I'm confused.
Life is very confusing in general, but today especially so.
I guess this is unsurprising. I've recently returned from the trip of a lifetime in India, and have seen sights that have challenged my perspective and broadened my horizons. Now I'm home, I sit inside listening to music or lying in bed, wallowing, and letting my brain slowly process what I've seen. Although I'm not using my 'loaf' to its full capacity (not that it's a particularly intellectual one anyway!!!), it is definitely whirring away behind the scenes. And I don't know what to do with myself.
I miss school, but I feel like I still need a holiday. I want to see my friends, but after two weeks of human company I want to be alone. I'm hungry, yet I don't want to eat. I'm exhausted, but too much sleep could make it worse. I want a bath, but I don't want to get out of my clothes. I just don't know what I want, what I need, what I should be doing.
The boredom is all-pervading. It's like some kind of illness, that settles over every muscle and seeps into the eyes. It brings with it a dead tiredness that refuses to go away, even with the optimum number of hours shut-eye. It's the anti-climax. It's the sudden stop.
And the confusion! It's as if I am standing in front of a clouded mirror the whole time, in this heightened state of boredom. The reflection in the mirror is visible, but only just. Identity becomes unidentified. I don't know who I am, I don't know what I want. I need the mirror to clear again. I think India has triggered the confusion, and post-India has nurtured it.
I set up this blog to try and write about issues that are important to me (essentially, to moan about the government and the flaws in our ever-worrying society). I also set up the blog to write about opinions on cultural events, or things that have been going on in my life that might make for vaguely-interesting reading material. And now, embarrassingly, I find myself writing in a horribly juvenile way about my pathetic teenage angst... Oh, and did I also mention, that I'm confused about a person that I might or might not be attracted to?
SHIT. I will probably delete this post in the future. I haven't got a clue why I'm doing this.
Still, there is room for happiness: my Beatles records never fail to put a smile on my face!!! And I will be going to sleep today. Yee-har.
Love
xxxx
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, Harry Potter Six, and Twilight
Good day, good day!
Review-time!
In the past week, I have watched three films: Twilight, in Dundlod, while it was projected onto the wall of the Fort, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, in a cinema in Jaipur, and The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, in my humble living room. I have strong thoughts on each of these successful movies, and so I'm going to share my valueless opinion on each of them.
I think I'll do them in the order in which I saw them, which means I must begin with Twilight.
I was never particularly attracted to the idea. Hearing girls twittering amongst themselves, drooling over one Edward Cullen, put me off. I mentally rejected Twilight and placed it in the same box as High School Musical. Vampires, while undoubtedly interesting creatures, have been over-done a bit, in my opinion. I couldn't see how after years of generic movies about the Undead, and a century on from Dracula, they could be attractive in the context of the VERY unattractive American high school movie.
The film wasn't disappointing because I was expecting to be disappointed, so when it was as bad as I thought it would be, I was spared great dissatisfaction. Edward Cullen's character, which seems to have charmed most of the world's teenage girls, was very unappealing. His over-protectiveness of Bella, the heroine, and his stalker-ish tendencies were rather suffocating, I felt, so God help me if a vampire ever falls in love with me. The ending, which was supposed to be a cliffhanger, still seemed to leave the film unfinished and unfulfilling.
This isn't to mention the fact that very little actually HAPPENS. The film is set in a dreary place, and most of the characters are dreary. There is a shortage of actual events, and I seem to remember that for most of the film Bella and Edward seemed to be throwing each other meaningful glances which I suppose was intended to come across as sexual tension. Not very successfully.
Having watched the film, I bought a copy of the original novel at Delhi airport for £4.09. I thought it was worth spending such a small amount of money to try and get to the bottom of why people are so in love with the storyline (I wanted to believe the other girls on the trip when they assured me that the novel is better than the film and I shouldn't be put off). I'm now over half way through; because I'd expected it to be bad, having seen the movie, I'm actually finding myself pleasantly surprised. Stephenie Meyer may not be the world's best writer of prose, but she isn't as awful as I expected, and there are some good descriptions in there. Her style isn't as frustrating as the screenplay, and in spite of myself I am enjoying reading the book. Yet the fact still remains that Twilight, both book and film, have been hyped up beyond the level that they deserve. The story is neither original or endearing. Nor is Edward Cullen.
Now onto an adaptation of a genuinely good novel: the sixth installment of Harry Potter. I will confess that Half Blood Prince isn't my favourite of the series, but I feel that the novel is approximately fifty times better than the film. I wasn't hugely impressed.
I will copy and paste the message I sent to one of my friends regarding the film, because I've already discussed it so many times so I don't want to write about it again!
Now I come to my final film, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. I've wanted to see this for a while, as I'm intrigued by the concept of seeing the holocaust through the eye of a child.
It's an exceptionally well-made, well-acted film. The attention to detail is fantastic. The story is more symbolic than realistic -- the likelihood of the son of a concentration camp Commandant having any kind of relationship with an inmate of the camp is practically zero -- and if you've seen the shocking ending, you'll realise why. This is a deep and impressive moral fable that isn't for historical accuracy (watch Schindler's List to see a distressing account of the reality of the holocaust), but for human understanding. Every young person should see this, every old person should see this. You'll need your tissues, but if you're anything like me you'll also need people to talk it through with as it raises so many interesting topics for discussion and debate.
I really want to read the book now, but I don't think I'd want to watch the film again!
That's that then.
Yours in film-loving,
J xxx
Review-time!
In the past week, I have watched three films: Twilight, in Dundlod, while it was projected onto the wall of the Fort, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, in a cinema in Jaipur, and The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, in my humble living room. I have strong thoughts on each of these successful movies, and so I'm going to share my valueless opinion on each of them.
I think I'll do them in the order in which I saw them, which means I must begin with Twilight.
