Posts Tagged ‘television’

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birthday list.

October 11, 2010

Okay y’all. Rather than moan about my job, which I really shouldn’t do because at least I have a permanent job where I receive a decent salary each month and I know I do my work decently, I will talk about positive things. It’s my birthday in 2 weeks! So here is my list of things that I want (with pictorial accompaniments).

A car.

Y’all don’t need a picture of a car. This isn’t going to happen anyway because it’s far too expensive. But I have my driving test in 2 and a half weeks and I need to pass. I hope that I will! And once I pass, I will be getting a car sharpish so that I can drive to work, also drive to London to see Loverman, and avoid the Megabus which may be cheap, but took me 4 hours to get from London Victoria coach station to my home yesterday. This is ridiculous. So, yes, car.

Money.

Self-explanatory. Who doesn’t want money?

French Connection coat.

My beautiful leather and fur jacket, after 4 years, is falling apart. I have loved it since the first day I owned it, but I am going to have to say goodbye. This will be my replacement. It’s a classier and much warmer version of the Gestapo coat (which has a similar cut but doesn’t hug the body so much, and is made of a nylon-scratchy material), perfect for these cold wintry days and without the military-style epaulettes on the shoulder. I tried it on in French Connection and the wool and cashmere blend felt divine. Toby and even one of the shop assistants both loved it. I will be going halves on this coat with my mum and I can’t wait; because it’s not waterproof however, I’ll need to buy a new black umbrella to keep myself dry in the absence of a hood. After all, I don’t want my lovely new coat to get wet and thus spoiled!

Desperate Housewives Season 6.

Because this is my favourite show on television, and I don’t get to watch it when it’s running, so I have to catch up on DVD. The DVDs become my crack for a few weeks. Toby and I saw this being advertised on tv, and I subtly informed him that this might be a good present. I think my tactful hint might have been noticed, and so I reckon Toby will be buying this for me.

Emporio Armani Diamonds for Men – EDT or After Shave Balm


One of my signature fragrances, I love how this fragrance is soft and elegant, yet fizzy and sparkly at the same time. Kinda like diamonds.

Usher – Raymond v. Raymond deluxe

Because Raymond v. Raymond was ok, but not quite good enough for me to purchase it. And Versus is nowhere near good enough for me to buy it on its own. However, the two combined are worth my money. Or the money of whomever buys it for me.

Drake – Thank Me Later

Okay, I was incredibly late to catch on to Drake. I had heard about him for ages, but pointedly ignored all of the hype as I decided “he can’t be that good”. I was wrong. I heard “Best I Ever Had” on Nicki Minaj’s Beam Me Up Scotty mixtape and that became one of my songs for when I think about Toby. I fell in love with that song, and then with “Find Your Love” and “Over” on Teairra Marí’s (by the way, BLAZING HOT) mixtape Point Of No Return mixtape. It turned out that all 3 songs were by Drake, and at this point I decided to reassess him and download his album. It is excellent, and he is talented (and also improved upon Kanye’s 808s and Heartbreak sound). So I would like my own copy of this album.

Rihanna – book.

This is a book about the journey and conception of Rihanna’s Rated R album and Last Girl on Earth tour. I loved everything about her most recent album (and “Only Girl” has been a disappointment to me in contrast) and it became a sonic bible to me over the last 11 months. The lyrics, the sound, the videos, the look – it was all on point. It was deep, it was painful, and it celebrated that pain and exposed it and worked it out. I would love this book to commemorate what has become a very special album for me personally.

DVDs

– Rec 2, The Backup Plan. Horror and romcom – to keep me balanced.

Emporio Armani underwear

Okay, I love these boxer shorts, regardless of Cristiano Ronaldo being in them. And I love my boyfriend so much that even Ronaldo pales into insignificance. That is a lot. Anyway, I love these boxer shorts, and I can’t find them anywhere. And only in red and black online. So if you find the black and white ones for sale, just like old whatshisname here is wearing, please give me a heads up! Or even buy them for me. Thanks!

Chaos by Donna Karan.

