 VS.  When did charities and funerals get in bed together? Why does every funeral disallow flowers these days and instead force it's attendees to give to charity? I guess I understand if the stiff in the box was a big philanthropist his/herself but otherwise, I just don't get it. I'm sure some people would tell me it's down to that ignorant and idiotic saying, "Flowers are pointless - they just take up space and die". Um yeah, just like the person who we're holding the funeral for, right? The irony of this train of thought is staggering - surely the entire point of funeral is to celebrate the life, however brief, of someone? Is a flower not a great symbol for the often startling brevity of life itself? Blooming and bright one minute, whithering towards the grave the next. The bright fullness of flowers at a funeral remind us of how wonderful life can, and hopefully was for the deceased, be; how we should take advantage of our time with each other more effectively, and how many happy memories we hopefully have with those passed on. The sheer satisfaction of looking at flowers and the emotional resonance of them can not be duplicated by passing on one's money to a disease-fighting charity (however worthy a cause this may be). I suppose some funeral homes ask that there not be flowers. Perhaps this is true, though if this appears to be the case, I would start shopping around; when my dear grandmother died and we held her funeral in small town rural England, we weren't restricted at all despite the small size of the venue and surrounding garden. I'm so glad we had flowers at her funeral, it was perhaps the most enjoyable part of the service. After the ceremony, with it's unavoidable melancholy, we all ventured outside to look at the numerous bouquets people had sent. It was certainly far more heart-warming to look down and see a beautiful flower arrangement sent from my father from half-way around the world, then it would've been to a few weeks later (or even never?!) hear that he donated some money to a charity. How on earth would this had helped the bereaved? Surely if there's any time in life to be selfish, it is in the time of mourning; and it was certainl comforting and healthy for everyone at the funeral to end it on a cheerful and touching note. Looking at all the flowers on display, where they all came from, seeing right in front of us just how much affection there was from around the world for my grandmother was far more consoling than the abstract idea that someone might be clicking a "donate" button on their computer at that moment. in any case, if one is adamant that there mustn't be flowers no matter what - what happened to "charity starts at home"? The cost of a funeral is often a huge burden on family members already dealing with great strain, surely it would be in everyone's better interest to donate proceeds directly to the family towards the cost of the service and burial/cremation? Why should some bureaucratic faceless organization get the money?? The whole things seems so impersonal to me, and I'm fairly sure no one gets any satisfaction from the transaction (save for the charity, of course). The mourning family are left with no symbols of support coming from far away relatives and friends, and those unable to attend the service are left without any memorable or tangible way to show much they care for the dearly departed. I call for a stop to this madness. If people want to give to charity, they shall do so of their own volition; but a funeral is not a benefit. It's about celebrating the life of, and mourning the loss of, a loved one - and sending flowers as a way to send ones' regards and sympathy is a tradition not to be sniffed at. I for one will be having flowers at my parents' funerals and I surely hope that whomever is unlucky enough to be lumbered with dealing with my death does the same for me. Oriental lilies are my favorite, just in case you're stumped... Blogged with Flock
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Go to chancentrate.blogspot.com to have your nostalgia quota filled for this Friday. You won't be sorry. I promise. And for the boys - there are tits involved!  Blogged with Flock
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**THIS LOOKS BETTER HERE BUT THIS IS FOR STEVETHEMODEL WHO HATES ME POSTING THERE**
Get ready for a picture post bitches! Normally I would accompany this photo assault with witty social commentary as is my usual stance. But most of things that are worth discussing (Jay-Z; the difference between food now (organic gourmet dishes) and what I was faced with 10 years ago (tepid pizza and cheap crepes); Kate Moss's face etc) I have no pictorial evidence of.
As such, I will simply be showing pictures and then interjecting with captions which will for the most part, tell you nothing that you couldn't have gathered yourself. I call it "subverting the rigid conventions of photo-journalism" you'll call it "irritating and ultimately tedious".
But first - I will say that there were 3 marked differences between this years Glastonbury and the Glastonbury's of yore - i.e. the late 90's:
- 1. Fashion. I unfortunately took few pictures of this, but girls have upped their festival fashion, big time. I'd say about 90% of the girls there were wearing 'outfits' - every day. No more of this combats stuffed into black wellingtons with a dreary kag thrown on top. Literally every girl there looked like an extra from The Hills; it was incredible. They were hot, young, slender and well-dressed. I welcome this change; I've never agreed with the notion that because one is in a tent, one must compromise her style. Sartorial laziness ain't cool. Luckily I am no longer alone in this opinion. I remember years ago when Kate Moss stood out simply by wearing a waistcoat and hotpants. This year when she swanned through the camping field in full view of the public, she looked rather normal. Of course the skinny legs and ugly boyfriend gave her away, but she is no longer the lone style queen on the festival circuit. Well done girls for finding another event worthy of a preliminary shopping trip. Unfortunately the same can not be said for the boys who, for the most part, looked like rejects from a Noasis open casting call.
- 2. Cocaine. As you may well know, I don't partake in any of this narcotics funny business, I stick to classier pursuits like Gin and cigarettes. However, even as an innocent bystander, one couldn't help but notice the prevalence of The White Stuff at Glastonbury. In previous years, herb was king and the place was rammed full of crusty hippies toking on their doobies with wild abandon. As a result, you were constantly bombarded with a wave of that muddy, slightly sweet aroma of ole mary jane througout the day. But, if these hot young things are to remain skinny binnies, munchies ain't gonna help. So this year, it was all about schnauser powder. Every time I walked past a tent, someone was leaning over a hand mirror and while watching bands I was struck by the amount of people around me seemingly sniffing their keys...
- 3. Clean (ish) toilets. I remember in the olden days of Glasters (so much better than "Glasto"), the biggest plus point of Thursday was that this was the only day on which one could even consider sitting down to urinate. By Saturday night, most women had thighs of steel from the constant crouching. However, I'll have you know that this year I managed to sit down in the toilet on SUNDAY. Imagine that. And it wasn't cos I just gave up caring. It was because unbelievably they actually had cleaners there this year. The toilets were emptied and cleaned and (aside from those near the main stage which were perennially vomit-inducing) actually usable. Impressive. But still, celebs take their backstage toilets for granted. Spoiled children...
