rant

It has long bemused me how obsessed with appearance we seem to be as a nation. Don’t get me wrong, I am rather body-conscious myself – I will try to look the best that I possibly can before I step out of the house. Although, because of my pure laziness, I am quite happy to stroll down to the shops looking like a complete mong (are they really gonna give two shits?). There are people, however, whose lives seem to revolve around looking “good”. They are not completely happy until they are looking their absolute best: until their mirror shows someone completely unrecognisable.

There are so many vanity products and processes that one can apply to try and improve on one’s looks: hair extensions, lipsuction, false eyelashes, false nails, piercings, tattoos, makeup, cosmetic surgery, vajazzling, and most annoyingly (for me and the topic of this post) fake tan. It is nigh on impossible to walk through any town in the UK without seeing at least 20 girls and guys with a completely unnatural looking tan on their skin. Not only is it unnatural, it’s not attractive! Orange is just not the way forward for complexion. And the sooner people realise this, the better. There is nothing wrong with pale coloured skin!

For those who still aren’t convinced, watch Snog, Marry, Avoid.

art. noun. the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.

I stumbled upon a video not so long ago. It was posted on a blog and the stills along with the accompanying comments drew me in to click on the link to see the video for myself. It was a rather enjoyable experience to say the least. Since that first video, I have followed its creator virtually and watched video after video as they were uploaded – each one as pleasing as its predecessor.

A few days ago, I stumbled onto yet another blog, discussing the aforementioned videos. The writer was pretty negative in what he had to say and made some rather personal comments about the creator of the videos. The reason for this negativity was this: the creator asked the writer not to refer to his videos as porn.

The videos do indeed contain adult material that one would usually affiliate with pornography: nudity and graphic sex scenes. Does that make it pornography? Shortbus and 9 Songs are cinematic films which contained explicit sex scenes and nudity, and yet they were shown in cinemas alongside mainstream movies. It is also mentioned on the blog that the videos were posted on an adult website dedicated to the provision of free porn. Does this also automatically make it porn? If I were to post a clip of paint drying onto a site like XTube, would that make it porn?

I found that the more I read of this blog post, the more my blood boiled. There were comments after comments about how the creator was “ill-bred” and “rude” and “barbaric” for not accepting the writer’s compliments. I don’t think it is all that unreasonable to not feel complimented when your creation is not being viewed the way you meant for it to. It seemed to me that the writer was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that the creator did not make the video as a porno but as a piece of artistic expression. And it is in every creator’s right to label their creations as they see fit. Just because the casual onlooker may watch it and see it as porn, that does not define it as such. Art is not what the observer sees or feels, it is what the creator makes it.

I, for one, applaud the creator’s work. If he says it’s not porn, then it’s not porn – it is a piece of work. A creation born of his imagination and hard work. See for yourself and make your own decisions.

Several weeks ago, it was announced by the new coalition government that they will be lifting the cap on tuition fees and raising the bar to £9000.00 per year. In other words, universities will now be able to charge up to £9k for students to take courses at their institution. The argument being that by increasing the revenue that universities will be getting outside of government funding, the government can spend more of its money on those who can’t usually afford to go into Higher Education. It does seem like a rather backwards way of doing so but it will be a couple of years before we can really see if this scheme has worked out.

However, it isn’t the plausability of this change that I want to criticise nor is it the decision to pass it. What really bugged me about this whole scandal was the reaction of the students. Chaos broke loose and riots arose; buildings were damaged; people were injured; Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall were attacked en route to the Royal Variety Show. What exactly was the meaning of this? What point were they trying to prove exactly? When you were a child and your parents told you that you had to earn your pocket money now by doing chores, did you slap them and pull their hair, and think that that would change their mind? I seriously doubt it. You probably realised, even at that age, that you would have to just go with the flow or risk not getting nothing whatsoever. The same principle applies here – throwing your toys out of the pram will get you nowhere. You’re an adult, for christ’s sake! Unlike a child, you can actually verbalise your thoughts and opionions in a way that people can understand and take on. When will people learn that violence is rarely the answer?

