IdeasTap is a pretty nifty little resource for creative types, particularly those under 30. In times characterised by a sharp drop in the amount of Arts Council funding available for creative companies and projects, this organisation seems to have opportunity after opportunity for creatives to state their case and potentially receive some cash. There is a £30K cash injection available from Sky Arts for five individuals to receive in order to create new projects, £10K for an Edinburgh Festival show plus jobs, paid internships and free classes/sessions based in and about the arts sector.
The website also offers you a platform on which to showcase your own work so far and it's this that I'm attaching here today. This is really a work in progress but I hope it may well become a great resource for me in the future regarding jobs, funding applications and more.
http://www.ideastap.com/people/LucyDanser/portfolio/31b2ff97-62ac-48e0-b535-9efb00129ba6/?tracker=LucyDanser%3A-1%3A875734094#.TtwXAVIdqIg.facebook
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Familial Support
Me: I'm going to a casting workshop.
Mum: What for?
Me: Well, they tell you what kind of actor you are.
Mum: I can tell you what kind of actor you are.
Me: Ok, go on then.
Mum: Unemployed.
Mum: What for?
Me: Well, they tell you what kind of actor you are.
Mum: I can tell you what kind of actor you are.
Me: Ok, go on then.
Mum: Unemployed.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Coffee Vs Milk. Part One- A Dangerous Balancing Act
The scene:
An upmarket coffee shop in london. Standing behind the coffee machine a barista awaits his orders. A middle aged, well-dressed woman enters the shop and makes a bee line for the barista. Confidently, she barks her orders.
Customer: Cappuccino, small, one shot, extra dry, no chocolate.
Barista: Certainly.
Customer: Extra-dry. You heard that?
Barista: Yes Madam, extra dry.
Customer: Is Roger here? He knows how I like it.
Barista: He's just in the office. Don't worry I'll make it. I'm trained by Roger!
The Barista makes the coffee and the woman takes a sip, pulls a face and returns it.
Customer: I said extra dry. This has milk in.
Barista: Yes it has a little milk in because its...
Customer: Extra dry. That's just froth and espresso. Espresso and froth. What's wrong with you?
Barista: Just espresso and froth?
Customer: Yes.
Barista: You want a macchiato?
Customer: NO! I want a small, one shot, extra dry, no chocolate cappuccino. Where's Roger? ROGER?
Roger, the Manager, enters.
Roger: Hello Maeve darling. What can I get you? The usual?
Customer: Yes thank you dear. Your barista doesn't know what he's doing. I'll be sitting down outside.
She exits.
Roger: What a pain in the arse that one is.
Barista: What does she want?
Roger: A macchiato.
Barista: But she...
Roger: I know, I know. I can assure you, she wants a macchiato. She just wants to call it a cappuccino.
The above overheard dialogue illustrates how the great coffee movement of 21st Century London has rendered a simple coffee order impossible. Gone are the days of "White, one sugar darlin'", to be replaced by long convoluted sentences made up of a combination of English and Italian words strung together in no particular verifiable order. In this series (there'll definitely be at least two) of essays (blogs) I will be examining some of the top issues that arise when the populous of London attempt to purchase a cup of Joe.
The first problem has arisen from the coffee companies trying to appeal to the modern greed for more, MoRe, MORE! There are so many different coffee shops stretching from major corporations (Starbucks, Nero, Costa) down to smaller, more specialist, independent cafes (Ginger and White, Flat White, Milk Bar) that the coffee marketplace is now cluttered with an A-Z of impressively titled coffee/milk/syrupy combinations. We have Caramel Macchiatos, Cafe Lattes, Cafe Mochas, Flat Whites, Cappuccinos, Cafe Melanges, Frappuccinos, Cafe au Lait, tall blacks, short blacks, Red Eyes, Torpedoes and so many more. Starbucks, for example, has particularly confused the ordering system by using existing words for made up coffees. For example: a macchiato is a famous Italian drink made by combining one or more shots of espresso with a spoonful or so of foam. Starbucks, however, has created the Caramel Macchiato, which can be more aptly described as a latte flavoured with caramel syrup. See where I'm going here?
So, while this is exciting and all, it can also become very complicated for baristas trying to meet people's expectations of the coffee they can get elsewhere while working in a coffee shop that only specialises in a handful of these options. The below are what I would call the actual, basic, widely available combinations of coffee and milk that are all (with the exception of the Flat White which is from New Zealand & Australia) based on the original Italian recipes.
1. Latte
1-2 shots of espresso combined with steamed milk with a small layer of froth on the top.
2. Cappuccino
1-2 shots of espresso combined with 2/3 steamed milk and 1/3 froth.
3. Flat White
2 shots of espresso combined with steamed milk with less froth than a latte.
4. Americano with or without milk
1-2 shots of espresso combined with hot water. Hot or cold milk added as required.
5. Mocha
1-2 shots of espresso combined with hot chocolate. Served latte style.
6. Espresso
1-2 shots of espresso, served straight or with milk if required.
7. Macchiato
1-2 shots of espresso, served with frothed milk.