On to the photo fest! I did a fairly average job of taking pictures to be honest. I missed out on so many photo op's it's hardly laughable. But it still is. The train journey there was pure traveling pleasure. I can't recall the last trip I embarked upon with as much anticipation. Plus - we had first class seats! Somehow these were cheaper than standard tickets (it pay dividends to order tickets early kids) though in future, I would pay more for them in any case as the difference was abundant. Standard class was rammed with festival goers, all endless backpacks and carrier bags and tents and sleeping bags and so on, all crammed sardine-style into compact carriages with nothing to offer but tray tables the size of postage stamps, a complete lack of storage space and leg room clearly constructed with the body of a 5 year-old in mind. First class however, we were rolling in style. Stretch-out space, copious storage room, complimentary drinks, huge wooden table, our own power point etc. Of course we didn't really let the class go to our heads as is evident by our choice of meal:  I don't think the other passengers were too pleased, they were probs just trying to get home after a day at the stuffy office:     First meal of the festival was deelish - mainly because it came from one of many stands which serve to make up "My Favorite Addition to Glastonbury" - Mexican food! It was EVERYWHERE. It was astonishing. Elsewhere in this quaint little country, Mexican food is a kind of exotic cuisine which can only be found on backstreets of London if you know where to look. But for some reason, in the micro-city of Glastonbury, it's one of the most well-represented foreign foodstuffs. Here's a slice of refried beans/salsa/cheese heaven:  Of course we brought our own savory snacks, money saving and all. The following day, the Christmas Eve of the festival, Thursday, we went to a little cafe which was called Tea Time or something, though the owners should really consider changing it's name to, "Guardian Readers ONLY!" as this is what it was. I've never seen so many Guardian peeps coralled together in one place, a herd of liberal and green-loving cattle sipping their organic chai. And us.    By the way, I think this is my favorite picture from the festival. Everything that I feel about the the world is encapsulated in Tudds' face. The Great Fire of Glastonbury '08  Not sure I'll ever really "get" the teepee village. The price is unavoidably extortionate considering what you're paying for. I'd rather have one of those wooden pod things that they offered this year. The contradiction of the "getting back to earth"-ness of the teepee and the fee involved seems wrong somehow. But I do like the idea of having a fire inside your tent.   This hill never used to be open to festival goers til this year. It offers great views of the whole site, and it's defs the highest point. Higher, for instance, than this, the viewing tower:  which everyone is just dying to get into. Check out this fancy photo of yours truly - the line you see behind me is for this stupid tower:  One place no-one was in line for was this gorgeous Japanese restaurant. An actual restaurant serving what looked like increds sushi and teriyaki, unfortunately all at typics Japanese prices. But it was so authentic, all low tables and and floor cushions to sit on. I SO wanted to eat here. However, as with most desires of mine, it never came to fruition.  Mud came on Friday. Wowser.  But I did make new friends and watch my dear old friend Dev play his little heart out. Twice!     As well as raping the backstage booze, I also took advantage of the stellar restroom facilities. And stole high-end toilet paper. I'm so gracious with affluence...   Then Dev joined We Are Scientists on The Other Stage.    Dev was also really proud to be wearing a No Bra shirt. Really proud.  Also, thanks to him, I had the best steak sandwich of my entire life at some backstage food establishment.  Friday night was probably my favorite night of the weekend. This is obvious as I have the fewest pictures from it.    Saturday - sunshine and circus.     The amount of seagulls overhead was startling. While it did give an odd sea-side resort feel to the event, it also filled me with slight trepidation that if we smelled so bad on Saturday that birds were circling above, I was unprepared for the likely stench come Monday...  All the world cuisine you could ask for on offer here, but why bother the risk? Stick with what you know. Good ole fried battery chicken:   See, the thing about a festival like Glastonbury is you can do whatever you want, maaan. You can dress up like a peacock, spend an entire day pretending to be an envelope - whatever you want. Everything's A-okay down glaster's way. And if you find yourself feeling a tad drowsy in the afternoon sun - no problem! Just take a nap between some cesspit-like port-a-potties and overflowing roasting-in-the-sun trash cans! GREAT IDEA.  Of course the best part of a sunshine-filled day is the warm and balmy evening that follows, right? Totally! English countryside's are famous for their sticky-hot nights, right?! Outta the way Miami, Glastonbury is here!  This night also yielded perhaps my favorite contrasting minute-apart photos.  Made all the better when one considers that Ed (on the right) is actually wearing a bucket hat a la The New Radicals. And it's beige. And it's corduroy. Finger-cum + portable stool = 4am  OMFG maaaan, fucking **sToNe cIrCLe** at 6:30am maaaan...  I believe you're meant to find your true self here. I found a lot of people doing balloons.    And as the sun set on Sunday, so did my body into a sleeping bag, at a reasonable 2am to ensure a fresh start and peaceful journey home. Not everyone followed this train of thought believing instead that there was no reason to end the party, thus leading to a rather palid dispositon the following morning when it came time to pack up our tent at 8am:  I have no meaningful concluding phrase here. Sorry. See you next year!
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I can't stop myself!
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Check it out!
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And it's got pictures too, just like Katie likes.
