You're Perfect

Remember the other day when I was saying that it's harder to affect people through literature than it is through music or art, simply because people don't give it the time? Well, I want to demonstrate that point by showing you all a video. (However, I should warn you first that some may find the content triggering.)

I think P!nk is a bit of a Marmite artist; people tend to either love her or hate her. Personally, I love her. I think she's one of the few current mainstream artists who represent something positive and empowering for (mostly) young women, in a music industry saturated with sexually suggestive lyrics and dancing. That's not to say that I necessarily agree with everything she says or does, but she makes an effort to be a positive role model and talk about something other than sex, sex and... Shoot, I always forget what the other thing is... Oh yeah, that's right: sex.

Back in 2009 I saw her live at the O2, and it was clear to see just from the fans standing around me the impact she has on young, vulnerable women. I saw that her music is not only an art, but a message. And because she can sing (and sing live, too), because she can dance, and because she has the balls ovaries to stand up and say whatever the hell is on her mind, with her loud tattoos and (at times) eccentric hair, people listen to her. She's said in numerous interviews that each of her records has been a therapeutic experience for her, and I think that's true for the fans, as well. It reminds me of that line in Eminem's Stan: "I can relate to what you're saying in your songs so when I have a s**tty day, I drift away and put 'em on/ cause I don't really got s**t else, so that s**t helps when I'm depressed."

This song, to me, encapsulates what P!nk is all about. Maybe for the occasional listener she's all about the no-nonsense attitude and giving men the middle finger, but for the real fan she's an example of someone who's experienced a lot of pain and come out of it a stronger person. She's about the insecurity we all feel sometimes, and I think you'd be hard-pushed to find one single person who can't identify with at least one of her songs. In fact, I think you'd be hard-pushed to find one person who doesn't identify with the message in Perfect. That's not to say we all have weight issues or a history of self-harm, but all of us, at some point in our lives, have felt as if we're not good enough.

So maybe your friend, your boyfriend/girlfriend, sister/brother, mother/father, son/daughter or whoever won't listen to you when you tell them they're perfect - but I'm holding out some hope that this song and its video are able to begin to counter the effects of some of the socially damaging content that both the music industry and the media put out these days.

P.S. If you're past all that 'Parental Advisory' stage, I'd point you in the direction of the uncensored version of the song (F**kin' Perfect), but I don't really feel it's necessary to watch that video to really get the message. In fact, I think I prefer the clean version.

Kick It Out

First of all, I should apologise for what I'm about to do. And that's this: link to the Daily Mail. I promise it will never happen again.

If you're brave enough to click on that link (and I assure you there are no long-lasting side-effects - just a mild feeling of disgust that eventually fizzles away), you'll find yourself faced with an article which details one sexist exchange of comments between football commentators Richard Keys and Andy Gray. You see, one of the assistant referees at the Liverpool and Wolves clash yesterday was a woman: 25-year-old Sian Massey. Before the game kicked off, and unaware their mics were switched on, the following conversation was picked up between the two commentators:

Keys: Somebody better get down there and explain offside to her.

Gray: Can you believe that? A female linesman. Women don’t know the offside rule.

Keys: Course they don’t. I can guarantee you there will be a big one today. Kenny [Liverpool manager Kenny Dalglish] will go potty. This isn’t the first time, is it? Didn’t we have one before?

...

Keys: The game’s gone mad. Did you hear charming Karren Brady this morning complaining about sexism? Do me a favour, love.

As it turned out, Massey demonstrated far greater knowledge of the offside law than a lot of other (male) assistant referees and pundits, doing what often feels like a luxury in football and correctly judging an onside/offside call for Liverpool's first goal. We shouldn't really be celebrating this, but as it is, even in what we call today's 'modern game', we still expect sexism to exist within football. I am never surprised when people look at me in alarm and say, "You like football?" I am never surprised when they question my knowledge of the offside law, nor when they assume I watch the sport because I fancy someone-or-other, or because my brother does and I'm just copying him.

One-by-one we seem to be picking off the ugly side of football. With campaigns like Kick It Out doing their bit to eradicate racism and homophobia in football, I hope one soon follows to kick out sexism. And if it doesn't, who knows? Maybe my fellow female football fans and I will be the ones to give it a kickstart. (Male fans can help, too; forgive me for omitting you from the invite, but I'm a big fan of alliteration.)

This is me when I get deep.

Someone once told me that there's no such thing as writer's block. I can't remember who told me that, but I'm sure it was someone of some authority - probably a writer - because I remember taking it to heart and thinking that they must be right. They said that it's a term someone made up once upon a time, which countless writers since have clung onto as an excuse. "I would be working on my novel, but y'see, I have writer's block. So I can't." They said that it's funny how quickly the block lifts when suddenly you have bills to pay.

