Tuesday 25 January 2011

Remember

For as long as I have my faculties about me,
You will have yours.

When I see ‘Chancery Lane’ my brain takes a train
To you

When blossoms blossom, and the wind wretches them away
They fall at your feet

When I hear that band, that song, that tune
We speak

Every spice scenting her perfume,
Every voice within this crowd,
Every colour in that rainbow,
Every flavour his tongue greets
Every embrace which warms my soul

Is you.

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Sunday 23 January 2011

Well-behaved women never made history

When sitting in the backseat of my mother’s Micra listening to ‘I am a Passenger’ (lol, seriously) my eye came across the new Christian Bale and Mark Walberg boxing film poster. Being me I automatically started analysing how ‘Fight Club’ portrays our increasingly flaccid idea of ‘masculinity’. This then lead me to question ‘femininity’... Et voilà!

‘Gender’ and ‘sex’, I think, are generally considered synonymous. We assume a woman is feminine, and a man is masculine – and anyone defying these social norms is defying their inherent biological design. But that is exactly the point: on the one hand there are the social constructs designed to inform us what it means to be ‘feminine’, and on the other is our biology – which needs no explanation if your Year 6 teacher did their job properly.

This gives rise to the question: do we WANT to be feminine? Do we want to become another stereotype, another product of what is expected of us rather than what we want to be? Society holds women back enough. Being ambitious makes you masculine, being promiscuous makes you a slut and being opinionated makes you a ‘fucking feminist’.

Before people get confused and starting thinking I am a feminist, I’m not. Well I am to the extent where I think we should be given equal rights etc. but not one of those ‘male dominance is undercutting us’ types - like that woman in ‘Legally Blonde’ who was petitioning for the next term to be called ‘winter ovester’...WHAT IS THAT!? Nevertheless, even though I understand why Elle is Elle, I do cringe when I see her just constantly decked out in pink like a fluffy 8 year old.

A lot of people associate the colour pink with girls and femininity but this is only a very recent fabrication. Up until the 1940s pink was attributed to men because of the ‘masculinity’ of red, and the fact that pink was closer to it. On the other hand, blue (Virgin Mary’s colour) was for girls because it was considered more refined. The fact that Ross Geller would have not even needed to defend his 'salmon pink' shirt back when Queen Victoria was rocking, and the ability to completely overhaul symbolism, is just more evidence that the notion of femininity is man-made (in the larger, non-feminist sense).

The fundamental ideas of feminism's death though the increase in figurative and literal trouser-wearing, votes and political correctness has led to a decrease in birth-rates because 1) women are focusing on their careers, which they (OMG!) can now have 2) this ultimately means they have less time on their 'biological clock' and so 3) have fewer children than a woman of the same age in India, who got married when she was like 18. Considering the traditional notion of femininity is being ignored, it seems as though the modern age’s advancements has led to a gradual deconstruction of masculinity too – based on the growing number of self-proclaimed ‘metrosexuals’.

Suddenly it is okay to be a man who is aesthetically feminine. It’s okay to go on the sun beds and even get eyelash tints like some postman I saw the other day on ‘Take Me Out’ (though he didn’t actually get any dates). Femininity is definitely not about your sex, it’s about expectations.

Oddly though, there still remains the desire to APPEAR feminine. Women will pay too much for plastic surgery, haircuts, feet-crippling heels, Bambi eyelashes and/or ACT as the submissive, stupid and vulnerable '50-Cent-bitches' in relationships but NOT in the workplace. In the workplace they want to be taken seriously. Basically women are aspiring for a balance between Miss Trunchbull’s personality and Miss Honey’s looks. Or Hilary Clinton - though even she seems to be riding a little on the fact that her husband was once in office, riding Monica Lewinsky.

I’m bored of myself now so to conclude: I have no real purpose for this blog post. It is simply the result of a very long and boring car journey to Kingsbury.

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Jasper, the metrosexual guinea pig.

Friday 21 January 2011

The Mraz Challenge

I know I sound like a massive emo but I’m actually not.

I’d like to think apart from my characteristic Piscean mood-swings (yes, I’ve finally accepted I believe in that hippy, let's-hump-the-ground-to-convey-our-love-for-earth stuff) and occasional feeling of ‘oh fuck’, I’m a very happy person.

