tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192317693417966452024-03-05T01:11:55.990-08:00SOCIAL SURREALISMUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-22953521722261915012015-02-11T13:32:00.001-08:002015-02-11T13:34:24.716-08:00GOD HELP THE GIRLcurrently:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.shoutoutuk.org/author/katie-higgins">http://www.shoutoutuk.org/author/katie-higgins</a><br />
<a href="http://www.womensviewsonnews.org/2014/11/the-war-on-drugs-is-killing-women/">http://www.womensviewsonnews.org/2014/11/the-war-on-drugs-is-killing-women/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.womensviewsonnews.org/2014/11/the-overwhelming-maleness-of-murder/">http://www.womensviewsonnews.org/2014/11/the-overwhelming-maleness-of-murder/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.renegadeezine.tumblr.com/issue2">http://www.renegadeezine.tumblr.com/issue2</a> - 'surfacing'<br />
<a href="http://suburbanscreenshots.tumblr.com/">http://suburbanscreenshots.tumblr.com</a><br />
<br />
will return soon........ish<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilH7KRQPGcn-d7SQ0gW0DJ5gtg0PT5o1EUapaO1Fu45nUFOnqCJ79IeDPgwBkis2mbbYLYGut8vBtZm6ROBiN4CVpp_wY_LCDBYjg6gC9te9iSJSMjNQ5XACeA3YZ8Q84U6bHW62gcCMSJ/s1600/999999999999999999999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilH7KRQPGcn-d7SQ0gW0DJ5gtg0PT5o1EUapaO1Fu45nUFOnqCJ79IeDPgwBkis2mbbYLYGut8vBtZm6ROBiN4CVpp_wY_LCDBYjg6gC9te9iSJSMjNQ5XACeA3YZ8Q84U6bHW62gcCMSJ/s1600/999999999999999999999.jpg" height="400" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-84856572196919602892014-04-04T18:38:00.004-07:002014-04-04T18:51:39.505-07:00THE MESS INSIDE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media.giphy.com/media/G7EObD4u6BU0E/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://media.giphy.com/media/G7EObD4u6BU0E/giphy.gif" height="221" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first time I knew something was wrong with me, something strange and concrete and unavoidable, I was eleven years old and school had just broken up for the Christmas holidays. It all started with an uncomfortable physical feeling in the pit of my stomach that I couldn't place. It wasn't just an ache - there was something else that existed alongside it, something that would hit me quickly like a shiver and make me feel physically awful. I don't know how else to describe it - my stomach would start to feel weird and then this feeling would come over me and it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. For the brief few seconds that it lasted, it made me feel as though nothing was quite right and that the world was at a strange slant - it made me feel nauseous and hateful and completely ashamed of myself. It was so at odds with how I felt during the rest of the time that it was as though my brain was experiencing a glitch and giving me a quick glance at a stranger, sadder world than the one I currently lived in.</div>
A couple of months after this I stopped sleeping at night, but it wasn't the usual kind of insomnia. I was certain that if I fell asleep during 'normal' hours then I would die or someone I loved would die, so it made sense for me to stay awake as a weird form of protection. I would bargain with people that didn't exist and make certain rules in my head - for example, if my eyes got tired I could close them for 30 seconds to rest them, but I couldn't open them before those 30 seconds were up because that would be breaking the rules. I started setting alarms to wake me up periodically during the night, in the event that I did fall asleep. I was eleven years old - this alarm clock habit stayed with me until I left University at the age of 21. My doctor said it was puberty, a normal stage for soon to be teenagers - insomnia brought on by girlish fears, anxiety driven by starting a new school, meeting new friends. Maybe those things were the catalyst, I don't know - all I do know is that puberty doesn't make you develop rituals, or scratch your skin open, or become terrified of things that aren't there. It doesn't make you fear death and also crave it. And that's something that always seemed so contradictory to me, a kind of sick joke - how I'm a major depressive with a paralysing fear of death.<br />
<br />
So maybe that was the turning point - or maybe there was no turning point. Maybe those are just the first instances where I remember that this other world became real to me. Is there ever really a turning point? When I was 18, an appointment was made with a hypnotherapist and I spoke to her on the phone prior to what would've been our first meeting. "So you remember feeling like this when you were eleven", she said. "What on earth happened to you back then? What happened to you to traumatise you like this?" I hung up the phone and missed the meeting, never returned her calls either. There is no doubt that life events can traumatise an individual and set in motion mental illnesses, and it's ignorant to deny that this can be the case. Similarly, it's also ignorant to assume that it is the only cause for mental illness, that genetics and chemical imbalances cannot be just as responsible.<br />
I think this is why I've never responded to therapy, and why I have to stop myself from side-eyeing people who proclaim it to be the only cure for mental illness. I am just unlucky. Mental illness is extremely prevalent in my family. If I went back and tried to think of an event that could have caused it, then I would never stop. And to me, that's important - where do we stop? Where do we draw the line between cause and effect? A lot of my childhood issues were the result of my mental illness, not the potential cause of it. I can't stress how important this is to me - that some people are just born like this and it doesn't make their illness any more or less valid than someone who can pinpoint an exact moment and say, "there, that's where it happened".<br />
As humans it seems as though we're always looking for a reason, for some sort of logic that can be applied - and more than that, we're also looking for a lesson that can be learned. A fucked up kind of Aesop's fable. Don't do X and your child won't be Y. Because if we can ascribe a lesson to something terrible, then we can also justify its existence. However, if we accept that some people are mentally ill and live miserably due to nothing more than a chemical imbalance, then what does this say to us about the world? That life is unfair and cruel and that "everything happens for a reason" is bullshit because sometimes there just isn't a reason. It makes us question purpose and desire and meaning, and we don't like that. Ugh, the philosophy graduate in me is coming out to play, and for that I sincerely apologise.<br />
Basically, there is no one-size-fits-all approach that can explain the existence of mental illness. It might offer us some kind of strange comfort to blame an individual's difficult childhood or experience of trauma, because it's something changeable and it's something we can learn from. It's something that offers us the possibility of redemption and recovery and change. It reduces the illness to something more simple - something temporary, something that can be cured.<br />
<br />
And this is one thing that mentally healthy people do not seem to realise - this has never, ever felt temporary. It has never felt fleeting. I have never woken up in the morning or gone to sleep at night and thought, "this is okay because one day I will not feel like this". Even when I am stable and taking my medication (which, thankfully, is now the majority of the time) and living what I consider to be a good life defined by my own terms, I can still feel it. And it's a strange mix of feelings, happiness and fatalism - it almost feels like a kind of resignation, one that I am now very adept at handling. It has always felt - and I know that this is going to sound insulting, and potentially trivialising - terminal. But then, why should that be insulting? Why shouldn't I refer to my mental illness - to any mental illness - as terminal? I know far more people who have lived wasted and ruined lives and died young due to mental illness than any kind of physical terminal illness. It's all neatly tied up in our concept of shame, isn't it? Society's concept of shame. Mental illnesses aren't allowed to be considered terminal illnesses because the vast majority of society still views them as a personality flaw, as something that the sufferer could overcome if only they bothered to try hard enough. So many people believe that, unlike physical terminal illnesses such as cancer, mental illness is somehow under the control of the individual and can be 'cured' - if only they wish to cure it, that is. If they are unable to do so, there is always an excuse. <i>He or she chose not to take their medication, he or she chose not to seek help</i> - therefore, he or she chose to die. This is the other type of shame that you are tied to when you're mentally ill - when someone dies of a long illness, they are considered brave and having fought a good battle (ugh, but don't even get me started on heroic warlike terms when it comes to illnesses). With a mental illness, you have just 'given up'.<br />
<br />
This concept of choice that is placed on those who are mentally ill refuses to acknowledge the reality of living with such an illness - that is, that it takes over your entire life. It takes over your brain, your body, it makes every day feel endless and slow, and it makes you feel disgusting and bitter, like you're rotting from the inside. Imagine waking up like that. Imagine feeling ashamed and weak and disgusted with yourself and then imagine knowing that this is only one morning, one that is going to be followed by another morning, and another, and another - and there's no guarantee that you will ever feel any different. Even if there was, you wouldn't believe it. A mental illness encompasses and controls every single moment of your life. You wake up in the morning and before even five minutes have passed you're exhausted already. Every moment you're awake, you're distracted by feelings of self-hatred. Imagine not even being able to get out of bed, say hello to your mother, cook some breakfast, even sit and watch television, because all that you can focus on is the constant pain inside of your head. The loathing and hatred that you feel. Imagine waking up one day at eleven years old and somehow just knowing that this is it - this is how you're going to feel, every minute of every day, for the rest of your life. Now, tell me that this isn't terminal.<br />
<br />
<i>Post 2 of probably 1000000000, first part <a href="http://socialsurrealism.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/black-dog-blues.html">here</a></i><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-1311816748822869052013-01-21T12:09:00.000-08:002013-01-21T12:09:29.569-08:00THIS IS A LIST #8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l72cixe3mK1qaj7kvo1_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l72cixe3mK1qaj7kvo1_500.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m41im3MrXH1qc8bz2o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m41im3MrXH1qc8bz2o1_500.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="center">
<em>"There is good news in sight but there are some dark clouds on the horizon"</em></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-49523661255482486562012-10-29T13:01:00.000-07:002014-04-29T18:24:16.879-07:00FRIGHT NIGHT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUA1E8nkTByBEBDLUBi-UnQmlqkexAD6q2JFta0m8sjePbJvQv4hhJq8tn9twm7V6Zzj3n3SGnZlqRCZVPNZOlNJxGZy3r_v7A2abphahvu4Fh5A09zy8qs1OrX9Uoav13DykHXlR5-l5h/s1600/0383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUA1E8nkTByBEBDLUBi-UnQmlqkexAD6q2JFta0m8sjePbJvQv4hhJq8tn9twm7V6Zzj3n3SGnZlqRCZVPNZOlNJxGZy3r_v7A2abphahvu4Fh5A09zy8qs1OrX9Uoav13DykHXlR5-l5h/s400/0383.jpg" height="300" width="400" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I've decided to come out of my self-induced blog hibernation period in order to make a big post about Halloween, because Halloween is hands down my second favourite time of the year (Christmas comes first, obviously, because I am 12 years old inside forever and nothing beats eating and drinking as much as physically possible and watching 'Jingle All the Way' and other similar classics). Unfortunately, as much as I love Halloween, my attempts at celebrating it always seem to fall somewhat short - last year I dressed up as Veronica from <i>Heathers</i> (post-high school explosion, pre-cigarette and Martha Dumptruck befriending), expecting to elevate myself to this level of badass-ness:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyag19CCzS1qa1qr9o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyag19CCzS1qa1qr9o1_500.jpg" height="218" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Basically, I just wanted an excuse to have really big hair and constantly tell everyone to "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLN-0HqA204">lick. it. up.</a>" Unfortunately, I ended up looking less like Winona Ryder and more like Worzel Gummidge which, I mean...yeah, I guess that's kind of cool and Halloween-y and spooky and all, but it's not exactly the look I was going for. And Worzel Gummidge didn't have a cool catchphrase, and he definitely didn't chainsmoke a lot, so it was kind of a lost cause. I chickened out of dressing up, washed my poor attempt at 'soot' off my face, put on a black jumper with holes in, and told everyone I was a cobweb. No one was impressed. It was grim, to say the least.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The year before that was even more of a disaster. I went to London to visit my sister, and we started off the evening by drinking out of plastic skull shaped glasses and putting on too much eyeliner. We listened to the Monster Mash and made plans to go and see a friend's band, where dressing up was optional. I opted to yet again let my knitwear do the talking, by wearing a sweater which had a skeleton printed on the front. We saw the band, and everyone was dressed up, and everyone looked better than me (except for the guy who decided to dress up as Kurt Cobain, complete with gunshot wound - not cute, dude). However, I drank a lot and kind of numbed myself to the embarrassment of being half a skeleton, and we had fun - that is, until I decided that it would be a totally awesome idea to travel to the other side of London to attend another Halloween party with some friends, and my sister decided that she wanted to go home and sleep, a lot. So she went home, and I went and got more drunk and felt even more inadequately scary than before. I remember almost falling asleep on the dance-floor due to extreme alcohol intoxication and trying to pass it off as part of my costume, before finally deciding to drag myself onto a night bus heading towards my sisters flat. This is where the story gets truly scary - I made it back to the flat, and rang the doorbell. No one answered, and after bashing on the door drunkenly for what felt like years, I creeped over to my sisters window and looked in. The curtain was open and I could see that she was fast asleep. I bashed on the window and screamed and yelled drunk things until it became obvious that she wasn't going to wake up. By this point it was almost 5am, and I remember calling my mum in tears - sobbing about how my sister was asleep, I was abandoned on the streets of London, I was dressed as half a skeleton, and I hated my life. My mum told me to get the first train back, so I got on another night bus to Euston, and by the time I reached the station being dressed as half a skeleton was the least of my worries, because I looked like a legitimate zombie. A zombie with a horrible drinking problem. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So yeah, I think it's fair to say that my previous Halloween experiences could have been better. The past few years of continually bad costumes, drunk mistakes, and lack of pumpkin pies have made me realise that nothing is better than Halloween when you're young - the excitement of working on what you know will be a totally awesome costume, the thrill of being allowed to go Trick or Treating without the supervision of your parents or irritating older neighbours, and letting yourself be totally terrified by a scary movie that you know you're not quite old enough to watch. Or, failing that, watching endless reruns of The Simpsons' <i>Treehouse of Horror</i> episodes and <i>Are You Afraid of the Dark? </i>whilst eating the best of the treats you hauled in, and making sure to blacklist the name of whoever gave you that packet of Polo mints. There's also that feeling you get during Halloween when you're young - that feeling that, although you know logically that monsters and zombies and vampires probably don't exist, this time of the year makes you doubt everything - that anything could happen. The world is a little bit scarier than usual, but in a different way - all of your usual, boring, real-world fears fade into insignificance when compared to the positively exotic ideas of zombies, and vampires, and werewolves. There's also the idea that these fears can be combated, that you can show the world how brave you really are - that you can step outside of yourself and be a spooky, supernatural hero for one night only.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So I've decided that, as a tribute to the best Halloween's I ever had, this Wednesday I'm going to spend my evening baking pumpkin pies, handing out the best treats I can find to the monsters at my door, carving faces into pumpkins, dressing up as something terrifying (even though I don't plan on leaving my house), and watching the shit out of a bunch of truly scary TV shows and movies. If you want to spend your evening experiencing a good bout of nostalgia, too, then here is a list of spooky things that you cannot go wrong with:<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mc0g9wkqRF1r4q225o1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mc0g9wkqRF1r4q225o1_500.gif" height="205" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Are You Afraid of the Dark?</span></u></b><br />