Maybe writer's block does exist. Maybe it doesn't. Either way, I've given up using that excuse. I will freely admit when I'm being lazy, and now is one of those times.

The thing I always say about writing, whenever I'm feeling lazy and I need a more profound excuse to cite than laziness to get me off the hook, is that it tends not to hit you instantly. Whether you know much about art or not, you can look at the Mona Lisa and decide that Leonardo da Vinci was a talented artist; whether you know much about music or not, you can listen to Mariah Carey belt out a number and say those dolphins ain't got nothin' on her. Witnessing both of those art forms takes a few seconds. In fact, here's my proof: click here to witness da Vinci's Mona Lisa, and click here to witness Mariah Carey belting out a tune. Unless you have a dial-up connection or your internet is going through one of those freakishly slow stages, I'm sure that took you less than a minute to view both.

Whether you like the Mona Lisa or Mariah Carey's vocals at all is a matter of personal taste, but you know they both require talent. How far into reading War and Peace do you have to get before you decide that Leo Tolstoy's got something?

OK, War and Peace is an extreme, but you get my point. How many people might come across this blog entry someday and decide they can't be bothered to read it? How much are we as writers overlooked, and how much do we as readers overlook the writers?

Series: Pet Peeves #2

Pet Peeve #2: Nail Polish

Yeah, I'm a lady woman who hates nail polish. I own about 10 different pots of the stuff, but most of them are at least 10 years old and dried shut.

I do wear nail polish sometimes. When the mood strikes me. Thing is, the mood usually lifts again several minutes after the nail polish application, and unless I can be bothered to thoroughly remove the stuff with nail polish remover, I have to put up with what I deem to be ugly nails for the next two weeks. And why do I deem nail polish to be ugly? Here's why:

Deep colours give the effect of having dropped a tin of something on your finger/ toe. If you dropped a tin of baked beans on your big toe, would you then go around wearing open-toed sandals in order to show it off to everyone? "Oh look, everyone! Unsightly bruising upon my toe! How sexy!" I think not.

Bright colours remind me of being a kid and people colouring their fingernails in with gel pens. I thought it was gross back then, and I still think it's gross now.

Any colour on long nails just about does my head in. Long nails are an invitation to bacteria and weird crusty yellow things. If you can touch the underside of your fingernail, eww. Go away.

I can make my peace with clear nail polish; such a nail polish gives a clean, buffered look. The nails still have to be short, though. Not I-put-my-fingers-up-my-bum-and-then-chew-my-fingernails short (I don't know why I always assume that bitten-down fingernails have at some point been within a person's bumhole - I just do), but more I-trim-and-file-my-nails-on-a-weekly-basis short. You know it makes sense.

That said, I will wear red nail polish when I'm trying to be extra supportive of my football team. I'm sure it makes the world of difference to them.

Currently...

This is one of those moments where, irrespective of the fact that no one cares, I tell you all what I'm doing at the moment. Not literally at this moment, since that is pretty self-explanatory (i.e. I am typing), but I mean generally speaking. These last few days. That kinda thing.

First of all, here comes the big bombshell: I am unemployed. And the fact that I am unemployed of course means that I hang around at bus stops dressed in Burberry all day long, with one trouser leg rolled up and a cap on back-to-front. No, really: I do. They won't tell you this until you sign on, but it's written into your contract when you become registered unemployed that, as well as making a fat-arsed effort to find work, you must also imitate a scene from Little Britain. It's a hard knock life.

But aside from my (so far) unsuccessful attempts to find work (first class degrees are soooo overrated) and dipping in-and-out of my various writing projects, these things have been occupying me:

Music

"Oh banana, what's my name? Oh banana, what's my name? What's my name? What's my name?" - The song is, of course, What's My Name, by Rihanna (feat. Drake). Since I couldn't work out what "nana" was supposed to mean (and I don't care what the rest of you may say: she is not talking to her grandmother; if Rihanna is senile then I'm betting her grandmother is, too), I decided to insert 'ba' to the beginning of 'nana' instead. You will find out why when I get to talking about current TV programmes on my box. I have this theory (yes, another theory) that she can't remember her name because Drake farted, causing permanent damage to the part of her brain which stores a person's lexicon, hence why she is asking a banana, "What's my name?" She probably meant to say, "Oh doctor, what's my name?" Check it out at 0:54. That's a blatant fart right there.

Also, for reasons I can't seem to explain, I keep singing Back For Good... but I'm hearing Boyz II Men's version instead of Take That's. Maybe because Take That are irritating?