This is the fragrance I have fallen in love with that I do not yet possess. If I don’t receive this, I will have to buy it for myself. It smells of ice and etherealness and subtlety. I adore it, and its mystery is something I hope will rub off on me if I manage to own it.

So now you have an insight into a few of the things that I crave! Just writing that and looking at the pretty pictures make me feel better. Nothing like a bit of online window shopping!  See y’all soon xx

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switch off and breathe.

May 17, 2010

For all of the time that I do spend on my Macbook, texting on my phone, and attached to my iPod, lately I’ve started feeling that my personal reliance on technology, as well as our dependence on it as a society, is getting on my nerves a little bit.  I freely admit I could not live without my iPod, but to me that is an addiction to music rather than an addiction to electronics; music is something I know I could never give up, as I’ve always been around music since I can remember. As a child, if it wasn’t on TV, radio or the stereo as my mother and I danced around the living room to Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”, then I was singing it.

Even though I had my first mobile phone at 14, I can remember not even wanting one initially – I got it for my 14th birthday with a sparkly cover (my penchant for shiny things has always been well known) and I said to my dad “I told you I didn’t need one!”.  I didn’t really use it until I started my first part-time job at WHSmith when I was 16, and suddenly I had an exciting, interesting friendship group outside of school – people who were cool, who hadn’t known me for the last 5 years and had therefore formed preconceptions and misconceptions about me, and with whom I could socialise.  Suddenly I was texting and spending my credit like water, and my mobile phone seemed to come into its own.  Today, again I couldn’t be without one, and I use it to tweet, send messages, call people if necessary, record song ideas on the go and generally kill time.  But then, life simply seems to have changed in the last 10 years; it’s just expected for everyone to have a mobile phone, it’s convenient for meeting people (in the days before texts to say you’re running late or there’s been a change of plan / venue, you had to arrange meets in advance and be where you said you were gonna be, when you said you were gonna be there!), they can come in invaluable in unforeseen circumstances or emergencies… they’re a logistical and social necessity.  And yet we survived fine without them 10 years ago… Well, I’m glad in that instance that we’ve come 10 years further.

I adore my Macbook, and I couldn’t imagine getting through my university degrees without it.  I remember when my dad gave me his black ex-work laptop to take with me to university; I felt so grown up, 18 years old in a new city with my very own laptop!  When I knocked water all over that laptop approximately 3 weeks later and destroyed it beyond repair, I had to survive two weeks (!!!, though this felt like an eternity at the time) completing essays by hand, watching DVDs on my friend’s computer, and checking emails in the communal computer room.  It was a massive inconvenience, and it really made me appreciate just how much easier computers have made my working life.  In terms of pleasure, music allows me to keep up with (and download) all of the music that I’m interested in.  It allows me to write this blog and share it with you all.  It allows me to produce and record my songs and create albums like Quiet Storm which is my pride and joy, and I’ve felt so privileged to be able to share that with all of you.  It’s allowed me to make new friends through myspace and twitter, some of whom I now hold very dear to me.  I wouldn’t have gotten to know my boyfriend and realise just how compatible we are without MSN.

And yet, despite all of these obvious considerable pluses, I’ve felt myself getting a teensy bit annoyed.  I deleted my facebook a week and a half ago because all of the constant notifications (most of which I had turned off, except then they were clogged up on my profile every time I logged in), the tension between having high privacy settings and resulting awkwardness from restricting certain people who believe they have more of a right to my life than they actually do, the user-unfriendly profile format updates and general invasiveness of it all had just got to the point where I wasn’t enjoying it anymore.  Unlike twitter, which is quick, easy and on-the-go, I found that facebook was becoming a cumbersome site which does everything very well (and I will miss the photo-sharing facilities it had), but sorta places an onus on you to join in with every single aspect of it.  I like that only a select few of my friends have twitter; it allows me to have a little in-crowd, without having to either censor myself or let everyone in the whole world know exactly what’s going on with me.  On facebook, I found that people whom I barely knew were adding me as friends, and after a short period of rejecting them, eventually I just acquiesced because if they were that desperate to be my friend, they might as well inflate my friend count.  In short, it just wasn’t fun anymore.