There's no way that I couldn't include this, and there's no way that it wouldn't be first on my list. <i>Goosebumps </i>was the first scary book series that entered my life, and for that it will always hold a special place in my heart, but <i>Are You Afraid of the Dark?</i> was the first TV show that genuinely scared me - and it scared me so well that for a long time, I was certain that my hometown was going to be taken over by a team of terrifying vampire, as seen in <i>The Tale of the Nightly Neighbours</i>. This was the first episode of AYAOTD that I saw, and I remember clearly the scene where the protagonist, a young girl called Emma, watches the arrival of her new, creepy neighbours from her window and feels a chill of excitement - watching them unpack their strange belongings, she hopes that they will 'shake things up' in her tiny suburb. I remember sitting on the swing in my small back garden one boring summer, and the same thought crossed my mind - and as soon as it entered my head I was taken over by fear and I spent the whole summer trembling and paranoid that I would soon be dealing with some nightly neighbours of my own. The effect the TV show had on me was that profound and terrifying, which I guess is kind of embarrassing to admit now, as looking back on it now, the show is obviously more campy than creepy. However, that doesn't take away the fear that many of us felt when watching this show as youngsters, and some of the characters remain as disturbing today as they did when we first saw them. I mean, the weird sea monster in <i>The Tale of the Dead Man's Float? </i>I would not want to run into that bitch in a dark alleyway - or anywhere, in fact.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrr1ShbhAQA6uJjnIJStwUxEhqq_RdfBZpnXC8o1fGKb4gzx6xyWYJFFD6B11K-hMthVT3C0w9DXby3fkcb-e7S5EV0c_Qh5nNvSs9W4l9JrnoA7yUR-S_J4QpxPccm5CwMw-YI-alMYTz/s1600/deadmansfloat.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrr1ShbhAQA6uJjnIJStwUxEhqq_RdfBZpnXC8o1fGKb4gzx6xyWYJFFD6B11K-hMthVT3C0w9DXby3fkcb-e7S5EV0c_Qh5nNvSs9W4l9JrnoA7yUR-S_J4QpxPccm5CwMw-YI-alMYTz/s320/deadmansfloat.png" height="234" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>SERIOUSLY. Just be grateful I didn't choose a close-up.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mag5byJPVy1qh59n0o1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mag5byJPVy1qh59n0o1_500.gif" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<u><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror</span></b></u></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If I haven't yet written an ode to <i>The Simpsons</i> and how it has affected my life on this blog, then please forgive me for my laziness. I grew up watching <i>The Simpsons</i> - it first aired over here in the year that I was born, and my best childhood memories all involve sitting in front of the television with my grandad, waiting for <i>The Simpsons</i> to start. I'm even watching it now as I write this post (<i>Itchy & Scratchy & Marge</i>, in case you're curious). I feel as though anyone who grew up in the 90s with a less than perfect, dysfunctional family can relate to <i>The Simpsons</i> and the humour it uses. The <i>Treehouse of Horror </i>episodes are no exception - they're hilarious, they can be creepy, and they're also very, very clever. One of my favourite segments from the entire <i>Treehouse of Horror </i>back catalogue is definitely <i>Bad Dream House, </i>in which the family move into a haunted house and spend the majority of their time living there trying not to kill each other. The highlight of the episode for me comes at the end, when the house is told that The Simpsons will be living there and the house must therefore respect them. After allowing the house a few minutes to mull it over, it then explodes, after which Lisa comments, "It chose to destroy itself rather than live with us". So there you have it - dysfunctional families are definitely more terrifying than ghosts or haunted houses will ever be.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Another of my favourite <i>Treehouse of Horror </i>segments is<i> The Shining</i> send-up, in which Homer becomes the character played by Jack Nicholson. The segment uses many of the tropes seen in the film version of <i>The Shining</i>, including the infamous axe scene, but my favourite part has to be when Homer remarks that "no tv and no beer make Homer go crazy". I can relate to this a lot - I'm sure that living away from the majority of the human race in a deserted hotel on a mountain wreaks havoc with your mental health, but surely it would all be a lot more bearable with the addition of beer and television.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/5yGJGTjV2WE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8ry7pA8y91qg7lypo1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8ry7pA8y91qg7lypo1_500.gif" height="249" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<u><b><span style="font-size: large;">Freaks and Geeks <i>Tricks and Treats</i></span></b></u></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This episode of <i>Freaks and Geeks </i>is hands down one of my favourite things to watch during Halloween. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Everything about it is perfect - the homemade costumes, Bill's insistence as the bionic woman that "these are all mine!", <i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkD1pbhpDtQ">Gonna Raise Hell</a></i> playing during the freaks' car trip and pumpkin smashing escapades, and the heartbreaking moment when Lindsay accidentally eggs Sam, her own brother. In his cute little robot costume, Lindsay! How could you? As much as I want to be a freak and get high all of the time and be a total badass, deep down I know that during my time at high school I could definitely relate a lot more to Sam and his group of geeks - so that egging scene really gets to me, as does the scene when Alan and his cronies beat up the geeks and steal their candy. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This episode also makes awesome use of two of my favorite characters, Sam and Lindsay's parents. One of my favourite parts of the episode definitely has to be when Lindsay ditches her mum's halloween plans (which include dressing up as a princess and handing out home-baked cookies to trick or treaters- I seriously don't know what's up with Lindsay in this episode, because that sounds like a dream to me) to hang out with the freaks, so Lindsay's dad makes a special effort and dresses up in the vampire costume Lindsay's mum has made for him. I honestly cried with laughter when he first pops out from behind the front door and genuinely terrifies the little trick or treaters. At the end of the episode, Lindsay realises her error and returns to the family home, where she dresses up and helps her mum with the Halloween treats, which leaves even my tiny cold heart feeling warm and fuzzy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8Ry0G2gtkE29qApYrY5ZtIb6qlOGj9z-166UpXPMGZqDJ9mGJs1GEzGd6Z1O-_-LdG54zwN7lq4EBJf1J5ST1jgGK7wpUj6iOXFzyJJN-DZ0LU6cyI-SrFH8pWZG6s8c7gbOS96ZDGmH/s1600/freaks+n+geeks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8Ry0G2gtkE29qApYrY5ZtIb6qlOGj9z-166UpXPMGZqDJ9mGJs1GEzGd6Z1O-_-LdG54zwN7lq4EBJf1J5ST1jgGK7wpUj6iOXFzyJJN-DZ0LU6cyI-SrFH8pWZG6s8c7gbOS96ZDGmH/s1600/freaks+n+geeks.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Flawless human beings.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As well as watching these three TV shows on Halloween, I also plan to drink a lot of creepy cocktails, bake an awesome pumpkin pie (although you know it'll definitely be made from tinned pumpkins and Jus-Roll pastry), watch some genuinely creepy films on Netflix, and dress up as some kind of weird spooky creature, taking my main inspiration from <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&q=sharon+needles&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.&bpcl=35466521&biw=1440&bih=807&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi&ei=DOCOUJiXFYqb1AWdtICADQ">Sharon Needles</a> - and there won't be a half-skeleton costume or cobweb jumper in sight. Happy Halloween!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-12667348939847301772012-09-25T13:56:00.002-07:002012-09-25T13:58:47.866-07:00HEART & SOUL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3G8zw1iDRsuNc0W62K7y_FSbH7yoS9cy5Vs7u4IasnHllI38PHYGI9uOnNHUNhPqWfTYA1hn8nHJRW6BVtHRK-bxLHoRAyLaYls90JWfR0N-auzGkHzfkCBsHUxnfPjMa2E_1OdH-fRiq/s400/jd_03.png" width="400" /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW7mCPEp3m0AuyyCdFqQiiSp65Vn54w9_39ldmMcTicBtuSwDIbXmGeXmri0LyJhAz72KbtxvHhBhCT3_IX7P2hq33rcsfF7GVuHJp35s1hrM2E_TO7sYF6UioKMuzeYtlxKrmZPqK81W/s1600/jd_08.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW7mCPEp3m0AuyyCdFqQiiSp65Vn54w9_39ldmMcTicBtuSwDIbXmGeXmri0LyJhAz72KbtxvHhBhCT3_IX7P2hq33rcsfF7GVuHJp35s1hrM2E_TO7sYF6UioKMuzeYtlxKrmZPqK81W/s400/jd_08.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1dFxbiwFNBkDKuvD6bLg69XQLb18DPozDDH1YmkD2EuPd7jqAED_738d75Ap_ej5Mx_BGNuDyKzUBUt5MA8Wylf8zN-yaoJ-lRAramGxCn-gXvLU6Ug7w5-8vTFfwPxB9jXZ4di7TL6w/s1600/jd_28.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1dFxbiwFNBkDKuvD6bLg69XQLb18DPozDDH1YmkD2EuPd7jqAED_738d75Ap_ej5Mx_BGNuDyKzUBUt5MA8Wylf8zN-yaoJ-lRAramGxCn-gXvLU6Ug7w5-8vTFfwPxB9jXZ4di7TL6w/s400/jd_28.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrI7d0q1l3HibKtlBr7ZgeLlbumjpyOZ7dpL1FIhSTNPN6_-UB4G-Sht5YjsXAmhkL02CZvQN-Ab14dOcCgN5Xw1TaQfW-Sf8XbIOkLsAwINXOukKlccT5uP5mrm6X1G1EkoeGo-NZZl4Y/s1600/jd_44.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrI7d0q1l3HibKtlBr7ZgeLlbumjpyOZ7dpL1FIhSTNPN6_-UB4G-Sht5YjsXAmhkL02CZvQN-Ab14dOcCgN5Xw1TaQfW-Sf8XbIOkLsAwINXOukKlccT5uP5mrm6X1G1EkoeGo-NZZl4Y/s400/jd_44.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDtO3EuiBAxbIOY3kFzpVzzCDOkZKuH0jhVfi9ijEzKFNtiugm6DBnSNUDtV8WHLo5hdii-vE3dP8K8ghSf1CnES_w6WrEcjLhp7ELqksr9lVwqPn9tj7qyPWkAjSu8uOmBw3mndnmDTxA/s1600/jd_63.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDtO3EuiBAxbIOY3kFzpVzzCDOkZKuH0jhVfi9ijEzKFNtiugm6DBnSNUDtV8WHLo5hdii-vE3dP8K8ghSf1CnES_w6WrEcjLhp7ELqksr9lVwqPn9tj7qyPWkAjSu8uOmBw3mndnmDTxA/s400/jd_63.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGuY1GBM60VyqXBrmQqB9oMq0UIO7DxG4f97Tx30Amj98yyjg-8RgUdTTkMtJ3FwnbX5GbU2jA_k-SyvxbOizdqtsBJGrmfqf674ZLjsugQuGbEPBQmSDkUJtC9vGY5H5WNHpeU6Xiq14/s1600/jd_66.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGuY1GBM60VyqXBrmQqB9oMq0UIO7DxG4f97Tx30Amj98yyjg-8RgUdTTkMtJ3FwnbX5GbU2jA_k-SyvxbOizdqtsBJGrmfqf674ZLjsugQuGbEPBQmSDkUJtC9vGY5H5WNHpeU6Xiq14/s400/jd_66.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsExO7O8momwcF_fdNy-_hdwpw96NSwx64w_7f9fv9QWkNzSnlHnEU_Xdu9h0QlXcbq4Ys0qwoPMT0L3COhRpI42ewSJpq00HljGpFjfRJwctvuIYs25pc1udrHfVN8bWcYaP7RuoWYjHy/s1600/jd_87.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsExO7O8momwcF_fdNy-_hdwpw96NSwx64w_7f9fv9QWkNzSnlHnEU_Xdu9h0QlXcbq4Ys0qwoPMT0L3COhRpI42ewSJpq00HljGpFjfRJwctvuIYs25pc1udrHfVN8bWcYaP7RuoWYjHy/s400/jd_87.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq97CfGzg5fCXDE9IM1ZCOseBG-NW9BxWwCCZHcO9Ea83I6xANlVMgIagCo4-ylfxtZxJb5DlCeCuQ1fleSz7fwYKKd2N8hFmRjR5MjurzApmxmdub068mXdkwQd5pHIthrfDPZ6gdHpdi/s1600/jd_98.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq97CfGzg5fCXDE9IM1ZCOseBG-NW9BxWwCCZHcO9Ea83I6xANlVMgIagCo4-ylfxtZxJb5DlCeCuQ1fleSz7fwYKKd2N8hFmRjR5MjurzApmxmdub068mXdkwQd5pHIthrfDPZ6gdHpdi/s400/jd_98.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://film-stills.livejournal.com/1135386.html#cutid1">"I exist on the best terms I can"</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/oUjUTG3hwyQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-16321069923373229372012-08-22T14:23:00.001-07:002012-10-10T12:38:46.039-07:00BLACK DOG BLUES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxlo4wp0cP1qfdszxo1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxlo4wp0cP1qfdszxo1_500.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
After extensive years of research (okay, one hour of half-hearted googling), I have discovered that most euphemisms surrounding depression are animal-based, and this does not surprise me. What else could possibly describe the true nature of depression - the debilitating, destructive hunger of it, the viciousness, the way that it is not part of the sufferer but a whole new entity, external and uncontrollable. A wild animal, an untamed beast - not something that you want to domesticate and welcome in, arms open. David Foster Wallace called it "the great white shark of pain". For Churchill, it was more like a black dog on his shoulder. When I was younger, and too young to really understand the nuances and intricacies of what was happening to me, I referred to it as 'the bugs'. It seemed logical at the time - I felt as though I was being devoured from the inside, slowly, by tiny creatures who had no mercy or limits.<br />
<br />
It's impossible to deny the strength of both Wallace and Churchill's images, as they manage to convey the ferocity with which depression can attack you - after all, black dogs are notoriously regarded as being dangerous and unlucky, and a great white shark kind of speaks for itself (I'm assuming that the two people who read this blog are as obsessed with <i>Jaws</i> as I am). When I talked about depression as 'the bugs', it was an attempt to describe the self-disgust I felt - but one that was larger than just disliking myself, or pitying myself, because it was <i>bigger</i> than myself. Somehow, the whole world was involved in a way that I couldn't quite wrap my head around. All I know is that it made me feel frustrated, and depressed, and like a total failure. Like, I couldn't even experience a break in mental health in the right way! And who manages to fuck up depression? I mean, I spent a lot of time throwing pity parties for myself in my online journals (so what's changed, really?) but I could still function, I could still leave my bed and go to school and go through the motions of being a normal 12 year old, and then a normal teenager, and then a normal adult. Except for, you know, the times when I couldn't. But I soon covered those episodes up by adopting the adorable trait of 'lazy fuck', in an attempt to fool others (and myself) that any time I didn't leave my bed for days was through choice. What I didn't realise then is that depression is actually less of an animal and more of a shape-shifter. It doesn't always attack in the form of dead-eyed anhedonia.<br />
<br />
And, just so you know, I'm not sure that I've ever experienced depression as pure anhedonia, ever. Actually, to me, that seems like it would be some kind of a relief - caring about nothing, sleepwalking through life, untouched by everything. Of course, this is a stupidly idealistic view - I'm sure it's horrific to those who experience depression in this way, because nothing about depression is ever relieving, or positive, or comforting, or appealing. I remember being given many questionnaires to fill out by my doctor and, later, a psychologist, during my teenage years - one question that always appeared was "Have you lost interest in activities you used you enjoy, such as reading or socialising?" and my answer was always a frustrated no - like, it's not that I've lost interest in these things, it's just that I am so permanently and constantly distracted by the pure psychic pain in my head that even the concept of paying attention to anything else is just a total write-off. Like, one thing I've never been able to understand is when some people - doctors, friends, journalists - refuse to entertain the idea that depression is a physical issue as well as mental. That it is only anhedonia and that it does not hurt. Because it does, to me, at least - most of the time it hurts like I've taken a beating. It is exhausting and painful and it wears you down, either slowly or quickly, but either way it basically wants to obliterate you.<br />
<br />
To me, one of the ways in which it does this is by completely removing your ability to empathise, or to feel any kind of emotion except obsession with your own psychic pain. It might seem hypocritical that I'm quoting David Foster Wallace just after emphasizing lack of empathy or understanding of others, but I read this paragraph the other day and I felt as though I'd been whacked round the head by Dave himself, like he was saying "Of course I'm still here, you big idiot, isn't it obvious that I can read your mind and that I've never really left your brain?" Like, if I was infinitely smarter and more eloquent, this is how I would describe depression:<br />
<i>It is a level of psychic pain wholly incompatible with human life as we know it. </i><i>It is a sense of radical and thoroughgoing evil not just as a feature but as the essence of conscious existence. </i><i>It is a sense of poisoning that pervades the self at the self's most elementary levels. </i><i>It is a nausea of the cells and soul. </i><i>It
is an unnumb intuition in which the world is fully rich and animate and
un-map-like and also throughly painful and malignant and antagonistic
to the self, which depressed self </i><i>It billows on and coagulates around and wraps in </i><i>Its black folds and absorbs into </i><i>Itself, so that an almost mystical unity is achieved with a world every constituent of which means painful harm to the self. </i><i>Its emotional character, the feeling Gompert describes </i><i>It
as, is probably the most indescribable except as a sort of double bind
in which any/all of the alternatives we associate with human agency —
sitting or standing, doing or resting, speaking or keeping silent,
living or dying — are not just unpleasant but literally horrible.</i><i>It
is also lonely on a level that cannot be conveyed. There is no way Kate
Gompert could ever even begin to make someone else understand what
clinical depression feels like, not even another person who is herself
clinically depressed, because a person in such a state is incapable of
empathy with any other living thing. This anhedonic Inability To
Identify is also an integral part of </i><i>It. If a person in physical
pain has a hard time attending to anything except that pain, a
clinically depressed person cannot even perceive any other person or
thing as independent of the universal pain that is digesting her cell by
cell. Everything is part of the problem, and there is no solution. It
is a hell for one.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i> </i> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
David Foster Wallace, you give me life. And like, after reading the above paragraphs and being whacked with understanding and empathy and consciousness in a way that has literally never happened to me when reading about depression before, I started thinking - why do we refuse to talk about psychic pain in the same way that we talk about physical pain? Why is it socially acceptable to discuss every private inch of your body (which you know I'm an advocate of, naturally) but only skim the surface of the mind? Why has it taken me 23 years to find one or two paragraphs that I can relate to, in terms of mental illness? And even then, they are paragraphs from the novel of a dead man. Why do I always develop gruesome stomach bugs when on the phone to my manager during a sick day? Why is it preferable to be thought of as spending your week puking and shitting out your intestines, rather than admitting the truth and saying, "I'm depressed"? Why is mental illness still so taboo? I mean, I'm disgustingly private to a fault, so you know something is fucked up with the way society views mental illness if even I feel as though I should be allowed to air my dirty laundry without raising any eyebrows.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There seems to be a hierarchy when it comes to mental health issues, too. Like, I will never have an issue telling people that I have problems dealing with anxiety, and no one bats an eyelid if I mention it - I think this is because of the way that anxiety is presented to us, as being a simple, manageable extension of something that normal, otherwise mentally sound people also experience. It is still viewed very much as a Thing, an illness, whereas depression seems to be viewed (and this is dangerous, in my opinion) as more of a character flaw. If you are depressed, that is a problem with your personality rather than an illness, and this is reflected in the way that depression is confronted - pull yourself out of it, cheer up, it can't rain all of the time (ok I definitely just quoted <i>The Crow</i> and I apologise deeply for that, but it's staying.) Those kind of reactions just seem absurd to me now that I've accepted that depression is a manageable illness rather than one of my many gigantic personality flaws - kind of like telling a person who breaks their leg to just walk it off. No, you put a cast on it, and I take two different pills three times a day. And somehow we both end up less broken.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now a confession - I'm not really sure where this post is going, or even where it has been (proofreading is for losers so enjoy my spelling mistakes!), or what the point of it all is - I guess it is my first step towards helping to end the huge taboo that surrounds discussing mental illness in public. I'm going to leave you with another paragraph from David Foster Wallace, because he managed to say all of the things that I never will, and he said them beautifully:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>The so-called 'psychotically depressed' person who tries to kill herself
doesn't do so out of quote 'hopelessness' or any abstract conviction
that life's assets and debits do not square. And surely not because
death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom </i><i>Its invisible
agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way
a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning
high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows.
Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it
would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just
checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The
variable here is the other terror, the fire's flames: when the flames
get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of
two terrors. It's not desiring the fall; it's terror of the flames. And
yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling 'Don't!' and
'Hang on!', can understand the jump. Not really. You'd have to have
personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror
way beyond falling.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I guess I'm going to end this by dedicating it to the putting out of flames by psychotic depressives everywhere - in honor and admiration and respect of the man who tried to, for all of us, but couldn't.<i><br /></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-60008354976512628272012-07-20T14:26:00.000-07:002012-10-10T12:31:30.191-07:00THIS IS A LIST #7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m73t1pLdxV1qzad3ao1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m73t1pLdxV1qzad3ao1_500.jpg" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"No single, individual moment is in and of itself unendurable"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-54469530969991925382012-06-13T13:14:00.001-07:002012-10-10T12:31:21.969-07:00THIS IS A LIST #6<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6753my3591qznt9wo1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6753my3591qznt9wo1_1280.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
I cut most of my hair off and spent the weekend in the city of Porto at Primavera Sound, where I waited in a queue in the pouring rain for two and a half hours to get tickets to see Jeff Mangum at the Casa da Musica. 'Worth it' doesn't even come close to a good description because me and my sister ended up sitting a few feet away from him, cross-legged on the floor after he asked the crowd to move closer. Arguably in our rightful place. It was surreal and perfect. I got sunburnt on my arms, shoulder, and mouth (?!?!?!?!?!) and now I'm enjoying peeling away the dead skin way too much. They eat well in Porto, and they put cheese on everything, and the wine is sweet and strong. I loved the beach, too, especially the contradiction of it - pure white sand and sea surrounded by factories and industrial estates. <br />
<br />
What else? I turned 23 on the 3rd of June and that was also surreal. It's not that I think 23 is old, just that in my head I still feel as though I'm 16. I mean, I spend every night sleeping in the bedroom of the house I grew up in. I drink in the same bars and spend time with the same friends and I feel like I'm stuck in some kind of weird time warp that is not entirely unpleasant.<br />
Anyway, I spent most of my birthday drunk, except for when I visited the Wellcome exhibition with my friends and walked around the museum for hours and spent £65 on books, as a present to myself. The exhibition was to do with mapping the mind, and in one corner of the museum the curators had set up a video playing footage of two surgeons slicing and preparing brains. It was kind of hypnotic, I think I could have watched it all day. If you think you can stomach it, here is the video:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/OMqWRlxo1oQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
The brain thing is sort of macabre and I'm gonna follow that theme and say that I've also spent most of my internet time lately obsessively reading through the <a href="http://www.websleuths.com/">Websleuths</a> forums for missing people. The cases featured are often sad, and strange, and endless - after reading through many of the threads, I eventually came to automatically expect loose ends and lost girls and clues that trail off into nowhere as the only eventual results. Reading through the forum is frustrating, and hopeful, and terribly sad, and monumentally important. <br />
<br />
I've also been reading a lot of true crime and a lot of David Foster Wallace, and I've fallen back in love with <i>Freaks and Geeks</i> big time<i>,</i> especially the character of Mr Rosso. Like, if I was Lindsay Weir, I would have a big fat inappropriate crush on him. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lfmf0pqzCy1qg2pe8o1_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lfmf0pqzCy1qg2pe8o1_500.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I mean, what a total babe.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-7180915103812785622012-04-10T10:33:00.008-07:002014-04-29T18:33:18.805-07:00THIS IS A LIST #5<center>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
</center>
<span style="color: black;">Guys, here is a shitty reason explai</span><span style="color: black;">ni</span><span style="color: black;">ng</span><span style="color: black;"> why I haven't updated this blog in a while: o</span><span style="color: black;">n Vale</span><span style="color: black;">nti</span><span style="color: black;">ne's Day this year, I had a date with a bottle of beer, The Simpso</span><span style="color: black;">ns,</span><span style="color: black;"> a</span><span style="color: black;">nd some pizza (courtesy of my little brother, of course). </span><span style="color: black;">It was supposed to be magical, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd it was - up u</span><span style="color: black;">ntil the part whe</span><span style="color: black;">re I decided it would be a</span><span style="color: black;">n awesome idea to bala</span><span style="color: black;">nce my pizza slice a</span><span style="color: black;">nd pot of garlic dip o</span><span style="color: black;">n the arm of the couch so that I could rest my laptop o</span><span style="color: black;">n my k</span><span style="color: black;">nees, therefore allowi</span><span style="color: black;">ng me to do some googl</span><span style="color: black;">i</span><span style="color: black;">ng a</span><span style="color: black;">nd pizza-i</span><span style="color: black;">ng at the same</span><span style="color: black;"> time. I am also the clumsiest perso</span><span style="color: black;">n i</span><span style="color: black;">n the world (this is probably shamefully close</span><span style="color: black;"> to </span><span style="color: black;">not bei</span><span style="color: black;">ng hyperbole) a</span><span style="color: black;">nd had</span><span style="color: black;">n't eve</span><span style="color: black;">n really lifted the pizza from it's couch-arm base before the garlic sauce ki</span><span style="color: black;">nd of tipped over a</span><span style="color: black;">nd exploded all over the keyboard of my laptop. It was such a <span style="font-style: italic;">Peep Show</span> mome</span><span style="color: black;">nt: disgusti</span><span style="color: black;">ngly predictable. A</span><span style="color: black;">nyway, </span><span style="color: black;">now most of the keys do</span><span style="color: black;">n't work u</span><span style="color: black;">nless I mash my ha</span><span style="color: black;">nd dow</span><span style="color: black;">n o</span><span style="color: black;">n them a</span><span style="color: black;">nd do a little prayer</span><span style="color: black;">, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd the </span><span style="color: black;">'</span><span style="color: black;">N' key is go</span><span style="color: black;">ne for good. I fou</span><span style="color: black;">nd this weird touch-scree</span><span style="color: black;">n keyboard </span><span style="color: black;">o</span><span style="color: black;">n my desktop that I would like to thi</span><span style="color: black;">nk is some ki</span><span style="color: black;">nd of emerge</span><span style="color: black;">ncy keyboard made for mome</span><span style="color: black;">nts like these, but I</span><span style="color: black;">'ve decided to go the old-fashio</span><span style="color: black;">ned route - mashi</span><span style="color: black;">ng a</span><span style="color: black;">nd copyi</span><span style="color: black;">ng '</span><span style="color: black;">n' pasti</span><span style="color: black;">ng the letter </span><span style="color: black;">'</span><span style="color: black;">N' from other websites. So far I'm still ma</span><span style="color: black;">nagi</span><span style="color: black;">ng to spe</span><span style="color: black;">nd most of my free time i</span><span style="color: black;">nter</span><span style="color: black;">netti</span><span style="color: black;">ng, so I'd like to thi</span><span style="color: black;">nk that i</span><span style="color: black;">n this particular battle of (wo)ma</span><span style="color: black;">n vs food, woma</span><span style="color: black;">n has wo</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">n.</span><span style="color: black;"> I'm tryi</span></span><span style="color: black;">ng to write a</span><span style="color: black;">n e</span><span style="color: black;">ntry about </span><span style="color: black;">Neutral</span><span style="color: black;"> Milk Hotel a</span><span style="color: black;">nd how they cha</span><span style="color: black;">nged my life a few weeks ago at</span><span style="color: black;"> All Tomorrow's Parties</span><span style="color: black;">, but I'm starti</span><span style="color: black;">ng to get this weird claw from copyi</span><span style="color: black;">ng a</span><span style="color: black;">nd pasti</span><span style="color: black;">ng too much, so this is my stupid break. Seriously, I was so close to becomi</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">ng this:</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttcl5DvwO4DCGIeePMCKPnZejQ9kvzVoVhC-ih8GJWPmI7GNi32eAQPM67RFgCr-Qdc0IGTsDagSpR2on1b4AQC2AaSUegVL4UP59xxcLWbgIGv0dfvNr1IHZtEr07XCucXIiuj49cFGx/s1600/monstaaaaaar.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttcl5DvwO4DCGIeePMCKPnZejQ9kvzVoVhC-ih8GJWPmI7GNi32eAQPM67RFgCr-Qdc0IGTsDagSpR2on1b4AQC2AaSUegVL4UP59xxcLWbgIGv0dfvNr1IHZtEr07XCucXIiuj49cFGx/s1600/monstaaaaaar.gif" height="221" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<span style="color: black;"><br /></span><span style="color: black;">A</span><span style="color: black;">nyway, today I </span><span style="color: black;">we</span><span style="color: black;">nt to work</span><span style="color: black;"> weari</span><span style="color: black;">ng the shirt I slept i</span><span style="color: black;">n because stayi</span><span style="color: black;">ng up u</span><span style="color: black;">ntil 4 a.m. watchi</span><span style="color: black;">ng <span style="font-style: italic;">Six Feet U</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: italic;">nder</span></span><span style="color: black;"> is probably a really bad idea if you have to wake up for work at 6 a.m. a</span><span style="color: black;">nd </span><span style="color: black;">do</span><span style="color: black;">n't wa</span><span style="color: black;">nt to resemble</span><span style="color: black;"> a zombie. Speaki</span><span style="color: black;">ng of </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Six Feet U</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: italic;">nder</span>, guys I am so completely obsessed with it - I mea</span><span style="color: black;">n, the mai</span><span style="color: black;">n themes are death a</span><span style="color: black;">nd dysfu</span><span style="color: black;">nctio</span><span style="color: black;">n a</span><span style="color: black;">nd fucked up surburbia, how could I </span><span style="color: black;">not be? A</span><span style="color: black;">nd I am also i</span><span style="color: black;">n love with Claire Fisher a</span><span style="color: black;">nd ki</span><span style="color: black;">nd of wa</span><span style="color: black;">nt to be her best frie</span><span style="color: black;">nd a</span><span style="color: black;">nd we ca</span><span style="color: black;">n ha</span><span style="color: black;">ng out a</span><span style="color: black;">nd get high a</span><span style="color: black;">nd t</span><span style="color: black;">alk about how stupid boys i</span><span style="color: black;">n high school are a</span><span style="color: black;">nd also, Claire, maybe you could i</span><span style="color: black;">ntroduce me to your brother because it is almost weird how much I relate to </span><span style="color: black;">Nate Fisher a</span><span style="color: black;">nd I'm ki</span><span style="color: black;">nd of i</span><span style="color: black;">n love with him a</span><span style="color: black;">nd his weird</span><span style="color: black;"> way of talki</span><span style="color: black;">ng</span><span style="color: black;"> a</span><span style="color: black;">nd I k</span><span style="color: black;">now that I will</span><span style="color: black;"> die whe</span><span style="color: black;">n he dies i</span><span style="color: black;">n seaso</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">n five, etc.</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.tumblr.com/photo/1280/rustandstardust/20794111101/1/tumblr_m0l2hySnOg1qa4by8"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.tumblr.com/photo/1280/rustandstardust/20794111101/1/tumblr_m0l2hySnOg1qa4by8" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 352px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 624px;" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">this is how I feel about everyo</span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">ne i</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">n the world ever, Claire</span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><br /></span><span style="color: black;">I see so much of my family, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd my frie</span><span style="color: black;">nds' families, i</span><span style="color: black;">n the Fishers. The whole aspect of repressio</span><span style="color: black;">n a</span><span style="color: black;">nd rese</span><span style="color: black;">ntme</span><span style="color: black;">nt a</span><span style="color: black;">nd</span><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;">not havi</span><span style="color: black;">ng that perfect, harmo</span><span style="color: black;">nious, Walto</span><span style="color: black;">n-esque </span><span style="color: black;">relatio</span><span style="color: black;">nship that is so ofte</span><span style="color: black;">n televised</span><span style="color: black;"> is stra</span><span style="color: black;">ngely comforti</span><span style="color: black;">ng</span><span style="color: black;">. What's also stra</span><span style="color: black;">ngely comforti</span><span style="color: black;">ng is how </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Six Feet U</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: italic;">nder </span></span><span style="color: black;">ma</span><span style="color: black;">nages to perfectly express the co</span><span style="color: black;">nflict a</span><span style="color: black;">nd turmoil of bei</span><span style="color: black;">ng part of a family a</span><span style="color: black;">nd feeli</span><span style="color: black;">ng the pull of your ow</span><span style="color: black;">n life taki</span><span style="color: black;">ng you i</span><span style="color: black;">n o</span><span style="color: black;">ne directio</span><span style="color: black;">n, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd your loyalty a</span><span style="color: black;">nd co</span><span style="color: black;">ncept of 'family' desperately </span><span style="color: black;">tryi</span><span style="color: black;">ng to cling on and pull you i</span><span style="color: black;">n a</span><span style="color: black;">nother. I ca</span><span style="color: black;">n see how loyalty would wi</span><span style="color: black;">n, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd that's what terrifies me - because the family you are from a</span><span style="color: black;">nd the heritage a</span><span style="color: black;">nd history you have a</span><span style="color: black;">nd the class you were bor</span><span style="color: black;">n i</span><span style="color: black;">n a</span><span style="color: black;">nd the first street you lived dow</span><span style="color: black;">n</span><span style="color: black;"> a</span><span style="color: black;">nd the house</span><span style="color: black;"> you grew up i</span><span style="color: black;">n a</span><span style="color: black;">nd the cou</span><span style="color: black;">ncil estates you roamed arou</span><span style="color: black;">nd are all such a fucki</span><span style="color: black;">ng huge part of you, of who you are. A</span><span style="color: black;">nd to de</span><span style="color: black;">nou</span><span style="color: black;">nce your family, to move away from them a</span><span style="color: black;">nd make your life your own, is somehow tra</span><span style="color: black;">nsformed by guilt i</span><span style="color: black;">nto being less of a perso</span><span style="color: black;">nal choice a</span><span style="color: black;">nd more of a de</span><span style="color: black;">nou</span><span style="color: black;">nceme</span><span style="color: black;">nt of your history, your class, your backgrou</span><span style="color: black;">nd. It seems to me that we just </span><span style="color: black;">ca</span><span style="color: black;">n</span><span style="color: black;">'t seperate the two, or figure out how to hold o</span><span style="color: black;">nto the past without letti</span><span style="color: black;">ng</span><span style="color: black;"> it co</span><span style="color: black;">ntrol a</span><span style="color: black;">nd pote</span><span style="color: black;">ntially rui</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">n us.</span></span><span style="color: black;"> How ma</span><span style="color: black;">ny people e</span><span style="color: black;">nd up livi</span><span style="color: black;">ng lives they </span><span style="color: black;">never really wa</span><span style="color: black;">nted, because of this? That's somethi</span><span style="color: black;">ng that's u</span><span style="color: black;">nbearable to me, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd this might sou</span><span style="color: black;">nd stupid but I thi</span><span style="color: black;">nk that's</span><span style="color: black;"> why I've always wa</span><span style="color: black;">nted to leave this tow</span><span style="color: black;">n - because if I do</span><span style="color: black;">n't, it wo</span><span style="color: black;">n't ever really be my life. I thi</span><span style="color: black;">nk I'</span><span style="color: black;">m ki</span><span style="color: black;">nda talki</span><span style="color: black;">ng i</span><span style="color: black;">n riddles </span><span style="color: black;">now, who k</span><span style="color: black;">nows. Writi</span><span style="color: black;">ng a blog e</span><span style="color: black;">ntry whe</span><span style="color: black;">n you're sleep deprived a</span><span style="color: black;">nd pill-less is probably </span><span style="color: black;">not a</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">n awesome idea.</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/e_LtA0WLmDE" width="420"></iframe></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">Ruth Fisher ma</span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">nages to beautifully express how I feel 99.999999999999% of the time</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">Whe</span></span><span style="color: black;">n I thi</span><span style="color: black;">nk about this, though, it does</span><span style="color: black;">n't begi</span><span style="color: black;">n a</span><span style="color: black;">nd </span><span style="color: black;">e</span><span style="color: black;">nd with family - it </span><span style="color: black;">also makes me thi</span><span style="color: black;">nk about</span><span style="color: black;"> other thi</span><span style="color: black;">ngs, </span><span style="color: black;">like how my co</span><span style="color: black;">ncept of my ow</span><span style="color: black;">n u</span><span style="color: black;">nhappi</span><span style="color: black;">ness is so tied up i</span><span style="color: black;">n the fact that I'm back here, that I've bee</span><span style="color: black;">n back here for almost two years </span><span style="color: black;">now, that (to quote Morrissey, whe</span><span style="color: black;">n the thi</span><span style="color: black;">ngs he said were more</span><span style="color: black;"> poetic a</span><span style="color: black;">nd less...troll-ish)</span><span style="color: black;"> this tow</span><span style="color: black;">n has literally dragged me dow</span><span style="color: black;">n. Is it really fair to blame your state of mi</span><span style="color: black;">nd o</span><span style="color: black;">n somethi</span><span style="color: black;">ng as</span><span style="color: black;"> simple a</span><span style="color: black;">nd obvious as a place? I was u</span><span style="color: black;">nhappy i</span><span style="color: black;">n Lo</span><span style="color: black;">ndo</span><span style="color: black;">n, too. I guess the reaso</span><span style="color: black;">n I blame </span><span style="color: black;">Northampto</span><span style="color: black;">n as bei</span><span style="color: black;">ng the root - if </span><span style="color: black;">not always the cause - of my u</span><span style="color: black;">nhappi</span><span style="color: black;">ness is because the alter</span><span style="color: black;">native sort of terrifies me.</span><span style="color: black;"> I could move to Prague, to Mo</span><span style="color: black;">ntreal, to Berli</span><span style="color: black;">n, to Amsterdam, to the other side of the world, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd </span><span style="color: black;">nothi</span><span style="color: black;">ng could cha</span><span style="color: black;">nge. You ca</span><span style="color: black;">n't ru</span><span style="color: black;">n away from yourself. What if I fi</span><span style="color: black;">nally get out of </span><span style="color: black;">Northampto</span><span style="color: black;">n a</span><span style="color: black;">nd fi</span><span style="color: black;">nd that the problem is</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">n't where I am, but who I am?