TV Programmes

How I Met Your Mother, and particularly that episode where Marshall gets mugged by a monkey. (That's the banana reference, in case you missed it.) I kinda wanna suit up.

And then there's EastEnders, which happens to be the word you say right now if you want to make someone put their head in their hands and cry actual tears. Not sad tears, but rather tears of utter despair. Because if EastEnders is better than Coronation Street (which it is, come on now), what does that say about the modern soap opera? I find it strange that the BBC seem to think that there might be other people out there who have been affected by Kat and Alfie's story; do healthy babies get swapped for dead babies on a day-to-day basis, then? They never should have axed Brookside.

Sport

I am currently watching the Premier League table with some trepidation. Arsenal are in a good position, but Manchester United are sitting pretty ugly at the top of the table with a game in hand of Arsenal and Chelsea, and two games in hand of Manchester City. I'm not sure if I should still be considering Chelsea as title contenders, though. I mean, seven points adrift when you're Chelsea is hardly suicide, because we all know they have it in them to go on a fat-arsed streak and win their next five or six games in a row. But when you're seven points behind Manchester United and City, five behind Arsenal and you've got Tottenham on your tail, you've got some work to do, and I'm not so sure they're cut out for that work at the moment.

Mandatory end note: COME ON, YOU GOONERS!

The Theory of a Bunch of Really Interesting Things

I have a lot of theories. Some of them contradict one another, and others are so ridiculous that often people tell me I should try my hand at writing science fiction and incorporate these theories into my novels. Maybe I should. I dunno, should I? When I was about 7-years-old I started writing stories of domestic violence and substance abuse, so unless I write about aggressive aliens and alcoholic vampires, I wouldn't really be staying true to myself, would I? I wouldn't be, as they say, "Keeping it real." Yo.

A wiser person might get some copyright on their theories before they go blabbing them out to the whole World Wide Web. (Y'know, when you actually say the words "world wide web", it sounds super scary. The whole wide world can read this. Agh?) But I can't be bothered, to be honest. So here are some of my theories.

The "We're already dead" theory

Or at least, most of us are. We've already lived our lives. First steps, first words, school, marriage, kids, blah de blah de blah... All of it's already been done. And we're dead. We're lying in some coffin somewhere, with some vacant (i.e. dead) look on our faces. But when you die, your memory lives on, and as you lie there, that memory replays your life over and over and over again. You just don't remember it and thus think that it's happening for the first time. How many times have I written this sentence already? For all we know, it could be the year 3044 and I'm living this random day in the year 2011 for the (*does some quick Maths... can't be bothered to work it out*) nth time.

The "We are like atoms" theory

Think about it. We're pinpricks on Earth, and Earth is a pinprick in the solar sysem, and the solar system is a pinprick in the galaxy, and the galaxy is a pinprick in the universe, and the universe is... probably like a grain of salt for a really massive giant. Maybe we are to giants what atoms are to us.

The "You never really die" theory

OK, religious people have been saying this for ages, but what if our souls (if we have one) don't automatically detach from our bodies and float off into heaven or hell or get stuck hanging about with all the living people? What if you die and your soul stays put, and the only thing that stops working is your body? Maybe it takes decades or even centuries to master the art of projecting your soul out of your body, and most people only bother to master this art when they're dead because, well, what else are they gonna do? Trust me: those freaks rocking the astral travelling business have got their shit sorted already. Well done, I say. Well done.

I swear I should have been a scientist. Have some of that, Darwin.

Series: Pet Peeves #1

I thought I'd start a series. Not for any particularly clever or interesting reason; I just think I should. And I'm calling this series Pet Peeves. If you can't work out what this series could possibly be about, you might just be featured in it. Keep your eyes peeled.

I think I should stress before I begin that these are, as the title suggests, pet peeves, rather than actual keeping-me-up-all-night concerns. I recognise that there are far greater and more worrying issues in the world beyond what I am about to moan about, so don't go complaining about my petty complaints.

Pet Peeve #1: Facebook

Or rather, not Facebook, but people on Facebook. Constant status-updating and 'liking' every status that falls within a Facebooker's line of vision is irritating enough, but let's face it: this is what happens on Facebook, and you know this when you sign up (or, at least, you find out very quickly upon signing up). If you don't want to hear about what the kid you used to sit next to in Science ate for lunch, don't accept the kid you used to sit next to in Science's friend request. Or don't join Facebook. Or comment on their status telling them to shut the hell up. Any of the above will do. If a person on Facebook feels it is important that they share with every last acquaintance of theirs the contents of their sandwich, cool. Go for it. But I can not excuse the following Facebook faux pas:

