Just wow.

I'm currently obsessed with Remember (walkin' in the sand) by The Shangri-Las and this evening whilst enjoying my nightly listen(s) of this amazing 1964 heartbreaker I decided to pay some attention to The Ronnettes whilst I was at it which led to the wonder that is/was Amy Winehouse.

Well, well, well! I was listening to her perform Back to Black live and during the little interlude where she would solemnly repeat the word 'black' she slipped in some lyrics from Remember (walkin' in the sand)...so, here it is. Made my night this did:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebf171vP74k

Sorely, sorely missed.

When words fail me...

...I nick someone else's.

There are times when your need to express something is so great that it overwhelms you, thankfully there are those who don't crumble under the pressure:

Eye Of The Beholder

Metallica, '...And Justice for All' (1988)

Do you see what I see?
Truth is an offense
You silence for your confidence

Do you hear what I hear?
Doors are slamming shut
Limit your imagination
Keep you where they must

Do you feel what I feel?
Bittering distress
Who decides what you express?

Do you take what I take?
Endurance is the word
Moving back instead of forward
Seems to me absurd

Doesn't matter what you see
Or into it what you read
You can do it your own way
If it's done just how I say

Independence limited
Freedom of choice is made for you, my friend
Freedom of speech is words that they will bend
Freedom with their exception

Do you fear what I fear?
Living properly
Truths to you are lies to me

Do you choose what I choose?
More alternatives
Energy derives from both the plus and negative

Do you need what I need?
Boundaries overthrown
Look inside
To each his own

Do you trust what I trust?
Me, myself and I
Penetrate the smoke screen
I see through the selfish lie

Doesn't matter what you see
Or into it what you read
You can do it your own way
If it's done just how I say

Independence limited
Freedom of choice is made for you, my friend
Freedom of speech is words that they will bend
Freedom with their exception

Do you know what I know?
Your money and your wealth
You silence just to hear yourself

Do you want what I want?
Desire not a thing
I hunger after independence
Lengthen freedom's ring

Doesn't matter what you see
Or into it what you read
You can do it your own way
If it's done just how I say

Independence limited
Freedom of choice is made for you, my friend
Freedom of speech is words that they will bend
Freedom no longer frees you

Doesn't matter what you see
Or into it what you read
You can do it your own way
If it's done just how I say

An all-too-common dialogue concerning the modern day question of questions:

You on Facebook Lucy?

-No.

Really?? Why not, too ‘cool’ for it?

-No, I just don’t want one. It’s not that I am against social media, I just don’t want a Facebook account.

Why not?

-You really want to know why? Ok, fine: I will get every fucker I have ever encountered – either through shagging them, having a truly ‘meaningful’ heart to heart with whilst shit-wrecked at a house party 6 months ago or simply by proxy i.e. the girl I sat next to in English class 12 years ago – asking me to be their ‘friend’. I then have to decide whether I want to accept their friendliness - and be bombarded with pictures of them in fancy dress/cakes they’ve baked or ‘kids in bed, wine in hand!’ statuses - or ‘reject’ (how cruel) it where I will then be asked by them (and those who know both of us – mutual ‘friends’) why I don’t want to be their friend; to which I either wave the white flag and accept them or admit that if they set themselves on fire and offered to pay me lots of money to spit on them, I’d still have to ‘decline’.

Well why not set one up under a pseudonym and only tell your friends?

-There’s that word ‘friend’ again – on planet Facebook a friend is not a friend so if I got myself a Facebook how do I negotiate this ‘friend’ thing? On Facebook, what is a ‘friend’? Is it someone already in my life, someone I already communicate with physically? No, I’ll tell you what it is, it’s a commodity, something to accumulate, something to define who and what you are based on how much of it you have. Call me traditional but that aint friendship to me and I want nothing to do with it.