</span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">Also, like the best dude I k</span></span><span style="color: black;">now poi</span><span style="color: black;">nted out whe</span><span style="color: black;">n we were hu</span><span style="color: black;">ngover a</span><span style="color: black;">nd givi</span><span style="color: black;">ng our frie</span><span style="color: black;">nd a tour of the </span>Northampton<span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;">bus statio</span><span style="color: black;">n this weeke</span><span style="color: black;">nd, we say we hate this tow</span><span style="color: black;">n but we're also ki</span><span style="color: black;">nd of obsessed with it. We talk about it all of the time, a</span><span style="color: black;">nd most of all, we keep comi</span><span style="color: black;">ng back. I guess everyo</span><span style="color: black;">ne suffers from this weird ki</span><span style="color: black;">nd of masochism - </span><span style="color: black;">not bei</span><span style="color: black;">ng able to let go of the thi</span><span style="color: black;">ng that you thi</span><span style="color: black;">nk is rui</span><span style="color: black;">ni</span><span style="color: black;">ng you, because i</span><span style="color: black;">n a weird way,</span><span style="color: black;"> it's a huge part of you. Ki</span><span style="color: black;">nd of like Chief Brody a</span><span style="color: black;">nd Jaws, which probably is</span><span style="color: black;">n't the greatest example, but I watched Jaws 2 the other day. O</span><span style="color: black;">nce agai</span><span style="color: black;">n - how disgusti</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">ngly predictable.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-1211974812193763072012-03-24T08:23:00.004-07:002014-03-10T15:14:35.272-07:00LADIES IS PIMPS TOO - MISOGYNY AND HIP HOP<span style="font-style: italic;">(originally posted on Retrograde magazine's website)</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpsbzzR2RA1qznt9wo1_500.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpsbzzR2RA1qznt9wo1_500.png" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 370px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-GB</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> <w:word11kerningpairs/> <w:cachedcolbalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathpr> <m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"> <m:brkbin val="before"> <m:brkbinsub val="--"> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef/> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" defunhidewhenused="true" defsemihidden="true" defqformat="false" defpriority="99" latentstylecount="267"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="0" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Normal"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="heading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="35" qformat="true" name="caption"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="10" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" name="Default Paragraph Font"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="11" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtitle"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="22" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Strong"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="20" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="59" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Table Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Placeholder Text"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="No Spacing"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Revision"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="34" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="List Paragraph"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="29" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="30" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0cm; mso-para-margin-right:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0cm; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">I remember the first time I listened to Biggie Smalls. I was on the verge of becoming that thing that every teenager dreads and is secretly excited by at the same time – twenty years of age. I was finishing up my second year of university, and I was broke and angry and disillusioned by life outside of my tiny, working class hometown. I felt like everyone had more money than me, came from richer families than me, had received better educations than me, and therefore I spent the majority of the year (and my life at university, actually) precariously balancing between feeling terribly inferior and alone, and extremely bitter. Then I heard ‘Juicy’ for the first time.<br /></span> <br />
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: navy;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">At first it seems as though it was a chance meeting, this collision of my late-teenaged self and 90’s hip-hop, but looking back at the grand old age of 22, it’s clear that we were always meant to be. Hip-hop artists in the early 90’s wrote powerful, angry songs about fighting the power and growing up poor and not accepting the place society wants you to have in the world. I can’t relate to being black, or growing up black, and to suggest that anything in my life would ever come close to it would be ridiculous and insulting. However, hip-hop artists rapped about money and class and the role of the poor in society in a way that no white artists I’m aware of have ever really come close to, at least not to me. The working class need a voice, and 90’s hip-hop gave us it.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">It’s a well-know theory that the age of fourteen is when we first start breaking away from what our parents and siblings and friends like and start forming our own interests and opinions about society and the different types of culture it offers us, especially in regards to music (I’d like to thank Dr Spencer Reid of Criminal Minds fame for educating me on this). Therefore, the music we listen to at this age influences us in a way that nothing else quite ever will, and not just in regards to something simple as our taste. It’s the first thrill of doing something for yourself, of making a deliberate step towards becoming a certain type of person, of becoming someone who is complex and flawed and human. When I was fourteen, I dyed my hair pink, badly. I read a lot of Chuck Palahniuk books. I kept a livejournal and wrote bad prose and wore a lot of black (some things never change). These things have all greatly influenced the person I have become and am still becoming, in the way that the friends you have at that age influence you in a way that no one else ever really will. It’s not because everything back then was realer, or purer, in the way that nostalgia can sometimes make us believe – it’s not because your friends were any better, or because music was any better, or because society is falling apart and culture is going downhill and everything just sucks now. It’s because it was happening for the first time.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">When I was fourteen, I didn’t listen to hip-hop. I listened to The Smiths and let Morrissey guide me through teenage life in a humdrum town, where the days seemed endless. I listened to Bright Eyes and related to Conor Oberst’s angst about youth and growing up and the future in a way that almost scared me – my life plan for a while was to move to Omaha and work at Saddle Creek. I listened to the Manic Street Preachers and became angry and disillusioned with politics and England and money, as well as wearing a lot of eyeliner and leopard print. These bands were my soundtrack during my most formative years, and at the time they defined me and my beliefs and led me through the jungle of adolescence in a way that my family and my teachers and all of those teen-orientated websites and books and pamphlets couldn’t. They taught me about the real world and how to navigate it.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: navy; font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">There is something about this list that needs to be recognised, though. The musicians who guided me through perhaps one of the most important times of my life all have one thing in common – they’re white males. I am a white female. Although I am not privileged in some ways, I am privileged in the fact that I grew up with internet access and books and the ability to listen to and appreciate music. So with all of these privileges at my disposal, why did I end up allowing myself to be guided by the one group that has all of the privileges I do not have? The one group that society is under the power of and at the same time caters to?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">It’s easy to place the blame on oneself, but I think the root of the problem lies deeper than this. The majority of music young people are exposed to is more often than not written, performed, and controlled by white males. Although, according to our theory, we make our own musical choices at the age of fourteen, we are still young and susceptible to outside influences. We may feel as though we are completely in control of what we choose to listen to, but the reality is that this choice is still made within the context of the society we belong to – and this is a society in which white men rule the roost, so to speak.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">Therefore, when considering the context in which modern music is presented, it is important to recognise how misogyny is generated and perpetuated due to it. Obviously, the fact that society is fundamentally a man’s world is in itself a sign of the misogyny that women face every day, and this is represented in the music we listen to. However, perhaps the most interesting aspect of misogyny in music is how reluctant we are to attribute it to white men.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">As I stated earlier in this article, I have a lot of love and respect for 90’s hip-hop. I also consider myself a strong feminist. The one question I always hear when I inform people of the above two facts is, without fail, “How can you be a feminist when you listen to music that is as misogynistic as hip-hop?” I have a lot of problems with this response, and what it tells us about the society we live in. I’m not going to deny for one second that some hip-hop is misogynistic – to do so is counter-productive, because it is very true that some hip-hop music does focus on belittling women and therefore reinforces the idea of men as being superior. The point isn’t that hip-hop music is not misogynistic – the point is that it is no more misogynistic than other genres of music, but is constantly scapgoated and focused on as being the only music that is misogynistic and therefore dangerous towards women. I believe that misogyny is just as rife in other genres of music, but because this music is created by white men in a society that favours white men, it is not picked up on. It is a lot easier to blame the minority instead, because it is not the minority who controls the context in which we listen to music. It is easy to blame a black man for misogyny towards women being perpetuated through music, because it is simpler than going against what society tells us.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">So what is the logic for hip-hop being universally referred to, and thought of, as misogynistic? Firstly, one of the main points that is brought up is the language which is used towards women in many hip-hop songs – “they’re always calling women bitches! Or hoes!” should really have been copywrited by now, I hear it so often. The fact is that, yes, a lot of hip-hop songs do use language that is potentially derogatory when referring to women. However, it is important to also consider the cultural context in which the word is being used, and who it is being used by. Many female rappers have reclaimed words such as “bitch” and therefore refer to themselves using the word, and will also sometimes accept being called it by men in songs, as long as it is on the terms they have laid out. Obviously not all uses of potentially derogatory words in hip-hop are by women and not all of them are intended to be complimentary. However, although no man has the right to refer to a woman as a bitch or a whore or a hoe (which in itself is a gross stereotype of most hip-hop music), and no woman should be subjected to it against her wishes, the sometimes-explicit use of the words in hip-hop songs makes it a lot easier for us to identify what is and is not misogynistic. This might sound like a strange thing to include in an article that wishes to convince you that hip-hop is no more misogynistic than any other genre of music, but it is important to consider when discussing why the majority of white, male music is not seen as being misogynistic.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">So, hip-hop is widely considered to be misogynistic because of the language many artists use to describe women, including women themselves. What could be more misogynistic than a woman being referred to as a bitch or a hoe? Well, at least if a woman is described using a word that is widely thought of as sexist and derogatory, it is easy for us and most of the general public to recognise it as being offensive and not accept it. However, not all misogyny is presented through a nasty word or name-calling, and this is the biggest issue I have with hip-hop being referred to as more misogynistic than other genres. I believe that other genres of music, mostly represented by white men, are so full of misogyny that is internalised and accepted in society, and this is dangerous because it means that we are not always aware of it.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">So if misogyny in hip-hop is mostly presented through the language used, then how is it presented in other genres? Internalised misogyny is not as simple as a woman being referred to in a negative way – instead it reinforces ideas about how women should act, specifically in regards to men, in a way that is subtle and not always recognisable as being negative. The popular-in-2006-on-myspace genre of music known as ‘emo’, or emotional hardcore, is especially responsible for encouraging this way of thinking. I love Brand New, but think of ‘Jude Law and a Semester Abroad’ (sample lyric: “and even if her plane crashes tonight/she’ll find some way to disappoint me/by not burning in the wreckage/or drowning at the bottom of the sea”). Jawbreaker are an amazing band and most of Blake Schwarzenbach’s lyrics are perfect to me, but think of ‘Sluttering’. Dashboard Confessional were the first band I listened to on my walkman in 2004, but think of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>everything Chris Carrabba has ever written.</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>What do these artists all have in common? They are intelligent, middle class, white males who comment sharply and succinctly on social issues and politics and heartbreak and adolescence (Chris Carrabba only gets credit for the last two, though).However, they also rely on the idea of women as being one-dimensional and almost fictional in their attributes and identities. Take Brand New first, for example. In ‘Jude Law and a Semester Abroad’, Jesse Lacey focuses on how the girl mentioned has wronged him, how if a plane crash didn’t bring her imminent death then it would be purely to disappoint him. Basically, the female character exists only as a catalyst for his anger and heartbreak, not as a real person. The same can be seen in ‘Sluttering’ and perhaps most explicitly in many Dashboard Confessional songs. Females are either described as being weak and simpering, purely as a love interest for the protagonist, or as cold-hearted and evil, the source of his pain and frustration. The problem with these representations of women is that they are just not realistic. A woman does not exist purely to appease a man or to justify his anger or hurt. Women are not either one thing or another – we are more than the stereotypes we are presented as in modern music.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">Another issue that arises when discussing misogyny in hip-hop is, inevitably (and rightly so), regarding race. Is it any coincidence that hip-hop music is mostly written and performed by black men? It is easier for a society in which white men hold the most power to accept that it is not ‘one of us’ perpetuating these ideas. It is easier for white people to accept the idea of a black man encouraging violence and oppression against their sisters and daughters than it is to accept that it might be a lot closer to home than that. A lot of this is to do with extremely racist connotations and stereotypes, the idea that black hip-hop artists are all gangbangers and live in ghettos, promoting the kind of lifestyles that respectable white men would never lead. Sadly, it’s easy for society to justify this extremely racist train of thought, as it is a result of a misguided attempt to fight oppression. It’s easier to accept it than it is to challenge it, and this is where we are going wrong.</span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv408201087msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">This is not a denial that misogyny exists in hip-hop. This is not an excuse for the vile language that is used to shame and oppress women by some hip-hop artists. This is not a condemnation of every song written by a white man. This is a wake up call to everyone who believes the stereotype that misogyny is only perpetuated and generated by black men, that calling a woman a bitch or a hoe is the only way in which she can be dismissed or oppressed, that our opinions and choices are made fairly and freely and are not influenced by a society that is white and inherently misogynistic. This is, to paraphrase Biggie Smalls, to all the ladies in the place with style and grace who refuse to accept what society tells us we should accept, and who refuse to accept misogyny only when it is well-hidden and sung to us instead of rapped.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-3071589904067888642012-03-24T08:03:00.009-07:002014-04-29T20:41:39.426-07:00E-LIFE AFTER DEATH<span style="font-style: italic;">(originally posted on Retrograde magazine's website)</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltrrr6B9wk1qbrdf3o1_r2_500.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltrrr6B9wk1qbrdf3o1_r2_500.gif" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 374px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 487px;" /></a><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-GB</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> <w:word11kerningpairs/> <w:cachedcolbalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathpr> <m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"> <m:brkbin val="before"> <m:brkbinsub val="--"> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef/> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">The internet is full of ghosts. From the deepest, darkest, dustiest corners of the World Wide Web to the welcoming home page of your browser, the internet is the ultimate haunting ground if you’re willing to suspend your hard-earned belief that ghosts only exist in horror films. These ghosts aren’t caricatures, like Casper and his merry band of followers. They’re not even really paranormal, in that sense that there are no reports of online poltergeists or heavy demands for browser-exorcisms. This is haunting of a different nature, and the ghosts are of a different nature. Because, after all, what do we really mean when we use the term ‘haunted’? These days, it’s obvious that it has evolved into something less to do with the paranormal and more to do with human nature. We are haunted by death every day but not because we have a direct hotline that links us to ghosts and ghouls and all things terrifying<span style="color: navy;"> <span style="color: black;">- i</span></span>nstead we are haunted in ways that<span style="color: navy;">,</span> to those who have not yet become part of the club<span style="color: navy;">, </span>seem to be almost imperceptible. </span> <br />
<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 10pt;">One of the strongest examples of this daily haunting comes in the form of the internet. If you are reading this, if you are browsing the internet right now, then you are probably a member of some kind of social networking site. If you are a member of a social networking site (be it Facebook, Myspace, or even Bebo – but if it </span><i style="font-family: ''; font-size: 10pt;">is </i><span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 10pt;">Bebo, then ouch) then you will have friends on that site. If your number of friends on that site equals or betters the number of friends of the average user, then I can guarantee that you are being haunted.</span><br />
<div class="ecxmsonormal">
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal">
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">It might take you a while to notice it. You might come across it firstly in the form of a status update about someone’s granddad, someone’s dog, a friend of a friend, which you scroll past too quickly. This kind of ghost is easy to ignore. Then, slowly, it starts inching closer. An acquaintance from school invites you to a memorial group for a mutual friend. Facebook pages dedicated to those who have died in tragic accidents are mentioned in the local newspaper, alongside an obituary. When you google the names of local deaths out of morbid curiousity, you come across blogspot posts, livejournal entries, tumblogs, and tweets before any definitive news articles appear. You’re surrounded by ghosts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"><br />Many people believe that this modernisation of grief is due to the iron grip technology has on the world, and proof that even the starkest human emotions are not immune to it. Borne from this belief is also the opinion that, because they are expressed online in a public setting, these feelings of grief are not completely natural and instead are somewhat doctored and dramatised for their online audience.<span style="color: navy;"> </span>To assume this is not only incorrect but also dangerous, and I think that to reduce online memorials to this is doing the movement (and I believe it definitely is a movement, for better or worse) a great disservice. I do not believe that online memorials have been created as a means of competition, of showing who is ‘grieving the hardest’. I do not believe that they have become popularised purely due to morbid curiosity, although it definitely is a huge factor. I do not believe that a person creates an online memorial simply because the internet is there and we have all become slaves to the proverbial machine. I do not believe that grief which is shared via a social networking site is any less real or deeply felt than grief which is internalised and hidden away (the ‘stiff upper lip’ school of thought) - in fact, I think that one of the main reasons young people in particular turn to the internet when grieving is that it allows them the chance to take hold of it and manage it in a way that is comfortable and familiar to them. I believe that online memorials are simply a modernisation of the ultimate ghost, the thing that haunts every one of us on a daily basis – our fear of death, and our ultimately futile attempts to control it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal">
<span style="color: navy; font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal">
