Real-life chicklit
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Tracey Emin - we love her. While other artists who lost works in the art fire go on about "I hold God personally responsible - how pissed off am I on a scale of one to 10? I'd say 11" (Dinos Chapman), what does our Trace have to say? "I'm upset ... I'm also very upset about those people whose wedding got bombed last week in Iraq, and people being dug out from under 400ft of mud in the Dominican Republic". Hooray!
I also think her tent and hut were brilliant, so it is a bit sad that they're lost, but one of the things I like best about Emin's art is that you don't have to see it to be moved by it. I had never seen her beach hut but the difference between the emotional response I have when I hear a description of it (it's a tatty, broken beach hut and the title is "The Last Thing I said is Don't Leave Me Here") is much greater than that to hearing a description of, say, Damien Hirst's "Charity" (a 22ft-high replica of an old Spastics Society collection tin in the shape of a blonde little girl with a withered leg). I think it's because text and words are so important in Emin's work and with so much meaning in the words rather than the physical experience of standing next to the work itself, it's more communicable.
Still, there's never any substitute for seeing the real thing, as anyone who's seen the Mona Lisa in the "flesh" will testify.
I once went out with a guy whose flatmate had gone to art college with Tracey Emin and had a few of her sketches just, you know, lying around in frames waiting to be found a space on the wall (as you do with art that's worth thousands) and they were pretty cool.
Unlike the boyfriend and his flatmate - and most of his friends - who were pretentious idiots.
Friday, May 21, 2004
"The Civil Service does not do jokes" apparently, and I hope it isn't joking about this scheme to warm nuclear mineheads by filling them with chickens. Seems a little harsh on the chickens but, you know, I'm sure there's EU regulations on the use of poultry for military purposes.
Older Goddess of the day: Julie Christie. Another example of what classic styling and quality grooming products can do for a woman as she ages. She's just class. Let's have a gratutitous picture of her as 60s sexpot too coz I just love that fringe.
"A thousand pigeons each with a two-ounce explosive capsule landed at intervals on a specific target might be a seriously inconvenient surprise" - yes it's that time of year again, when security service documents get to the end of their confidentiality period and journalists are gifted fabulous stories including allegations that the guy they based the Ralph Fiennes character in "The English Patient" on was actually ugly and stupid even before he got his face burned.
The pigeons are my favourite, though: it actually seems like not too stupid an idea, particularly if you are a fan of the computer game Worms in which the homing pigeon bomb can be extremely effective.
I am becoming increasingly concerned about the way people's blogs just seem to be stopping working. First Kelvin, then Hypatia... is there come kind of psycho sniper on the loose in Blogland, or do they just not like me any more?
Word of the day: nendless (as in "Every day's a nendless dream/of cigarettes and magazines")
Thursday, May 20, 2004
I can't believe no one's had a single idea about my VCR issues (see Real-life Chicklit of 11 May for details. I'd link to it but I don't know, and frankly don't care, how to link to stuff in my own archives).
Ohmigod! If you type "Fizzwhizz" into Google, FOUR - count 'em - of the top 10 hits are from Real-life Chicklit. And another one is me on a bulletin board talking about nerdy computer games, but let's gloss over that. I'M, LIKE, TOTALLY FAMOUS THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE CYBERSPHERE! I'd better get a blog like Fred Durst and start calling myself an "artist".
It's even wierder if you do an image search.
So Fred Durst from boy-pop band Limp Bizkit has a blog (or at least, his PR has a blog in his name). It's pretty predictable "hey, fans, I feel your pain, my mom and dad harsh me out too" - I recommend you don't read any of it unless you have a strong stomach, particularly the comments.
But I was interested by two things:
1) that he describes himself as an "artist". It really annoys me when pop stars do that. I have a lot of friends who work in creative and/or entertainment jobs, and not one of them calls him/herself an "artist". "Musician", yes. "Writer", yes. "Performer", yes. But it's only ever pop stars who say "I'm an artist", usually in the sense of Madonna saying "I'm an artist therefore I have the right to express myself by prancing about on a stage wearing very little in a town where I am likely to offend very religious people".
2) that he apparently listens to Aphex Twin.
The Durst blog did give me my word of the day for today as well, "scrable". I realise it was a misprint for "scramble", but I kind of like it; I think it should be pronounced to rhyme with "gable" and it sounds kind of onomatopoeic but I don't quite know what it would mean.
