Personal Truths

September 22, 2008

Goddamn. Random emotional turmoil is for teenagers. It would be so much easier to be emotionally dead. I’ve been thrown off since an emotional sex session when I looked into his eyes as he was coming but when it was my turn he shut his eyes and I couldn’t speak. I’ve been exposed and vulnerable since. I find myself trying to take responsibility for every bad thing that happens to him, pretending to myself that it was in my power to have prevented it and feeling bad for not doing.

Totally irrational. Completely unfounded. Really friggin irritating. I’m trying not to let it bring me down.

Aside from this I’ve had a good weekend with friends. We went to the awesome Cafe Soya and did meditations together. My spirit animal is a ladybird and it took me to stand in a blue fire. I have a guide that’s really tiny and easy to lose track of: what does that say about me? I also found it by falling flat out into some brambles (in the meditation). I think this symbolises how difficult I perceive it to be to get useful things out of my head. I make things hard for myself.

Also really friggin irritating.

I might start a page to make a list of bisexual icons. The biggest regret of my life was caused by not knowing that sexuality wasn’t a binary, and that liking boys didn’t have to get in the way of kissing a really amazing girl who was probably the first person I ever loved and who I probably really hurt with my unfounded rejection.

My other regret (anything else has apparently been forgotten or healed by time) was caused by alcohol. I offered to lend the same book to two people – poaching from the first person to give to the second who then disappeared with it forever. It was a couple of years ago but it still bothers me. I’m going to redress it by buying a new copy and giving it to the person I should have left it with in the first place.

A criticism of Lush…

August 6, 2008

Surely not! Surely my most favouritest of brands is squeaky clean and above all suspicion? Sadly not.

As much as I love them for selling me a solid block of cocoa butter with which to oil my scales I can’t keep to myself my disappointment in their latest catalogue. They have a system of symbols they use to help you catagorise certain products, eg if it’s good for waking you up or making you sleepy. My problem is with the symbol that looks like a little blue man in a t-shirt and jeans. They apply it to products that are suitable for men. Not just the products that are designed for men, like stubble softening shaving soap, but any product in any other range that is either blue or green in colour.

Why Lush? We don’t need anyone else telling us that men can’t have pink things, we already have the whole rest of the world for that. And I know that the non-blue things work just as well on men because they all have the same stuff in them. And because I know men who use them. And because the man in the shop told me his favourite shampoo was the white glittery one (without being camp, which I hate to justify but I don’t think his opinion should be discounted by people thinking he might be a queen). So if men are already happily using the supposedly girlie products Lush is in fact putting them off using things rather than encouraging them to start.

Lush catalogue: you win Fail of the Day.

PS: my shampoo is green – I hope I don’t have a confused gender identity (/snarcasm)

Do women taste their own virginia?

August 5, 2008

This is one of the searches someone typed in that found my blog yesterday. Do women taste their own Virginia? I think Virginia Woolf’s prose would taste of semicolons. I think her corpse would taste dry and old and leathery.

But I’m sure that’s not what the questioner really meant, though the absurdity of their malapropism detracts from the offensiveness of the question. It’s not the kind of thing you can find a conclusive answer to on google, and I doubt there is a wikipedia page about it. It reminds me of yesterday afternoon when I am certain I heard a guy say something about tits as he drove past me. That was intimidating as well though, and reminded me that it has been a long time since I went anywhere other than to work and back by myself.

Trying to find out if women like the taste of their vaginas is just weird. It implies that all women will have the same opinion on the matter. It implies that the questioner is planning a sexual encounter with a woman and while on the one hand it may be seen as considerate to do some research first it isn’t going to help in the slightest as it won’t take her preferences into account. I sigh at the hopelessness of this misguided individual and hope that if things start getting daft in the bedroom they have a little laugh over it and have a good time.

I will assume the questioner is not a woman, otherwise she could just taste her own juices without the aid of a search engine (unless she was checking if it was a good idea first). I’m guessing he is young, shy and inexperienced from the typo and … well the need to ask the question at all. I’m hoping he was researching in order to avoid a faux pas while getting creative in the bedroom and wants to please his female friend(s) genuinely and earnestly.