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">When discussing death and the internet, it is impossible not to mention the behemoth of online memorials, mydeathspace.com. In the same way that many people can recall exactly where they were during Princess Diana’s death, or the falling of the twin towers, I can remember exactly where I was when I discovered mydeathspace. I was eighteen years old, fresh out of state school, in my first year of university. I was living behind a book shop on Gower Street and it was the beginning of a new year. I was sitting at my tiny desk, with the Ethernet cable carefully balanced between the wall and my laptop. I can’t remember what exactly I was doing, but I know I’d been reading about the Columbine shootings when the now-familiar skull banner appeared on my screen. I clicked it and my life changed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">Mydeathspace.com is a website and forum dedicated to chronicling and discussing death. In the archive section, you’ll find a depressingly endless list of people who have died in specific ways. They each have their own page, listing at minimum their name, age, date of birth, and a link to their social networking site (hence the name mydeathspace). If you head over to the forum, you will find thread after thread discussing the saddest and strangest deaths.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"><br />My discovery of mydeathspace hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d never been so aware and terrified of my own mortality. The majority of people listed on mydeathspace were my age or younger, and having the links to their social networking sites provided for me meant that I couldn’t ignore them or write them off as another teen tragedy. Mydeathspace offers a level of intimacy that no either grieving process can provide – social networking sites are often no-holds-barred, and comments from friends and family provide another dimension to the deceased that an obituary in a newspaper never will. This is part of the popularity of mydeathspace, and is also where the controversy lies.</span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal">
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">It’s no coincidence that mydeathspace has a Hate Mail section, and a brief glance through the forum only confirms that some people are not very happy at all with the existence of such a website. Mixed in with discussions between users and comments hoping that the deceased will rest in peace are angry postings from family members, friends, and locals, defending the deceased and demanding that the website be taken immediately. There are outcries of offense, of not wanting to read ‘that’ about their child/friend/brother/sister written by a stranger on the internet. This is where part of the main controversy lies – in the idea that by modernising death, by archiving pages after pages of dead youth’s facebooks, mydeathspace is somehow trivialising what happened to them. It’s easy to understand the parents’ point of view – some tragic deaths are horribly exploited on the internet, as in the case of Nikki Catsouras. There are websites that sadly do exist in order to trivialise death and jeer at people who have died and their families, but mydeathspace is not one of them. Instead, I believe that this initial shock and disgust at finding a friend or family member resting within mydeathspace’s archive is linked into our basic human fear of death. With websites like mydeathspace, we are confronted with death head on. It’s lined up and packaged neatly in front of us, archived in black and white. It reinforces the everyday brutality of death, contrasted harshly against the fragility of life. It’s hard to bear. Seeing passport sized photographs of people who could have been so much more, row after row after row of them, is hard to bear. But death exists. It is an absolutely certainty in life. What happens when we choose to ignore it, when we choose to x out and close the page? What kind of memorial are we leaving behind then?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">The other aspect of controversy that mydeathspace brings is not just the general nature of the website, but the specific content. Most people think that sex is the last taboo, but I disagree. It’s death. In this society, it would be pointless to argue against the fact that some deaths are seen as being more desirable and socially acceptable than others. Natural deaths, for example, are acceptable – they are almost comforting, as they seem to suggest that it was the deceased’s ‘time to go’. They fit in with the ideas we have of the world as being just and right. Noble deaths are also acceptable – if someone dies for their country, or whilst saving a life or helping others, the taboo of death is automatically lifted. It’s okay to talk about these deaths, because they are a representation of how good and kind the deceased was. They emphasise their best qualities, and leave a positive memory for those who knew him or her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">Other deaths, however, remain taboo because they are still not seen as socially acceptable. Deaths from drug use or overdose are often not talked about, as society still seems to have the underlying view that if someone is suffering from a drug problem or takes drugs recreationally then they are bad and wrong and therefore their death is not as much of a tragedy. Their death is unnatural and therefore undesirable, but it is not unexpected. Many of the angry comments posted by family members that I mentioned earlier appear in threads regarding a child who died through illicit drug use or overdose – it’s sad but true that many families still cover up drug-related deaths and therefore do not want this news to be readily available. There is the fear that their child will be dirtied, viewed as less valuable, and that they will be remembered as something undesirable, such as a drug addict. What these family memories (perhaps understandably) don’t realise is that mydeathspace is not passing judgement on the way in which any of these people have died. Instead, it is a place where forum members can discuss the death and try and discover what the deceased was like, via their social networking page. Mydeathspace is trying to get us to talk about death, to inform us that no death should be hidden away and viewed as shameful. Only by discussing death and the deceased can we attempt to face our fear of death.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">Suicide is perhaps the most taboo death of all. Although suicide has become more widespread in the news, this does not mean that it has been accepted by society. In fact, suicide is viewed as being perhaps the most undesirable, unacceptable death of all. For most people, it goes directly against their views that life is sacred, and should be lived to the full. Society celebrates life, and it celebrates wanting to live. It sounds hyperbolic, but it is fair to say that everything that exists in our society is an attempt to preserve life, extend life, and give us a better quality of life. This is why suicide cannot be accepted. It is perhaps the saddest, hardest death to come to terms with, not only because mental illness is still so misunderstood. Depression is still seen as shameful and more of a state of mind than an illness – we are taught by society that the acceptable way to respond to depression and mental health issues is to work our way through them and ‘be strong’, which sadly reinforces the idea that depression can be beaten this way by everyone. Once again, mydeathspace does not want us to be shamed into hiding or covering up mental illness, and any death that is a result of it. By offering a forum to discuss suicides, and by linking to the social networking pages of those who have committed suicide, mydeathspace is normalising it and allowing us to see the differences between each suicide, and to understand that anyone can suffer from mental illness. Suicide needs to be more publicised in this way, a way that does not demonise or glamorise it, so that the taboo attached to it is finally removed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal">
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">Mydeathspace ultimately exists because humanity has an almost animalistic desire to control what it is scared of. Death is the final end, the giant full stop. What is said about us in death reflects who we are as people just as much as what is said about us during life does. Online memorials do not trivialise us or make us one dimensional – instead, they capture us as we were in a certain moment and they make us human. I still remember the first mydeathspace article I read. It was for a young girl, Californian, who died when she was 15 years old. Her name was Kate Persten and for days I read her myspace, her last blog entry, and comments from her friends and family. I was immersed in her life, and her myspace made me feel like I knew her, if only for a moment. It offered me a glimpse into her life, the kind of person she was, and the way she interacted with people around her. It made the loss all the more extreme. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "; font-size: 10pt;">When we read obituaries, it is often hard for us to fully connect with them and feel the impact of each death personally. Perhaps this is a good thing. Most obituaries focus on how good the deceased was, how loving, how kind. I do not doubt that any of this is true. Mydeathspace, however, focuses on more than just the words of others when offering a memorial – it allows us to briefly enter the deceased’s life, to get to know them for an hour or so. In doing this, we come to view them as more than just a collection of adjectives. We don’t view them by their full stop. We see their flaws, their bad grammar, their posed pictures and the youtube video they posted the night before it happened. We see them as human, as they were in life rather than death. What could be better than this? With a social network memorial, friends are constantly posting memories, family members are tagging baby pictures, and comments from acquaintances fill up the page on public holidays. They don’t wither like flowers at a grave. I don’t want a tombstone for these years, a sentence supposed to define me that ultimately says nothing about me. I’d rather have a Myspace.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-14758095135413231342012-02-07T10:55:00.000-08:002014-04-29T18:32:23.786-07:00GIRLS ON FILMOr: a list of every female character I've related to or wanted to be soul sisters with.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i628.photobucket.com/albums/uu5/LpianoBatista/StaticTV.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i628.photobucket.com/albums/uu5/LpianoBatista/StaticTV.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 316px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 427px;" /></a><br />
Much has been written about the general demise of society and humanity due to television. According to many articles and textbooks and studies, it is dangerous and soul-sucking and - worst of all - terribly uncultured. If you watch television, you are a couch potato, a mindless drone, a slave to the machine, completely unaware of society and your place in it, happy to be just another cog in the wheel. As well as reinforcing classist ideas and contributing to the school of thought that only that which is educational, and high brow, and ultimately middle class and white, is of cultural significance and worth attaining, this belief that television is destroying our youth and society itself also ignores the main draw of television - how universal it is. T.S. Eliot once said that "Television is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome", but to me this isn't what television is for. One of the main arguments against television is that it turns us passive, and does not allow us the opportunity to connect with other people. I think that this line of thinking is a mistake - television does not exist necessarily to bring us together, or to allow us to relate to one another, or to help us to further understand the (quote) human race. Instead, it holds up a mirror to each individual, and we find parts of ourselves in the characters of the shows we watch, parts we accept and parts we attempt to hide from ourselves and others. Television allows us to examine the dark underbelly of our personal identities. To some, this might seem like a disaster - to me, it's a small victory. <br />
<br />
This examination of identity is especially important in regards to being underprivileged, or a minority. Television is one of the ways in which we can see how others view us ('us', in this case, being women) and the dangerous ways in which this is presented - it is one of the ways in which we can recognise what is right and what is wrong, and what makes us feel ashamed or othered. It is also a way for us to feel a sense of solidarity or support when we find a character we relate to - because women aren't are a general Thing, and a specific female character isn't something that either all women or no women will relate to. She'll have haters, basically, because all women are different and we're gonna want different things in a television character. And that's fine! And that's why it's so important that television speaks to us individually, that it allows us the opportunity and time to relate to characters on our own terms. Television can be a way for the patriachy to once again reinforce female stereotypes, and use women as pawns or 2D characters that exist only in relation to men - but it is also a wonderful antidote to that. Here is a list of my favourite females from the big bad ol' television (and film), girls that I relate to and make me understand that the best and worst parts of me can coexist peacefully (kinda, anyway - I don't think my love of Law and Order SVU coexists too peacefully with working 9-5 and therefore wanting to be able to sleep at night).<br />
<br />
<big><u><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lindsay Weir, Freaks and Geeks</span></u></big><br />
<a href="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly9xacwer11qznt9wo1_500.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly9xacwer11qznt9wo1_500.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 350px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a>Oh, Lindsay. You're a secret math geek and all you want is to be accepted by the local stoners and occasionally kiss Daniel Desario on the mouth (and who can blame you, really?). When I first started watching your show, I coveted your army jacket and your perfect center-parting (my forehead is too big and my fringe too curtain-inclined to even attempt it). You have more guts than me, because I never would have even dared to attempt to approach the freaks on the patio at school when I was 17 and a bit years old. I used to walk around with my walkman in my pocket, listening to Blink 182 and being terribly anxious of everything. Our differences aren't that important, though - what I can relate to is your desire for the big wide world, a life outside of surburbia (your suburbs are a lot nicer than mine ever were, though) and school tests and hanging around with the same crowd every night after school, getting drunk and/or high and wishing you were somewhere else. I can relate to being at that awkward stage when you still want to make your parents proud and get residual guilt about not turning your homework in on time, but also want to be grown up and independent and achingly cool. I relate to your teen angst and wanting the one you can't have and your desperate need to have a life that is your own. Also, that one episode where you smoke a lot of weed and think your life is a dog's dream reminds me of this huge marijuana-induced existential crisis I had in amsterdam when I was nineteen. We were meant to be.<br />
<br />
<big><u><span style="font-weight: bold;">Andie Walsh, Pretty In Pink</span></u></big><br />
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lsbd53b1ta1qbsjqno1_r1_500.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lsbd53b1ta1qbsjqno1_r1_500.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 289px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a>Andie, Andie, Andie. I relate to you in a lot of ways - firstly, we're both ginger and have a penchant for crocheted things and rolling our eyes a lot. Secondly, your friendship with Ducky reminds me of the friendships I've had and lost, and the friendships I have now - hanging out in dive bars, outcasting ourselves at school, telling our life stories to each others parents. And thirdly, most importantly, you are not rich. You are not middle class, you are not wealthy, and you do not fit any of the stereotypes of the working class that the media likes to present to us (jolly, accepting of your lot, poor in wealth but rich in love, etc). You are poor, and you are angrily poor - you are embarrassed by it and frustrated by it and you're trying to be a kid and experience things like first love and making out and prom and all of the other things that people your age are doing, as well as convincing your dad to get a job and trying to stop the boy you like from driving you home because then he'll see that you're not wealthy like him. It's not embarrassing being lower class, and now that we're older we both know that, but when you're a teenager it seems like it's the only thing that matters. The thing that resonates most with me, that made me realise how alike we are, is the moment when you're looking around the expensive department store for a prom dress, and everything seems to scream to you that <span style="font-style: italic;">you don't belong here</span>. The feelings of inadequacy and frustration that result from your attempt to temporarily escape your class could not ring truer.<br />
<br />
<big><u><span style="font-weight: bold;">Olivia Benson, Law and Order: SVU</span></u></big><br />
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lc60s4m2zE1qdnwiro1_500.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lc60s4m2zE1qdnwiro1_500.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 282px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 499px;" /></a>Olivia Benson, my queen, the better half of my favourite duo, and a role model for every girl who wants equality. You are on the list mostly because you deserve it, and also because there are two girls who would probably hate me forever for not including you. As a woman, you have had to fight twice as hard to prove your worth and you make sure that because of this, no other woman is neglected or left behind. <br />
My favourite Olivia moment is in the SVU episode '911', when the department receives a call from a young girl who appears to have been abducted but can't say where, exactly, she is located. The male detectives are about to give up on the case and put it down to being an elaborate prank, but Olivia keeps in touch with the girl, eventually finding and resuing her. What makes this episode more important to me is that it focuses on a Spanish girl who was not born in the USA. Olivia's dedication to finding this girl is in sharp contrast to the degree of focus given to missing white and middle class children in the real world - it's a sad fact that missing persons cases involving people of colour do not involve anywhere near as much publicity or media frenzy. The episode highlights this whilst at the same time also highlighting Olivia's dedication to equality for females everywhere.<br />
<br />
<big><u><span style="font-weight: bold;">Enid Coleslaw and Rebecca Doppelmeyer, Ghost World</span></u></big><br />
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lf57i7begD1qznt9wo1_500.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lf57i7begD1qznt9wo1_500.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 313px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a>Enid and Rebecca, Rebecca and Enid. I remember watching <span style="font-style: italic;">Ghost World</span> for the first time when I was around 14, and it was like walking into a movie that was full of my friends. In my head, I was Enid and my sister was Rebecca, not just because they shared the same name but because she was cooler and more grown up than me - more ready to accept things head on, whereas I wanted to hide under the blanket of high school apathy and sarcasm forever. <br />
What I like most about you, Enid and Rebecca, is that although you may have a lot of teenage angst and faux-hatred directed at the world immediately around you, you have love for each other. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ghost World</span> taught me that it is cool to be yourself and roll your eyes at popular people who tell shitty jokes and want to keep in touch after graduation, but also that it is cool to love your friends and to have that one person who totally Gets You and will be your partner in crime. Enid, you hid your insecurities and uncertainty about the world behind cat-eye glasses and punk rock hair and cynical witticisms - I hid mine behind <span style="font-style: italic;">The Smiths</span> and battered converse and going to gigs and an online blog about how much school sucked. What I can relate to most is that, under your cool exterior, you were scared of leaving a world where you were known and recognised, where you were sure of what your place was - high school outcast, hater of suburbia and lover of old jazz. You were scared of the real world and having to forge an identity in it and having to make your mark because without the context of small town life and high school, you weren't really sure who you were. Neither was I.<br />
<br />
<big><u><span style="font-weight: bold;">Betty Rizzo, Grease</span></u></big><br />
<a href="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lrq5knxJHl1qmfgr8o1_500.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lrq5knxJHl1qmfgr8o1_500.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 211px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a>This used to be a guilty confession, but now I've accepted it as fact and can pretty much deal with everyone knowing it - when I was growing up, <span style="font-style: italic;">Grease</span> was my <span style="font-style: italic;">life</span>. Between the ages of around 6-10, the majority of my memories are spliced with various scenes from the musical. One of my favourite things to do back then was to dress up in a cardigan courtesy of my grandmother, flip out my hair, and sing <span style="font-style: italic;">Hopelessly Devoted to You</span>, even though I knew back then that Sandy was kind of a drip. My go-to character was Frenchy, because I wanted her pink hair and also for a pop star-slash-angel to descend from the sky and serenade me in a diner someday. However, I was always in awe of Rizzo - I didn't even attempt to mimic her outfits or mannerisms or songs, because I knew no one else could do them justice.<br />