When I was working in a coffee shop I was overwhelmed by the number of customers who tried to specialise their orders. A little fiddling around is okay -I can deal with extra-hot or a little less milk perhaps- but the reason these bean and milk combos are in existence is because they have been tried and tested and they WORK!
So please don't order a:
-Latte with less foam and an extra shot because this is a FLAT WHITE.
-Wet Cappuccino because this is a LATTE.
-Dry Latte because this is a CAPPUCCINO.
-Espresso with a large side of extra milk because you clearly want a FLAT WHITE and are just being GREEDY
OR A
-Dry cappuccino because this is A CUP OF COFFEE-SCENTED FOAM.
Just my suggestion.
An upmarket coffee shop in london. Standing behind the coffee machine a barista awaits his orders. A middle aged, well-dressed woman enters the shop and makes a bee line for the barista. Confidently, she barks her orders.
Customer: Cappuccino, small, one shot, extra dry, no chocolate.
Barista: Certainly.
Customer: Extra-dry. You heard that?
Barista: Yes Madam, extra dry.
Customer: Is Roger here? He knows how I like it.
Barista: He's just in the office. Don't worry I'll make it. I'm trained by Roger!
The Barista makes the coffee and the woman takes a sip, pulls a face and returns it.
Customer: I said extra dry. This has milk in.
Barista: Yes it has a little milk in because its...
Customer: Extra dry. That's just froth and espresso. Espresso and froth. What's wrong with you?
Barista: Just espresso and froth?
Customer: Yes.
Barista: You want a macchiato?
Customer: NO! I want a small, one shot, extra dry, no chocolate cappuccino. Where's Roger? ROGER?
Roger, the Manager, enters.
Roger: Hello Maeve darling. What can I get you? The usual?
Customer: Yes thank you dear. Your barista doesn't know what he's doing. I'll be sitting down outside.
She exits.
Roger: What a pain in the arse that one is.
Barista: What does she want?
Roger: A macchiato.
Barista: But she...
Roger: I know, I know. I can assure you, she wants a macchiato. She just wants to call it a cappuccino.
The above overheard dialogue illustrates how the great coffee movement of 21st Century London has rendered a simple coffee order impossible. Gone are the days of "White, one sugar darlin'", to be replaced by long convoluted sentences made up of a combination of English and Italian words strung together in no particular verifiable order. In this series (there'll definitely be at least two) of essays (blogs) I will be examining some of the top issues that arise when the populous of London attempt to purchase a cup of Joe.
The first problem has arisen from the coffee companies trying to appeal to the modern greed for more, MoRe, MORE! There are so many different coffee shops stretching from major corporations (Starbucks, Nero, Costa) down to smaller, more specialist, independent cafes (Ginger and White, Flat White, Milk Bar) that the coffee marketplace is now cluttered with an A-Z of impressively titled coffee/milk/syrupy combinations. We have Caramel Macchiatos, Cafe Lattes, Cafe Mochas, Flat Whites, Cappuccinos, Cafe Melanges, Frappuccinos, Cafe au Lait, tall blacks, short blacks, Red Eyes, Torpedoes and so many more. Starbucks, for example, has particularly confused the ordering system by using existing words for made up coffees. For example: a macchiato is a famous Italian drink made by combining one or more shots of espresso with a spoonful or so of foam. Starbucks, however, has created the Caramel Macchiato, which can be more aptly described as a latte flavoured with caramel syrup. See where I'm going here?
So, while this is exciting and all, it can also become very complicated for baristas trying to meet people's expectations of the coffee they can get elsewhere while working in a coffee shop that only specialises in a handful of these options. The below are what I would call the actual, basic, widely available combinations of coffee and milk that are all (with the exception of the Flat White which is from New Zealand & Australia) based on the original Italian recipes.
1. Latte
1-2 shots of espresso combined with steamed milk with a small layer of froth on the top.
2. Cappuccino
1-2 shots of espresso combined with 2/3 steamed milk and 1/3 froth.
3. Flat White
2 shots of espresso combined with steamed milk with less froth than a latte.
4. Americano with or without milk
1-2 shots of espresso combined with hot water. Hot or cold milk added as required.
5. Mocha
1-2 shots of espresso combined with hot chocolate. Served latte style.
6. Espresso
1-2 shots of espresso, served straight or with milk if required.
7. Macchiato
1-2 shots of espresso, served with frothed milk.
When I was working in a coffee shop I was overwhelmed by the number of customers who tried to specialise their orders. A little fiddling around is okay -I can deal with extra-hot or a little less milk perhaps- but the reason these bean and milk combos are in existence is because they have been tried and tested and they WORK!
So please don't order a:
-Latte with less foam and an extra shot because this is a FLAT WHITE.
-Wet Cappuccino because this is a LATTE.
-Dry Latte because this is a CAPPUCCINO.
-Espresso with a large side of extra milk because you clearly want a FLAT WHITE and are just being GREEDY
OR A
-Dry cappuccino because this is A CUP OF COFFEE-SCENTED FOAM.