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Things I hate right now:
1 -- Duffy. Or rather that "Mercy" song by Duffy. I'm sure she's a nice girl and I don't care that she's from an Idol reality tv show or that she (or rather her management) is cashing on the 60's-soul thing or that she keeps being compared to Amy Winehouse for no other reason it seems than she's from the UK and has a side-sweeping fringe. All I care about is that song and how terrible it is. That song is truly horrible and her voice reminds me of the kind one hears on shitty euro-dance pop hits. I don't really get the hype and I'm just praying she goes away soon. 2 -- People who think it's really bizarre and crazy to take part in "quaint" pleasures, when in fact they are simply acting the way they are meant to at their age. I.E., "Yeah, so instead of staying up all night doing coke, how 'bout we just have a nice dinner with some wine and be in bed at a reasonable hour?", said with a knowing smirk. Yes, this is unusually mature behavior...if you're 19. If you're 28, it's precisely what is expected and normal; and that's cool, that's totally fine. But unless you're simply listing out things that normal people your age do like "pay rent" "go to work every day" and "worry about the future", there's no need to remark on such past-times as though though their mere suggestion is obtuse. The root of this hatred is that these are basically people who still think they are 21, and this always makes for an annoying character. They can't accept that they are real adults now and therefore they still think it's remarkable and clever to do "adult" things. It's not. It's what you should be doing. PS - these are normally the same people who will have a mid-life crisis when they hit 45 and can no longer pretend to be in their 20's. So at least that will be fun to watch. 3 -- The let-down TV shows that former Six Feet Under cast members have starred in since the show ended. Dirty Sexy Money Ugly Betty The Return of Jezebel James (jesus...) Brothers & Sisters ...one over-hyped yet painfully average program after another. It's depressing. To be honest I sort of feel bad for these people, it's their curse that they were involved in the greatest televised drama ever (fuck you Sopranos, Heroes and Lost...) and as such, no matter what they follow it with, it seems they'll never reach those dizzy heights again. They're like a bunch of girls whose looks peaked at age 13 (a la Brooke Shields) and have to accept that they can only ever be pretty good from now. Rare beauty is no longer attainable. And I know, I know, Dexter Dexter Dexter. Yes, Michael C. Hall did the best with Dexter, yes he's amazing in it and terribly well-cast for the role (plus I like that he buffed up for it). But, it seems that once the premise of the show was really padded out after the first handful of episodes, I kind of lost interest. And let's be honest, some of the things he says in voice-over seem more at home on some losers Postsecret entry than in an adult drama series. Example: " She was damaged...like me..." or "I opened it and found that it was empty inside...like me...". It's like, whatever dude! He just needs to par-tay with some hawt senoritas - pronto!  4 -- Looking for somewhere to live in east London. The more I look, the more where I currently live becomes the greatest flat ever. Which is saying something considering I life on a fucking council estate surrounded by screaming children and an ominously nice drug dealer. But srsly, the cheap places seem to all be in E5 beyond Homerton which feels like you're no longer even in London to be honest as there are no tube/train/bus stops and no shops for miles. It's suburban hell, I may as well be back in the yawn-ville of south-east london. And the rooms available near where I am are either the same price I pay now, but for a much smaller room living with losers; or perfect in every way but about double what I pay now and STILL not as central! It's like I'm living in rent-control heaven and I'm forced to leave it. All because my landlord's bloody daughter has come back... Oh - and there's bizarre requirements abound - some flats require vegans, some require lesbians (note not just "gay-friendly". No, you must actually be a lesbian. I get the feeling the advertiser is after a fuck-buddy, not just a flat-mate), some require Christians etc. It's strange. Because while it's okay for them to ask for these requirements in their adverts, I think if I wrote "No gays, no christians, no vegans" in my advert, I'd probaby get kicked off the site... -  5-- This is every reason I hate Bjork encapsulated in one perfect picture. I know that makes me unpopular amongst virtually everyone, but that is the risk I take.
Things I love right now:
1-- Ink shows. Miami and LA Ink. My favorite programs. I dislike tattoos and would never dream of getting one, but for some reason I enjoy these programs immensely. I love the ridiculous and repetitive reasons the customers have for getting inked up ("In memory of my father/mother/sister/brother/anorexia/dr ug habit/gang life etc, this tattoo symbolizes my strength to move on...") and I love Yogi, the apprentice who does nothing, will clearly never be a worthy tattoo artist and has one of the most obviously set-up-to-fail marriages I've seen since Pamela Anderson got hitched to that Soloman dude. But go Chris Garver!! Best tattoo artist EVER. 2 -- People who look on the bright side. I've pretty much had it with negative people. It's so draining and horribly boring. I have friends who seem to spend their entire time complaining about everything, their favorite past-time being spending a night in feeling sorry for themselves. Well, I much prefer the friends I have who may complain once in a while but always with humor and usually with brevity. Then it's back to enjoying their life. It's such a joy to spend time with people whose main goal is to enjoy themselves, a quality which is becoming rare these days. To waste one's 20's by whining about one's life is simply pitiful and I have less and less tolerance for it. Peeps better cheer up or get outta my life! Like Mary J Blige said - No More Drama. But all you rays of sunshine - way to go!! 3-- Indiana Jones. I just can not wait for the new film. I know everyone's all excited about the new Batman and I am as well, but I gotta say I'm more excited about Indie. Batman is cool and all, but it hasn't the nostalgic significance of Indiana for me as I never read any of the comics; also, as much as I love the cast I really didn't think much of the latest Batman and as this one is meant to be in a similar vein - I ain't holding out much hope. Whereas the last Indiana was superb, plus this one has so much flavour of the original trilogy - Karen Allen (by far the best girl of the series), Spielberg, Lucas, John WIlliams, Harrison Ford and Shia LeBouf as the sole new addition. How can it go wrong??!    4-- Mr. Belding. What a past, what a present, what a future. WHAT A GUY. 5 -- Heid Montag and Spencer Pratt -AKA : "Speidi" (tieing Best Celeb-Couple Name with "Halo" (Hayden Panittiere/Mile Ventimiglio)) They are like a meta-celeb couple. They're on a whole new level of celeb coupledom. I guess because they met and fell in love on a reality show, they feel they must continue to live out their relationship for our pleasure. Thus, no argument is had without a camera snapping it, no embrace or romantic getaway without flashing paparazzi. They don't even pretend to not be posing like so many other celeb couples, they are totally fine with the fact that there relationship only occurs on film, they've surrendered the fight against the media. Remember when Heidi's single bombed so she brought a chair out on the sidewalk, in the middle of a random street in LA, sat down on it and just proceeded to look unhappy? This probably lasted 15 minutes. She brings the chair out, sits on it, look unhappy, cries a little, Spencer comes over to comfort her, then she gets up and brings the chair back inside presumably. It was incredible. Most people said how obviously staged these photos were, but I think they're missing the point. I don't think Heidi thought, "I'm going to pretend to cry in front of cameras", I think she just thought, "I'm really upset and about to cry. I should do this in front of a camera". Her unabashed emotional honesty is staggering. Britney wouldn't do this. In fact, Britney could learn a thing or two from Heidi and Spence. They live their lives in front of the camera and because they court the attention honestly and openly, and because they give us so much, we never see them when they don't want to be seen. They are more in control then maybe any other celebrities. I wouldn't be surprised if he's gay and she's dating someone else and they just play out this relationship to protect their real privacy. They are truly 21st century celebrities and they outshine the likes of Jordan/Pete and Victoria/David in every way. On a side note I have to wonder - how did anyone avoid people before mobile phones? Did they carry around notebooks and pens and start writing letters to random people whenever they were faced with an ex on the street? Did they suddenly become terribly interested in the hem of their t-shirt when stuck in the elevator with a co-worker they hated? I don't know how I'd survive the minefield of parties, public transport or (especially!) smoking outside pubs, without a mobile phone to keep me company and keep me looking otherwise occupied. Mind you, I'd probably know more people...