And yet, I felt scared to delete it, because it’s become such an institution.  When deactivating my account, facebook’s last stand was to show me pictures of my closest friends along with “Nana will miss you.” “Sarah will miss you.” “Nathalie will miss you.” “Hannah will miss you.” “Toby will miss you.” “Mike will miss you.” My heart panged for a fraction of a second, and then I realised: all of these people have my mobile number, my email, my address.  If they really wanna talk to me, or I really wanna talk to them, I will make an effort to do so in a more personal way than facebook offers.  At that point, I got pissed off by facebook’s attempt to emotionally blackmail me into using their service, and decisively deactivated my account.  That was a week and a half ago, and I haven’t really missed it nor felt tempted to return.  I feel emancipated… I’ll let you know how I get on and if I eventually return to the fold!  But I’d like to say that I won’t 😉

I spend a lot of my weekends with my laptop taking advantage of the wi-fi in Starbucks in Cabot Circus.  Usually I’m getting work done that I can’t get done at home, but sometimes I’m blogging or doing various other things.  I remember having to steal neighbours’ wireless internet at home, and the signal constantly cutting out because I would move my laptop a fraction out of range.  I appreciate now how lucky and how convenient it is to have a stable internet at my fingertips.  But sometimes, if I don’t need to do work, dragging my laptop everywhere is somewhat cumbersome (and my laptop’s not exactly huge!).  Between laptop and power adaptor, it takes up a lot of space in my bag (leaving less for necessary cosmetics, obviously) and gets quite heavy.  So the last two weekends I’ve made a point of leaving my computer at home.  I use my Macbook most evenings, I usually fire it up in the morning while I’m getting ready for uni / work / placement / whatever I’m up to.  So in retrospect, I don’t need to carry it wherever I go (especially since half the point of my most recent mobile phone was that it has mobile internet browsing).  And that’s exactly it.  Technology is a massive convenience, a fantastically useful tool that has revolutionised my life exactly as it’s revolutionised yours.  Or if not exactly, then in similar ways.  I appreciate it and I can remember enough instances of it failing that I generally don’t take it for granted, despite being under 25 and therefore a “digital native” (if you’re over 25, you’re a “digital immigrant”, so now you know!!! 😛 ).  But I don’t want to turn into somebody who doesn’t know how to live without technology.  I used to be happy just singing songs, doing jigsaw puzzles, watching TV and reading books – no internet, no cell, no computer, no iPod, no Playstation.  I could spend days doing simple things like that, and while I’m sure that these days I’d get bored after a while, I want to know from time to time that I’m still capable of living independent of these things that I feel I need, that we’ve all become used to thinking that we need, but we don’t really.  We may need them to survive in our contemporary social landscape, but our lives won’t physically end without them.  I’m currently trying to teach myself that.

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creepin’.

January 21, 2010

So I’ve been seeing T for two and a half weeks now, and I’m slowly starting to get over my apparent fear of being with someone and letting someone in.  I had some fantastic advice from a multitude of friends, which was just to take things as slowly as I feel comfortable (and verbalise this if necessary, though I haven’t felt the need to yet), and not to feel guilty about not wanting to rush nor about keeping this blog private from him, because this is all very new and I don’t have to reveal every facet of myself right from the jump.  I think that it makes sense to keep some stuff back for me.  I’m still scared of what happens in the future, but as long as I just deal with right now, that’s fine for the moment.  Mike, astute as ever, said that “you seem to enjoy being with him a lot more than you enjoy the thought of being with him”.  I took that to heart, because it’s totally true, and realised that as long as I don’t overthink any of this dating / seeing each other / relationship etiquette, then I can enjoy myself and just relax.  I guess that I just get scared of calling someone my “boyfriend” and someone calling me the same, giving us that status and that link, with which comes a whole load of responsibility that I don’t really need to be dealing with just yet.