1. Airing your dirty laundry in public. Telling everyone you've ever known (or walked past) what you ate for lunch is kinda sad, but surrendering to them the intimate details of your personal life is embarrassing. For everyone. Your best friend and your mum might want to know when your boyfriend has cheated on you, but your next-door-neighbour's teacher's hairdresser's aunt doesn't really give a shite. She just thinks to herself, "Whoa, calm it, fruitcake." Don't get me wrong: I understand that you feel the need to vent your frustrations, which is why I believe someone (not me, however) should set up a site called Fake Facebook. It looks exactly the same as the normal Facebook, except when someone posts a status along the lines of, "i jst found ma bf in bed wiv a goat he aint gnn@ hve no ballz left wen i iz fini$hd wiv hm!!!!", Fake Facebook automatically detects "angry" mood, and comments on the status with a heart-felt response along the lines of, "He's not worth it, babe! You're so much better than him anyway!" Angry Facebooker feels consoled, every human they've ever encountered doesn't have to hear about it, and they can resume their life the following day, without everyone looking at them with the following thought bubble emanating from their heads: "What a loon."

2. Snogging pictures. No one wants to see you with your tongue down someone else's throat. I don't care how in love the two of you may be: some people eat at their computer; we don't want to be watching tonsil tennis as we eat.

3. Farmville. And even worse, people who spend money on Farmville. Why the hell? If you love farms so much, go be a farmer.

4. Random friend requests. I don't think it's a coincidence that these random friend requests come from either a) women with impossible bra-sizes, or b) sweaty middle-aged fat men taking pictures of themselves from their webcams. The only difference between the two perpetrators is that at least the latter has the courage to admit who they actually are; God only knows how sweaty, fat and old the former of the two perpetrators has to be for them to feel the need to hide behind the guise of some random page 3 model they found on some seedy website somewhere. I don't get their intent, though. Do they think that just because they happen to say hello, or because they happen to have boobs bigger than two sleeping hippopotamuses, that I'm going to invite them into my own little private world? Honestly.

5. Liking everything under the sun. Go ahead and like your favourite band, actor or football team; that's what the like button is there for. But think twice before you like "Dropping my phone on my face when I'm texting." I mean, really. Do you really like that? Do you drop your phone on your face and think to yourself, "That was really nice. I really liked that." I didn't think so.

6. Excessive notifications. Notifications are useful: they let you know when a friend of yours has something to say to you. Without notifications, Facebook would be somewhat like millions of people banging on sound-proof windows trying to get someone's attention, and no one else hearing. Excessive notifications, on the other hand, are downright irritating. Your friend tags you in a picture of a chair (I don't know why; maybe your friend thinks you look like a chair), and you think to yourself, "Hmm, that's odd", but don't really give it much thought beyond that, and forget about it. Two weeks later, you log into Facebook and find you have 31 notifications. Apparently, 31 people you have never met before have commented on a picture of you. You freak, think that someone, somehow, has uploaded a picture of you naked or on the pan (what else would legitimately invite 31 notifications, someone please tell me), and click on any one of the 31 notifications, eager to check out the damage. There is, however, no damage. It just so happened that the first person to comment on the picture of you as a chair said something "Yo mama"-ish, thus inviting an argument that entailed a further 30 comments.

7. Relationship statuses. OK, it's not so much the relationship status as it is the attention that relationship statuses attract. If you're in a solid relationship and lots of people know about it, cool beans. What gets to me is when people 'like' it when someone they vaguely know goes from being 'single' to 'in a relationship'. Why should we all like this? They could be in a relationship with a woman-beater, or someone with really bad breath. Don't like the change in relationship status until you have assessed the relationship itself (in as non-creepy a way as you can; I don't endorse curtain-twitching and eavesdropping). Likewise, what is it with girls 'marrying' their best friend? I'm sure it was funny the first 100 times, but now it's getting so old that I'm gonna start assuming it's true and that your friendships know no bounds.

8. Pokes. I'm sorry, but it sounds dirty. I don't poke just anyone, and I don't want anyone to poke me unless they truly mean it.

9. Political apathy. If you don't know where you stand politically, leave it blank. Don't tell me politics is boring just because you don't understand it.

10. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! It's nice when people wish you a happy birthday. (I was once wished a happy birthday by Cesc Fabregas. Have some of that.) It's nice to wish other people a happy birthday. But I have no idea where to draw the line. It seems rude to wish someone you haven't seen in 5 years a happy birthday but then not wish a happy birthday to your best friend, even though you're sitting in the very same room as them and that would be weird.

But then again, everything about Facebook is weird, isn't it? It's this weird virtual world full of drama and marital frivolity, of 'liking' things you wouldn't ordinarily like in the real world, of exposing more about yourself than you ever would have thought you were capable of exposing, and where everyone appears to have taken up farming as a hobby...