a fiery passion. She's a fat, balding, narrow minded, over-opinionate, poorly educated, lager swilling fascist cunningly disguised in the body of a female celebrity wrestler. Or maybe I'm just losing perspective because I haven't left the flat for 2 days.

Friday, May 13, 2005

Stop Blogging

Can all you people in my Bloglines subs please stop blogging for a day or two? Just cease and desist - I'd be much obliged. Just give me enough time to catch up on all my unread posts and you can spark up your computers again and type away. That's the trouble with Bloglines - all your unread feeds go dark and menacing and inform you that you have 23 unread posts still to check out. It's too much I tell yer - just stop typing so damn much you tap-happy lot. Start again on Tuesday, that should give me enough of a head start. Also, I'm now addicted to photoblogging, and am once again feeling grouchy at the mess this site is in. So I think I'm going to have to do a bit of a tidy up session soon. Get a bit of colour on the walls; put things away.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

More blogs

I've foolishly decided to set up some new blogs for a piece I'm writing which has meant I've spent far far too long fiddling about with settings and what not. You can see them here and here. The template for the blogger one is a bit wrong, but now I've done it I can't quite face just sticking a basic one back on there. The other option is to take out the blogger panel, but I want to keep it in for the article.

I can't quite believe how many people have already viewed my moblog pics and commented on them. They're all so friendly, it's amazing. I can see how it could get very addictive indeed.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Book Ends

I wrote a post the other day to explain my long absence. Then Vanessa unplugged my wireless router just as I hit the publish button and my text vanished into the ether. I couldn't face the rewrite. I've been writing a book you see - nothing glamorous if you're wondering - and I had to pump out the copy at a rate of knots I'm unaccustomed to. Lady Muck has also been writing a book, but somehow she manages to post wittily 40 times a day to her blog. What can I say, I'm a slow writer. I think I may be in the wrong profession.

Anyway, I'll be back again soon - I've just got to laze in bed for a while to recover. From the book and from Vanessa. She's been living in our living room you see. Along with Tito. The flat was not designed for 4 adults and a cat, and it's been snug to say the least. But now she's off with her man to a flat down the road and I'll be all alone during the day again, forced to do my own washing up and tea making (ah the joys of grateful guests). It's typical really: she arrives during my busiest time of the year so far and then fucks off just as I'm ready to play. But since she's only 10 minutes walk away I shouldn't really complain - I just like to is all.