Jason Mraz (my favourite singer ever! I took the picture during his performance on 04/04/2009 in Hammersmith) put up a blog post listing, in 90 seconds, everything he is grateful for. He then encouraged everyone reading it to do the same.

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I can't think that fast so erm, here are 5 minutes' worth of gratitude:

+ My family and friends (obviously including the pigs and my seamonkeys)
+ Jasmin
+ Literature
+ All the films, TV shows and songs that have ever made me cry
+ London
+ Theatre
+ Any famous person I pine over including but not limited to: John Travolta, Jason Mraz, Christian Bale, Leonardo Di Caprio
+ Salvador Dalí
+ Salty popcorn
+ Buildings and views that awe me into silence
+ Candles and playing with melted wax
+ Late night phone calls
+ Stamps on my passport
+ Snorting with laughter
+ Polar bears
+ Laughing at the jokes in my head
+ Making people awkward for my own amusement
+ Good hair days
+ Incense sticks
+ Gem stones
+ Sea shells
+ Hippies
+ The smell of old books. Sniff the QMUL library, you will jizz in your pants.
+ Coconut
+ Biblical metaphors
+ Eggs
+ Bright nail varnish
+ Vanilla lattes
+ My camera. Best 16th birthday present ever.
+ Greek mythology
+ Family holidays
+ Photos taken in photo booths
+ Christmas TV
+ Kit-Kat
+ Making pot-porri
+ Clashing colours
+ Laurence Llewelyn Bowen
+ Booze
+ Museums
+ Fossils
+ Sunflowers
+ White lillies
+ Lavender
+ Songs with retarded lyrics
+ Accents. Especially European ones.
+ Pyjamas (aka my wardrobe)
+ Funny racist people who make me feel intellectually superior
+ Bike riding
+ Mr Potter
+ The feeling in my stomach when I miss a step or go on a rollercoaster
+ Indian food
+ Night skies that make me feel all warm, fuzzy and insignificant. But in a good way.
+ Google. The closest we will ever get to omniscience.
+ Olives
+ Weird dance moves ('reverse driving', 'the cool down' and 'milking the cow' are particular favourites)
+ Crunchy peanut butter
+ Feeling like I’m in a music video and strutting when my iPod’s on
+ The '90s
+ Hand-written letters
+ Garlic
+ Wise, crazy people I meet on public transport
+ Old photos where you think ‘why did I think that looked good?’
+ Remembering lyrics to songs I forgot existed
+ The Great Spoon of Ilford!
+ Leicester
+ Spell-check
+ Blue Peter before it had that shitty green badge
+ Free samples, sales and any legal method of saving money
+ Cute kids. No paedo.
+ Cute animals. No beasty.
+ Pretty people
+ People who buy weird and imperfect fruit
+ Flash mobs - especially 'No Pants Day'
+ The seasons and fickle British weather
+ Drinking alcohol outside when it's sunny
+ Mum's tea
+ Texts or calls from people I lost contact with
+ Lucid dreaming
+ My teachers
+ Silver jewellery
+ Mix tapes made by my friends
+ People who recycle
+ Fruit
+ Roasted chestnuts

TIME'S UP.

Tuesday 11 January 2011

99 Flakes are no longer 99p

Nothing is original except youth. You can be whatever the hell you want.

I was a painter, then an astronaught and then a wrestler.

I would be Delia Smith and cook with dandelions, chopping them up with slate from the garden and then garnish my dish (also made from dandelion) with coriander. She put coriander in everything.

I would drink my Ribena wine and shout at my brother for saying 'yeah' instead of 'present' during registration and mock him, and the other children, with my reflection in the mirror. We had such a good rapport.

My mother only ever bought me two Barbies my whole life, a grudge I still hold today. One's hair turned pink when in contact with water, and the other who rollerskated (though really she just fell flat on her perfect face). This forced me to hang around with my brothers and think punching in the stomach is a perfectly acceptable form of play.

I had the wildest imagination and spoke with such conviction that others believed me when I told them my cardboard box was a portal into a world where bears walked around with their handbags and would make a broth-like dish for the nearby privileged white girl. I'm sure that's Goldilocks-inspired.


Now.

I burn toast,
I get pissed on rosé,
I look in the mirror to check I look okay,
I walk past all the toys bundled in carrier bags
And say 'bye' to my brothers without looking them in the eye.
Every statement is a question and
Every wandering thought is disturbed by a prevailing reality.

Everything is vanilla.

I thought you're meant to improve with age?

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