In terms of the pseudonym, this is something I have considered but then I think why do I want to join Facebook under a pseudonym so I can lurk around, unidentified, only speaking to those I actually like and, therefore, already communicate with in person (!), on the phone or via text or email? I have no actual friends outside a 30 mile radius of my house so if I want to reach out I can jump on the train/in my car and have a drink and lovely chat with them. So in answer to the pseudonym puzzler: I would be adopting a false name in order to protect myself from the evils of Facebook or I could save myself the turmoil and (drum roll please) NOT HAVE A FACEBOOK. Ta daaaa!

A Testament to Marketing!

I love how cupcakes have become as much a part of modern Western culture as breathing polluted air; clever clever cupcake peddlers!

I was innocently observing the twitter account of a Dominant/Submissive couple and came across their family photo album. Of course there were the expected snaps: pictures of 'Ms. Sub' choking down a massive dildo, arses covered in scars and bruises from some whiled away afternoon but wait...CUPCAKES? Trays of freshly baked mini-cakes with accompanying pride: ‘The red ones are mine, yay!’

The Cupcake: once a lowly children’s Birthday party treat has now transcended its stereotype and is spreading its cakey/buttercreamy joy to all! To Sarah-Jessica Parker and those that made her eat one in front of a camera: brrravo!

Uh oh!

I did find a piece I'd written where I describe myself as an office worker/housewife but we'll ignore that one...

Written September 2010 (same shit different year)

I just inserted one of those memory stick things into my laptop and found some work from Sept 2010, not bad actually I thought I only found my brain/creativity post-September 2010...here it is:

Hello, yes yes I am still here/somewhere.

My apologies for not feeding you with a delicious post for a couple of weeks but I have an excuse…I started University. I’ve decided to take this writing lark seriously. It will benefit you all in the long run when I am spewing posts of a higher calibre.

My latest points of interest in the world of blogging have been geared to the thrill of the chase in both food and sex/relationships. I’m pondering the question: you can have your cake, but do you actually want to eat it?

Example, when ordering dessert in a restaurant, a considerable amount of the pleasure comes from selecting the most appealing, mouth-watering offering and then eagerly awaiting its arrival only to be sick of it/disappointed a few mouthfuls in…you could argue that I may just need to go to better restaurants or you could consider the idea that the acquisition of said confection runs parallel to the thrill of chasing tail/skirt…whatever you wanna call it.

You see a guy/gal at a bar, you’ve scanned the place and s/he is the most appealing, mouth-watering offering. You then spend time establishing a connection be it across the room or, if like me you prefer the more direct approach, talking to them about the establishment you both find yourselves in, your likes, dislikes all the while hoping they will offer themselves to you.

You’re convinced this is your soul-mate…same favourite colour? Indeed! Second cousin grew up in the same town as your friend’s dad? You betcha! This person HAS to be yours…you’ve placed your order, you await the delivery – will they/wont they? Oh they will, ok bored now! Move on…you could argue that I need to go to better bars or you could consider the idea that sex and food have a deeper connection than whipped cream and chocolate sauce!

So how do you not tire of a plate of food/piece of ass after a few bites? How about a mezze? Several offerings of deliciousness all at once ensuring a range of flavours, textures and sensations are on offer. Monogamists look away now, this diet isn’t for everyone.

How I spent my afternoon.

I feel really sorry for the poor bastards who work for big corporations, you know the type: banks, utility providers etc. When us folk on the 'other side' call in pissed off because we have been billed £450 too much for a bit of electric or our internet connection promises it is indeed 'connected' yet the little circle on the web page just slowly rotates, they have to sit and listen to us whiny dickheads ruining their Tuesday.

The thing that fucks me right off is that the staff at these places are so tied up in procedure that they are rendered nothing more than people who say 'I can see where you're coming from but...' and then proceed to get a verbal shit-kicking from us folk who just want to pop onto google without it being a long drawn out affair. The ones that should really be receiving a big fat piece of their clients' minds are the big-wigs who create these fantastically 'efficient' departments' procedures - that curiously seem alien to any other department within the same organisation (?) - then proceed to sit in their offices wanking over the cornflower blue icons whilst the staff in their call centres are being ripped apart by someone who needs but a modicum of sense and reason to see that the billing procedure is fundamentally flawed in that it seems to base most of it's 'facts' on random dates and figures plucked from the air.