Before the riots, I was completely on the side of the anti-fee increase group. Post-riots, I just thought “what a bunch of complete twats!”. And I am pretty sure that I was not the only one. It was an immature act that did more harm to the cause than good. Also, the majority of the rioters were either students already in university or people who weren’t even planning to go to university: people who weren’t even impacted by the change!! Seriously! WTF? I hope the proper idiots got their comeuppance, I really do. If you have something to say, SAY it – don’t go throwing punches unnecessarily.

It is said that Florence Nightingale took it upon herself to pace the halls at night to tend to all the sick and dying people in her ward. With lantern in hand, she tirelessly walked from bed to bed – patient to patient – in an attempt to soothe the pains that riddled each and every body that lay.

I can only imagine the emotions and thoughts that coursed through her in those dreadful times. Lumbered with the need to help as best as she could but crushingly aware of the fact that even the best was not enough in some instances. That has to be one of the worst feelings in the world: knowing that you’re unable to help someone in need. I know this from experience.

I am no Florence Nightingale; I do not tend to the needs of the sick and fatally wounded; I am no nurse; I am no saint. I am, however, caring. As conceited as that may sound, it’s the only way I can explain it. I care a LOT about those who are close to me. I always try to support my loved ones and I will always help whenever I am able to. It makes me feel good to help – I like that people can rely on me. So when an occasion comes up where I can’t offer my support – where my support is insufficient – I feel awful. I feel useless.

There are so many people I wish I could help out of the situation they are in. I wish that I could wrap them up in something and hoist them out of the hell that burns at their feet. Instead, I can only watch. Just as Florence watched her patients writhe in agony until they stopped. Forever.

Someone once said to me that to fully enjoy the company of others, one must first learn to enjoy the company of oneself. I’m pretty sure at the time it was just some way of making me feel better about being dumped, but that has never been a problem for me. I like my time alone. If you were to ask any of my friends, they would probably tell you that I’m an outgoing kind of guy who is a bit eccentric and outspoken. However, that’s probably the minority of my time. If you were to ask my more close friends, they would tell you that I’m actually a bit of an introvert – I enjoy “me time” and spend more time on my own than with others. I have to make an effort to see people or I will pretty much just sit at home alone.

This juxtaposition of personality traits confuses people, I think. In fact, it confuses myself as I am unable to explain really why I haven’t met up with so-and-so in such an amount of time. (I’m pretty sure at the moment I’m writing this, I won’t have seen some of my close friends for a pretty long time!) How can one person be so outgoing and happy-go-lucky when they are with friends, but then be so much of a hermit when given the opportunity? My only explanation is the word I have used as a title for this piece: sanctum.

I am my own temple – my own little retreat. Being naturally introvert, I use up a lot of energy when I socialise. Don’t get me wrong, I love meeting people and having a good laugh but it really drains me. So when I get time alone, I kind of over-indulge and get into a habit of just enjoying my own company rather than making any effort to see my friends. In some ways, that makes me come across a bit aloof and uncaring, and possibly even selfish. I suppose that could be so. But it’s less about not wanting to see people, and more about the fact that I just like being by myself. So if you don’t see me or hear from me in a while, don’t sit and wait for me. Contact me first and drag me out of my reverie because chances are, if you don’t, I won’t.

With a click of your fingers,

and a whisper in my ear, you have me under.

I’m spellbound.

It’s crazy what people are willing to do for loved ones. In any other circumstance, with any other people, you would not even consider the things that come so naturally when love is involved – walk barefoot over hot coals; swim the seven seas. I may have slightly exaggerated with those two examples but what is undeniably true, is that the sky truly is the limit when it comes to pleasing the ones you love. It doesn’t even have to be for one who returns the affection.

Unrequited love is probably one of the most lethal situations to be in. Like all other types of love, you are looking through rose-tinted – seeing only the good in him, and censoring the bits you don’t want to see. It’s no wonder that psychologists call this the “Halo Effect”. Love makes him a saint and butter wouldn’t melt. The difference here is that this isn’t mutual. And that is where the problems begin.

Dance for Him, monkey

and His love for you must surely come.

Your heart tells you that there is a chance that this could work out; that given time and your efforts, he will come through and you can be together. Your mind, on the other hand, is bound and gagged from saying anything that might seem logical but that shines light on the ugliness of the situation. And so you heel at his feet, and answer to his every beck and call – like some leashed dog hoping for that treat. But it never comes. And your heart begins to bruise – torn between the hurt of rejection and the hope of reciprocation – until it breaks.