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In only a couple hours I will be getting a Hollywood bikini wax. I will have even less hair than the ladies you see above.
I'm getting it all off. For fun. I figure girls should mix it up once in a while. Let the bitch grow out, then rip it off, sometimes totally, sometimes a little, grow it out again, then rip it all off again. Keep him guessing I say, no one wants boring pussy.
Anyways - I'm getting it done at HQhair, (as seen on various channel 4 programs like How to Look Good Naked!) and as you will see if you look at their price list, they offer Brazilian and Hollywood waxes. The Hollywood is £10 more than the Brazilian. I wondered what the big diff was as I've always been somewhat confused about this and there are disparate opinions on the topic. There is a school which believes a Brazilian is "everything" off; there are others that think Hollywood is "everything off" and Brazil is "nearly everything off, leaving a landing strip". It's confusing arena; 5 years ago there was only regular bikini wax and the Brazilian, brought to fame by good ole Sex and the City. But then this Hollywood shit came along and everything got hella confusing.
I looked around on SEVERAL websites for clarity and I tell you, it is not easy to find out what these waxes involve. Most websites tend to go with the second definition, that Brazilian is nearly everything, Hollywood is totally everything. But herein lies a major problem - what the fuck does "everything" mean?
On some websites "everything" means genuinely, everything. So you are left with no hair down there, ANYWHERE down there, in the front or back. We're talking porn star hairless. This is normally what to expect from a Hollywod. This is what I'm getting tonight. Other sites say "everything" and mean only everything in front, so back-door is left natural and free flowing, if you catch my drift.
But then if Brazilian is "everything except for a landing strip" (which is how most websites describe it) which "everything" does this refer to? Because if by "everything" they are using the first definition I gave, same as a Hollywood except leaving a landing strip, then what on earth is the extra £10 for a Hollywood for? If the only difference is a small landing strip which could be whipped off with one strip of wax, is that really worthy of a further £10?
So, one would now assume that Brazilians don't really get rid of "everything" as they say. But I defy you to try to find out. The problem you will come across is the same difficulty I encountered while trying to answer this question myself over the week. Salons refuse to define what they mean by "everything". And the only reason I can come up with is embarrassment and prudishness. As though we're all giggling pubescent 13 year-olds, they will continue to define wax treatments through a series of meaningless phrases like "everything" and "down there". For christs sake, I'm an adult, they're adults, I'm about to ask them to get up close and personal with the most intimate part of my body to start ripping hair out of it and we're tip-toeing around semantics?? Just come out and say it -
pubis
labia
perineum
anus
inner buttocks
Is this really too hard? Is it because we're girls we can't say these things? I mean, they're gonna be down there anyways, can they not speak of it at least? It's like the old saying they give to teens about sex - if you're uncomfortable discussing it, you probably shouldn't be doing it.
And by the way if you are reading this, are over 15 and became uncomfortable with those words, you too need to grow up a little and get overs. I just don't get it. Boys don't have to put up with this shit, on the men's waxing menu, the option listed is "back, sac and crack"; No doubt AT ALL about what that involves. Slightly crude I admit, but at least it's clear. Can the same not be done for us ladies wanting to go brit-brit on our va-jayjay's?
As a result, I decided to go the whole hog and get the lot of it off. I shall be asking them precisely the difference between the two myself tonight, perhaps to distract me from the pain. Then I shall be heading straight to a lingerie store and trying on all manner of skimpy underwear just because I can.
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So last month, not long before Christmas, I was watching this ridiculous program "Sex in the 00's", which, this being England and a show about sex, they pronounced "Sex in the Noughties". Haha. Channel 4, you're so clever.
In any case, the program centered around blogs, in particular women's blogs in which they talk at length and in graphic detail about sex. The apparent queen of this cliterature is the woman behind Girl With a One Track Mind. This is evidently the blog that started it all. It was revolutionary, a woman talking so openly about her wanton sexual desires. Apparently, she was speaking for all women, because we are secretly all walking, talking sex machines who, (if only we could be less repressed!) would long to simply lie around fornicating 24/7. That sound you hear, by the way, is the sound of men the world-over rejoicing. But of course this has nothing to do with that, this is po-mo feminism. Women want sex not to get men, but rather to equal them - we supposedly want sex simply because it's in our nature to.
So I decided to go to this Girl With a One Track Mind blog and give it a once over. Well, I tried. I tried to read an entire entry without falling into a catatonic state, but I couldn't quite do it. It's really quite dull unfortunately. Go have a look yourself. Her blog is basically thus:
"Woke up, I am horny, I am so wet, I want sex, frigged myself, god I love sex. Went to the gym, I was so wet, I was so horny, I wanted sex. On the way home I saw a bloke, he was so hot, god I was so horny, I so want sex. Got home. Called a friend over, we had sex. I want more now. I am so horny. I want sex."
And so on. Seemingly every encounter or experience this woman has, is in relation to sex. Nothing of any significant meaning appears to occur in her life, unless it can be related to sex. Which is absolutely fine, but it sure as hell has nothing to do with me. I don't actually spend every waking moment of my life thinking about sex. In fact, I don't spend every waking moment of my life thinking about any one thing. I'd consider that an incredibly boring way to live in all honesty. But I suppose that's just me who requires a varied life which includes sex, but isn't centered on it.