If I didn't view Fight Club (the movie) as little more than pro-capitalist irony I would say that Brad Pitt was onto something...

Hello, how are you? No seriously, how are you?

Today I am disturbed by the volume of perfunctory engagement we humans have with each other. Case in point, a colleague in the office I work in just addressed a fellow employee:

'Hi Jane, alright?'

'Oh hi Lou, I'm ok thank- oh he's gone' (embarrassed giggle)

Now this is viewed as quite a common, natural even, exchange in a busy-busy-oh-so-busy office but I think it's odious. Really I do.

People ask how you are without giving a shit and, even worse, people respond knowing that person doesn't give a shit yet put themselves through it in order to conform to damn social norms. I refuse to engage in conversation with anyone who is either looking at their FUCKING PHONE or has glazed over. I mean it, I will just say 'oh you're not listening, forget it' to which they reply 'no, no I am you were saying (then they are able to recall the last word you said which proves nothing other than that they have ears and short term memory)'. This sounds like I am desperate for attention, that I WANT TO BE LISTENED TO BECAUSE I HAVE GREAT THINGS TO SAY, in a way that's true, we all want to be heard if we feel we have something worth saying but fundamentally I just get really really annoyed when people choose to engage with me then proceed to mentally check out. Why have you asked me out for a drink? Is it to tick the part of this weeks list that says 'Do something sociable this week, don't just go to work then lie on the settee as this makes you look boring/you're wasting your oh so short life?'

I'm not saying we all have to live our lives staring deeply into the eyes of everyone we meet addressing them with the utmost sincerity as a means of creating a connection and therefore reminding each other that you do exist; it sounds great but who has the time? What I am saying, I think, is stop fucking asking each other how we are whilst tapping away on laptops or leaving the room before having the chance to response. It's humiliating and infuriating to think that a photocopier is worthy of more attention, especially if it's only printing a spreadsheet that keeps records of all the other spreadsheets you need to maintain for your boss who will never actually read them.

That is all.

I love this...

"Nothing I do is ironic. I am post-Ironic. Irony is the ultimate cop-out way of turning something you did not mean into something you did. Like bands that put big tits on their album sleeves and say it's an ironic comment about sexism. Like bands that put car shit on their album sleeves and say it's anti-car. Bollocks. If it glorifies then it's bollocks. Irony is the last refuge of the scoundrel."

Julian Cope

"Choose or be a victim"...

...my dad's words, said to me and my sister from a very young age. Little did he know that his way of getting us to pick a flavour of ice cream/what to have for dinner/what to watch at the cinema would have such a profound effect.

Since my 'Girl Talk' post I have been reading and researching on the topic of gender. The lecturer I emailed with my thoughts basically hit the nail on the head by suggesting that not being marginalized by gender takes a big dose of personal accountability and a huge step away from 'victimhood'. The words ‘personal accountability’ and ‘victimhood’ seem especially relevant given the latest happenings in the U.K. don’t you think?

This notion of personal accountability seems an important idea within the writings of existentialists in that the individual is responsible for giving their own life meaning and, therefore, living ‘authentically’: a word seen time and time again within existentialist writings. An example of this comes, again, from Simone De Beauvoir - I've developed an obsession for various reasons. Her fiction and non-fiction work is permeated with ideas on what it is to be a 'woman'; one of the main ideas seems to be that a major thing us girls can afford ourselves is choice; not to live one way or another but to, instead, choose how to live as it suits us. Lucky for our society the majority of people have not yet cottoned on to this and still turn up for work and await instructions, it’s ‘safer’ that way, for all involved.