So, to those who long for the never, I say this: give yourself some dignity, stand up and dispel the curse before you fall into the abyss. Let it be you who shatters the dream, so that he may not. Don’t fool yourself into believing a fantasy.

Honey. Babe. Buttercup. Pumpkin. Cookie. Sweetie. Sweetheart. Sugar.

The list of endearments is infinitely long and all are sickly sweet or ridiculously lyrical. Everyone who is within earshot of the term (whichever it may be) is almost certainly going to have to check their gag reflex for fear of actual expulsion of their recently consumed meal. Only the one on the receiving end is oblivious to the complete and utter inappropriateness of the words in the situation. As you may have gathered, I’m not the biggest fan of PDA (Public Displays of Affection) and the use of endearments comes under that title. I’m not a total heartless prick though. I can just about accept “babe” in mixed company. “Babe”, yes; “baby”, no. It’s like, we already know you’re an item by your body language (from close proximity to holding hands, to everything but sexual intercourse on the streets). So we don’t need you to reiterate your point by then calling each other “cookie” or “sugarplum”. It’s just not necessary, and downright wrong.

Another annoying thing about endearments is that it is now more and more common to extend the usage outside of romantic relationships. I have been called “babe” and “hun” by complete strangers and the experience always leaves me feeling confused and rather angry. I am not your “baby”. Stop being so condescending you little queen, and just give me my drink! Argh! What is with all this over-friendliness and pretend familiarity? Why can’t we just return to the good ol’ days where we just beat each other up?

The title of this entry is a bit of an ironic joke really. And before people start jumping at my throat with their talons poised, I am aware that I may have used the word “ironic” incorrectly. I really don’t care. Life, it seems, is never simple. You always think you’ve got things worked out, and then suddenly, you’re back to square one and all the colours are jumbled again. You spend forever trying to work out what it is you want from Life, and then you spend the rest of your life trying to attain it. For those who are “lucky” enough to get what they set out to, there’s another twist awaiting you: you don’t actually want that thing anymore. No, you don’t. You want something else now, or you’re bored of it, or you realise that it isn’t so great after all – that it comes with so much more than you were anticipating. So why do it? Why chase after one thing?

The reason I bring this up is because of a recent conversation with some close friends about relationships. It is probably not untrue to say that the majority of people in this world who are not already in a relationship, are actively looking to be in one; wanting the one person who can make them whole. But what we concluded was that relationships are far more hassle than they appear to be worth. Sure, they can make you feel the happiest you’ve ever yet felt, but also they can cause the most agony that you’ve ever had to experience. It’s a double-edged sword – one that has had you working forever to get it. And then there’s the feeling of greener grasses. What if there is a better person for you out there? What if you are just settling for the current partner because you so desperatelywant to be in a relationship? I, personally, think that relationships are the most amount of trouble ever, and don’t know whether they are worth it or not. Afterall, what makes this relationship different from all the other relationships?

Just seven days ago, on Saturday 12th April, a woman took to the stage on television in a gold sequin dress and performed a song from the Wizard of Oz musical. The audience gasped in shock before rising for a standing ovation. Overwhelming applause rang throughout the theatre as the this songstress continues to sing her song. Needless to say, the judges of the show were astounded and unanimously decided her fate to go through to the next round. Over the next couple of days, her voice crossed nations and she found international fame. Why? Granted, she could hold a tune. In fact, she had quite a nice voice. However, was it worthy of such international praise on its own merit? Personally, I don’t think so. She could sing, yes. But it wasn’t a particularly amazing vocal either. The reason for her sudden fame, in my opinion, becomes clear when you see her. No, she was not pretty or sexy. She was the complete opposite – she was rather ugly, and she was socially awkward. She was everything you expected her not to be. Before the melodic voice escaped her lips, the audience had already passed judgment on her – she was a loser; a bad auditionee. Even the judges seemed to have an air of “oh, here we go again”. The real talent behind Susan Boyle, is the talent of surprise – the talent of breaking a stereotype and making the world aware of their shallow judgements. So, the nation will rise to see her through to the final, and possibly further. And for this one reason only: to show that we are not some shallow, judgemental group of sadists, who enjoy watching people fail. What a sorry sight, we are.

Will you prove me wrong?