In this documentary program, we were then told that the opposite of this constant insatiable desire to be pounded, was the "Bridget Jones" generation. Women who only partake in the ghastly act of sex (missionary, under 10 minutes, lights off) as an act of love; nothing to do with pure sexual pleasure. This old generation of women enjoy sex, but only in the parameters of a close intimate relationship; and even then they probably only ever have "vanilla" sex, so unfulfilled are their pitiful lives. Should they ever venture to engage in the act with someone other than a domesticated lap-dog live-in man and have a squalid one-night stand, they will find themselves racked with interminable guilt; they are so last decade.
On the contrary, this new generation of blog-slut women have sex whenever, wherever and with whomever they want. They are constantly, day in and day out, on the look out for sex. They are impossibly horny and love nothing more than casual fucking.
So basically these are the options, ladies. Either you are stuck in a stifling relationship enduring a repetitive and bland sex life, or you are single and fucking everything with a pulse. You're either the madonna or the whore. Sound familiar? Oh yeah, it just so happens that those have been pretty much the two options available for women SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME. Well done clit-lit!
By the end of the program, we see that the Girl with The One Track Mind was eventually "outed" by the press and left shamed, embarrassed and no doubt in desperate need of fuck. Of course now that everyone knew she was the bicycle they'd all been reading about, she was getting offers from every grease-ball within a 20 mile radius and all the "nice" man-whores were politely declining her calls. But she had also left in her wake an absolute mountain of similar blogs all written by these new sex-blog girls, all trying to out-shock each other with their bedroom antics. It's actually quite amusing to peruse these public sex diaries; plus they all link to each other so once you have one, you have them all. Basically, imagine a meeting of wannabe call girls. These aren't seasoned professionals (like real call girls or porn stars) for whom the taboo of sex is completely gone; these are essentially regular girls who are incredibly easy and like to regale tales of their horizontal lives to others to show how rebellious they are.
"I like anal!"
"I like double anal!"
"I like fisting!"
"I have 18 vibrators!"
"I wear anal beads everyday!"
And so on. It's quite something really, like a competition for Miss. Whore at a porn convention. And the common thread through nearly all of these blogs is the over-stated idea that all of this screwing quasi-strangers is empowering, not demeaning. These women are aware of and totally comfortable with their decisions and feel that by detailing their accounts of it they are proudly showing the world that it's "okay to be like this, this isn't slutty, honest, here's why we're all talking about it so openly!!." Well, anonymously on the internet that is...
And I suppose I can see their point here, people often say that "sex is power". Therefore, women partaking in casual sex on their own terms and for their own pleasure, outside the constraints of society's strict moral codes could be empowering. And likewise, I guess writing about these exploits can let other sexually charged women feel at home with their promiscuous behavior. But throughout the program I couldn't help but find the entire thing terribly self-indulgent and slightly pathetic. If these women could partake in sexual encounters casually, why can't they treat them casually? Why the need to tell everyone? And if its truly because you're not ashamed of your behavior, why do it anonymously? If you genuinely want to change society's perspective on sexually promiscuous women by showing that they can be more than thick sluts, why not go the whole way and identify yourself? The whole thing seemed quite hypocritical, as much as they were all screaming "We're just like men! We just want sex with no strings attached (except maybe those strapping our wrists to our bedposts)!" there was one glaring difference between these "new" women and the men they were, in the sexual sense, imitating:
Men don't write salacious blogs about their sexual encounters hidden behind mysterious screen names like "sexkitteninthecity" . Men come into work and tell their friends perhaps. Or spew their sordid tales at a bar the following night. Either way, it will take them 5-10 minutes at most (if anything particularly exciting happened) and then the conversation will swiftly move on. Once their pal gets the general idea (great tits, average ass, wouldn't go on top, tight pussy etc) what else is there to say? In fact in many cases, men don't tell anyone unless they're asked; it's not a huge deal so they just keep it to themselves. Because you see for men, to whom casual sex really is casual, a simple screw doesn't warrant an after-thought, much less an essay. Why write about/discuss it when you could be out getting more?
And not only that, but haven't we heard it before? It may be very exciting to the people taking part, but for the most part, there is little less exciting than the sexual lives of regular people. If we want to see some great sex, we'll rent porn. If we want to read about great sex, we'll buy erotica fiction. But hearing about Susan and Dave from North London who tried nipple clamps last night? The visual alone makes me feel quite unwell.
So if these women really want unadulterated, easy sex - perhaps they should leave the safety of their keyboards, go out and get it. And then shut the fuck up. Because more than anything else - who really cares??
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Having had a conversation revolving around this topic recently, I feel it's time I asked the opinion of others as well. Where does one draw the line between embellishing a story for added entertainment value and blatantly telling falsities in the place of any amusing anecdotes in your dull life?
I've been an embarrassed witness, more times than I care to admit, to friends publicly recanting charming stories of their previous night/week/month/year's adventures and slipping in more than one fabrication of events to up the ante. I, as a bystander often aware of the complete truth, usually find this an awkward and uncomfortable situation with which to contend. But at least in most of these cases, the general story being told is on the mark factually and there is only a peppering of fiction tossed in for flair. And I guess this I can tolerate, if not condone. However, I've noticed recently that several friends of mine are veering into the slightly more nefarious area of out-and-out lying. For instance, when someone asks an individual they've just met what it is they do for a living, the tendency is to big up the cool things one does on the side (ie - band/photography/art/fashion/writing/modeling etc.) and play down the real way they make the majority of their cash (ie - working in an otherwise rather dull and soulless job). This I fully agree with, why not show the best sides of yourself? Let them in on the truth once you know their worth it.
However, lately I've been witness to people completely making things up. Rather than simply bigging up the interesting facets of their working lives, people are now completely fabricating jobs and lifestyles based on what they wish they were doing. So if someone thinks they should be a film-maker but has so far done very little/nothing about this, they are simply pretending otherwise. Telling new people they meet, "Yeah, I'm working on a film at the moment, as well as writing a few scripts and producing some work for other people. It's tough, but I think the way things are going I should really be getting somewhere within a couple years. I'm doing some music videos as well...". This is not simply a stretch, this is completely false. They are basically describing their dream to someone else, but playing it off as reality.