I was never particularly attracted to the idea. Hearing girls twittering amongst themselves, drooling over one Edward Cullen, put me off. I mentally rejected Twilight and placed it in the same box as High School Musical. Vampires, while undoubtedly interesting creatures, have been over-done a bit, in my opinion. I couldn't see how after years of generic movies about the Undead, and a century on from Dracula, they could be attractive in the context of the VERY unattractive American high school movie.
The film wasn't disappointing because I was expecting to be disappointed, so when it was as bad as I thought it would be, I was spared great dissatisfaction. Edward Cullen's character, which seems to have charmed most of the world's teenage girls, was very unappealing. His over-protectiveness of Bella, the heroine, and his stalker-ish tendencies were rather suffocating, I felt, so God help me if a vampire ever falls in love with me. The ending, which was supposed to be a cliffhanger, still seemed to leave the film unfinished and unfulfilling.
This isn't to mention the fact that very little actually HAPPENS. The film is set in a dreary place, and most of the characters are dreary. There is a shortage of actual events, and I seem to remember that for most of the film Bella and Edward seemed to be throwing each other meaningful glances which I suppose was intended to come across as sexual tension. Not very successfully.
Having watched the film, I bought a copy of the original novel at Delhi airport for £4.09. I thought it was worth spending such a small amount of money to try and get to the bottom of why people are so in love with the storyline (I wanted to believe the other girls on the trip when they assured me that the novel is better than the film and I shouldn't be put off). I'm now over half way through; because I'd expected it to be bad, having seen the movie, I'm actually finding myself pleasantly surprised. Stephenie Meyer may not be the world's best writer of prose, but she isn't as awful as I expected, and there are some good descriptions in there. Her style isn't as frustrating as the screenplay, and in spite of myself I am enjoying reading the book. Yet the fact still remains that Twilight, both book and film, have been hyped up beyond the level that they deserve. The story is neither original or endearing. Nor is Edward Cullen.
Now onto an adaptation of a genuinely good novel: the sixth installment of Harry Potter. I will confess that Half Blood Prince isn't my favourite of the series, but I feel that the novel is approximately fifty times better than the film. I wasn't hugely impressed.
I will copy and paste the message I sent to one of my friends regarding the film, because I've already discussed it so many times so I don't want to write about it again!
"Well, Harry Potter. Not the best. It was beautifully filmed, looked
amazing, lovely costumes, special effects and sets. Great one-liners (my
personal favourite: "I do love knitting patterns"). Very funny, very enjoyable.
BUT. They took too much artistic license (as in, added too much stuff that
wasn't in the book, I wasn't happy about the Burrow burning down AT ALL). They
spent so much time focusing on the teenage relationships that they didn't
explain horcruxes properly. Lots didn't make sense if you hadn't read the book.
Kiss between Harry and Ginny disappointing. Ending not dramatic enough. In its
favour, I really loved moments of it, like I think they dealt with the Draco
storyline well, I loved the Weasley shop, and I thought for once that Emma
Watson acted well (a novelty!). I liked the opening too, with the bridge. But I
thought, overall, it was a film of good moments, rather than a really good
film."
Now I come to my final film, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. I've wanted to see this for a while, as I'm intrigued by the concept of seeing the holocaust through the eye of a child.
It's an exceptionally well-made, well-acted film. The attention to detail is fantastic. The story is more symbolic than realistic -- the likelihood of the son of a concentration camp Commandant having any kind of relationship with an inmate of the camp is practically zero -- and if you've seen the shocking ending, you'll realise why. This is a deep and impressive moral fable that isn't for historical accuracy (watch Schindler's List to see a distressing account of the reality of the holocaust), but for human understanding. Every young person should see this, every old person should see this. You'll need your tissues, but if you're anything like me you'll also need people to talk it through with as it raises so many interesting topics for discussion and debate.
I really want to read the book now, but I don't think I'd want to watch the film again!
That's that then.
Yours in film-loving,
J xxx
Monday, 27 July 2009
India
Quite to my surprise, I survived.
I haven't come back unscathed. I'm tired, jet-lagged, and angry about some of the sights I have seen. However, I am nothing like the rabid, malarial, thin, swine-fluey corpse that I expected I would be at this point. In fact, quite the contrary, as I'm generally healthy, happy, and very satisfied having returned from an incredible trip.
India is extremely different from England, and indeed Europe. As someone who has never got further than Switzerland, this trip was an eye-opener. Obviously, because last time I looked I wasn't quite as naive as I might come across, I knew that India was going to be different. Nothing prepared me for the reality. Even the smell, the air, is different to the UK; thicker, sweeter, dustier. The streets are literally covered in litter -- public bins are few and far between -- over which thousands of stray dogs and cows scramble aimlessly. There is no concept of Health and Safety in the way that British people understand it: if you thought construction work had dangers here, please do not go and be a builder in Delhi. I'm not convinced you'd last very long. Shops are generally not housed in tall glass-fronted buildings, as they are in Europe, but in low, wooden open-fronted shacks that line the streets. Explosions of colour and a bizarre mixture of Hindi and English hit you in the face with every turn. People certainly do not share our British worshipping of privacy; men quite happily go to the toilet by the busy roadside, and families' living spaces are open for passers-by to view. It's strange, this openess, given that it is contrasted with conventions of dress (Indian women of all faiths are very modest -- no bare female Indian legs in sight).
In general, England is a much more picturesque place. Our streets are clean and rather quaint, and even areas that cause us embarrassment or tower blocks that are up for hasty demolishment are still not as bad as some of the conditions in India. Our litter is, for the most part, in bins and landfill, and our cities are neat. However, India is a bustling and vibrant country and there are glimpses of stunning beauty. When you come away from the almost make-shift constructions of everyday life, the architecture of the country's landmarks is breathtaking. I refer not only to the Taj Mahal, which is stunningly beautiful, but to other sights such as Qutab Minar and Humayun's Tomb. I genuinely relished the opportunity to visit these places, and compare them with the British sites I take for granted such as Warwick Castle and St. Paul's Cathedral.