So we’ve been seeing a lot of each other, eating, drinking and getting jiggy.  It’s all good and I’m enjoying the cuddles, the conversations, the various excursions and my growing competence at Mario Kart Wii.  But between seeing T and socialising with my other friends (I had a wonderful afternoon of epic shopping and eating with Karina on Tuesday) I’m not spending much time at home with my parents.  I have absolutely no problem with this, but I feel like not only is it obvious that I don’t really want to spend time with them, but that I have to lie about who I’m with when it comes to T.  I mean, the past few days I’ve dropped his name to introduce a new person to my mother’s ears but inevitably I have to make up excuses about who I’m seeing or where I’m going.  When I got my tattoo done, I was “meeting Deena”.  When Mike & I were going to the tattoo studio to book my next one / enquire about his first one, we were “going to uni”.  When I stayed over at T’s house a couple of weeks ago, I got “carried away watching Gavin & Stacey at Hannah’s house”.  I’m 24 years of age and I feel I have to lie, not only about the fact that I might be having actual sex with an actual boy, but about simple, innocent things just to save questions from my parents on things about which they either would disapprove, or which they are suddenly intrigued by.

The logic of all this is based on my parents’ “all or nothing” approach. Usually, they couldn’t give a fuck about me, but occasionally they hitch upon an idea, a friendship or a thing I’ve started to do regularly, and interrogate me about it.  I think they think that they are showing interest, but I would rather they left me alone.  If they genuinely cared, they would ask me how I am more often, and make more small talk to find out how I’m feeling and what I’ve been doing, rather than suddenly remembering to ask every blue moon and then deciding to catch up on each facet of my life.  Most of the time they respect my privacy, but I have to lie to protect myself from the moods they have when they feel like being beyond nosey.  It’s self-preservation.  I remember mentioning Mike around the house when we first started being friends in September / October.  It wasn’t until just before Christmas that my mother dared to ask me a little bit about him, despite the fact that I saw him most days and sometimes he’d pick me up from home and we’d go and have a drink, smoke and a chat (one time this happened, my father stayed up until I got home at midnight, and then promptly went to bed as soon as I got in the door – why?!).  My parents both blatantly thought that I was having an affair with him, despite the fact that he is married with a child (something I’m sure I mentioned quite early on).  And yet, suddenly after Mike says hello to my mum when he drops me home one afternoon, she can’t stop asking about him! “How’s Mike’s road with all this snow and ice?” “What’s Mike’s surname?” “Have you heard from Mike?” “It’s really good of Mike to pick you up and drop you home.” I feel like, why are you suddenly interested?  You’ve gone from one extreme to another, it’s totally unnatural and invasive, and to be honest I preferred it when you just kept your mouth shut and ignored me, no matter what you thought of me.  I don’t like having my privacy invaded (one reason why I guess I’m finding it hard to adjust to this whole dating business) and yet I feel I have to answer these questions (followed by swift exit once I sense a barrage approaching) because I’m the son and she’s the mother; because I’m living under her roof (although I pay rent and am therefore entitled to take refuge in my room); because I haven’t done anything wrong and therefore have nothing to hide.  But I feel it’s unfair that when she is in a mood for whatever reason – even if it’s nothing to do with me – she will not speak even to be civil (which I think is childish), and yet I’m not allowed to have my privacy and I’m not afforded the same privilege of silence when I don’t want to talk.

So I’ve decided, sadly, that it’s easier just to lie and conceal certain things I’m doing and people I’m seeing to avoid the possibility of my parents taking interest.  I don’t care what they think about me being out all the time and going to my room as soon as I get in the door.  I don’t want to eat my father’s identikit hot cooking, I don’t want to watch TV programmes in which I have no interest (I am not able to watch anything unless both of my parents have gone to bed) and I don’t want to have to constantly listen out for conversations where I might be required to take part, only to have my point of view ignored or refuted.  I have my lovely friends, I have a decent job, I like uni, I enjoy seeing T, I’ve got plenty of positive things in my life.  I no longer need them to keep me down.  That’s why I’m creepin’.

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what christmas means to me.