Actually I've just thought of a friend who really is an artist in the painting pictures sense, and a bloody good one at that, and even he doesn't call himself an "artist", he calls himself a "painter". His name is Tamor (he's the only person on here who I won't give a fake name to, seeing as his website has his name all over it. His landscapes are just stunning, and I'm not usually a visual arts kind of person. I love this picture of trees too and this landscape just makes me want to strap on my walking boots and stride on in there.
The online pictures don't do the real things justice to be honest. Me and the boyf have this one in our living room and it always looks like it's a gateway into another world, like the paiting is bigger than the frame. You can really feel the breeze blowing across the grass.
While you're on Tamor's website, check out this tune he did using only the sounds from the Quake II computer game. Nerdy, yes, but it does rock in a funky but dark sort of way.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Photo ID shows toll job has taken on man's health - the Onion's comedy goes remarkably close to the bone once again....
However I'm surprised it doesn't touch on the embarrassment of noticing that your hairstyle on your office ID is way, way too last season for comfort. On my card I have a fine version of last year's "quiff"-style ponytail, as modelled here by Heidi Sugababe - that's the one on the left, by the way.
If I tell the powers that be I've lost it and get it re-done, it'll cost me six quid (and this from a company that made googazillions of pounds of profit last year, according to the annual report thingy they emailed round).
But, you know, if could be worth it.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
I'm hoping this story about wife-beating from the Oldham Chronicle is a piss-take. I mean, I know there are only eight decent sub-editors in the world, but surely even hopelessly under-paid local paper subs can't have missed all this stuff, or even worse, think it's funny. Thanks for Deadline for the link.
OK, so possibly the Indian election thing is a little more complicated than I previously realised. But still, hooray for democracy and boo for macro-economics - I do find it rather odd that the world's investors seemed quite happy to put their money in India when it was run by a bunch of religious fundamentalists, but one whiff of a pinko and they all peg it to the cashpoint.
Today's way to leave your lover: get on the bus, Gus.
Older Goddess of the Day: Daryl Hannah. Can you believe she's 44?! Still, she's always had that naturally willowy figure, so I guess it's only natural. Does she have kids? I don't know.
Anyway I saw Steel Magnolias last night on the telly (admit it ladies, you love it when you're on your own with a bottle of wine and a box of hankies) and was struck by what an under-rated actress she is. In fact, even her mermaid in Splash! was as heart-felt a performance as anyone could have given, and in Blade Runner she lends a beautifully vulnerable air to a character that was basically a proto-Fembot.
Dolly Parton, of course, also a very under-rated actress (as long as she's playing sassy Southern belles with hearts of gold), but she doesn't get to be a Goddess because of the minimal-plastic-surgery-only rule. Still, she has a special place in my heart as a general all-round goddess, as I believe she does for many of my readers.
What has happened to my chum Kelvin? I fear this secret civil servant may have been discovered and nobbled. Shame.
Friday, May 14, 2004
Hooray for the Congress Party winning the Indian election. It's totally a victory for secular government over religious fundamentalism. One of the things I found most shocking when I visited India was the BJP government's extreme Hindu element, and the fact that politicians could go in the papers and actually say that it was OK for Hindus to burn down mosques and vice versa (well, not literally vice versa, because obviously that would mean mosques burning down Hindus, but you know, THAT COULD HAPPEN).
Anyway to return to my point which is that religion and politics, as Mahatma Gandhi tried to teach India way way back in the early days of the world's largest democracy, do not mix and should not be mixed.
Now, in India that's obviously a problem as religion, or rather spirituality, runs through every aspect of every person's everyday life. But I think this result shows not only that the average hut-dwelling Indian family is getting disillusioned with the fact that while the BJP did wonders for the macro-economy, they are still cooking their food over fires made of cow shit, but also with its insistence that India should be run for Hindus and no one else.
Apparently Sonia G hasn't yet said whether she'll be prime minister, and given the history of her relatives dying in the job, I can't blame her. I hope she will, though.
PS: When your friends talk about Mahatma Gandhi, why not astound and irritate them by informing them that to use phrases like "Sonia is not related to Mahatma" is actually incorrect; "Mahatma" is a title and so it should be "Sonia is not related to THE Mahatma". Gandhi's forename was Mohandas. I'm astounded that this BBC story gets it wrong, even though it goes on to explain the honorific in later paragraphs. Why oh why oh why am I the only sub-editor in the world who's any good? Apart from Taxloss and Sundried obviously.
PPS While we're on the "not looking stupid when talking about Indian politics (or indeed international airports)" tip, Indira is pronounced In-dra, not In-dye-ra, and Mohandas is pronounced Mown-das, not Mo-hand-ass. Don't say I never help you out with nuffing.