What's most interesting though, is that I often get the feeling that the only reason people want these supposed "cool jobs" is not because they feel they'd excel in such fields, or that they are particularly talented, but simply so that they can tell other people what their job is.
It's like that scene in Swingers when he orders the Glenlivet scotch drink in the casino, and then later quietly admits he didn't even want it, he just wanted to order it. I wonder how many people I know are gonna hit 40, find themselves still fighting to get in on the creative/art/media scene and then realize that they didn't really want that job anyways, they just wanted the business card to pass out.
A lot of jobs that sound really "cool" are actually quite boring and filled with obsessives who have no life outside of that profession. It can be quite depressing when you meet people whom you think will be just like you, but who in actual fact are like 30% of you exploited and enlarged into 1 person. It's disconcerting, disheartening and it does force you to question your motives.
There's no shame in working in an office, making a decent wage. And anyone that tells you otherwise is either A.) Stuck in a job they despise, probably retail, the only respite of which is telling themselves it's somehow better than "working in some nameless corporate box" or B.) under 21 and still living the "I could never do that office, 9-5 shit maaaan" dream*.
Perhaps people should be more confident within themselves; perhaps they should question what it is about their lifestyle they are so ashamed about; perhaps they should stop lying about what they wish they were doing and either start doing it or at least admit to themselves why they are not; or perhaps most importantly, people should simply surround themselves with failures.
In the company of the middle-aged and unemployed, a job as line manager at the local Starbucks at age 29 doesn't seem so bad...
*Which, interestingly, I never had. From a young age I saw nothing wrong with working in a comfortable chair at a nice desk making money. I always really enjoyed school as well. Maybe these two go hand in hand with each other. Sitting at a desk seems to suit me fine
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I'm currently in the midst of writing a lovely entry. A proper entry. Two entries in fact. Your cup of literary intellectualism joy shall over-runneth soon.
In the meantime, here are some interesting facts about yours truly:
5 Films I have no desire to see:
1. Even though it's co-written by Roger Avary, even though it has a great cast, even though Angelina is in it*, I'm not a fan of this realistic animation last seen in The Polar Express and it looks horribly dull. The more i see that guy yelling, "I am Beowulf!" in the advert, the more cemented my disinterest becomes.
2. Tim Burton and Johnny Depp. What a team. They can do no wrong. They've made 4 whole films together (EDIT FOR STEVE - Not including The Corpse Bride as it's only Johnny's voice) only one of which was truly great, and two of which were truly awful. Yet because Tim Burton fans are obsessive, they will be cumming in their pants over this movie and will race off to buy tickets as soon as it's released before they then save up to go see the 3-D Nightmare Before Christmas at their local Imax (which, btw, I also have no desire to see). Go watch a trailer of Sweeney Todd and pay close attention to when Johnny "I'm so cool I don't even LIVE in America, I just rake in millions from one of it's biggest corporate rapists of wholesomeness, Disney" Depp starts inexplicably singing about getting "his vengeance". Now try to imagine paying to see him do that again.
3. I never read the books, I don't like fantasy, it reminds me of The Never-Ending Story too much (the poster that is) and perhaps it's just because I'm a girl. And I'm not even one of those cool girls who really loves Star Wars and collects Lord of the Rings stuff either. I think all the boys I know should just go watch this together, cos that would be a really great way to spend an afternoon. Male bonding at a fantasy film. I'll even bake you all some cookies like a good girl.
4. Again, great cast (though this is becoming more and more meaningless with regards to a films quality these days) and maybe if I was 5 I'd want to see it. Or maybe if it was a made-for TV movie that they played on December 23 I might be inclined. Again I don't like fantasy, the plot looks incredibly predictable and unsatisfying. But most of all, look at Robert DeNiro's face in the poster. Does that make you want to see this film?
5. Thank you Fox, for sullying yet another childhood favorite by insisting that all children's characters must be updated to be "urban" in order for today's kids to enjoy them. Hence throwing on some shades and bling on my beloved chipmunks. Incidentally, this is brought to you by the same fuckwits that royally screwed up Garfield's big screen debut. Perhaps the saddest part is that the otherwise relatively credible Jason Lee has gotten involved with this mockery.
5 Films I have a desire to see:
1. I'm a big Wes Anderson fan, but to be honest, I haven't much hope for this film. I think his last film was heading towards triteness, and I think this one will be hitting the nail dead on. Way too knowingly quirky, way too "naturally" acted to the point it looks badly acted. Each character with far too many nuances to flesh out in 2 hours. All 3 actors competing with who can walk away as the coolest (surely Shwartzman, he's been doing this schtick his whole career. Wilson had a chance 'til that pesky suicide attempt. Major cool points lost). But then I read that prior to the film, theater audiences will be treated to a short film starring Natalie Portman and Jason Shwartzman in which Portman gets naked. Apparently we don't see everything, but she does get naked. Miss."I'm way too dignified and HARVARD to get nudie" gets 'em out. I'm buying a ticket!
2. It's Christian Bale, Steve Zahn and Werner Herzog. What, really, can go wrong?
3. To be honest, Chris McCandles always struck me as a spoiled, ungrateful prick. Run of the mill trustafarian who acted like a know-it-all asshole and got what was coming to him. But as much a I hate to admit it, because he's such a holier-than-thou bore, I have liked all the Sean Penn-directed films I've seen. Plus, I like Emile Hirsh, And I can easily see him reaching maximum density weight-wise within the next 10 years, so I may as well see him now at his "hottest" (according to Hollywood-buzzworthy-status) and while still getting good roles.
4. Plain and simple, I like the people involved in this film. I like Ellen Page. I like Michael Cera. I like the director. Knowing my luck I'll find it perfectly average and disappointing. But I'm holding out hope... And the trailer looks good!
5. Who in their right mind ISN'T excited about this film. The only downside is, with this much hype, can it actually live up to our exalted expectations? I hope so. The teasers and trailers so far look super duper. I like the idea of it being filmed on personal video cameras and digital point and shoots. Yadda yadda, so far so internet phenom. I do however have one rather major qualm - the title: Cloverfield?? Clover-fucking-field? REALLY? Is that the best we can do?? Still, I await with baited breath.
So there you go.
My current film views.