The second week of my visit was spent away from the cities of Delhi, Jaipur and Agra, in a little town called Dundlod. It's a pretty town (well, as far as Indian towns go!), with a friendly local population, and we stayed in a wonderfully informal guesthouse called Dundlod Fort. It used to really be a fort, and is complete with a now-dry moat, but it now takes visitors and makes them feel extremely welcome. It's basic accomodation (meaning we had to cope in high temperatures without air-conditioning, and rely on fans that would be off for long stretches of time due to fifteen-times-daily power-cuts), but I personally enjoyed staying there more than I enjoyed staying in the glamorous international hotels in the first week. The Fort is homely, and was free for us to explore. We could walk out onto the roof, hide in the nooks and crannies, stroll through the large gates into the town with friends. The Fort even has two resident labradors, Thunder and Lightning, who freely roam around the place, barking occasionally. We were well looked after, treated to several displays of Indian culture, and treated like long-lost relatives by the Fort's adorable owner. The Fort was really our own for the week, and we projected films onto the outside wall in the evening, and ate dinner on the darkening roof.
The purpose of the week in Dundlod was to teach the children of Indo International School. Sadly education in India is not free like it is here, but this school is funded by non-government bodies and individuals which means that the poorest kids in the town are able to get a free education there. It's a wonderful place with a wonderful headmaster, and the kids are for the most part bright, funny and warm. Teaching was a difficult experience, mainly because of the language barrier, but it was extremely rewarding. I will never forget it.
So, I think I'll stop blabbering on now!
xxxxx
I haven't come back unscathed. I'm tired, jet-lagged, and angry about some of the sights I have seen. However, I am nothing like the rabid, malarial, thin, swine-fluey corpse that I expected I would be at this point. In fact, quite the contrary, as I'm generally healthy, happy, and very satisfied having returned from an incredible trip.
India is extremely different from England, and indeed Europe. As someone who has never got further than Switzerland, this trip was an eye-opener. Obviously, because last time I looked I wasn't quite as naive as I might come across, I knew that India was going to be different. Nothing prepared me for the reality. Even the smell, the air, is different to the UK; thicker, sweeter, dustier. The streets are literally covered in litter -- public bins are few and far between -- over which thousands of stray dogs and cows scramble aimlessly. There is no concept of Health and Safety in the way that British people understand it: if you thought construction work had dangers here, please do not go and be a builder in Delhi. I'm not convinced you'd last very long. Shops are generally not housed in tall glass-fronted buildings, as they are in Europe, but in low, wooden open-fronted shacks that line the streets. Explosions of colour and a bizarre mixture of Hindi and English hit you in the face with every turn. People certainly do not share our British worshipping of privacy; men quite happily go to the toilet by the busy roadside, and families' living spaces are open for passers-by to view. It's strange, this openess, given that it is contrasted with conventions of dress (Indian women of all faiths are very modest -- no bare female Indian legs in sight).
In general, England is a much more picturesque place. Our streets are clean and rather quaint, and even areas that cause us embarrassment or tower blocks that are up for hasty demolishment are still not as bad as some of the conditions in India. Our litter is, for the most part, in bins and landfill, and our cities are neat. However, India is a bustling and vibrant country and there are glimpses of stunning beauty. When you come away from the almost make-shift constructions of everyday life, the architecture of the country's landmarks is breathtaking. I refer not only to the Taj Mahal, which is stunningly beautiful, but to other sights such as Qutab Minar and Humayun's Tomb. I genuinely relished the opportunity to visit these places, and compare them with the British sites I take for granted such as Warwick Castle and St. Paul's Cathedral.
The second week of my visit was spent away from the cities of Delhi, Jaipur and Agra, in a little town called Dundlod. It's a pretty town (well, as far as Indian towns go!), with a friendly local population, and we stayed in a wonderfully informal guesthouse called Dundlod Fort. It used to really be a fort, and is complete with a now-dry moat, but it now takes visitors and makes them feel extremely welcome. It's basic accomodation (meaning we had to cope in high temperatures without air-conditioning, and rely on fans that would be off for long stretches of time due to fifteen-times-daily power-cuts), but I personally enjoyed staying there more than I enjoyed staying in the glamorous international hotels in the first week. The Fort is homely, and was free for us to explore. We could walk out onto the roof, hide in the nooks and crannies, stroll through the large gates into the town with friends. The Fort even has two resident labradors, Thunder and Lightning, who freely roam around the place, barking occasionally. We were well looked after, treated to several displays of Indian culture, and treated like long-lost relatives by the Fort's adorable owner. The Fort was really our own for the week, and we projected films onto the outside wall in the evening, and ate dinner on the darkening roof.
The purpose of the week in Dundlod was to teach the children of Indo International School. Sadly education in India is not free like it is here, but this school is funded by non-government bodies and individuals which means that the poorest kids in the town are able to get a free education there. It's a wonderful place with a wonderful headmaster, and the kids are for the most part bright, funny and warm. Teaching was a difficult experience, mainly because of the language barrier, but it was extremely rewarding. I will never forget it.
So, I think I'll stop blabbering on now!
xxxxx
Saturday, 11 July 2009
Last Post Before India!
Hey,
Tomorrow, I shall catch a plane for Delhi. I'm nervous, excited, yet rather underwhelmed. I'm all packed up and ready to go, and I seriously hope that a year and a half's worth of waiting (and paying) will pay off over the next two weeks!
Today I thought I'd have a David Bowie appreciation rave, because if I'm not going to do anything for a while I might as well do something fun! I'm not quite sure what form this will take, but I hope this post will sort-of-evolve as it goes along!
I think I'll focus on three areas of particular wonderfulness about Bowie!