Personally, I love this idea of choice and freedom and I don't mean the hegemonic freedom of the weekend I mean the knowledge that it really is all on your shoulders how you live your life which brings with it the responsibility to give that life meaning before it gets snuffed out. I discovered the extent of my freedom – which, curiously, actually feels a lot like abandonment – at a young age resulting in most of my life being punctuated with bouts of depression and anxiety: like I said, it’s safer on the other side. That said, I would never return to 'bliss'; I’ve made my choice in that respect. In terms of being a woman, my main anxiety in both everyday life and the more specialist areas of academia involved knowing where I should ‘stand’ and what I should say in order to assert myself and be seen as equal. I.e.: “do I need to mimic the men I encounter or do I need to be ultra 'girly' in a bid of irony…make up or no make up?” The answer: do what the fuck you want to do you idiot! Think about how you want to live your life as ‘you’, not a gender and disorganize this means of organization. Of course, years of 'conditioning' via the media and various discourses floating around makes taking responsibility difficult, i.e. I am taking responsibility for my life!...or am I? Are the choices I make my own or have I been influenced? The answer: yes, of course we have all been influenced but doing nothing for fear that it is not really your choice or moaning that there’s no point in even trying seems to be verging on victimhood once again.

If I write it, will it come?

My 'silence' of late is a product of a little back and forth I've been having with myself with regards to the inspiration/work dynamic; in other words: can you force inspiration and, if so, does doing so only produce work of contrivance and, worse, inauthenticity in that it was not born for the sake of itself but instead to satisfy something else? This question seems to highlight, perhaps, an irony of creativity in that it should not actually be 'created' but instead create itself. This line of thinking reminds me of a conversation I had recently concerning an artists work assuming it's own meaning and identity once it is offered to an audience. For example an audiences interpretation of an artists work can be the complete opposite of the artists initial intention see South Park's 'The Tale of Scrotie McBoogerballs' for more on this topic.

Girl Talk

Due to the Summer break from University I am back in the office full-time to earn some extra cash. I have been back on full time wages now for 2 weeks yet am as skint as I was before. I think this boils down to my 'spend what I have' approach to money. It may not be 'wise' within our society to not have some money stored away but what I have taken from all of this is that money really does not mean a great deal to me - something I have always suspected - because I adjust my lifestyle accordingly. I admit that my increased revenue has allowed me to indulge what I enjoy most: reading, cooking, drinking great wine and entertaining friends at my home but, to be honest I could have done this on my part-time wages. The only thing that has really changed for me since I upped my working day to 8.5 hours of officedom is the fact that I am bored, tired and frustrated. There are two positive things to have come out of all of this though: the first being that it has validated my decision to exchange a meaningless job for full-time education and the second: the office is so quiet right now that I am able to take the time to read and research various topics that arouse intrigue.

The main source of reading and research has been linked to my increasing interest in existentialism. Today, though, my fingers do not tap the keyboard as a means of regaling you with my web based meanderings but, instead, my observations and subsequent fear of what it seems I am letting myself in for by daring to be both female and a ‘thinker’. I’ll induct you into my anxieties via an anecdote: several weeks ago I was out with some friends I have made through University; all involved in philosophy, society and culture in some capacity. All male. We had a splendid day eating, drinking and talking; I was in amazing company both academically and socially speaking. However, a closer friend of mine in the group, whom I suspect views himself as superior to me based on both intellect and gender, raised the topic of female students getting better grades from male lectures based on them ‘having a cunt’ and that ‘not having a cunt’ means men have to work so much harder. I looked around the group and discovered that my friend was not alone in this and that it appeared to be a common idea within the realms of academia and the student lecturer dynamic where gender is concerned. Now, to see this from both sides would be for me to suggest that my friends aren’t sexist; they are stating a fact based on evidence and in fact the sexism lies with the lecturer who compliments a student with an A in pursuit of a blow job by way of thanks. However, this anecdote is one of many in a line of hours of conversations in pubs that have been undercut with notions of a gender divide. The divide being horizontally with women being the bottom half. So now not only am I pre-occupied with the meaning of our existence, I also have to consider it terms of being a female, being Other. Whether I like it or not. To ignore it is to allow prejudice to prevail. It fucks me off that I am having to direct my thinking and writing towards questions of gender – questions not only do I now feel the need to answer but that I wish were never raised in the first place.