A lady at the bus stop had an interesting point to make about the 14-year-old abortion thing. She was saying to her friend, if parents don't have to be told what's going on in their children's lives, the government has no right then to hold parents responsible for their children's behaviour. You can't have it both ways - either the kids are responsible for themselves or they aren't.
This was all actually put much more expressively in a foghorn Monserrat accent with lots of mmm-hmmm-ing but I can't reproduce that here unfortunately (I know she was from Monserrat because another lady at the bus stop was also from Monserrat and apparently knew the first lady's mother).
I'm not sure that I agree with her entirely but it's an interesting point.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
I've just watched Denmark's Eurovision video and either we wuz robbed or the standard of entries must be exceptionally high this year, because I thought it was a catchy tune that would have got at least 9 points if I were a judge. Roll on Saturday night!
Two really good things have happened so far today:
1) I am wearing a pair of trousers I haven't been able to do up for about a year!
2) The sun is shining and I had a lovely ride into work on my bike!
What's up with this woman wanting the law changed because her 14-year-old daughter had an abortion without telling her? It's not the school's fault, it's not social services fault, it's not the law's fault ... yes that's right, I BLAME THE PARENTS. Sorry, but I can't help thinking that if she'd made her daughter feel that she would be supportive, accepting and loving whatever happened, including if the daughter got pregnant, then the kid would have gone to her mother in the first place instead of having to rely on some school social worker.
And what's this "It took my rights as a mother away completely"? What about the poor kid's right to decide what she wants to do? The mum says that now they've talked, the kid's changed her mind, but if the kid didn't feel able to talk to her mum about being pregnant, how do we know that she's not just saying that she's changed her mind because she knows her mum is anti-abortion?
On the radio this morning the mother said "I hope the social worker was having a good day on May 1st, because me and my daughter certainly weren't"?!! Why do people insist on demonising health workers as some kind of devils who enjoy making families miserable? Does she really think the woman was dancing gleefully around giving her colleagues high-fives and going "Hooray! That's another one hoovered out of a teenager"?
So, the first Eurovision heats were last night. Sadly, Denmark didn't make it and I had them in the office sweepstake. My other draw from the sweepstake was the UK, so I think I can kiss goodbye to my pound.
At least I'll get my money back when Sweden win Euro 2004. Maybe.
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Older Goddess of the Day: Zoe Wanamaker.
OK, so she does that really, really annoying My Family sitcom. But she's still a sexpot - it's the voice. She's got the Honor Blackman sexy gravel thing going on and that just keeps her smouldering despite passing the socially acceptable age for women to be gorgeous. Hoorah for Zoe!
I wonder, if I smoke a load of fags, will I achieve the husky voice in time to counter-balance the onset of jowls?
There has been an eerie twist in the VCR saga.
This evening Lord Benthal was visiting. As we watched a programme about Evel Knievel, I casually mentioned that I had been unable to record anything using my VCR. He asked for more details.
"Well," said I, "it plays videos OK but I can't get it to record anything. I set the timer and everything, and it comes on at the right time, but when you play back the tape all it's recorded is a snowstorm."
"Hold this," said he, unfolding himself from the sofa (he is a tall man) and handing me a jazz cigarette. "I'll have a look."
Now, Lord B is a recording studio engineer and therefore quite at home among jumbles of wire such as that which inhabits the space behind my TV (It's not a boy, thing, Bessie is a sound engineer too and she's the same. So there). Anyway, it was not long before Lord B emerged triumphant and demonstrated successful playback of a snippet of The World's Greatest Conspiracies.
Apparently, the problem was that we have a cable TV with no real aerial, so we had to set our VCR to AV. Simple really, but I bet no one had worked that one out.
So as he left to go home to Lady Benthal and the cats, I excitedly set the digital box to channel 105 and programmed the VCR timer to record Airplane, which is one of my favourite films ("Where's that noise coming from?"/"The cockpit!"/"The cockpit? What is it?"/"It's the little room at the front of the plane where the pilot sits, but that's not important right now!") starting at 10.35.
The final instructions from the machine were to press OK and turn off the VCR. This I did, pausing only to rewind the tape slightly.
On pressing the VCR power off button, it immediately began to record EVEN THOUGH THE CLOCK ONLY SHOWED 9.21.
I pressed the stop button - nothing changed. I pressed the power button - still recording. I turned off the VCR and digital box - when I turn the VCR back on, still recording. I turned it off and left it for five minutes - turned it back on, still recording.
It's still sitting in my living room, recording.
Please! Does anyone know what the hell is going on?
PS I have just bid £4 for a VHS copy of Airplane on Ebay. Sod it. Now I see why Elvis had four TV sets in one room.