December 20, 2009

I remember when I was little I would count down the days to Christmas Day so eagerly.  About the 22nd December, I would be so excited I couldn’t sleep.  And then on the day itself, I’d be up ridiculously early, eager to open my presents and be spoiled for the day before we would go to my nan’s for a big Christmas lunch, relax in front of the television watching one film or another while my mum and my nan chatted, my grandfather slept and my dad made a nuisance of himself in one way or another.  Eventually we would go home to wait for the inevitable boredom that was Boxing Day. But overall, it’d be a lovely day and hold the type of memories I’ll always cherish.

I guess it’s called growing up, but I don’t feel at all the same now.  Part of it is that those memories are irreplaceable – my grandfather is now dead, my grandmother is in Australia this year, and the year before last spent the day in hospital with my granddad, and my father is the one who cooks now (nowhere near as well, though it’s ok) and we eat here at home.  There’s no eagerness to open my presents, and since my parents don’t seem bothered by what I get them, they wait until 11am or something ridiculous like that just so that I can see their faces and suss out whether they really like their gifts.  In other words, the childhood traditions of Christmas are completely broken and gone; we do things differently now, and sometimes I wonder if I was the only one who ever enjoyed Christmas.

Nowadays, I dread the day itself.  There’s nothing to watch on TV, there’s nowhere to go that isn’t parent-sponsored (my friends are all busy with their families, obviously; there aren’t any buses and as I don’t yet have a car – something which I’m looking to change in the very near future – I am essentially home-bound), the sanity of my nan’s conversation and the scrumptiousness of her cooking is poorly imitated by my father.  And I feel bad for saying that, because it’s not that his cooking is bad; it’s not. It’s perfectly edible, but it’s not the same.  I have a lot of my own issues with food, eating food and generally feeling guilty for it. (Another down side to Christmas – every cigarette I have is under surveillance, so I am currently eating more and smoking less.  Not good for my figure, nor my state of mind!) But nevertheless I am always eager to taste my nan’s cooking – it is that good (I like to call it the Italian influence) that even though I exercise restraint in size of portions, I eat more than I otherwise would.  Her food has a certain feeling of safety to it that is comforting and yet vibrant and actively tangible; my father’s food just feels fake and bland in comparison.  That’s just Christmas Day – this year I plan to be talking to Mike (who is a real Scrooge!  I’m certainly not as bad as he is – he actively hates it) and complaining in unison, and quite possibly working on my essay.  Hell, there’s nothing else to do.

Nowadays, my favourite part of Christmas is buying everyone’s presents.  I couldn’t really care less what people get me, as I appreciate anyone thinking about me enough to get me a present, and I don’t tell people what to get me as everything I actively want is invariably too expensive, and I wouldn’t be happy with people (not even my parents) spending that much money on me.  I prefer to buy jewellery and expensive items with my own money, because then it’s my own decision and I’m not bound to being grateful to anyone.  The thing I enjoy about buying people’s presents is the rush and buzz in the shops, the feeling that Christmas is here (maybe it’s left over from my days working in retail – which I am still so glad are over) and most of all, choosing the right gift for somebody so that it will genuinely make them happy and let them know I have not only put thought into what I’ve chosen for them, but that I value them as a friend.  This year I have spent a bit more money than usual and than I intended, but since I have my bursary from university, I can afford it 😉 Hell, if I can afford my Gucci earrings and bracelet (which FINALLY came on Wednesday after a 3-month wait!), I can afford splashing out an extra few £ for my friends.  I take pleasure and pride in that, and I believe that as much as I deserve to be treated, so do they.  We all should allow ourselves to feel good, and allow our friends to shine a little sunshine our way every now and then.