Firstly, his diversity. When I first became a fan, I already had a big mix of genres within my limited Bowie listening material. There were the songs from Labyrinth, which were always a magical part of my childhood, a few glam-rock tunes such as Starman and Cracked Actor, 80s pop such as Let's Dance, and of course classic, genre-free tracks like Life on Mars and Space Oddity. Today, when I own copies of pretty much everything David Bowie has recorded, I can see that the phrase "I'm not in the mood for Bowie" is a stupid one, because of the vast versatility and different "moods" of his music. In my Bowie collection there is heavy rock, folk, glam-rock, soul, funk, industrial, pop-rock, pop, soft rock, experimental, instrumental, electronic and art-rock.
Secondly, his personality. OK, I don't know the guy, but his stage and album persona is incredibly endearing and as diverse as his music. There are his famous alter-egos, most famously Ziggy Stardust and the Thin White Duke. There is his gender-bending, androgynous fashion style, seen most clearly in the early 70s with his outrageous make-up and glittery costumes. There are the complex elements to his personality, at once witty and tragic. There is the slightly frightening laugh, the beguiling smile, the beautiful painful nuances in his voice. Bowie comments with wonderful irony and wit about stereotypes (Boys Keep Swinging being an example) and seems to have a lot of respect for women (which I like, obviously!). The sexual ambiguity and androgyny appeal to me very much, especially in times of confusion and loneliness. "And Lady Stardust sang his song of darkness and dismay..."
Thirdly, the structure of the albums. His concept albums are probably my favourites, specifically the dystopian albums Diamond Dogs, based on Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, and The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. The balance between passion and dull sadness is carried of brilliantly, and there are some excellent tunes too! I have listened to Rebel Rebel over and over and over again and I'm still not sick of it! I still remember the first time I heard Five Years and how I fell in love with the Ziggy Stardust concept at once:
The general structure of Bowie's work is fantastic, even in his non-conceptual albums. The way the songs are placed in order for maximum effect is really remarkable, the way he draws you in and finishes in style. The length is always perfect: not too long that you are pleased you can stop listening and get some tea, not too short that your thirst for more outweighs the enjoyment of the album. The themes Bowie deals with on his albums (apart from the end of the world!) are sometimes heavy, sometimes light, and there seems to be the right balance. Even dark albums such as Station to Station, produced while Bowie was at a very low point in his life and struggling with cocaine addiction, feature a balance between light-hearted songs (the love song Golden Years and the nonsensical TVC-15) and cries for help (the title track and Word On A Wing). Throughout his long recording career, David Bowie has sung about love, domestic violence, homosexuality, desperation, suicide, religion, 9/11, youth, age, happiness, loneliness, contentment, drugs, politics, America, aliens, rock'n'roll, creativity and a bit more love.
Oh, and if I can add a cheeky fourth: Bowie is beautiful! Quite a few people are in disagreement with me here, yet it is widely agreed that Bowie's appearance is not quite of this world. The mismatched eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the skinny frame... Whether Bowie is from another planet or not, he is more than welcome on the walls of my bedroom!
Think of me as I go to my Indian fate!
J xxxx
Tomorrow, I shall catch a plane for Delhi. I'm nervous, excited, yet rather underwhelmed. I'm all packed up and ready to go, and I seriously hope that a year and a half's worth of waiting (and paying) will pay off over the next two weeks!
Today I thought I'd have a David Bowie appreciation rave, because if I'm not going to do anything for a while I might as well do something fun! I'm not quite sure what form this will take, but I hope this post will sort-of-evolve as it goes along!
OK, so... erm, maybe I shall explain why I like David Bowie so much? I suppose most people have a band or artist that is particularly dear to them, for many reasons. It's not very often that anyone asks why that band or artist has such appeal. We tend to judge each other so much on music taste, as we judge on so many other things.
I think I'll focus on three areas of particular wonderfulness about Bowie!
Firstly, his diversity. When I first became a fan, I already had a big mix of genres within my limited Bowie listening material. There were the songs from Labyrinth, which were always a magical part of my childhood, a few glam-rock tunes such as Starman and Cracked Actor, 80s pop such as Let's Dance, and of course classic, genre-free tracks like Life on Mars and Space Oddity. Today, when I own copies of pretty much everything David Bowie has recorded, I can see that the phrase "I'm not in the mood for Bowie" is a stupid one, because of the vast versatility and different "moods" of his music. In my Bowie collection there is heavy rock, folk, glam-rock, soul, funk, industrial, pop-rock, pop, soft rock, experimental, instrumental, electronic and art-rock.
Secondly, his personality. OK, I don't know the guy, but his stage and album persona is incredibly endearing and as diverse as his music. There are his famous alter-egos, most famously Ziggy Stardust and the Thin White Duke. There is his gender-bending, androgynous fashion style, seen most clearly in the early 70s with his outrageous make-up and glittery costumes. There are the complex elements to his personality, at once witty and tragic. There is the slightly frightening laugh, the beguiling smile, the beautiful painful nuances in his voice. Bowie comments with wonderful irony and wit about stereotypes (Boys Keep Swinging being an example) and seems to have a lot of respect for women (which I like, obviously!). The sexual ambiguity and androgyny appeal to me very much, especially in times of confusion and loneliness. "And Lady Stardust sang his song of darkness and dismay..."
Thirdly, the structure of the albums. His concept albums are probably my favourites, specifically the dystopian albums Diamond Dogs, based on Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, and The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. The balance between passion and dull sadness is carried of brilliantly, and there are some excellent tunes too! I have listened to Rebel Rebel over and over and over again and I'm still not sick of it! I still remember the first time I heard Five Years and how I fell in love with the Ziggy Stardust concept at once:
"Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying"
The general structure of Bowie's work is fantastic, even in his non-conceptual albums. The way the songs are placed in order for maximum effect is really remarkable, the way he draws you in and finishes in style. The length is always perfect: not too long that you are pleased you can stop listening and get some tea, not too short that your thirst for more outweighs the enjoyment of the album. The themes Bowie deals with on his albums (apart from the end of the world!) are sometimes heavy, sometimes light, and there seems to be the right balance. Even dark albums such as Station to Station, produced while Bowie was at a very low point in his life and struggling with cocaine addiction, feature a balance between light-hearted songs (the love song Golden Years and the nonsensical TVC-15) and cries for help (the title track and Word On A Wing). Throughout his long recording career, David Bowie has sung about love, domestic violence, homosexuality, desperation, suicide, religion, 9/11, youth, age, happiness, loneliness, contentment, drugs, politics, America, aliens, rock'n'roll, creativity and a bit more love.