Rizzo is not the kind of girl I am but the kind of girl I want to be, or at least have as a friend. When I was younger, I wanted nothing more than to go to her sleepovers and get wine-drunk and climb out of the bedroom room at midnight to go and meet boys. I wanted someone who would guide the way for this kind of lifestyle for me but he or she never turned up, so I resorted to drinking whiskey alone in my room instead. I wanted to know someone as fearless and loyal as Rizzo, someone who did exactly what she liked and was ahead of her time and was unashamedly pro-sex, pro-alcohol, pro-doing whatever the fuck you want, at a time when women were not supposed to act like that. Amen.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqPkmZc2roM9GgcUNCVE3wLHs6T65wFt2jfiupAFg3XcYhhsdy3MQ544COr4XgJBCuOdfPzwOnZMuLx_qv-bnQFWKXqWylCgukxylzuMOwhhwnrP60unn-6w7oNBOy79Ad4y8KrkGILbo/s1600/plathin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqPkmZc2roM9GgcUNCVE3wLHs6T65wFt2jfiupAFg3XcYhhsdy3MQ544COr4XgJBCuOdfPzwOnZMuLx_qv-bnQFWKXqWylCgukxylzuMOwhhwnrP60unn-6w7oNBOy79Ad4y8KrkGILbo/s1600/plathin.png" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<big><u><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lisa Simpson, The Simpsons</span></u></big><br />
Lisa Simpson stole my heart when I was around five years old and watching <span style="font-style: italic;">The Simpsons</span> was something I did every weekend with my sister and my grandpa. It's fair to say I grew up with her - <i>The Simpsons</i> premiered the year I was born and 22 years later, I'm still watching it.<br />
Lisa might be a four-fingered, 8 year old, yellow cartoon character but she's also many other things that I can relate to - a feminist, a vegetarian, an avid reader, fiercely dedicated to social issues and fighting injustice, as well as casually name-dropping Gore Vidal in conversation. As well as this, I can also relate to her attempting to find her place in her family of oddballs - she's at that time in her life where you start to realise that maybe your parents don't know everything, and that you potentially share fundamentally different views on certain topics, and it's awkward and sad and strange and you end up trying desperately to hold onto your own beliefs whilst fitting them around the beliefs of your family, kind of like a giant game of Tetris.<br />
There are many articles floating around the internet praising Lisa Simpson for being the only truly feminist tv character - whilst I don't believe she's the only one, she is one of the best examples of one. She might conform to gender norms in that she plays with a malibu stacy doll, but she creates a modern apartment for the doll with a kitchen where she can print her "weekly feminist newspaper", which shows that she is more than aware of the stereotypes placed upon women in society and how dangerous they can be. She also enjoys <span style="font-style: italic;">The Itchy and Scratchy Show</span>, a cartoon that depicts violence which is usually targeted towards a male audience. Despite being a 2D cartoon drawing she is not a 2D character - she often struggles with what she believes about feminism in theory and implementing that into the real (ok, real-cartoon) world, which makes her seem all the more human. Also, in one episode she takes on the malibu stacy company by creating her own talking doll, which includes the catchphrase "<span style="font-style: italic;">When I get married, I'm keeping my own name!</span>". Pretty badass for an 8 year old.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-92216969079457920822012-01-03T14:11:00.001-08:002012-10-10T12:09:50.146-07:00THIS IS A LIST #4<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVPSoxzrMNvyOxwzmmw_s2zXNocbUtTMhFIms8b0t__rys2BwLbNhlBsOqwTdiA83CyRwT0Wjfy_DsISyxvQKxUuX1uT0bBaosyNipDanPCG9huNrzHVDl1uNFs-sS6GFLkjBbcF0dVh0/s1600/Photo_00144.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693535212109605890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVPSoxzrMNvyOxwzmmw_s2zXNocbUtTMhFIms8b0t__rys2BwLbNhlBsOqwTdiA83CyRwT0Wjfy_DsISyxvQKxUuX1uT0bBaosyNipDanPCG9huNrzHVDl1uNFs-sS6GFLkjBbcF0dVh0/s400/Photo_00144.bmp" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 303px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
Hey dudes! I have been M.I.A for a while due to life kind of getting in the way of the internet (by 'life' I mean drinkin' a lot of gin, catching up with old friends, and plenty of law and order reruns. Also, Christmas!) I have a few posts in the works, but I'm the kind of person who will starting writing about one topic, then either fall asleep/get drunk/start playing bubblegame.org and completely forget about it. Repeat this for a few days, only with different topics, and you'll kinda understand the state that my blogspot dashboard is in...first drafts everywhere. Perhaps this is why I failed so much at being a good university student. That and my ethernet cable and £2 bottles of wine from tesco.<br />
<br />
Anyway, in the time that has passed since I last posted here, I celebrated christmas, celebrated the beginning of the new year, bought a skateboard, reunited with my first love (books, and a hell of a lot of em at that), cut off half my hair due to tremendous boredom, and had my first article published by the wonderful <a href="http://retrogrademagazine.com/">Retrograde magazine</a>. Retrograde focuses on issues that are perhaps not as extensively covered as they should be, specialising in feminism and controversial subjects, and I'm proud to be a part of it. Read my article E-life After Death', which focuses on the rise and controversy of social networking memorials, <a href="http://retrogrademagazine.com/shock-value/controversy-e-life-after-death">here</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-63657536167915808152011-11-09T12:42:00.000-08:002012-10-10T12:08:30.151-07:00WEIRD SCIENCE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9xHRg6q_Q5y-_uqQPX3fpRRmDrO5Bq75C5eap-dYOMeR4cAf8OnUbxT9DReX5XF-Z_h8hGaLzVqr3-sVIP4_rKrrMu8784gC9HuFk0KsGouDw0yUzUepDLCxWhnlAEiErOK8smxRGktP/s1600/Photo_00099.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673154611092666114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9xHRg6q_Q5y-_uqQPX3fpRRmDrO5Bq75C5eap-dYOMeR4cAf8OnUbxT9DReX5XF-Z_h8hGaLzVqr3-sVIP4_rKrrMu8784gC9HuFk0KsGouDw0yUzUepDLCxWhnlAEiErOK8smxRGktP/s400/Photo_00099.bmp" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
So I fell and ripped up my knee a whole lot and now it's kinda gangrenous and oh man there is literally no physical feeling in the world that can beat pulling-your-skintight-black-drainpipes-and-a-few-layers-of-skin-away-from-the-graze-they've become-cemented-to in terms of pain.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.tukurukbezi.com/images/stone-retrievel-from-the-salivary-glan-duct-with-wirebasket.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.tukurukbezi.com/images/stone-retrievel-from-the-salivary-glan-duct-with-wirebasket.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 550px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 536px;" /></a>(<span style="font-style: italic;">the extraction of a salivary stone</span>)<br />
<br />
November has only just begun and already it seems like it's gonna be the month of weird/gross illnesses and afflictions. I had tonsillitis last week and I couldn't stop inspecting my throat. I even took pictures. It was interesting until I got to the third day of not being able to eat or sleep. Those are my only hobbies so life was pretty bleak for a while. <br />
Also, a lady I work with bought in a saliva stone to show us. It looked like an orange pip and it had been growing in her mouth under her tongue for a while, until it all burst open and this orange-pip-lookin' thing came flying out. Unreal. She's keeping it as a memento and I told her that I look forward to seeing what other foreign objects she might have growing inside her. Maybe we can start a museum. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix52AIuzrMd9_UqK3xe-EcPjODXq8-RuJmPi9UaC3kAZH6so57e6ZItdyP9WE8mvia6tQY8lZ6o6Z2NZJOcmX9SWeEAZYN1sP5ZEoWRMB6g-pi7TWNH0gDiKrfLogNaBRd7O9VLCMDw9Ot/s1600/Berlin+103.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673166772330290898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix52AIuzrMd9_UqK3xe-EcPjODXq8-RuJmPi9UaC3kAZH6so57e6ZItdyP9WE8mvia6tQY8lZ6o6Z2NZJOcmX9SWeEAZYN1sP5ZEoWRMB6g-pi7TWNH0gDiKrfLogNaBRd7O9VLCMDw9Ot/s400/Berlin+103.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a>(<span style="font-style: italic;">colon with elephantitis</span>)<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, when I travelled to Berlin earlier this year I made a point of visiting the <span style="font-style: italic;">Berliner Medizinhistorisches Museum der Charité</span>. It's a tiny museum hidden away by the river and it's entirely dedicated to medical oddities and illnesses. As you walk up the rickety stairs into the first display room, you are confronted by old medical devices, cut open skulls, wax faces with different types of eye infections and leakages carefully sculpted and labelled. There's the perfectly poised hand of a skeleton behind a glass partition. Another room is almost transformed into a hospital wing, with hospital beds and treatments throughout history set up for various maladies. A lot of them are not unlike torture devices (or at least what a naive 20-something imagines torture devices to look like.)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoQGcpzPrs5vdwuXxyVgsFJlXiUy2tE8fskLicezra_LNvTHqMMblCxrqAfoxEvXRtJxUCnnsQ18G2lz9D0wTh5yc8JsIHbT4QJ9OKIMOTobnIHrJeKPsPZAWtOjSVAu8YrROpqBosduy/s1600/Berlin+095.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673167171755753666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoQGcpzPrs5vdwuXxyVgsFJlXiUy2tE8fskLicezra_LNvTHqMMblCxrqAfoxEvXRtJxUCnnsQ18G2lz9D0wTh5yc8JsIHbT4QJ9OKIMOTobnIHrJeKPsPZAWtOjSVAu8YrROpqBosduy/s400/Berlin+095.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>(<span style="font-style: italic;">selection of brains</span>)<br />
<br />
The room that draws the most crowds, however, is at the top of the museum and hidden away behind another exhibition. Part of me thinks that this is done for effect, so that the room is even more impressive when it is eventually reached, and the other part of me thinks that it is borne out of fear. Fear of the response from that great beast The General Public, fear that the museum will be deemed not medical and informative but grim and macabre. Fear of, as I mentioned in an earlier post, the taboo of death in our society.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaew9eXcQYWq_jdQenDRElBcZ2_k19p6h6S1hAJut-6jqKhdc5zoVvQ2_ANPUwXkkva3CxHTiY79I_KI9pVdrIL0DhZjAc1ShZKuyZId81qMQZGDgcPj-Y2bO8wH9oJW3j5BdynpHcOr6F/s1600/Berlin+097.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673167480396723058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaew9eXcQYWq_jdQenDRElBcZ2_k19p6h6S1hAJut-6jqKhdc5zoVvQ2_ANPUwXkkva3CxHTiY79I_KI9pVdrIL0DhZjAc1ShZKuyZId81qMQZGDgcPj-Y2bO8wH9oJW3j5BdynpHcOr6F/s400/Berlin+097.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 288px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>(<span style="font-style: italic;">tattooed skin</span>)<br />
<br />
The top room in the museum is host to a wide range of strange, hideous, sad creatures. When you first walk in you're greeted by rows of display shelves, similar to bookcases. They reach the ceiling. The room is clinical and dark and cold. To someone who has never been in a science lab, it feels exactly like a science lab. It's almost like the museum is appealing to our unconscious desire - the desire to be viewed as scientists, not spectators. The first 'bookshelf' of oddities is mostly feet and hands - feet with elephantitis, feet that have toes missing. Hands with arthritis and crooked fingers. It's disturbing, but it feels almost detached and impersonal. It's difficult to look at those hands floating in jars of preservative and feel any connection or sadness. As you move beyond the row of hands, there are hearts, livers, an elephantised colon that is so huge it has its own table. There are scraps of tattooed skin perfectly preserved in jars - one that caught my eye was a pinup style woman tattooed onto what was once an arm. It's unsettling.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7ojypW9l8FfsL9RN4E3g-lme_06xKjap7XjNtcWPagifeU-vmWmiwJEqhAXD_GpjGGmvl4nSCpjpZnUX3NbYHpdbZndff49ehiunhyphenhyphenmrdjYepDO6vNHL4R1yLa_T2qOITclSow2Nww-Q/s1600/Berlin+092.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673167758376166834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7ojypW9l8FfsL9RN4E3g-lme_06xKjap7XjNtcWPagifeU-vmWmiwJEqhAXD_GpjGGmvl4nSCpjpZnUX3NbYHpdbZndff49ehiunhyphenhyphenmrdjYepDO6vNHL4R1yLa_T2qOITclSow2Nww-Q/s400/Berlin+092.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>(<span style="font-style: italic;">enlarged skull</span>)<br />
<br />
Perhaps most unsettling of all is when you reach the back of the room, past the hearts and the blackened lungs and the solitary penis (I'm a teenager forever, and I laughed when I saw it, okay). There are rows of unborn fetuses, stillborn babies, babies with oversized skulls. there are siamese twins connected forever in the same jar. A baby that choked itself with the umbilical cord, preserved with it still wrapped around its neck. It's miserable and horrifying and bleak. It really fucks up any poetic whitmanesque ideas of death you might have. It makes life seem like a conveyer belt, cold and clinical and unimportant. All of us just something to add to the shelf. Perhaps a depressing revelation - but I was 21 years old and alone in Berlin, perhaps the only city that will not bury its mistakes, and it didn't feel like an ending to me. The bombed out hulk of the Kaiser Wilhelm stands next to a busy tourist street, a complete monument to loss. Part of the Berlin wall remains as the east side gallery, graffittied with all of the things that no one can really put into words. I got my picture taken next to a recreation of the Checkpoint Charlie, counted the memorial stones placed outside the reichstag in remembrance. The museum of medical history seemed to me like another part of this, another refusal to ignore history and the uglier parts of society - war, disease, death. visiting it and seeing humanity laid out barely on those shelves was less of a depressing realisation and more of a call to arms. Remember the past, but move with it. Don't let it define you or ruin you.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xYbOv_8Or9-yuS0ncp-_vcK6ij-TVjEDn4VWADyN5861k7qUpaJ6hQKn3aQSaQbxvY5Qf6ja5vgOKRSgRajxX427wOdFXdWALJkejOkED_PVUK-FsHakuona70VhAMeV9N8UcSkYN3xh/s1600/Berlin+084.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673168083513907490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xYbOv_8Or9-yuS0ncp-_vcK6ij-TVjEDn4VWADyN5861k7qUpaJ6hQKn3aQSaQbxvY5Qf6ja5vgOKRSgRajxX427wOdFXdWALJkejOkED_PVUK-FsHakuona70VhAMeV9N8UcSkYN3xh/s400/Berlin+084.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 310px;" /></a>(<span style="font-style: italic;">skeleton</span>)<br />
<br />
Here's a list of cool/weird/inconceivable illnesses and afflictions that I found when I was jobless and more prone to hypochondria and overreaction:<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capgras_delusion">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capgras_delusion</a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stendhal_syndrome">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stendhal_syndrome</a><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Hula-hoop Intestine<br />On February 26, 1992, Beijing worker Xu Denghai was hospitalised with a twisted intestine after playing excessively with a hula-hoop. His was the third case in the several weeks since a hula-hoop craze had swept China. The Beijing evening news advised people to warm up before playing, and to avoid hula-hooping straight after eating</span><br />
<a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/1402616.stm">cutlery cravers!</a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reduplicative_paramnesia">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reduplicative_paramnesia</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/sites/entrez?db=pubmed&cmd=Retrieve&list_uids=11407534">Uncombable hair syndrome</a>! <a href="http://dermatlas.med.jhmi.edu/derm/result.cfm?Diagnosis=491001639">This exists!</a><br />
<br />
(Pix are my own, <a href="http://www.bmm.charite.de/index_engl.htm">http://www.bmm.charite.de/index_engl.htm</a>)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-48311891657013101022011-10-28T10:22:00.000-07:002014-04-29T18:33:55.826-07:00THIS IS A LIST #3<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxP-BzaS-WAvfGCd1POWF899-tggwQCEt_HMWNziveS51b-ilsjU2pY8Qo4y_B8JdQO2UYBWEyRKEjzqcj5KVeBL-HhQyKhJFbH6oDnSPD9hXHaZ6dLHim1PSAaE_k1UVXtbY0vM6hAHc/s1600/Photo_00064.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxP-BzaS-WAvfGCd1POWF899-tggwQCEt_HMWNziveS51b-ilsjU2pY8Qo4y_B8JdQO2UYBWEyRKEjzqcj5KVeBL-HhQyKhJFbH6oDnSPD9hXHaZ6dLHim1PSAaE_k1UVXtbY0vM6hAHc/s400/Photo_00064.bmp" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668609634745357410" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 280px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
I bleached more of my hair and bust up my lip but apart from that my stupid face is still the same.<br />
<br />
Over the past week my life has lost a fat chunk of meaning - I've finally finished <span style="font-style: italic;">The Magus</span> and I don't know what to do with myself. Before I get really emo about my life and its lack of direction in any sense of the word, just let me talk about how fucking good <span style="font-style: italic;">The Magus</span> is because, really, how fucking good is <span style="font-style: italic;">The Magus</span>? Poetic, weird, far too clever for its own good - it wooed me. I have fallen in love with a lot of books but this is the first one that has ever wooed me. Some paragraphs would literally make me swoon. This one:<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">It is not only species of animal that die out, but whole species of feeling. And if you are wise you will never pity the past for what it did not know, but pity yourself for what it did.</span><br />
<br />
And this:<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">I saw that I was from now on, for ever, contemptible. I had been and remained, intensely depressed, but I had also been, and always would be, intensely false; in existentialist terms, inauthentic. I knew I would never kill myself, I knew I would always want to go on living with myself, however hollow I became, however diseased.</span><br />
<br />
And this!<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Between skin and skin, there is only light.</span><br />
<br />
How can one man be so capable of reducing the human race to a beautifully realised sentence? How did John Fowles dip into my brain and pull out all of those icky reprehensible feelings we all seem to suffer from? He's going on my list, right up there with Richard Brautigan and Dave Foster Wallace. The true loves of my life.<br />
<br />
In other news I am drinking cheap red wine (contained in a plastic bottle, y'all) and worrying about money and getting angry about money and constantly feeling the weight of this giant chip on my shoulder whenever I hear the word <span style="font-style: italic;">wealth</span>. Or read a message from a friend who's moved out of this town. Or drive past the only private school in Northampton. Or even hear the clink two coins make when they hit together. Nothing makes me bitter and old like money does.<br />
I'm alleviating all of the above with alcohol and <span style="font-style: italic;">Freaks & Geeks</span>. I'm focusing on saving up, moving out, still considering Montreal, still considering Berlin, Amsterdam, Mexico, anywhere but the Midlands. Please. When I leave Northampton it has to be for good because if I come back again my life won't ever be mine, it'll be theirs. It'll belong to this town and so will I. I feel like I paid off my debts a long time ago.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-22407651004737388302011-09-29T09:19:00.000-07:002012-10-10T12:01:41.130-07:00MCCULTURE<a href="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lo4x32bXje1qznt9wo1_500.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lo4x32bXje1qznt9wo1_500.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 372px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Before I start this post I guess I better clarify that I work in a basement office with glass walls, cheap carpeting, very little sunlight, and even less people. There is a drinks machine directly outside that occasionally spits out sour, tepid coffee (not a day goes by that I don’t wish it was gin) and an angry-looking cleaner who half-heartedly vacuums the floor and always managed to catch the back of my heels when I walk past. This job isn’t due to choice (not in the way we usually define it, anyway) but rather a lack of money, lack of direction, and lack of any tangible skill or talent. It is definitely, completely, one hundred percent a ‘McJob’ as defined by Douglas Coupland in the seminal 20-something life-angst handbook, Generation X. <br />
<br />
A McJob just about covers bills and the occasional cheap bottle of moonshine, but is ultimately menial, dull, undesirable, and unsatisfying. In Coupland’s book, which focuses on three friends who have come of age during the ‘baby boomer’ era and the subsequent downfall of this area, scenes of the characters either working or drinking or complaining about their McJobs are contrasted against short ‘end of the world’ type scenarios in which love and sex and death are all discussed in uncomfortably close proximity. To me, these scenes of disaster and destruction (and perverse excitement! after all, who hasn’t had fantasies concerning the ultimate demise of the only world they know?) further the contrast between the dull, repetitive, conveyer-belt feeling of working at a McJob and the secret longing we all have of desperately wanting to be taken away from a life that doesn’t change. At its core, Coupland’s novel focuses on the most basic human connection, that one thing we have in common- the idea that we’re all waiting for the future to happen, and that if something destroys us or if the world ends before the future comes along, then at least we are not to blame for the shitheaps that our lives are/were. Our shitty McJobs and 20-something graduate pipe dreams that will remain pipe dreams and our inability to ditch the former for the latter can therefore not be given the terrifying description of being a choice, a conscious decision. Or, worse of all, the word that strikes fear into the heart of every 20-something: a 'lifestyle'. <br />
<br />
If something invariably out of our control changes our lives in an unexpected way, then it cannot be our fault that the future we longed for never arrived. It’s the same as dying young, in some kind of horrible accident – instead of being pathetic, you’re an inspiration. Instead of being lazy or scared, you’re tragic. A huge, definable event happened to you that took away your choice and that makes sense to us – it is a solid excuse, a reason, unlike the small, indefinable things that ruin us every day.<br />
Because (and this will make me sound even more perverse than before, I don’t doubt it, and I’m really sorry you guys), I'm certain that the majority of people with McJobs wake up some days praying for disaster. A freak accident involving the photocopier. a sinkhole that opens directly underneath the Burger King. Sometimes, when I'm sitting at my desk and inputting data into my 50th mortgage application of the day, I find myself thinking about what I would do in all of these strange, unexpected scenarios. It's easy to completely live in your own head when you're working a McJob and while I'm more than happy to do this, a lot of people aren't. And here, due to this ultimate basic human need for contact, for connection, I present to you something that I like to call McCulture.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lciw4aVXdX1qdaaw6o1_400.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lciw4aVXdX1qdaaw6o1_400.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 292px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 390px;" /></a><br />