But the meaning of Christmas has changed.  This year at university has been something I’ve enjoyed so much, I plan to go into the library over the holiday just to see Mike and do some work – it fills the time! I can barely stand to be at home anymore unless I have the house to myself, because I feel like I’m in a cage that isn’t allowed to co-exist comfortably in the same room as my parents.  I go to Starbucks most days when I have free time just to work on my essay – it has the double bonus of allowing me to escape the house & have some cigarettes, and I actually seem to get a fair amount of work done there.  (The unfortunate drawback is that I consume a beverage that contains calories – though I always go for skinny, so I guess it’s not too bad.) I like being around people, I like being close to my friends, and the fact that I have this essay to work on means that I have something to focus my energy on.  I don’t know if it’s that my attention span is getting shorter as I grow older, but I cannot stand to simply sit in front of the television and vacate my brain.  I need my laptop near me at the same time as I am watching anything just so that I can talk to friends and surf the internet – my nan jokes that I am constantly multitasking, but it is true!  I don’t know if it’s that I don’t know how to relax, but most of the time I don’t really feel the need to relax, because I’d rather be on the go.  And I guess that that’s at the heart of the problem – at Christmas, there’s just not enough to do that keeps me entertained!  I don’t dislike Christmas, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve realised that the soft-focus memories of my childhood aren’t enough to hold my attention anymore, even if they were still able to be replicated (which they’re beyond not).  I don’t need gifts anymore, and I don’t need to watch a silly film on the TV while eating x, y and z.  That’s not me. Fundamentally, what I want from Christmas more than anything is to spend time with my friends, get out of the house and go somewhere and talk, be silly and have fun.

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dream. (f/ Mr. Clarke & Tenerife (nearly))

August 31, 2009

At first I was in some sort of computer game with a red blob where I had to collect coins around this gothic castle.  Mario much?

Then I was packing my suitcase to go on holiday to Tenerife with my father.  My mother and father were wandering around the house trying to help me, but I was doing an okay job by myself.  We were also watching television at the same time, and I remember the weather in Bristol was pretty nice – sunny and picturesque in the view outside over our patio.  I then had visions of walking around Spain taking photographs (which reminded me of another dream I’d had when I was staying at a hostel in Spain with schoolfriends, which began collapsing around us as we ran around inside looking for things to collect / explore).  Anyway, my father informed me that I would have to make my own way to the airport (I guess maybe he wasn’t coming with me after all?), which pissed me off somewhat.  But I was sitting in front of the television, which sometimes showed a programme and at other times would be off.

Then I remember I was sat in the back corner of the school classroom I was in in Year 7 (aged 11-12) in the middle of a maths lessons with Mr. Clarke.  Mr Clarke was my maths teacher for 4 out of the 5 years that I took maths in secondary school; he was pretty nice (we organised gifts for when he returned to school after paternity leave) and also very sexy – my mother had/has a big crush on him (he was gorgeous, to be fair).  So he was teaching this maths lesson, and I was sitting the back corner, and I had somehow acquired a dark blue napkin, which I was folding like origami.  Somehow, I made a paper aeroplane (which I can never do in real life) so I held it in my hands, but the temptation was to great so I let it fly.  It sailed across the classroom and landed in the opposite front corner of the room.  Mr. Clarke stared at it, then pretending to ignore it, while I went to the front of the room to pick it up and put it in the bin. I then sat down in a seat at the front corner, behind one of my friends Ben Conrad (who was a skinny boy I was pretty good friends with around that age).  We were trying to copy things off the board, and Mr Clarke had written a list of things. However, my eyesight made them really blurry, and he’d written them in a green pen which meant that I couldn’t read his writing properly.  I asked Ben what the penultimate word said, and he replied “it’s hydration”.  I thought that he was wrong and told him so, as I could make out too many loops in the word for it to be “hydration”.  Mr. Clarke heard us disagreeing and said “instead of asking him, why don’t you put your glasses on?” and pointed at the glasses sitting on the edge of my desk, which I hadn’t noticed until this point.  So I put my glasses on, and I saw that the word said “H500000”, and Ben had been right. (Apparently, in my dream, “H500000” was equivalent to “hydration”, because that’s obviously the correct formula!)  I just remember Mr Clarke looking at me and smiling, and then I woke up.

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balance of power.