Oh, and if I can add a cheeky fourth: Bowie is beautiful! Quite a few people are in disagreement with me here, yet it is widely agreed that Bowie's appearance is not quite of this world. The mismatched eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the skinny frame... Whether Bowie is from another planet or not, he is more than welcome on the walls of my bedroom!
Think of me as I go to my Indian fate!
J xxxx
Friday, 10 July 2009
Thoughts on the Male Species!
Good evening,
Today I have been reflecting on how difficult growing into a man must be.
So much of feminism focuses on the oppression of women and the dominance of men. This is hugely significant, and matters. In a world where men still earn higher than women, our government, legal system and civil service and are mostly in the hands of men, and women are treated as commodities, this is an important issue. It must be changed.
However, often feminism seems to promote positive discrimination and an empowering of women, while leaving the men unchanged. Often men seem confused and frightened by a powerful woman, and may feel threatened. It's no good marching into an organisation and telling them that fifty percent of their workforce must be female. This is an ideal that we would hope to achieve eventually, but naturally. It is important to involve men in the debate and in the revolution.
Like it or not, men are important. Women are important. We're all important. If I had a fifty-pence coin for every time I've heard "Anything a man can do, a woman can do better," I'd be very rich. I think, while women might bring different skills to a task, the emphasis should be on equality, not superiority.
While there may be a pressure for women to be pretty, skinny and oppressed, there is also a pressure for men to be hunky, muscular and powerful. How does the scrawny, acne-covered adolescent boy feel when he sees an advertising campaign using a tight-muscled, topless "ideal" man? How does the shy, geeky boy feel when he is forced to play "macho" contact-sport and fail miserably? I have always been a huge fan of "Billy Elliot," which explores issues of masculinity.
Men are arguably powerful because it is expected of them that they must be powerful, and those who are not powerful, hunky or surrounded by attractive blondes must feel hurt by society as much as a woman who refuses to conform to feminine ideals.
What needs to change goes beyond women. Women need to be informed, liberated, empowered. But men need to understand that there is no "norm" for them, either, there is not an "ideal" man as there is not an "ideal" woman. If men were true to themselves, and women were true to themselves, would society not fall into a balance of its own accord? There would be more house-husbands, less male politicians, less housewives, more male nurses and make-up artists.
I am a feminist because I believe that women deserve equality and that they haven't got it yet. I am a feminist because so many males have already REALLY got on my nerves for their sexism and prejudice. But I am a feminist, too, because I believe that feminism is not just an ideology but an achievable goal, because men will listen if they realise that it's OK to listen.
xxxxx
Today I have been reflecting on how difficult growing into a man must be.
So much of feminism focuses on the oppression of women and the dominance of men. This is hugely significant, and matters. In a world where men still earn higher than women, our government, legal system and civil service and are mostly in the hands of men, and women are treated as commodities, this is an important issue. It must be changed.
However, often feminism seems to promote positive discrimination and an empowering of women, while leaving the men unchanged. Often men seem confused and frightened by a powerful woman, and may feel threatened. It's no good marching into an organisation and telling them that fifty percent of their workforce must be female. This is an ideal that we would hope to achieve eventually, but naturally. It is important to involve men in the debate and in the revolution.
Like it or not, men are important. Women are important. We're all important. If I had a fifty-pence coin for every time I've heard "Anything a man can do, a woman can do better," I'd be very rich. I think, while women might bring different skills to a task, the emphasis should be on equality, not superiority.
While there may be a pressure for women to be pretty, skinny and oppressed, there is also a pressure for men to be hunky, muscular and powerful. How does the scrawny, acne-covered adolescent boy feel when he sees an advertising campaign using a tight-muscled, topless "ideal" man? How does the shy, geeky boy feel when he is forced to play "macho" contact-sport and fail miserably? I have always been a huge fan of "Billy Elliot," which explores issues of masculinity.
Men are arguably powerful because it is expected of them that they must be powerful, and those who are not powerful, hunky or surrounded by attractive blondes must feel hurt by society as much as a woman who refuses to conform to feminine ideals.
What needs to change goes beyond women. Women need to be informed, liberated, empowered. But men need to understand that there is no "norm" for them, either, there is not an "ideal" man as there is not an "ideal" woman. If men were true to themselves, and women were true to themselves, would society not fall into a balance of its own accord? There would be more house-husbands, less male politicians, less housewives, more male nurses and make-up artists.
I am a feminist because I believe that women deserve equality and that they haven't got it yet. I am a feminist because so many males have already REALLY got on my nerves for their sexism and prejudice. But I am a feminist, too, because I believe that feminism is not just an ideology but an achievable goal, because men will listen if they realise that it's OK to listen.
xxxxx
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Torchwood, Trips and Time
Bonsoir!
Tonight's penultimate episode of Torchwood has just finished, and I am reeling slightly from it's somewhat cathartic plotline.
CAUTION: If you are a viewer who has not yet caught up with the story-so-far, please do not read the next paragraph.
Firstly: Ianto dying in Jack's arms was heartbreaking! I never thought they'd kill off Ianto, having only killed off Tosh and Owen at the end of the last series. And he never got to know Jack, he never got to know how much Jack loved him! Oh dear... I'm being really pathetic now, that's quite enough of that. Secondly: HOW ARE THEY GOING TO SAVE THOSE KIDS?! I really can't see how they can, short of phoning up the Tardis and getting the Doctor to come and save everyone. Well, I will find out tomorrow night!!! Oh, the suspense.
Moving on...