I am really hoping he is not a creep, looking for weird descriptions of finger-licking fun because his web-browser is banned from accessing the pr0n. Access the pr0n elsewhere, my dear, you’ll not be finding it here.

Brain thoughts on life outside my head

August 4, 2008

There are things I want to write about at length but I don’t think this is the time. I’m still gathering my thoughts and it’s better not to be rushed. Something that has annoyed me this weekend is how hard it is to find a play showing that isn’t a cheesy musical. Musicals are like Heinz Beanz – the finest of beans, beloved by millions, and yet still just beans and not much good without toast.

I am planning to write more about gender disparity as I keep reading things that bring me back to similar ideas. As I was writing this I wondered if that also contributed to the view of musicals. The stereotypical view is that musicals are for women and gay men – feminine with bright colours and emotions. Real Theatre(TM) is serious, involves real acting and possibly ‘shakespearean actors’ – in short the highest form of the art. Musicals are on everywhere and run for decades, but are rarely regarded as high-art. They are more likely to be the lowest common denominator, the trashy beach novel of the stage. They may make the money but they are not respected in the same way. How did this lead to the less respectable musicals becoming the arena of women and queers and high art theatre being seen as more masculine?

I don’t know but I am annoyed, both because I want to watch a serious play and because I enjoy musicals. I’m sure I can even name more musicals that plays – is that wrong? Or just a reflection of our popular culture?


June 11, 2008

It’s easy and a very dirty habit. I have not had the courage to tell Housefolk Epsilon that I don’t want to live with him any more. I hate creating tension. In fact I hate interacting with HE in any way, which is kind of why I don’t want to live with him. Last night, when Relocation Revisitation was on he mentioned that he’s seen a great house in this out of town suburb he is desperate to move to. I don’t believe the house is for real because it sounds way too cheap for the area. I also refuse to move to that suburb because it is really far away from the city centre (sort of its own town) and all I know about it is that it’s extremely middle class so probably has terrible transport links and everything will be over-priced. It also sickens me because HE once described it as a ‘bastion of whiteness’ whereas I would prefer to pay a little less and not give a crap about the colour of my neighbours.

I hate myself for not calling him on his racism. It is awful, and I do all I can to avoid being anywhere near him in public places but I’m too much of a pussy to call him on it. I’m a strange one in that I tend to only bring smackdowns on my friends, such as when one of the guys said something about not needing ‘gay hypnotism tactics’ and I told him about my vision of the gay tactics lab team working away on their latest hypnotism techniques. In my experience of gay people there aren’t many secret groups like this. The word just jars in my head when people use it in the wrong context like that so I often tell them in the hope that they’ll think about the words they use (or just annoy them into not doing it anymore).

Still, that’s not a very good comparison because the guy who says ‘gay’ is not a homophobe he just has slack language use. Housefolk Epsilon is a deliberate racist. I don’t know why either. I could be he grew up in an incredibly white area. Or that he had prejudiced parents. Or that a person of an ethnic minority did something that hurt him once. Or that he has an inferiority complex so feels the need to class vast sections of society beneath himself, including women, people of colour and queers. Or he’s a massive dumbfuck. Or all of the above.

I used to go out with a guy who gradually revealed himself to be racist. He was also a pig to me and cheated on me several times, so let’s call him an all round bad person. One thing that really gets to me still is that when I phoned him after being mugged in the street and physically attacked the first thing he asked me was ‘was he black?’ Not was I ok or had I called the police yet or anything like that – he was just that keen to get another little anecdote for his arsenal of hate. I wish I had put the phone down on him then and called it quits, I could have saved myself a year of degredation and humiliation, not to mention all the self-loathing afterwards when I realised what a shit he was and what an idiot I must have looked for so long.

Why are so many young people in the UK racist? I don’t understand what excuse they have…

Grindhouse reaction: with a side of tasty spoilers

April 28, 2008

Disclaimer: I considered WWVD when debating with myself whether to write about this, and concluded that she wrote reviews for newspapers to earn money in her youth so it must be ok. When I get comfortable with the name I don’t think this type of question will occur to me any more.