While I'm still in the midst of writing my opus on FAT, I may return for my Best and Worst of 2007 list. Work has suddenly become terribly dull this week as my best-good-times-at-the-office pal is AWOL, so I shall have more time for LJ shit.
Stay tuned for more!
*But she is not naked in it. This is not Angelina's naked body. It doesn't even look like her naked body, as anyone who's seen Gia can attest to. She has not suddenly gone from a thin, boyish, long-limbed with big tits figure to a curvy and perfectly proportioned one over night.
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Trawling the interweb can be a fancy-free way to while away the hours at work. Wikipedia, MySpace, ONTD, they all have their charms. But these pale in comparison to this. Perhaps the greatest news I've had this year -
 !!!!!!
A release date of July 24tth has been bandied about,s o I'm marking my calender and I sincerely hope you are as well. I knew old Kelly would come through for us. I just hope Chuck and Rufus can work through their complicated issues in the end. And now that Cathy has revealed to Gwen that she's the hos that slept with her husband? Shit be going DOWN!!!
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There's something very dangerous happening in the world of women's under-garments at the moment. This may or may not interest you boys, but for you girls, I think we need to discuss this.
It all started about 2 weeks ago when I decided I was in serious need of a few new brassieres. I also had a sweet £40 Topshop voucher burning a hole in my wallet. Put these two facts together and we got a shopping spree on our hands. However, my plan for lingerie heaven was immediately scuppered after spending only 10 minutes in Topshop's (tiny) underwear section. And the reason is this - take a look at the the following bras, all available from your local Topshop branch, and see if you can find the common thread between them all :
     
Anything you notice?? I took them from all different lines, "basic" "Fashion" "Something Special" - and yet there's one thing they all have in common.
Padding.
In fact, every bra on the website has padding save for bandeau tops and about three bras that also have no under-wiring. Other than that - it's pad, pad, pad. Disappointed by this unneeded cushioning assault, I ventured off to another shopping mecca - Primark. They have 6 walls of bras. 6 top-to-bottom walls. That's a lotta lingerie. I figured surely they would be able to satisfy my want. After looking around for a good 5 minutes to no avail, I asked an employee if they had any non-padded bras available. She directed me to the maternity section. That's it. I was in a mild state of disbelief and deep frustration at this point. I even joked with her, "My god, aren't ANY girls happy with what they have?!"; she looked at me blankly, and flatly said "No". Wow.
And here's where I started to worry. I ended up going to H&M, Miss Selfridge, and even New Look (which took some bravery) and was presented again and again with the same dilemma. My goal on that day was simply to find a pretty, non-padded, under-wired bra that was fairly cheap. You know, a NORMAL bra. A fairly elementary goal if you ask me and one which in the past had not presented a major predicament. The only thing vaguely abnormal about my request was that I wanted it to be pretty. Not plain white, or black, or nude. Pretty. It would seem this request of mine is impossible to satisfy. There were a fair few fun and beautifully designed bras in all the shops, but they were ALL padded. And I hope I'm not alone in finding this a terribly depressing and insulting discovery.
Basically these shops are telling young girls right from the start that their tits aren't big enough, regardless of the size. Even the DD bras still had padding. And those days of removable pads a lá Wonderbras are long gone. This is sewn in, can't-remove-it, stuck-with-it-forever padding. And this was the case in every high street shop I visited, nowhere gave any other choice, save for one or two deviations which normally offered no support (i.e. had no under-wire etc). If you wanted a bra that did what it intended to and offered support, you had to get a padded one. And that was the end of it.
Now, I get it if an insecure 13 year-old with bee stings for breasts wants a little extra help to match up to her friends. Fine. But beyond the age of 15, why any woman would desire to wear a padded bra is beyond me. And in most of these stores, the clientele ranged in age from 16-40. I mean these are women. Grown, adult, mature, self-assured women. And they're being bullied into buying a product which by it's very nature implies inadequacy. So take a young girl in the bra-buying market, perhaps getting her first real bra at age 12/13 or so. Picture her 10, 15 years later. 15 years of buying padded bras, 15 years of wearing a garment which forces a sense of physical deficiency on to her self-image, 15 years of being inoccuously told that she is never enough. And we wonder why there are women in their 30's too scared to get naked in front of their husbands who have to draft in people like this:
The media is constantly being berated for portraying stick thin girls as the ideal form and giving women everywhere eating disorders, and meanwhile the bra industry is practically advertising for silicone and no-one's saying a goddam thing about it.
To add insult to injury, I went into Marks & Spencer, surely the last bastion of sartorial sensibility, thinking of course I'll be able to find some respite in the Queen of Lingerie. Yet again, the vast majority were padded. But upon further investigation, I began to notice that on several styles and designs, only cup sizes AA-C were padded and on sizes D and up were normal, pad-free and abundantly more attractive.
Marks & Sparks is virtually saying to the customer, "If you have a cup size D or above, your breasts may be good enough on their own. If you have a cup size C or smaller, then sorry honey, but you need to bump up up your lady lumps, girlfriend" . As my, perfectly well-sized, breasts fall between a B and a C, I of course was one of the unfortunate freaks of nature who needed some help. God forbid I actually prance about in public with my breasts as they are. Heavens no. And let's not bother taking into account that the average bra size in the UK is 36C, which means that apparently the majority of women's breasts aren't big enough.
And that's another thing - this is also a class issue. The only way to avoid this padded monopoly is to invest a great deal in one's lingerie. Rigby and Peller don't offer too much in the padded region, and in several shops you CAN get unpadded options; if you're willing to shell out upwards of £40. Topshop offers some lovely unpadded bras as well - at £60 a pop that is...
This, then, basically implies that if you're rich, you're happy with what you have, but if you're poor you're not. Because of course all working class girls want to get fake tits anyways, right? So of course they all want padded bras, right? There's no way Tracey from the council estate in Colchester can be happy with her B cups. But Natasha from Chelsea, she can afford to have the self-confidence needed to survive wearing non-padded bras, purely because she can afford it.
Of course, if you know me at all, you're fully aware that the debasement of the working class is not something I particularly fight against. Usually I agree with it, in fact. However, in this case it's not just poverty-stricken taking the heat, it's anyone who isn't wealthy. It's every girl I know. It's me, goddammit.