As I walked past the Tate Modern on the way to work this morning I stopped off to have a look at the dying sparrow.
The first thing that struck me was that someone had paid Herzog & De Meuron to design the new window exhibition space, which as far as I can tell could have been specified by a work experience teenager with a Pilkington's Glass catalogue. Ho hum - that's the world of the visual arts I suppose.
Sadly the batteries appeared to have run out in the animatronic sparrow, which was something of a disappointment as I had been promised a moving bird with visibly beating heart and instead it just looked like a bit of taxidermy. Hmmmmn. I shall look at it again another time when they've got it working again as I think it would probably be a very powerful image of death, but apparently it's a metaphor for the decline of British working class culture. Or perhaps the failure of its mechanics on the first day of its exhibition is a metaphor for the decline of the British ability to get anything working properly?
Anyway, as I continued on my perambulation, I noticed that someone had been writing stuff in chalk on the pavement - "peace", "soften your heart", "make today count", that kind of stuff. My favourite bit, though, said: "If you keep on trying you cannot fail" and next to it was written "yes you can". That's what I call Art.
I've always had a soft spot for chalk-on-pavement as medium, probably because of watching Dick van Dyke in Morry Parpins as a child. I didn't realise he was supposed to be a Cockernee, though, until someone told me when I was about 25. I just thought he spoke funny.
I also read all the Mary Poppins books by the way, I wouldn't want anyone thinking I only encountered the classics of children's literature through the murky glass of a Hollywood interpretation.
Word of the day today is "adventuresome", courtesy of the poor father of that poor guy beheaded in Iraq, who said it on the radio this morning.
I originally thought it was just one of those made-up Americanisms, although I was prepared to forgive the guy for it because when a video of one's 26-year-old son being viciously killed is being circulated on the internet, one can be forgiven for a slip in one's standards of grammar. But I have just looked in up in the dictionary and bugger me if it isn't actually listed right there as an adjective in my Oxford Compact (yes, the proper dictionary too, not even the New Oxford which is just full of stupid made-up words like "britneyfication").
So, far be it from me to fail to admit when I am wrong, I thought I should instead make it my word of the day, and actually, I quite like it as it sounds like something one might use to describe a rather wholesome and bright-eyed sort of person, someone who likes larks and healthy outdoor exercise.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
It wasn't a TV listings magazine (see the lovely review of my humble outpourings on Mundanity and Rage). I try not to read magazines unless I'm paid for it. I only knew about the QEFTSGUK thing from the trailers that have been all over Living TV for the past two months, and the mistake actually happened because I was under the impression when I wrote the blog entry that it was the day before it actually was.
This is the not the first time this has happened, I once forgot to turn up for a freelance shift because I thought it was Thursday when it was actually Wednesday. Imagine the hilarity that ensued when the bloke phoned to ask where I was! Imagine how many times I've worked for them since!
PS I can work a VCR. Mine just doesn't work properly. No, really, I know this for a fact because the boyf has tried to record things on it too and he can't get it to work either, and he's an electrician and therefore good with technical stuff. I'm actually in no way a sappy bird who can't do anything practical: I can put up shelves, I can throw a frisbee and I'm not bad at pool either. Football I know nothing about but I can direct you to my friend Sundried on that point.
How middle-aged am I, part 4658: the bloke at the checkout in Marks and Spencer was flirting with me this morning as I bought my sandwich - and as if that wasn't middle-aged enough, the first thing that came into my head was "Ooh, what a nice young man". Help!
Friday, May 07, 2004
Argh! Have just realised I got the day wrong and actually Queer Eye UK started yesterday evening, and I therefore missed it because some friends came round. Why can't I keep a grip on stuff? I mean, the dippy earth mother creative-type pose works to a certain extent but it can rebound on one somewhat.
I quit my job! Yay! repeat to fade.....
Yes me and the boyf are off to the loverly countryside to grow yoghurt and weave our own jam. And I shall be returning to the freelance lifestyle. So, if you have enjoyed this blog and you work in the paper or online media, why not book me for a shift? I'm cheaper than Taxloss. In more ways than one, arf arf. Anyway I've been talking about it to just about everyone all day so I can't be arsed going over it again. Suffice to say, I'm outta here, suckers! (not till, er, August, though, because of my ridiculously long notice period).
So, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy UK starts tonight... I can't imagine it will be as good as the original. From the trailers it just all seems a bit too serious. And how can it be worth watching without Carson's one-liners ("Hi, the 80s called, they want their hair back"), Jai's deadpan guides to romantic dating ("I've got you some tickets to a show by some friends of mine, it's called Taboo") and Kyan taking the whole thing way too seriously ("Can we talk about the hairpiece straight off? It's the white elephant, like, sitting in the middle of the room"). Not to mention poor old Thom trying to act as though he really does like the furniture in Wal-Mart and Ted's weekly astonishment that the straight guy is having trouble rolling sushi/shucking oysters/scattering fresh fruit attractively in a chocolate basket/whatever.
As long as they keep the cheesy hi-energy house theme tune.
Meanwhile, here's a useful guide to what that hanky in your pocket is saying about you.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
If you haven't seen Kath & Kim yet, you should. Meanwhile, try out the celebrity makeover feature on their website, which is very diverting (turn the volume up on your computer coz there's sound) and was sent to me by the wonderful Dusty who talks nothing like Kath & Kim, honest.
Raaaaaarrd iiiiiiiiiiiin tooooooo ther naaaaaaaart .....
Sting's new single (stingle?) is all about the joys of driving in a fast car upholstered with leather seats. That doesn't seem the kind of rainforest-friendly sentiment I've come to expect from the world's most famous ex-teacher.
NB: One of my claims to fame is that I once spoke to Trudi Styler on the phone. I was working in a call centre sending telegrams for people, and she called up to send a telegram to say she and Sting wouldn't be able to make it to someone's rainforest benefit gala thing. She signed it "love Sting and Trudi".
Other celebrity telegram senders that I spoke to included Mark E Smith from the Fall and Spike Milligan. The rest of the time it was lots of messages to Sicily in Italian (they purported to be for people's weddings, but I suspect some kind of coded communication) and stuff for the Queen and Queen Mum.
Word of the day: symbolate (yes, I made it up, but I'm allowed to)
Older goddess of the day: Helen Mirren. I think I might have had her before, but my dad loves her (as do most people's dads I think). She has a lovely pair of legs, but there's no one thing that makes her beautiful; she just seems to have a grace and class that means she appears comfortable and self-assured whatever she's doing. And who knew she was Russian?
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Lots of epic battle scenes, very little dialogue, Brad Pitt and Orland Bloom? Troy has got to be the date movie of the year. Roll on May 21!
So apparently men like women with big tits because we have higher levels of fertility hormones and therefore are more likely to conceive - it's a scientific FACT.
This makes no sense to me however because in my experience men don't want babies and hate it when women get hormonal, so surely they'd logically be attracted to flat-chested, low-hormone women?
In fact, many Western men would probably say they fancied pert-breasted exotic Asian babes or supermodels more than Jayne "now that's what I call a laydee" Mansfield (note to self: don't forget to pick up leopardskin-bikini-and-tiger-rug-set from dry cleaners), which seems to justify my logic.
So, reader: Real-Life Chicklit or scientific journal "Proceedings B" - decide for yourself which is the better science.
Meanwhile, it's time for the Older Goddesses series to return with a triple-decker.
First, continuing the Asian theme, Michelle Yeo.
Obviously, she proves the ancient Chinese saying (TM) that women are like cheese and get better with age, or whatever it is, I'm sure Hypatia will remember it. But she also has that non-sagging body and ability to look 21 until grandmotherhood that so many Far Eastern women seem to have - and she kicks ass. It must be all those soya products they eat in that part of the world.
When I was in South-east Asia, the women would frequently tell me I was beautiful, and I couldn't work out if they were taking the piss or not; yes, I have the big boobs and thick fair hair that women in that area seem to consider attractive, if the advertising hoardings are anything to go by, but Vietnamese women are, one and all, glossy-haired, sleek-skinned angels who float two inches above the earth, so I can't seriously believe that they'd think a cellulite-ridden body like mine is better than theirs.
Second, how can I have so far forgotten the uber-sexy Kim Cattrall?
OK, so I suspect she's had her boobs done, and perhaps a little tweak here and there as well, but who hasn't - and quite frankly, the woman appears naked on TV every week and there's only so much you can hide with a wisp of bedsheet and some skilful lighting.
And nobody better give me any of that "washed-up star rescued by SJP" rubbish. That's just ageism - no one talks about SJP pulled Cynthia Nixon and Kristin Davis out of obscurity and made them international stars, because they're a bit younger so that apparently means they're allowed not to have been household names before they did SATC. Besides, Cattrall was hardly a has-been, she was a jobbing actress who had starred in Porky's and Mannequin, and who hasn't seen those?
OK, and thirdly, Sundried's favourite older lady, Julianne Moore, who has that perfect, luminous skin that only red-heads can have. I've said it before and I'll say it again: it's all about your skincare regime, girls.