Today was a supposedly "grown-up" trip to Waddesdon Manor and Bicester Village, and I must say that it wasn't the best day of my life. I enjoyed the outbound bus journey, and I enjoyed seeing the aviary and rose-garden, but that's pretty much where it ends. For most of the tour of the house I was so hungry I couldn't think about anything but my stomach, and the weather was neither hot or cold and decidedly dull with a slight hint of humidity. After a pathetically short time to explore the wonderful grounds, we were whisked away to Bicester Village. I had a headache, but I was also slightly wound up by the ridiculous wealth-obsessed, too-perfect, capitalist, Pleasantville nature of the place. An extremely sexist lingerie shop window display annoyed me, and I felt completely out of place. My headache didn't help either. I was glad to leave. What a waste of time.
Time is a funny thing. Ellie sometimes says, "Time you enjoy wasting isn't wasted time," and I quite agree, because I sometimes think people spend hours and hours trying to savour every moment by keeping outrageously busy all the time or taking a ridiculous amount of photographs to mark occasions. I'm actually a big advocate for doing nothing. I enjoy being lazy. Lying on my bed listening to records with a cup of tea at my side is the closest thing to bliss.
I look forward to wasting my time when I get back from India. It'll be lovely to have a week of doing nothing, and thinking instead of moving. I love thinking. I love having an opinion. It's so much more important to me than being a social butterfly or a big user of the gym.
Another phrase springs to mind: "Remember that we are human beings, not human doings."
xxx
Tonight's penultimate episode of Torchwood has just finished, and I am reeling slightly from it's somewhat cathartic plotline.
CAUTION: If you are a viewer who has not yet caught up with the story-so-far, please do not read the next paragraph.
Firstly: Ianto dying in Jack's arms was heartbreaking! I never thought they'd kill off Ianto, having only killed off Tosh and Owen at the end of the last series. And he never got to know Jack, he never got to know how much Jack loved him! Oh dear... I'm being really pathetic now, that's quite enough of that. Secondly: HOW ARE THEY GOING TO SAVE THOSE KIDS?! I really can't see how they can, short of phoning up the Tardis and getting the Doctor to come and save everyone. Well, I will find out tomorrow night!!! Oh, the suspense.
Moving on...
Today was a supposedly "grown-up" trip to Waddesdon Manor and Bicester Village, and I must say that it wasn't the best day of my life. I enjoyed the outbound bus journey, and I enjoyed seeing the aviary and rose-garden, but that's pretty much where it ends. For most of the tour of the house I was so hungry I couldn't think about anything but my stomach, and the weather was neither hot or cold and decidedly dull with a slight hint of humidity. After a pathetically short time to explore the wonderful grounds, we were whisked away to Bicester Village. I had a headache, but I was also slightly wound up by the ridiculous wealth-obsessed, too-perfect, capitalist, Pleasantville nature of the place. An extremely sexist lingerie shop window display annoyed me, and I felt completely out of place. My headache didn't help either. I was glad to leave. What a waste of time.
Time is a funny thing. Ellie sometimes says, "Time you enjoy wasting isn't wasted time," and I quite agree, because I sometimes think people spend hours and hours trying to savour every moment by keeping outrageously busy all the time or taking a ridiculous amount of photographs to mark occasions. I'm actually a big advocate for doing nothing. I enjoy being lazy. Lying on my bed listening to records with a cup of tea at my side is the closest thing to bliss.
I look forward to wasting my time when I get back from India. It'll be lovely to have a week of doing nothing, and thinking instead of moving. I love thinking. I love having an opinion. It's so much more important to me than being a social butterfly or a big user of the gym.
Another phrase springs to mind: "Remember that we are human beings, not human doings."
xxx
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Tension: Dramatic and International
Good evening!
The rain is pouring, it's rather chilly, and I am drinking a very pleasant bucket of ordinary tea.
But beneath the internet-geek, tea-sipping facade is a rather tense person.
I have relatively recently arrived home from an hour and forty-five minutes of drama doom. I HATE THE CASTING PROCESS FOR SCHOOL PLAYS. This particular play, "The Diary of Anne Frank," has already been a long, drawn-out affair. Firstly, the initial auditions at the beginning of June. Secondly, the call-back auditions a week ago. Thirdly, the publication of the cast list, without specification of individual roles. Then, this evening, the read-through. It was essentially a reverse witch-hunt: a search for shining talent. It was hideous, nerve-wracking, and now I have been assured I will finally find out my part tomorrow after one month of DOOM, my stomach is tight with nerves.
Still, there's nothing like a bit of tension in the world. My schoolgirl tension is nothing in comparison to the international tension that bubbles under the surfaces of all of our little lives.
However, according to this morning's Independent, THE COLD WAR IS OVER. This is an interesting idea. Firstly, the Cold War is generally acknowledged to have finished in the early 90s, although it has become fashionable to discuss the concept of whether the Cold War is still a reality or not. Let's face it, Russia has thousands of nuclear warheads, and the states still has only slightly less than their traditional Eastern enemy. George Bush and Putin were hardly the best of friends. Perhaps, though the Doomsday clock was turning its wrathful attention to climate change as opposed to nuclear holocaust, we were in a state of Cold War throughout the last twenty years, which brings us to the second point. Why is the Cold War now completely over if it wasn't before? Well, Obama and Medvedev have had nice, pleasant discussions and have posed for a few pretty pictures in the usual stage-set fashion that is so familiar in international relations. Oh yes, and they have agreed to reduce the number of nuclear warheads.
Perhaps the risk of the Americans being blown up by the Russians, or the whole world being blown up by the Americans, has diminished as a result of today. But the fact remains that those horrible, disgustingly evil WMDs are still lurking in the submarines of the world's seas, and it is still possible for either nation to wipe the world out several times over. What happens the next time a Republican is elected to the Presidency?
Maybe the headline should have been phrased differently. THE COLD WAR IS OVER. FOR NOW.