The entire horrible situation has left me rather aghast. I managed to (after SEVERAL hours) get 3 bras, all from Marks and Spencer, which were fairly pretty, non-padded, fit me and were reasonably priced (mainly because 2 were on sale). But it was not a pleasurable experience and was certainly not easy. And the really pretty bras were, yet again, about £40-50 each. What I don't understand is how this has happened?? When did these shops decide we all have small tits??
And why is this only for women? If we're being told by every brand that our chests do not measure up, why aren't the guys getting this shit? I don't see padded men's underwear filling up the shelves in Topman. In this age of skinny jeans where one's manhood is rather more on display, surely this is a wasted marketing gem? Don't boys deserve a little added insecurity as well??
And, on a lesser note - speaking of boys if you ask most of them they will tell how much they dislike padded bras. And I totally agree. They are terribly unattractive garments. They don't look good, they're not nice to feel when hugging a girl, they look embarrassingly obvious when a girl lies down, her knockers fall back and the bra doesn't, and they're not actually fooling anyone. So ladies - stop buying these things. Write complaints. Boycott these stores. Start petitions...Viva brá
Revolucion!
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Please, stop complaining SO much. I know it's really difficult being young, talented and privileged, but try to keep in mind that we all have problems, so deal with yours and let us deal with ours. And also keep in mind that as long as you haven't got cancer or AIDS, and have a roof over your head really - you're alright by standards of the world.
Now shut the fuck up and get on with it.
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Did anyone else manage to catch channel 4's new Friday night must-see program, Unanimous? It's a faintly ridiculous set-up, involving a group of strangers who have to decide amongst themselves who receives £1 million, the decision of which must be unanimous. That's it. That's the plot. A lá Big Brother, they remain in this windowless dungeon of a living space, with no outside contact until they have decided. I recall a similar program about a year ago, which was only an hour long and throughout that hour various contestants would be voted off by the other contestants, deemed "unworthy" of the money, until only a couple remained to fight it out and inevitably the working class, ex-heroin addict, single mother would get the money because she "deserved it".
This Unanimous program is slightly different in that it will last a series of weeks like most other reality shows, but I imagine it will be much the same result. It's also far more melodramatic and over the top, which is always appreciated. One aspect of the show is that each week, 3 "secrets" will be revealed to the contestants. These will be the secrets of 3 contestants, but it will not be announced which three contestants the secrets belong to. WIthout knowing whose secrets they are discussing, all contestants must decide which of the secrets is the worst (unanimously, of course) and whomever's secret is chosen will be exposed and she/he will be eliminated from the competition. Interestingly, he/she will remain in the dungeon-house and will still vote on who receives the million quid, he/she simply won't be eligable for the money anymore.
I was of course rocking my ass off last Friday with PinátaPináta, but I did record this program, of course, and finally got around to watching it a couple of nights ago. It was as I expected, in fact a tad more dull if anything, until it came to the "secrets" portion. The 3 secrets revealed were:
1. This contestant embezzled money to pay off a debt
2. This contestant was banned from a city center.
3. This contestant slept with his/her best friends partner.
The contestants had to choose which was worse. Now let's think about this - in one case someone cheated a large corporation out of money, in one case someone was so antisocial that they managed to ban themselves from an entire city and in one case someone cheated on someone. If you ask me, the worst one is easily number 2. In the case of number one, someone cheated a business out of about a £1000 we were told. This has hurt only the big business and perhaps the embezzler his/herself when caught. That, really, is it. This may prove that the contestant in question can't be trusted, though in a situation where 12 people are fighting for a lot of money it's a fair bet that none of them can be trusted. In the case of number 3, these are often incredibly complicated situations, and for all we know the cheating pair involved ended up staying together, or the resulting break-up of the couple involved may have proved a blessing in disguise. In any case, this is the fault of two people and (assuming no children were involved) this only hurt 3 people.
In the case of number 2 however, this little shit no doubt caused endless nuisance, anger, hurt and pain to hundreds and hundreds of people. Smashing cars in. Fighting outside pubs. Stealing from corner shops. Puking on trains. Etc. I can think of nothing worse than someone who has managed to get BANNED from a city center. These are the fucks that broke into my car and/or knocked the wing mirror off countless times. These are the dicks that smoke on the tube. These are the shitty kids that play tinny dance music at full blast on their mobile phones on buses. These are the fucks that throw rocks at people's windows for the sheer hell of it. This person, this contestant, this shit-for-brains is one of the most horrid, loathsome, abhorrent, insolent degenerates in the world. I would boot them out immediately. There would be no doubt in my mind. If any of these people don't deserve even their life much less £1million, it's this sorry excuse for a human, who spends their time causing no end of grief to others.
So I sat there, watching these nimrods debating the "secrets", arguing which was worse and I felt confident; surely they would pick the second one. Surely. Surely they will begin to recant anecdotes about their individual experiences with vandalism or assault and realize it is just thos sort of person which causes such offences. Nothing could be worse. Surely.
And then came their decision.
Secret number 3. They chose Secret number 3. Their reasons were, "This is someone who lies to their best friend, so we could never trust them".
Secret. Number. Three.
As if it couldn't get any worse, just as these morons announced their idiotic decision, a thought occured to me.
One of these people is going to be awarded £1 million.
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feduchin_pate's journal
worried
Compeed 3 in 1 Blister Plasters. The result of getting several new pairs of shoes for my birthday...
2 pints of Kronenbourg.
2 cans of Red Bull. A necessary evil. After drinking/eating all day we were exhausted by 9:30. 
2 person game of Dance Dance Revolution at an otherwise empty arcade just before midnight. Made possible by the Red Bulls.
scared
Bagel, marmalade, Diet Coke. 
My favorite cuisine, Japanese. Edamame and Steamed spinach with sesame dressing/dip.
Pret Popcorn. Get used to seeing a lot of this.
Sunbites 
Diet Coke 1.5 litre
Cheesestrings
Sainsburys Be Good to Yourself Spinach & Ricotta Cannelloni
Muller Light Yogurt - Peach and Passion Fruit
Andrex toilet paper
Camel cigarettes
chipper
confused
discontent
uncomfortable
thirsty
EXCITED
bored
crushed