I’m guessing I’m one of about 200 British people who actually got to see the Rodreguez/Tarantino collaboration Grindhouse in its original double feature format. I cannot believe they tried to chop this up! That kind of censorial violence is far more offensive than anything contained in the movie. The project was designed from the start to be a single movie in two parts, a send-up and homage of the writer/directors’ favourite genre of exploitation movies. Actors and characters blurred the lines of reality by appearing in both films, as they would have done in the seventies when they were churned out in batches. In seperating the two parts you lose three quarters of the magic and charm lovingly instilled here.

I skirt the edges of the feminist blogosphere and I have read reviews going both ways about this movie (or the bits that were made available). Yes, on the one hand the star of Planet Terror is a go-go dancer who spends a third of the movie without a shirt on and Death Proof features the grizzly deaths of a group of young women. On the other hand, our dancer Cherry is an engaging character. She cries when she dances, the lacks the confidence to pursue a career as a stand-up comedian. After being attacked, losing a leg, and almost being molested she comes in to her own, decides to take shit no more, saves the day, and becomes matriarch of a colony of survivors. She totally wins the movie! True, she also provides the T&A, but it’s an exploitation movie in a loving piss-take of the genre. She loses a leg but there is no grotesque lingering on her being brutalised in a torture-porn way – the scene is actually very brief and in keeping with the light comedic mood of the movie.

What seems to have been overlooked in the few reviews I’ve read is the relationship between female doctor Dakota and that Fergie from Black Eyed Peas. Fergie is on her way to pick up Dr D and her son when she is waylaidby the Infected. Dr D’s husband finds out and gets all nasty, creepy and threatening because his wife is cheating on him. Dakota and Fergie’s relationship is accepted as a complete, meaningful, real relationship. Our supporting actress, with substantial role, is playing a legitimate bisexual character and nobody seems to have noted how awesome this is. The two women were not sexualised (they don’t appear on screen together) or deridedand their relationship was in no way implied to be less meaningful because it was between two women, one of whom was also interested in men. How many bisexual characters do you ever see anywhere? (Apart from in Torchwood which doesn’t count because it’s crap. This opinion does not affect my chasmous love for the doctor.)

So there I was, already pretty pleased with Planet Terror (and the excellent cake served in the Electric Cinema) when we had some spoof trailors. There was one before Planet Terror for the hilarious looking ‘Machete’ but that’s actually going to be a film now so I’ll look out for that later.Most of the spoof trailors pleased me muchly. But then Eli Roth came and pooed in my partyhat. Eli Roth, in my humble opinion, is a bit of a tosser who has a facination with hurting vaginas. He’s just across the line when it comes to nasty, and given my enjoyment of the rest of the show that is by no means a puritanical line. He did a fake trailor called Thanksgiving, and the parts that left me uncomfortable were the shot of a cheerleader about to land in the splits onto a knife, and the body of a woman made up to look like a roast turkey with a trumpet coming out the crotch. Why, Eli, why? What did vaginas ever do to you? As the king of torture porn I should have expected nothing less but still, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I would question what sort of women would befriend or have relationships with a man like him but even Bernard Manning had a wife…

So after a distasteful piece of asshattery from Mr Roth the main feature continued. The benefit of seeing the Grindhouse version is that the ‘missing reel’ gag saves you the potential discomfort of having to see the lapdancing scene. What struck me most about Death Proof was how quickly Tarantino can make you care about a group of characters. Getting half an hour in to a 90 minute movie and killing off most of the cast is bold but Tarantino’s skill of writing and portraying friendships really pulls it off. The crux of the feminist argument against this movie is that so many women had to die before other women could get revenge but I believe it was necessary to show how far Stuntman Mike goes to get his kicks. He doesn’t just drive a foolish woman off into the woods and kill her quietly: he has the arrogance and faith in his death proof car to think that he can get away with killing five women at once without getting in trouble for it. We have to see that otherwise the revenge might look too extreme. The revenge, incidently, was fantastically enjoyable, and once again the women win the movie.

So thus concludes my reaction to Grindhouse. It’s a shame they didn’t release it properly in the cinema here – I think it would have done fantastically well and I can’t imagine why it didn’t in America considering it’s based on an American cultural icon. Perhaps it needed to fail in the cinema in order to achieve true cult status in years to come; after all, if everyone’s seen it it doesn’t really count, does it?