Compensation for being a chick that thinks, unsurprisingly – as I am talking existentialism and feminism - is Simone De Beauvoir, or: Sartre’s missus. A woman amongst a mass of men, snubbed or antagonised by Camus who, it seemed, left any rational thought or humanist convictions at the door when faced with a pair of tits. I admit that it does concern me to read that she referred to herself as the midwife of Sartre’s ideas, suggesting that her part in her work was little more than in it’s presentation. He bought the food; she just scurried into the kitchen and stuck it on a plate, perhaps. But, she also said: ‘one is not born a woman, one becomes one’. I view this as a reminder of the responsibility women have to not adhere to this notion of us being 'Other'- assuming the word 'woman' in this context does in fact mean 'Other' - we are born and it is out responsibility to choose where to go from there. With this in mind, I have considered the idea that sexist behaviour in men arises from them viewing women as ‘Other’ as a result of women conforming to stereotypes that facilitate this idea of gender differences; perhaps the responsibility of equality lies with 'us' and not 'them'. Of course, such stereotypes have been helped along by the media, it’s not original to blame the big bad media for something yet within this media saturated society it has a part to play, and a big one at that. It seems that to be ‘equal' women need to be like men which itself suggests that the blueprint of how a human should be is male. The notion here is that women become equal to men by ignoring all that is unequal about them (I'm sure Nietzsche is creeping in here). What I am interested in, then, is how to not equalize but neutralize gender within contemporary Western society. This seems a difficult notion to contemplate even amongst the most unique minds I have encountered; speaking of my male peers, I find it rather bizarre that with such abstract thoughts about our very existence they sign up to created concepts such as gender division.

I have emailed a female lecturer regarding my thoughts on this and have asked her what it is like to be a female in a male saturated profession, specifically, academia. I will post any insight she provides.

Chatterley, L. (2011)

It was awful, I hated it; I couldn't get enough...

How to lose (approximately) 50 stone in 1 evening: a guide

I read a very interesting article in a 'lifestyle' magazine last night.

In the pursuit of being thin and therefore relevant it was suggested that you stop dining out in groups of up to 6 friends...it seems that it's not food that makes you fat, it's friendship! I wish someone would have told me this sooner...the gym membership and subscription to weight watchers have all been superfluous now that I know the real way to get thin!

Thank you 'essentials magazine' for highlighting the dangers of the company of friends, leisurely suppers and ordering both dessert AND wine. (oh and testing my commitment to your advice by publishing, on the next page, 'recipes to feed a crowd'...)

Weirdo

T.W Adorno: “conformity has replaced consciousness”

I've just returned from a wander into the village where I live prompted by my need for sesame oil and my 'oh shit' remembrance that tomorrow we must worship those that gave us life: our Mamas. Mine's a darlin’ so I bought her some crystal light-catcher thingy that's meant to bring 'good energy' into her life. I can get away with offering such fantastical gifts and promises because I'm the 'weird' one of the family. Over recent years they have taken to calling me eccentric, I think that means that I am weird but can afford a flat and 'kooky' clothes.

This idea of 'weird' got me thinking. I was meandering through the village some 30 minutes ago and without realising, as is often the case, I was chattering away to myself, contorting my face in line with my consistently inconsistent thoughts and swinging my arms in the afternoon breeze...I was having a lovely time. To an onlooker: I've lost the plot. But seriously, who is the weirdo here? Is it a chick having a merry afternoon stroll or an uptight guy rushing to get to where he probably doesn't want to be but doing it in a prompt, yet controlled and orderly, fashion?

'Uptight guy' will get pissed later. Upon submitting to the intoxication he will most likely eat too much, laugh loudly, speak his mind and fall in to bed with the person he spotted earlier/met in the chippy. Tomorrow, he will be cursing the evil that is alcohol for turning him into a twat for the evening. How could he let that happen?

Here's an experiment, give people non-alcoholic wine or beer, but don't tell them, and watch them 'get pissed'. Of course, they won't be drunk but they will have the excuse they need to drop the facade of functioning civilian, whatever that means, for one night and just let go.