<br />
McCulture, to me, is something born out of offices and staff rooms and stock cupboards and McJobs. McCulture is the kind of thing discussed over cheap coffee on monday mornings, during cigarette breaks, on the shared bus journey home with an almost-stranger. McCulture is what society usually deems to be 'low' culture - it's the x factor on saturday nights, it's Take A Break instead of The Times, it's fast food and the top 40 and anything that is cheap and easily accessible to the mainstream. It appeals to the majority and this is why it cultivates and survives so well in McJobs. <br />
The idea of McCulture and its importance in the workplace first because apparent to me a few fridays ago when I was discussing the weekend with a colleague (yeah, that old stereotype). I said that I would mostly be doing the usual, which in my life seems to consist of drinking too much gin, napping a lot during the day, and eating jalapeno sandwiches. However, I added that this weekend I would be deviating from this slightly - I would be watching the X Factor on Saturday! Before my colleague could reply, another one turned to me, almost flabbergasted, and said "Why the <span style="font-style: italic;">fuck</span> would you want to do that?"<br />
<br />
Maybe it's important to go slightly backwards at this point. The idea of McCulture and its importance in general first became apparent to me when I was fifteen years old. I was sitting in my year 11 Religious Studies class, the only class I attended religiously (hah!) and cared much about. We were discussing ethics, the general concept of what is 'good' and what is 'bad', and my teacher opened up a pre-made powerpoint display on the projector. It featured two men, old looking, with funny wigs and extravagant clothes. One was stern and hard-faced, the other plumper and almost smiling. Perhaps there is some truth to the idea that what people believe on the inside influences how they appear on the outside (this life lesson courtesy of The Twits', thx Roald Dahl) because the first guy, the hard-faced dude, is named John Stuart Mill and next to his picture, my teacher had listed the quote "Better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied". I could picture John Stuart Mill saying this, and I didn't doubt that he meant it at all (the term 'pig' teamed with his facial expression seemed exceptionally grim and awful to me). Next to Bentham, however, were the words, "Pushpin is as good as poetry."<br />
<br />
I'm gonna try and simplify this now, in order to explain it to you guys and also to prove to myself that I still have some basic philosophical knowledge in my brain that hasn't been punched out by alcohol. <br />
When Mill stated that it is better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied, he was obviously referring to the philosopher Socrates, well-known for his admonition that "I only know that I know nothing". By saying that he would rather be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied, Mill is saying that he would rather be constantly striving for intelligence and answers that would lead him to being unhappy or unsettled with his life, than to take pleasure in simpler things and be happy. Basically, he fancied up the phrase that "ignorance is bliss" a whole lot, which makes sense when you consider that his opinion is based on his own idea that some pleasures (aka the intelligent ones) and hobbies are more beneficial and 'good' than other, simpler ones.<br />
Bentham, however, believed wholeheartedly that pushpin really was as good as poetry. By this, he meant that one should not differentiate between 'intellectual' and simpler pleasures, and should not place higher importance on those that are intellectual rather than simple. Bentham was my kinda guy, really - he believed that as long as a pleasure wasn't harming someone, then it didn't matter whether it lead to intellectual gain or just provided fun. Basically, Bentham defined McCulture.<br />
<br />
A lot of people seem to agree with the Mill version of culture, though - the idea that the only culture that is valid or marks you as a worthy member of society is one that is intellectually driven. To accept this as right, and to believe that some people hold more weight than others due to their interests being of a 'higher' culture, is extremely problematic to me. Without getting too school-sociology-textbook on you, it assumes that everyone has the same access to intellectual and simple materials - that someone who reads Take A Break will have had the same education and upbringing as someone who reads The Times. That someone who watches the X Factor does so because they are lazy and incapable of absorbing anything more intellectual. To say that the only valid culture is that of fine food and not junk food, good wine and not cheap beer, literature and not teen fiction, 'real' tv and not reality tv, is to deny that culture is more than just a choice. That it's more than just deciding to read a magazine because it's easier than a novel. That it's not a matter of class and money and access and privilege and all of those other buzzwords, but personal choice. And that's bullshit.<br />
I don't mean to suggest that i'm against intellectual culture - I like books more than people and I appreciate a good documentary from time to time. I just don't think that it should be seen as better than McCulture, just because McCulture is more accessible - a culture that is directed towards every class rather than those who can just afford it.<br />
<br />
So, to the dude who asked me why the fuck I'd want to subject myself to the x factor on a Saturday night, I say - why not? Pushpin <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> as good as poetry, after all, and I'm gonna make sure that I enjoy both. This weekend I'll be watching the X Factor with a bottle of Gordon's finest gin resting in my lap. I'll be eating pizza and reading John Fowles. I'm not trying to prove how much of a special snowflake I am, how much of a contradiction - because these cultures, these higher and lower pleasures, should not be contradictory in the first place. It all comes down to the basic principle of 'Do what you love and fuck the rest' - a modernisation of Bentham's philosophy, in my opinion. Eat junk food. Drink fine wine. Watch the Cartoon Network. Watch the Geography Channel. Read gossip magazines. Read poetry. And always, always, play pushpin.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-5561161693057350912011-09-07T09:19:00.000-07:002012-10-10T11:51:48.170-07:00FOREVER YOUNG<a href="http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lnmyilKiMz1qjcvvio1_500.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lnmyilKiMz1qjcvvio1_500.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 377px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
<br />
So lately I seem to be regressing inexplicably back to my teenage years in every single way (fashion sense, emotional maturity, eating habits, pop-culture references) and due to this I just finished reading a stack of John Green books, as well as fitting in a quick re-read of The Perks of Being a Wallflower (and to the doubters, the naysayers, all I have to say is shut up shut upppp I will always have a place in my heart for good YA fiction). <br />
<br />
The John Green book I completed most recently was read in a night and is called Looking For Alaska. It was the first book Green wrote and it focuses on angsty 16 year old Miles and his search for what he calls 'the great perhaps' - a search that leads him to boarding school, a roommate with poverty-ridden blood, and the first love of his short life, a girl named Alaska. The idea of 'the great perhaps' comes from writer Francois Rabelais's last words - at death, he believed that it was what he was going to seek. The ambiguity of Rabelais's last words, the lack of conviction, is almost delightfully morbid to me. <br />
<br />
Back to the book. Miles, our 16 year old protagonist, is obsessed with last words. He reads biographies of famous authors, poets, musicians, etc, and he classifies these biographies as failures if they do not include the words the various subjects uttered on their deathbeds. Add to this a kickass philosophy teacher, a lot of teenage alcoholism and heavy petting, and references to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and you have a winning combination. I mean, awesome. A 16 year old as idealistic and alcoholic and death obsessed as I used to be. How could I not fall in love with this book? <br />
<br />
Weirdly, Looking For Alaska offered me a lot more than the rose-tinted nostalgia I expected. It comforted me. At first, I felt weird and slightly perverted at feeling this about a book aimed at teenagers - as if it's just further proof that I'll never turn 'fully adult', that I'll never obtain the life I wish due to the ultimate failure of not being able to grow up properly. Looking for Alaska is the kind of book I needed when I was 16, not just for its tragic undertones and realistic/optimistic psalms on teenage life, but for its constant mention of death and what happens when we die. 'The great perhaps'. It's fair to say I was death-obsessed as a teenager. Who isn't? 16 years old was probably my turning point, the year I realised that I was not invincible. <br />
<br />
I spent a lot of time listening to The Smiths, having 3am existential crisises, setting my alarm clock to ring habitually through the night so that I would know if I was gonna die in my sleep and successfully be roused from it (how a ringing alarm clock would ward off death if I truly was at its door, I obviously never really gave much thought to...). It was dark, it was miserable, it was unhealthy and it was morbid as fuck. Most of these feelings stemmed from embarrassment, the very English school of thought of keeping a stiff upper lip and Not Talking About It. I wrote about death and its effects constantly for english and philosophy assignments, turning the essays into Chuck Palahniuk-esque one shoulder shrugs about the futility of life, its utter banality and lack of importance (I was 16, okay, and I'd never read anything as blase as fight club before in my life). <br />
<br />
Therefore, Miles' obsession with death in Looking For Alaska is, to use that familiar cliche, a breath of fresh air in teenage literature. I was recently reading through a list of <a href="http://www.banned-books.org.uk/sections/corrosive">banned books aimed at teenagers</a> and was interested (but not surprised) to see how many of them were banned due to being sexually explicit or pornographic. I noticed that hardly any of the books, if any at all, were banned for containing death and death-related topics. This isn't because these issues are accepted by the book-banners (what an ominous name for them, by the way - I didn't mean to make it sound quite so ominous, but I think it sums up the ridiculousness of these people pretty well) and society, but simply because hardly anyone is writing about death, not least specifically directed at teenagers and their obsession with death. It's often been said that sex is the last taboo in our society and, looking at the above list, this may appear to be true until you realise that these 'pornographics' books are only plentiful in being banned because so many authors are desperate to write about these issues. So maybe sex isn't the last taboo - death is. This is why I wish Looking For Alaska had been around when I was 16 - sex was intimate and awkward and everywhere, and death was just as intimate and awkward, only we didn't have a guide written by Jacqueline Wilson on how to deal with it.<br />
<br />
Basically, the point of this (long-winded, rushed, haphazard) post is that many people who consider themselves true readers may eschew the YA genre and stick only to their penguin copies and their modern classics. I remember a year or so ago, I got the craving for some good YA fiction that only a copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower could solve. I dug out my copy (which is really a lie, I didn't have to dig very far) and read it everywhere except in public. On the bus to work, I carried a copy of White Noise' instead. On the train, I read a collection of poetry by Richard Siken. I was ashamed to be seen with a teenagers book, to be marked out as illiterate or slow or uneducated. I could delve a lot deeper into this, write an essay about how the problem with this situation lies within those judging the reader and not the reader him/herself (or his/her choice of reading materials) - but basically, my point is that people who believe young adult fiction is only for teenagers, and therefore both the teenagers and the books are gossipy and bland and throwaway, are doing both the authors and the readers of YA fiction a great disservice. <br />
<br />
My days of reading YA fiction may mostly be behind me, and I might now spend most of my time on amazon browsing the adult fiction section, but YA fiction is what guided me through the first awkward stages of adult life. David Foster Wallace is one of my favourite writers, but I learnt about the Pixies and escaping town from Brave New Girl. Richard Brautigan is the only man I'll ever love, but Hairstyles of the Damned coached me in teenage fumblings and punk music before I even cared about love. Bukowski taught me how to drink like a fish, but The Perks of Being a Wallflower taught me how to drink poetically and be good to my friends. And then there's the big one, the behemoth, the novel that all future YA writers secretly aspire to write the sequel to - The Catcher in the Rye, and it taught me about loneliness and how to cultivate it, perhaps the most important lesson you can learn at 16. <br />
<br />
A lot of people think that YA adult novels don't teach anyone anything new and instead rehash the past and present it to more impressionable audiences, therefore rendering the genre useless. The truth is that they do teach us, and more than that they're also a reference point for us as we get older - they keep us in check and offer us a place to reflect on where it all went wrong or right. <br />
To quote John Green in Will Grayson, Will Grayson', "Unrequited love can be survived in a way that once-requited love cannot". Thankfully, my love for YA fiction is both unrequited and neverending. How's that for a lesson?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-64614356609468111592011-08-30T11:38:00.000-07:002014-04-29T18:33:46.949-07:00THIS IS A LIST #2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEujwCyZGz2EAWhvoS-h_zACA0eRETLnwG9fWmAb71tnNH1-8YZ6Kty3w82w6Sj-5OaSogn7TikBsYfyAf9I3S3zscuJ8qT6qTjIltdb88oqeYdmBLr_xFxdUy4B6OC6TAG-rss8EsfQO/s1600/snapshot%252810%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEujwCyZGz2EAWhvoS-h_zACA0eRETLnwG9fWmAb71tnNH1-8YZ6Kty3w82w6Sj-5OaSogn7TikBsYfyAf9I3S3zscuJ8qT6qTjIltdb88oqeYdmBLr_xFxdUy4B6OC6TAG-rss8EsfQO/s400/snapshot%252810%2529.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646722553766434418" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Back to work with a headache, a backpack full of pills, and the last hurrah of a three day hangover still in my bloodstream. Sat through slideshow after slideshow after slideshow and slowly and methodically picked away the skin from around my fingernails. Distracted myself through important meetings by thinking about the awesome lives I could be living (all of them imaginary and terribly impossible, of course). Richard Brautigan killed himself September 14th, David Foster Wallace September 12th. Two of the only men who ever stood by me, two of the only men I ever felt even vaguely on the same page as. September is always the saddest month, but I guess I have some things to look forward to - my friends coming together in the same town for a weekend, a roadtrip to Newcastle, maybe even crashing with another friend in Berlin. I'm just gonna drink myself through this month, make it to October and then figure shit out. My life? I keep thinking that the next time I leave this town it's going to be for good. I keep reading Victor's monologue, a 60 second trip around the world. "I no longer know who I am, and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger".<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.jimbooks.com/images/bautigan_swimtoalaskal.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.jimbooks.com/images/bautigan_swimtoalaskal.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 800px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 534px;" /></a><br />
<br />
(<a href="http://www.dailyscript.com/scripts/The_Rules_Of_Attraction.pdf">http://www.dailyscript.com/scripts/The_Rules_Of_Attraction.pdf</a>)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-86796152046334330042011-08-19T12:15:00.000-07:002012-10-10T11:40:44.639-07:00WEST MEMPHIS FREE<a href="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3760592.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3760592.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 456px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 608px;" /></a>
<br />
It was a long, hot summer and I'd just moved home to northampton to sweat it out. Jobless and running out of money fast, I spent most of my time lazily googling vacancies at local hotels/pubs/ discount shoes shops and getting half drunk on cheap beer. I also spent a lot of time on Wikipedia, getting lost in an endless maze of information, working my way through dialects of the english language and somehow ending up on a page about strong winds in the Midwest.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-4133228.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-4133228.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 456px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 608px;" /></a>
<br />
That long, hot summer two years ago, I was reading through Wikipedia's list of missing persons, absorbing myself in stories of children and fathers and wives who left one day to do something seemingly normal (buy cigarettes, deliver newspapers) and never returned. This soon led me to a page about unsolved mysteries, which in turn led to unsolved murders. A lot of these murders were old and sensationalised, reminiscient of jack the ripper in style and lack of information, and they were stories I'd read before. I flicked through pages and pages of familiar stories before noticing one right at the bottom that I hadn't heard of before - 'West Memphis three murders'. I clicked the link, not even knowing where West Memphis was, not knowing the importance it would soon hold, the influence it would have over my views of the judicial system and criminal justice in general.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL2/vlcsnap-1319589.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL2/vlcsnap-1319589.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 455px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 607px;" /></a>
<br />
If you haven't heard about the West Memphis three case (and a suprising amount of people haven't - maybe this is because it occured in the backwoods of a poor southern town, to working class boys who lived in trailer parks) then the <a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/famous/memphis/index_1.html">crime library</a> article is a good place to start. There's a good chance that you will never stop. For me, the west memphis three case was not the usual kind of wikipedia article where I read the page, clicked a few links, and then moved on - instead, it grabbed hold of me and refused to let go. Now that you've been warned...
<br />
It is not an easy case to read about - firstly, the details themselves of the brutal murders of Steven Branch, Christopher Byers, and James Moore are pretty gruesome. Every time I see their three faces lined up next to each other, immortalised forever on the internet (what a fucked up eulogy), I think to myself that these boys are never coming home. The case is also difficult to read about in a more political sense. If you manage to get to the part of the article where the sentencing takes place and you think that justice has been served, then you're probably not the kind of person I want to know. Mostly, the case is difficult to read about when these two points are combined - at it's heart, the case is about six boys who were victims of situations beyond their control, who were used and controlled by those who had power over them. Six boys who never got to grow up normally, or at all. Six boys who are never coming home...perhaps, until now.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL2/vlcsnap-1330581.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL2/vlcsnap-1330581.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 456px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 608px;" /></a>
<br />
Our story begins and ends in Arkansas, more specifically the small city of West Memphis. Just to set the scene - a large percentage of its occupants are living below the poverty line, and crime levels are considerably higher than average. It is also a city of divide. Clusters of trailer parks are sporadically placed between well-groomed streets consisting of almost-stately family homes. Jessie Misskelley, Jason Baldwin, and Damien Echols did not belong to these well-groomed streets, instead growing up in run down trailer parks and extremely dysfunctional families. Perhaps it is fair to say that they did not belong to the streets of West Memphis at all - both Damien and Jason were regularly described during their trials as wearing a lot of black, growing their hair long, listening to heavy metal. In '90's small town America, this was not a regular occurence. So irregular, in fact, that it was one of the factors that contributed to the arrest and sentencing of all three boys. Favouring black clothes and heavy music soon turned into worshipping the devil and committing what the local police and media christened a satanic cult crime. This led to an outbreak of perhaps predictable 'satanic panic', now widely known to be a myth. In the town of West Memphis, though, where churches line the streets like trees and the majority of the population is heavily christian, blaming satan-worshippers was a very real (and very convenient) way to explain the murders without implicating a careless or vengeful god - or, even worse, implying that there is no god at all.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3771003.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3771003.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 456px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 608px;" /></a>
<br />
I guess it's impossible to tell someone else's story without somehow comparing it to your own. When the west memphis three murders took place I was almost exactly a month away from turning four years old. Nine years later, at the age of thirteen, I was dressing in black and hiding in my room, regularly updating my teenopendiaries and livejournals with depressing teen angst, blasting Marilyn Manson through the headphones of my walkman and pretending he spoke to my soul.