J xxx
p.s. Please look into CND. I'm wanting to join Liberty at the moment, so I can't afford to join CND as well, and I'm a bit unsure as to what to do with all that nuclear waste once you've disarmed, AND I'm a bit unsure how you can prove that a nation has entirely disarmed, and without a deterrent it is possible the world could be blown to smithereens. But I agree with them on principle! http://www.cnduk.org/
p.p.s Wish me luck in the play!
The rain is pouring, it's rather chilly, and I am drinking a very pleasant bucket of ordinary tea.
But beneath the internet-geek, tea-sipping facade is a rather tense person.
I have relatively recently arrived home from an hour and forty-five minutes of drama doom. I HATE THE CASTING PROCESS FOR SCHOOL PLAYS. This particular play, "The Diary of Anne Frank," has already been a long, drawn-out affair. Firstly, the initial auditions at the beginning of June. Secondly, the call-back auditions a week ago. Thirdly, the publication of the cast list, without specification of individual roles. Then, this evening, the read-through. It was essentially a reverse witch-hunt: a search for shining talent. It was hideous, nerve-wracking, and now I have been assured I will finally find out my part tomorrow after one month of DOOM, my stomach is tight with nerves.
Still, there's nothing like a bit of tension in the world. My schoolgirl tension is nothing in comparison to the international tension that bubbles under the surfaces of all of our little lives.
However, according to this morning's Independent, THE COLD WAR IS OVER. This is an interesting idea. Firstly, the Cold War is generally acknowledged to have finished in the early 90s, although it has become fashionable to discuss the concept of whether the Cold War is still a reality or not. Let's face it, Russia has thousands of nuclear warheads, and the states still has only slightly less than their traditional Eastern enemy. George Bush and Putin were hardly the best of friends. Perhaps, though the Doomsday clock was turning its wrathful attention to climate change as opposed to nuclear holocaust, we were in a state of Cold War throughout the last twenty years, which brings us to the second point. Why is the Cold War now completely over if it wasn't before? Well, Obama and Medvedev have had nice, pleasant discussions and have posed for a few pretty pictures in the usual stage-set fashion that is so familiar in international relations. Oh yes, and they have agreed to reduce the number of nuclear warheads.
Perhaps the risk of the Americans being blown up by the Russians, or the whole world being blown up by the Americans, has diminished as a result of today. But the fact remains that those horrible, disgustingly evil WMDs are still lurking in the submarines of the world's seas, and it is still possible for either nation to wipe the world out several times over. What happens the next time a Republican is elected to the Presidency?
Maybe the headline should have been phrased differently. THE COLD WAR IS OVER. FOR NOW.
J xxx
p.s. Please look into CND. I'm wanting to join Liberty at the moment, so I can't afford to join CND as well, and I'm a bit unsure as to what to do with all that nuclear waste once you've disarmed, AND I'm a bit unsure how you can prove that a nation has entirely disarmed, and without a deterrent it is possible the world could be blown to smithereens. But I agree with them on principle! http://www.cnduk.org/
p.p.s Wish me luck in the play!
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Response to Terradoll's Article on "Girl Poison"
Terradoll, a good friend of mine, and a very talented writer, has commenced blogging on literature, music and life that you will find very interesting if you are interested in identity, feminism and riot-grrrl. I urge you to look her up! The blog is in its early days but hopefully it will gain a large following.
http://terradoll.blogspot.com/
In response to the intriguing article on Girl Poison, I thought I'd write some of my own thoughts on the matter of our young girls and how they have been, and are being, "poisoned."
Perhaps I was once poisoned myself, to a certain extent, and the remnants still remain. I've never been "into fashion," I abhor the fashion industry's confining influence and the skeletal models seen upon the catwalk, I have strong principles concerning individuality and self-expression. Yet I confess to worrying about my weight and general body-issues, undoubtedly a concern that will have trickled down from the media and the fashion industry. As a feminist-socialist-vegetarian-weirdo (!!!) I still bear the scars of our capitalist society and I completely concur with what Terradoll, and Angelspit, are saying.
I am, relatively-speaking, unpoisoned when you observe some of the young girls out and about today. I am only seventeen and yet I have seen it happen in my lifetime; when I was little, dressing up meant putting on a Laura Ashley children's dress and a sunhat, perhaps some jewellery if I could put up with its irritating feel against my skin. Now I go into my local shopping mall and see children no older than ten with handbags and wearing mini-skirts and make-up. It is popular knowledge now that more young girls aspire to be glamour models than doctors. I find this shocking and unacceptable and it needs to change.
Terradoll rightly argues that girls need to have fostered within them a sense of confidence and self-worth, and I have been reflecting upon where this should come from. Should it come from education, and stronger Personal and Social Education? Perhaps an awareness of the history of women's rights and the struggle that we have always been engaged in would help (I was most shocked the other day when a classmate of mine asked me, "What's a suffragette?"), as well as an assurance that each girl is beautiful no matter how thin, tall or blonde she is. But then arguably, this would be useless in a world where beautiful breasts are fake and girls' role models are cosmetically-enhanced pop stars and glamour models. Maybe the media and the fashion industry need to change? The problem with this is that fake breasts and fast-fashion sell, and the industry is worth mega-bucks. Maybe the government need to do something? But what could the government do, when it suits them to keep women oppressed (note the falling number of female MPs since the "Blair's Babes" boost and Cameron's selection of all-male team to fight the recession)?
Perhaps the only thing to do is Girls educating Girls, supporting each other, and trying to take little steps. I personally think things have, in many ways, got worse in the last fifteen years, and it's a shame that Terradoll's beloved riot-grrrl and Third Wave Feminism have gone so underground in recent years (I confess to being relatively new to the concept of riot-grrrl, as it is conveniently left out of many information books and magazines). I want to change the girls who ask "What's a suffragette?" and I think it's particularly worrying that in an all-girls' school there are still people who believe feminism is not an issue. I'm in favour of increasing the study of Women's Issues in Personal and Social Education lessons, even if it won't make a huge difference.