July 28, 2009

Growing up with my parents and their perennially “stormy” relationship (that is one of the most accurate and yet most polite adjectives to describe it), I have always been acutely aware of the balance of power that exists in relationships, friendships and even day-to-day interactions.  For example, many a time have I apologised to my mother after doing something wrong.  But I can count on one hand the amount of times my mother has ever apologised to me after upsetting me.  The reasons for this are simple: although generally, being man enough to apologise when you have done something wrong makes you “the bigger person”, it also means that you cede a massive amount of ground in the balance of power that exists between you and that other person.  Acknowledging your fault equates to acknowledging their lack of fault and thus their superiority (obviously not in reality, but in power-struggle talks, this is fairly accurate).  That is why “sorry seems to be the hardest word” – because it involves swallowing your pride and giving away a small part of it to your opponent.  And when you have to apologise just to clear the air, because you don’t want to fight anymore but you don’t feel you are to blame… well, I don’t bother with that anymore, because I have done enough of that already in my short 23 years of life, and another thing that my mother has taught me is how to hold onto anger.  The silent treatment is a fantastic invention for testing the balance of power, and me and my mother have gone 4 weeks without speaking.  Of course, I am not recommending not apologising, or refusing to speak to somebody for weeks on end, because it is childish and it’s better just to get on with your life.  I am merely explaining the logic that exists in my family of how important it is to maintain a position of strength in the balance of power that exists between you and everyone else.  The moment you are seen as weak or a pushover, that’s the end of you (until you find a devious way to turn the tables.  But no ground lost = no scheming necessary).

So I move onto the situation I have been experiencing recently.  My father has become pathetically obsessed with this online game called Evony (if you want to look it up, more fool you, but you can find info on it on youtube and all the usual places) where you build your own medieval town and then defend it from other people’s armies while trying to make your town more powerful and take over other towns.  And when I say obsessed, I mean it – he spends every waking moment of his time at home on his laptop playing the game, which doesn’t seem to consist of much more than staring at the screen and occasionally clicking on a little house, while reading inane commentary between other users in a chat box in the corner.  He is back at work now (he was off for 3 weeks on holiday) and still stays up until midnight playing the stupid game, despite having to get up at 5:45am the following morning. He drinks cider and shovels crisps in his mouth and does not allow me to sit on the sofa nor watch the tv.  And I am 30 years his junior, so I am DAMNED if I am going to go to bed before him without enjoying even 5 minutes of peace and quiet downstairs in the lounge, watching what I want on tv (the only chance I get to watch what I want is when my parents are not present, which is usually once they have gone to bed) and having a cigarette outside on the patio and listening to my music undisturbed.

This is where the balance of power comes into play.  I don’t know if my father has decided on purpose to stay up until stupidly late to try and annoy me, but it certainly does the trick.  I of course refuse to go to bed, and my advantage is that I do not have to get up stupidly early for work the next day (though I am, as of today, employed again!!! The hospital came through, yayyyy 😀 😀 😀 )… Whether this is, in his view, a struggle for power and supremacy by despatching me from the lounge or whether he is just single-mindedly playing his pathetic little game, I now view it as a competition for control of the television at least 1% of the day, and establishing myself as more than just another piece of furniture around the house who disappears without causing any trouble.  I will not be ousted from my own house by my own father who is 30 years older than me and playing an idiotic little game.  I will not be sent to my room before I am ready to go, and I will not cede control of my bedtime nor of my right to enjoy myself in my home.  I will stay up until he goes to work if necessary… I don’t care.  This is a battle of wills now, and I promise you one thing: Like Rocawear, I will not lose.

h1

secrets and lies.

July 8, 2009

Last Saturday I was sat in Starbucks reading my book, and a woman (maybe 5-10 years older than me?) asked if she could sit in the seat opposite me (because I had claimed the comfy chairs hehe).  I said “yes” and she sat herself down, with 2 piles of books.  There must have been 8 altogether, and between pages of my own book, I surreptitiously looked at what she was reading.  I don’t know if she was a book reviewer for some newspaper or magazine (I was tempted to ask, but I already sparked up a conversation in the very same cafe the previous week, with a guy who was reading Ayn Rand and piqued my curiosity) but she would take one book, leaf through the first few pages, jot something down on a pink piece of paper, then put the book down and repeat the process with the next one.  Anyways, I noticed that the titles of these books (from the pink, floral covers and bouncy fonts, I’m guessing chick-lit) had a running theme: they involved the word “secret”, or otherwise “private diary of someone-or-other”.  And it got me thinking about something that I have noticed for a while now…