<br />
Northampton is a large town, the largest town in England that hasn't yet become a city (due to the lack of a steepled church, which I think is a fitting contradiction to west memphis), but it is still small. Whilst it parallels West Memphis in this regard, and also in that it is predominantly working class, it is also extremely different. although I felt like an outsider in Northampton, there were places and people available to me outside of the boundaries of school that offered me the chance to be who I wanted and do what I wanted. Perhaps most importantly, I grew up in the age of the internet - when I was thirteen, I already had my own website, my own sense of virtual freedom. Being able to connect with others in this way was crucial to my teenage years, and also to the society that was slowly changing around me. The very existence of the internet, the connection of likeminded people through the internet, and the discovery of other types of people and lives through personal websites and social networking, meant - and still means - that we are all somewhat familiar to each other. Nothing is unusual. Wearing black is not jail-worthy. The West Memphis three boys did not grow up in the same society as I did - West Memphis was the backwoods, hidden away, a drive-through, and whilst that might not matter today, with internet connection rife and available almost everywhere, it mattered then. Imagine living in a dead end town or city, far away from New York or Los Angeles or any other thriving, modern city, and with nothing to connect you to that kind of life. Nothing to connect others with it, either, or even make them aware of it. Imagine the suspicion that would follow you, the witch hunt.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://cdn2-b.examiner.com/sites/default/files/styles/image_full_width/hash/af/c2/afc27c7e0db5422e9268c64d509dc5e0.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://cdn2-b.examiner.com/sites/default/files/styles/image_full_width/hash/af/c2/afc27c7e0db5422e9268c64d509dc5e0.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 404px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 606px;" /></a>
<br />
This witch hunt existed in West Memphis, to the extent that it lead to the arrest, trials, and sentencing of Damien Echols, Jessie Misskelley, and Jason Baldwin. No DNA evidence linked them to the murders of the three young boys. Misskelley was forced into confessing. Reports of a bloodied, disorientated man walking into a local diner just after the murders had occured was ignored. Blood and dirt samples from other potential suspects were 'lost'. Echols was sentenced to the death penalty with, I repeat, none of his DNA located at the scene of the crime. In fact, nothing linked the boys to the crime scene except black clothes, supposedly satanic beliefs, and wishful thinking. The town was swept up in the brutal murders, and they did not want to believe that one of their own, a white, hard-working, god-fearing southerner, could do something so terrible, even though this goes against pretty much everything Wikipedia, Criminal Minds, and Law and Order SVU has taught me. The dress code of the West Memphis three seems to have blinded a lot of locals to the extremely suspicious behaviour of more regular southern gents (lookin' at you, John Byers) It's a cliche, but a lot of the time it really is easier to blame the different, the unknown.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2009/10/12/us/westmemphisnew600.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2009/10/12/us/westmemphisnew600.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 250px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 600px;" /></a>
<br />
Today, I was browsing through a forum when I saw a familiar picture - black and white, three faces, two long-haired, one short. all three holding signs stating that they are now property of the W. Memphis police dpt. Damien Echols with his chin raised, almost defiant. Jessie Misskelley looking straight at the camera, tired, worn down. Jason Baldwin reminds me of my brother, baby faced. A child. Underneath this picture is a short paragraph. To me, a whole paragraph is not needed. To me, it begins and ends with the words, "the West Memphis three have been freed".
<br />
The West Memphis three have been freed. I'm hesitant to call it true justice because of the circumstances, but I can't help but be extremely happy. It sounds dramatic but I actually had tears in my eyes when I found out. Don't get me wrong, I hate that they had to take the plea bargain, and that this case is probably going to be closed forever now, and that this is what passes for justice. I'm angry that it took this long to come around, and I'm angry that this isn't the last time someone innocent will be locked away. I'm incredibly sad for all of the parents who suffered and are still suffering through what their children were put through. I'm sad that the truth is lost now. but mostly, I am incredibly happy that those boys will never have to waste another day of their lives in a cell. This is some small kind of justice, a tiny payout for almost twenty years, but it's here, at last, and it's over.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3745334.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3745334.png" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 456px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 608px;" /></a>
<br />
Of course, it's not over for three of the boys. Christopher Byers, Steven Branch, and James Moore aren't coming home. It would be unfair to say that justice has been served - unfair because their killer is potentially still alive, unfair because both police and politicians wasted valuable time, years of it, punishing the wrong people. The only justice I can see for these boys is making sure that the judicial system is never allowed to make a mistake like this again - that it is not allowed to spend time and money attempting to prosecute suspects who cannot be linked to the crime in any way, instead of searching for the real culprits. To Christopher, Steven, and James - I hope you rest in peace, and I hope your short years were very good to you and you were loved. To Damien, Jessie, and Jason - I wish you all long and fulfilling lives.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3770357.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/vlcsnap-3770357.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 462px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 616px;" /></a>
<br />
<br />
(Pix from <a href="http://s85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/?start=all">http://s85.photobucket.com/albums/k62/westmemphis3/PL1/?start=all</a>)
<br />
(Good article - <a href="http://www.arktimes.com/ArkansasBlog/archives/2011/08/19/flash-west-memphis-3-freed-in-plea-bargain-on-1993-murders">http://www.arktimes.com/ArkansasBlog/archives/2011/08/19/flash-west-memphis-3-freed-in-plea-bargain-on-1993-murders</a>)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-56303772549756829782011-08-11T13:07:00.000-07:002014-04-29T18:34:59.375-07:00THIS IS A LISTBleached half my hair when half-drunk. Listened to lots of David Foster Wallace readings on YouTube and tried to sweat out this insufferable heat in bed. Holey underwear, unshaven pits, bruises everywhere. So dreamy. Drank belgian gin that has been fermenting for 5 years straight from the bottle, vomited later. Ate vegan pizza. On the way to work I saw two birds picking at a dead squirrel. Unreal. Human interaction this week has made me realise that i will never be content in any world except the one that exists in my head. I still need to learn how to skateboard. Reminder: taking pills too late in the day makes my brain shake.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8CrOL-ydFMI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>"Weltschmerz</b> (from the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_language" title="German language">German</a>, meaning <i>world-pain</i> or <i>world-weariness</i>, <small>pronounced</small> <span class="IPA" title="Pronunciation in IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_German" title="Wikipedia:IPA for German">[ˈvɛltʃmɛɐ̯ts]</a></span>) is a term coined by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_literature" title="German literature">German author</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Paul" title="Jean Paul">Jean Paul</a> and denotes the kind of feeling experienced by someone who understands that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Physics" title="Physics">physical reality</a> can never satisfy the demands of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mind" title="Mind">mind</a>." (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weltschmerz">1</a>) (<a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/639576/Weltschmerz">2</a>)
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-61953898504908458412011-08-08T13:58:00.000-07:002012-09-25T13:09:51.065-07:00PANIC ON THE STREETS OF...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoiI_oB2lM0nHBX0XPXaB-QBeaNtMsK8nSbAffqTIORXVaxy3d73wHYEuFH5Gy_6F8WLmnoD9FhzWvLHofMd-BF-xH2VKFtrrQ71D_WU72O8RBk0kpbSTns2RPmgSe80XCWdenMidZGvn/s1600/shopz" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638606948908552226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoiI_oB2lM0nHBX0XPXaB-QBeaNtMsK8nSbAffqTIORXVaxy3d73wHYEuFH5Gy_6F8WLmnoD9FhzWvLHofMd-BF-xH2VKFtrrQ71D_WU72O8RBk0kpbSTns2RPmgSe80XCWdenMidZGvn/s400/shopz" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 256px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<br />
There is something strangely fitting about my last entry focusing on the idyllic mindlessness of suburbia. Perhaps that will serve the purpose of offering an even sharper contrast to what I'm about to write.
<br />
<br />
I had just turned 18 when I left my working class midlands town for the hypothetical bright lights of London. To me, it felt like home as soon as I stepped off the train at Euston. it truly was the golden city to me - I fit into place there in a way that I never had in Northampton. I met a lot of people that I still hold very close to my heart, I studied teenage alcoholism intensively, I started smoking cheap cigarettes and reading a lot and, as disgustingly cliche as it sounds, 'found myself', or as close as I'm ever gonna come to it. This is why the London riots that are currently taking place are completely breaking my heart.
<br />
<br />
I was actually in London when the riots first broke out; my sister was taking part in an art show on Saturday night, so we headed out to east London to drink a lot of beer and look at abstract art that I didn't really understand (but, hey! free beer!). After the art show we drank in a bar near kings cross until the early hours of the morning, when we finally decided to roll back to our hotel room. It really strikes me now how peaceful east London was. I've spent a lot of time there, and I didn't notice any tension brewing or any potential signs of unrest. And this is the point, I suppose: this tension, this unrest, it's always been there. Being white and young and an outsider, I've always viewed London as the golden city - I've never had any reason not to. It's been good to me. I may have lived in undesirable areas (one of them being Streatham, which is currently rioting), but I will never know how the locals feel, the people that have built their own communities, the people who haven't moved to London to escape but are instead trapped there.
<br />
<br />
This is what the politicians and the editors and the newsreaders calling the rioters "youths with a lack of respect for authority" don't understand. There is a context in which the riots and looting need to be viewed, and they are ignoring it. London was an escape for me, but for many others it is a frustrating cage which they cannot leave. The people of Hackney, Islington, Streatham, Brixton, the locals, the children who are born and raised there - to paraphrase a Scottish comedian who I've forgotten the name of, they can shoot and stab each other every day, but it takes a riot for the politicians and government to sit up and finally care about them. It takes the destruction of communities that have been painstakingly built, the anger and violence of those who have run out of ways to express themselves, the burning of buildings and buses and livelihoods, for them to notice what has been there all along - terrible unrest, terrible tension, terrible loss.
<br />
<br />
This is the context, the point, the capital-T truth (thanks, David Foster Wallace) - why does it take a riot and such a terrible loss for politicians to finally notice and give a name to something that has always existed? Why do these rioters feel the need to destroy a city that perhaps is the strongest symbolism for diversity and strength and fortune? I believe that at the heart of these problems lies the government. When people feel as though trashing their own community is the only way to be heard, then surely the problem is not solely within the individual, but instead within the society that the government has created for these individuals. When young people feel as though violence is the only thing that they have, that everything else is so hopeless, that this destruction is all that is worthwhile, then surely this is the fault of a society that is offering them nothing else of value. If they already think that the good life is out of their reach due to factors they cannot control, then this is what society has taught them to think. Wealth, race, and class divides still exist so strongly in London - it's easy to forget this sometimes. We expect everyone to flourish equally, even those who are given less opportunities than others. We won't give them a job in the city, and we won't give them an escape from the city, but we expect them to be grateful for living here. We won't offer them an adequate education, but still we expect them to express themselves with words instead of violence.
<br />
<br />
I'm not defending or excusing the behaviour of the rioters. Like most 20something liberal graduates, I think that violence is never the answer - in situations like this, no one wins. The point is that they don't feel as though any other option is available to them, and this is the problem. I feel terribly sorry for those who have spent their lives building a community, and are now watching it be destroyed not only by strangers but by members of their community. Hackney, Islington, Streatham, Brixton - these are not wealthy areas and they are losing so much. How are they going to recover from this? How are they going to afford to get through it?
<br />
<br />
As I'm writing this, news has just broken that the riots have spread to Birmingham and Leeds. The newscaster referred to the situation as "absolute lawlessness". No one can quite believe it. I think the realisation that England (and London, in particular) is not as progressive as we all believed it to be is hitting everyone very hard. We still have so far to go.
<br />
I posted a Facebook status about the issue, which kinda sickens me but welcome to the modern age, I guess. A friend commented on it, "well said! you should become a politician!". Ny first response should probably never see the light of day. My second response is that, in this situation, I pretty much fail to draw the line between politician and rioter. They have failed Hackney, they've failed Birmingham, they've failed Streatham. They've failed us.
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-419231769341796645.post-17707172757040287322011-07-28T10:36:00.001-07:002012-09-25T13:03:25.924-07:00THERE GOES THE NEIGHBOURHOOD<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lh1uu3z2eo1qzxvjjo1_500.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lh1uu3z2eo1qzxvjjo1_500.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 312px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 485px;" /></a>
</div>
Ever since I was young I have had a weird obsession with surburbia and the plastic repetition of seeing identical house after house after house, laid out just like a movie set. It was something that, growing up in a factory town in England, I was never aware of until I holidayed to florida with my family. Matching swimming pools in each backyard, nuclear families, 'mcmansions', station wagons, and no history anywhere. It shook me up and kind of freaked me out as well as enthralling me.
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
I think that most of my infatuation comes from the idea of expectation and what goes on behind closed doors - I have a hard time believing that anyone could be unhappy living in those homes, but many fucked up things have happened in suburbia. A lot of my favourite books and films document what really lies behind the idyllic mask of suburban living and the importance of keeping up appearances, which gives me plenty of material to indulge my obsession with. the contrast between external perfection and inner turmoil will always be attractive to me, as well as anyone else who is perpetually a teenager. So this is my ode to suburbia, one of the most important aspects of the broken American dream.
</div>
<center>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04WWR8zXzhS6JjE1mYGkFI5V9rJv0h7GTdKrKAk3agjqMztfy5LXMV-FsNXeXI8UjjiRAf4pWU1iK8SaUdRAUAYrUH7w2S_37lDaQzyaJ3JyVGdAO-EL4zUvQm4b_8POzRvLAdPTuFsc/s1600/33160_512x288_generated__ZoVyyLEhHU+IY-69Fcuk-Q.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04WWR8zXzhS6JjE1mYGkFI5V9rJv0h7GTdKrKAk3agjqMztfy5LXMV-FsNXeXI8UjjiRAf4pWU1iK8SaUdRAUAYrUH7w2S_37lDaQzyaJ3JyVGdAO-EL4zUvQm4b_8POzRvLAdPTuFsc/s1600/33160_512x288_generated__ZoVyyLEhHU+IY-69Fcuk-Q.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 293px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 521px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEH6FuevCLnZdhiresv5NRFg1nSfNI-rN7sDqphRe493a8sz7-bUl34eeunqnWMSG_GOqaZFEGN6bNv5xzCb8X4x67SL5-1hOGs9X-c1lCHq9IHmIAGFCvHh02eKrSAXjAxqrlwprTzz8/s1600/American+Beauty%2527+houses+photos+%25288%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEH6FuevCLnZdhiresv5NRFg1nSfNI-rN7sDqphRe493a8sz7-bUl34eeunqnWMSG_GOqaZFEGN6bNv5xzCb8X4x67SL5-1hOGs9X-c1lCHq9IHmIAGFCvHh02eKrSAXjAxqrlwprTzz8/s1600/American+Beauty%2527+houses+photos+%25288%2529.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 600px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.photographersgallery.com/i/full/row_house_pools.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.photographersgallery.com/i/full/row_house_pools.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 393px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 591px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://lancasteronline.com/blogs/smartremarks/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/dreamhouse.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://lancasteronline.com/blogs/smartremarks/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/dreamhouse.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 333px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/The-Virgin-Suicides--the-virgin-suicides-189801_1020_576.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/The-Virgin-Suicides--the-virgin-suicides-189801_1020_576.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 343px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 609px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wJqlRNMgNBWQi7uisnG5R7HrMPBopvylG7i9u_BP2py6nzxc9bZqel7S7D9OSNatovCwjVyIURAYdbvd0ThGIjfkSQw3xyeVkGH8AYUyAnMZDEqfwfTqLrMb9_6L6CpsqpSj34gwxVpg/s1600/SUBURBIA.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634468879568786882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wJqlRNMgNBWQi7uisnG5R7HrMPBopvylG7i9u_BP2py6nzxc9bZqel7S7D9OSNatovCwjVyIURAYdbvd0ThGIjfkSQw3xyeVkGH8AYUyAnMZDEqfwfTqLrMb9_6L6CpsqpSj34gwxVpg/s400/SUBURBIA.png" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 243px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/AnnieAnnie/AnnieAnnie0903/AnnieAnnie090300114/4541214-suburban-neighborhood-brick-home--a-spring-day-in-the-burbs--fisheye-lens.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/AnnieAnnie/AnnieAnnie0903/AnnieAnnie090300114/4541214-suburban-neighborhood-brick-home--a-spring-day-in-the-burbs--fisheye-lens.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 599px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjVUQfXEd3hdqCG9vZ0UeLli-eL1Ef16BqYcxNiXuOPfjbmaUmOdOrhyPtbf2X9b2zfEUF-amA9LpmNj6XWphnDBK-aNYYSpHtqTdnVzIiPvYj7_iZhF2ezuPlC6qdrYusdUD4lsJ1io/s1600/image+03+choosing+suburb.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjVUQfXEd3hdqCG9vZ0UeLli-eL1Ef16BqYcxNiXuOPfjbmaUmOdOrhyPtbf2X9b2zfEUF-amA9LpmNj6XWphnDBK-aNYYSpHtqTdnVzIiPvYj7_iZhF2ezuPlC6qdrYusdUD4lsJ1io/s1600/image+03+choosing+suburb.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 260px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 420px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://tourismpics.com/images/twin-peaks-view-houses.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://tourismpics.com/images/twin-peaks-view-houses.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 439px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 587px;" /></a>
</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.novinite.com/media/images/2010-10/photo_verybig_120680.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.novinite.com/media/images/2010-10/photo_verybig_120680.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 375px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a></div>
</center>
<br />
<br />
(pix taken from google maps & google images)
<br />
<a href="http://images.businessweek.com/ss/10/03/0302_affordable_suburbs/6.htm">http://images.businessweek.com/ss/10/03/0302_affordable_suburbs/6.htm</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0