Perhaps this is worth writing to my MP over?
An interesting thought!
Sorry to ramble!!!
J
xxxx
http://terradoll.blogspot.com/
In response to the intriguing article on Girl Poison, I thought I'd write some of my own thoughts on the matter of our young girls and how they have been, and are being, "poisoned."
Perhaps I was once poisoned myself, to a certain extent, and the remnants still remain. I've never been "into fashion," I abhor the fashion industry's confining influence and the skeletal models seen upon the catwalk, I have strong principles concerning individuality and self-expression. Yet I confess to worrying about my weight and general body-issues, undoubtedly a concern that will have trickled down from the media and the fashion industry. As a feminist-socialist-vegetarian-weirdo (!!!) I still bear the scars of our capitalist society and I completely concur with what Terradoll, and Angelspit, are saying.
I am, relatively-speaking, unpoisoned when you observe some of the young girls out and about today. I am only seventeen and yet I have seen it happen in my lifetime; when I was little, dressing up meant putting on a Laura Ashley children's dress and a sunhat, perhaps some jewellery if I could put up with its irritating feel against my skin. Now I go into my local shopping mall and see children no older than ten with handbags and wearing mini-skirts and make-up. It is popular knowledge now that more young girls aspire to be glamour models than doctors. I find this shocking and unacceptable and it needs to change.
Terradoll rightly argues that girls need to have fostered within them a sense of confidence and self-worth, and I have been reflecting upon where this should come from. Should it come from education, and stronger Personal and Social Education? Perhaps an awareness of the history of women's rights and the struggle that we have always been engaged in would help (I was most shocked the other day when a classmate of mine asked me, "What's a suffragette?"), as well as an assurance that each girl is beautiful no matter how thin, tall or blonde she is. But then arguably, this would be useless in a world where beautiful breasts are fake and girls' role models are cosmetically-enhanced pop stars and glamour models. Maybe the media and the fashion industry need to change? The problem with this is that fake breasts and fast-fashion sell, and the industry is worth mega-bucks. Maybe the government need to do something? But what could the government do, when it suits them to keep women oppressed (note the falling number of female MPs since the "Blair's Babes" boost and Cameron's selection of all-male team to fight the recession)?
Perhaps the only thing to do is Girls educating Girls, supporting each other, and trying to take little steps. I personally think things have, in many ways, got worse in the last fifteen years, and it's a shame that Terradoll's beloved riot-grrrl and Third Wave Feminism have gone so underground in recent years (I confess to being relatively new to the concept of riot-grrrl, as it is conveniently left out of many information books and magazines). I want to change the girls who ask "What's a suffragette?" and I think it's particularly worrying that in an all-girls' school there are still people who believe feminism is not an issue. I'm in favour of increasing the study of Women's Issues in Personal and Social Education lessons, even if it won't make a huge difference.
Perhaps this is worth writing to my MP over?
An interesting thought!
Sorry to ramble!!!
J
xxxx
Password-forgetting and India-doom!
Greetings internet,
Yours truly, as wonderful as she is, forgot all her log-in details for Blogger.
After about an hour of trying to work out how to recover my password and log-in under this new Google system, I'm finally back in business. I'm blogging today because I'm bored, and I've spent most of this lovely, bright Sunday morning skulking around the house in my pyjamas. My repetitive strain injury from typing is now beyond a joke, so really I ought not to be on the computer at all. Still, in a week's time I will be away from the computer for TWO WHOLE WEEKS, because...
I'm going to India.
I am absolutely terrified. Preparing to be in a play, or waiting to sit a particularly nasty exam, does not compare. This is The Unknown.
Although I'm not quite at Victorian-heroine levels of fainting, I'm not brilliant with heat. To be fair to myself, there has been a heatwave in England this week and I've been coping well, with the aid of floaty dresses that I would not normally be seen dead in. India, however, will probably be between five and ten degrees hotter than the peak temperature this week, so I still don't feel completely confident.
Mosquitoes. "Delhi-Belly." Long-haul flight. Rabies. Humidity. Exhaustion.
OK. Don't get me wrong, I am actually looking forward to this trip. I wouldn't have signed up if I didn't genuinely want to go. There are things I'm excited about, such as teaching the young kids in Dunlod and seeing the world-famous Taj Mahal. It'll be nice to spend two weeks with friends, too, and experience a completely different culture from my own. If the Beatles could survive three months there, I think I can survive two weeks.
Lots of love,
J (GCSE AS swimming cert. future BA)
Yours truly, as wonderful as she is, forgot all her log-in details for Blogger.
After about an hour of trying to work out how to recover my password and log-in under this new Google system, I'm finally back in business. I'm blogging today because I'm bored, and I've spent most of this lovely, bright Sunday morning skulking around the house in my pyjamas. My repetitive strain injury from typing is now beyond a joke, so really I ought not to be on the computer at all. Still, in a week's time I will be away from the computer for TWO WHOLE WEEKS, because...
I'm going to India.
I am absolutely terrified. Preparing to be in a play, or waiting to sit a particularly nasty exam, does not compare. This is The Unknown.
Although I'm not quite at Victorian-heroine levels of fainting, I'm not brilliant with heat. To be fair to myself, there has been a heatwave in England this week and I've been coping well, with the aid of floaty dresses that I would not normally be seen dead in. India, however, will probably be between five and ten degrees hotter than the peak temperature this week, so I still don't feel completely confident.
Mosquitoes. "Delhi-Belly." Long-haul flight. Rabies. Humidity. Exhaustion.
OK. Don't get me wrong, I am actually looking forward to this trip. I wouldn't have signed up if I didn't genuinely want to go. There are things I'm excited about, such as teaching the young kids in Dunlod and seeing the world-famous Taj Mahal. It'll be nice to spend two weeks with friends, too, and experience a completely different culture from my own. If the Beatles could survive three months there, I think I can survive two weeks.
Lots of love,
J (GCSE AS swimming cert. future BA)
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