In the music world, a couple of years ago there was a running theme of the idea of confessions.  Madonna had Confessions On A Dance Floor and her Confessions Tour.  Usher had his mega-successful Confessions album and accompanying single.  Lindsay Lohan had a stellar but underappreciated album called A Little More Personal (Raw), which is the most mature and heartbreaking (and thus depressing – you have been warned! but I thoroughly recommend picking up the album) exploration of disillusionment with love, fame and her father in particular. The lead-off single from that collection was “Confessions Of A Broken Heart (Daughter To Father)”, and had an uncomfortable video which all too closely reflects the parental rows of my childhood.  Anyways, the theme of confessions and having secrets and wanting to reveal all of that through your music or your art or whatever form of self-expression is your forte was kinda slapping me around the face during that period, and I even wrote my own album called Secrets, which was the first one that I completed (Quiet Storm is due to be my third).  Ironic that for somebody interested in the idea of secrets, I’d like nothing more than to be a legitimately famous person…

I was, and still am, intrigued by the facet of human nature not to keep secrets (that seems pretty natural to me; privacy is a luxury and being able to keep something for yourself makes that extremely special, whatever it may be), but to want to reveal them and confess.  I think that the Catholic idea of confessing your sins in the booth to the priest is a good one in practice, and has some sense because a sin is something that can weigh heavily on your conscience, though I doubt whether anonymity was really preserved because the priest would blatantly know 99% of the voices in his booth.  What makes less sense to me is the culture of the self-exposé, where you reveal more about yourself to get people to be more interested in you and feel closer to you.  Obviously that is the logic behind the idea, but how much of yourself are you willing to give away before you draw the line?  In programmes such as Big Brother, the contestants willingly surrender all privacy in pursuit of 15 minutes of fame, except in its 9th series, barely anyone watches because we’ve seen it all before.  And because we’ve seen it all before, the tasks that the housemates have to do now are beyond ridiculous, e.g. two of them changing their names by deed poll to Dogface and Halfwit.  It lacks class, and this may be the root of my issue with revealing too much of yourself – it just looks desperate.

There is a need the majority of human beings have, I believe, to draw others closer to them.  But I don’t know, in the media-obsessed climate of today (which is a climate I have been brought up in and totally subscribe to, because that is natural to me), where the line is drawn because I don’t need to see pictures of Britney Spears’ vagina to believe that she has one; I don’t need to know absolutely everything about Michael Jackson’s funeral and what may or may not have been the cause of his death to make me a fan or a supporter of him (I always preferred Janet and that hasn’t changed).  Our curiosity has becoming something crass and invasive, and the media and paparazzi feed it to us so that every time we become a little less shocked and a little more blasé, thus causing them to try and go one step further to keep us interested.  Before the Michael Jackson memorial (which I didn’t watch) started yesterday evening, a newsreader said more than once “The show is about to start”.  To me (and my mother), this was pretty sick – it’s not a show, it’s a funeral.  Mariah Carey was in the trending topics on Twitter not because of her new single, but because she sang at the memorial and her voice may or may not have cracked (I thought she sounded fine) and her dress was not fitting for a funeral (it was black, it was floor-length, her breasts were covered and her hair covered her shoulders – she looked totally appropriate).  For an industry I have always wanted to be a part of, I am now finally wondering whether I really want to subject myself to that much scrutiny and take part in such tasteless events in order to “make it” – maybe I am really happier just making my music and sharing it with friends who care to listen.  Maybe not… there will always be that dream.  We’ll see…

But back to the sentiment of “It’s not a show, it’s a funeral.” …Or is it?  Is everything for show these days?  I don’t know what is real and what is fake, and we blur the lines in the realm of the rich and famous, but increasingly more so in our own personal lives.  Who are we, what do we have to keep to ourselves that keeps us human, and how much do we give away to the public domain?  And once we give it away, can we ever reclaim it for ourselves and get it back?