To be clear though, I am not suggesting that the world would be a better place if everyone acted like a chav on a Saturday night out. What I am suggesting, however, is that people would surely be gratified if they were just themselves, whoever that may be, and not the people they ‘should’ be. Just look at what people turn into when they are on holiday...it's like they've been released from a cage. I refuse to only relax on the basis that I've paid for it and I'm in a different country, what a load of bollocks. Now I do play the game well, I'm not an 'out there' kind of character - I even study and hold down a job (!). However, I feel - and am told by those that know me -that I am an authentic sort, I guess true-to-myself is the best way to put it. If people don't like it, is that problem mine?

In our society, for it to function, people need to turn up for work to make the thing that gets traded for another thing in exchange for wages that also buy things etc etc. I get that, I do it myself. However, I refuse to live as an employee outside the realms of my office..my boss would say that I also refuse this title within the office...I just wish other people would cotton on to it. For example, I was in the Co-Op a few days ago and a song came on the radio, I forget which one. The guy in front of me tapped his toes; he may have even swung his hips a little. I too got caught by the beat and was bobbing my head. Ideal scenario: the guy looks at me, I look at the guy and we start dancing in the shop, really enjoying the song...I could feel the adrenaline building, I wanted to do it...and then: nothing. He left; I paid for my stuff and also left the shop. Today I was in the Co-Op again, I was walking up one of the aisles and as I did the man in front of me seemed to speed up. Suddenly, I felt the urge to chase him, to run up and down the aisles laughing, tears streaming down our faces all finished with a polite hand shake and a 'thanks for that!' I passed him by, tried to catch his eye to gage whether he'd be 'up for it' (the chasing, not 'that'), failed, purchased my beer and left. I felt annoyed on both occasions, firstly at those guys for not spotting the opportunity and secondly at myself for not taking it.

So, yes, I may sing out loud and giggle to myself in street if I find something amusing. I may walk in funny ways and swing my arms as the mood takes me but I'm happier for it. Giving into urges; (within the context of the laws that govern our society...of course) be it the urge to laugh out loud, say 'hi' to the person you felt an instant connection with at the bus-stop or to skip down the street you'd usually walk is glorious! Just make sure you get it out of your system before you return to your desk...if you must.

Hmm...

'You give up a lot when you try to be a writer. Money, the things other people have, even family - you can pretty much kill all that goodbye. But there are compensations. Your life's maybe not as wide as most people's, but it's deeper, and sometimes it's more interesting. You're always trying to explain and describe things to yourself, and so you see things other people miss and feel things most things people are too busy to bother with' (A Good Student by Elliot Mabeuse)

From what I observe in the society I live in people are preoccupied with lives that make them miserable and frustrated. They're not sure if they even like their spouse/partner, the new car that made them so happy 2 weeks ago didn't 'do the trick' either. We are told that life is made special by little 'moments'. In terms of consumerist society 'moments' mean purchases: cars, holidays, jumpers, restaurant meals etc. In this context the term 'moment' is perfect for industries; unfulfilled, their consumers seek more and more 'moments' in order to fill a void. 'Life is made bearable by short-lived, empty gratifications' seems more accurate here.

So what of those of us who seek more than a 'new-dress-induced-adrenaline-rush'? Are we resigned to perpetual unhappiness, pale skin and naff clothes? To be honest, I'm unsure but I seem to receive small comfort in knowing that I've not been mugged of £1000 for a week in Turkey where I discover that my partner and I still have nothing to talk about. I feel comforted in the knowledge that I haven't attempted to place a 'band-aid' over a something by means of meaningless consumption.

For now I can only draw this vague conclusion: I am not sure why I am routinely vexed but I am certain I know how NOT to 'cure' it...but...what if the only way to kill dissatisfaction is seeking 'moments' I am - in the context of the society I live in - told will make life worth living? Have those Topshop 'black abstract lily print trousers' been the answer all along?