Just my suggestion.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Show That Really Is A Party
Having just got back from Edinburgh, one would have thought I'd have had access to pretty much all of the experimental, avant-garde, promenade, cabaret-esque theatre I could ever desire. However, Edinburgh was almost entirely a washout this year in terms of me gracing the audience section of any play other than my own. Plus, any spare time was invariably spent desperately darting from one comedy gig to another, trying to stock up on knowledge of comedians for my role as co-director of Chatback Comedy Club. Even without these events hindering my theatregoing abilities, Edinburgh is not only becoming an expensive way to see theatre but also a place where so many companies are shoving their wares into your hands by way of flyers, it's often difficult to know what to go and see.
Last week, back in London, I was sent a complimentary ticket to a show called Office Party at The Pleasance, Islington. The email informed me that the show had been commissioned by the Barbican a couple of years back and had also played the Edinburgh Festival to great acclaim. Now it was back, boasting a cast chock full of some of my favourite acts currently gracing the cabaret scene. Was I going? A free ticket to something describing itself as 'an interactive theatrical extravaganza which features a veritable smorgasboard of stand-up comedians, and stupendously brilliant avant-garde performers'? Without a doubt.
Despite my initial fervour I got a little bit panicky when I first arrived at The Pleasance. Arriving a couple of minutes before the show was about to start -thanks to the area's apparent adoration for complicated one-way systems and sat-navs that announce a turning two seconds after you pass it- I dashed confidently into the theatre's main entrance only to be turned away and sent down the street to a double door marked with the ineffably dull name of 'Product Solutions'. Entering I was greeted like an old friend by a bunch of festively dressed beings who scrawled my name on a badge bearing the initials CSR and told, "We're going to wear these tonight. You'll be mixing with the other departments so not everyone is going to know everyone else". I was then told to skip off and join the rest of my colleagues from the Corporate and Social Responsibility Department "here at Production Solutions". Shell-shocked I wondered off, peering desperately at other people's labels, before being saved and/or assaulted by Cath from Domestic Services who wanted a chat about Primark and the fact that the CEO wasn't shelling out for a free bar "after the events of last year".
Maybe I'm a wuss but, despite being a generally sociable person, I quickly realised that a) this night was going to be one heck of a more participatory experience than I was expecting and b) very few people/if any had come alone as I had, and I was feeling a little nervous about approaching people. It didn't help that there was no clear delineation at this point between actors and audience so I had no idea who it was safe to strike up a conversation with. I dealt with this by approaching people who looked even more terrified than I felt.
I don't want to say too much about the rest of the show partly because I don't want to ruin the many secret surprises it's hoarding and partly because I feel it's truly a show that adapts to each individual audience anyway. My experience of it may not be your experience.
The phrases 'interactive' and 'theatrical experience' are too often bandied about to describe shows where something...well...happens or where there's a bout of audience participation perhaps. But this is really the full shebang. I'm not a huge fan of participating at the theatre. I often feel that I've paid to see professionals do their thing rather than humouring a bunch of attention-seeking, talentless fellow audience members. Office Party, however, treads the line between the two beautifully. There's a clear structure to the piece, actors posing as 'Department Heads' comically use a blend of script and improvisation to bond with their 'Departments' and, later, each gets their own turn to perform during the party whether they sing, pole dance, do stand-up or strip. There's a bar, a cheesy disco, party games with Departments competing against each other, prizes, guest cabaret performances, spoof motivational speakers and so very much more.
This feels more like an event than a simple show, it's refreshing to find something so entertaining and all-consuming that you really do enter a fantasy world for a while and any panic I felt at arriving alone melted away as boundaries were broken down and everyone started bonding over the peculiar state of affairs we'd all found ourselves a part of. No-one has to join in with anything they don't fancy and the place is so packed it's not a problem if you don't wish to do anything other than just observe with a pint in hand.
Yes, of course, there are awkward moments. Most of these occur early on in the night as actors desperately try to coax made-up conversations out of you before you're quite ready to leave your self-conciousness outside and enter the make-believe world of Product Solutions. But, since this is an unavoidable part of this sort of interactive event, they couldn't have chosen a better topic. Who isn't awkward at the office party, cornered by figures of authority and total strangers into making uncomfortable conversation about things you barely understand!? I bet this is the best -and most surreal one- you'll ever attend.
http://www.officepartyshow.com/
Last week, back in London, I was sent a complimentary ticket to a show called Office Party at The Pleasance, Islington. The email informed me that the show had been commissioned by the Barbican a couple of years back and had also played the Edinburgh Festival to great acclaim. Now it was back, boasting a cast chock full of some of my favourite acts currently gracing the cabaret scene. Was I going? A free ticket to something describing itself as 'an interactive theatrical extravaganza which features a veritable smorgasboard of stand-up comedians, and stupendously brilliant avant-garde performers'? Without a doubt.
Despite my initial fervour I got a little bit panicky when I first arrived at The Pleasance. Arriving a couple of minutes before the show was about to start -thanks to the area's apparent adoration for complicated one-way systems and sat-navs that announce a turning two seconds after you pass it- I dashed confidently into the theatre's main entrance only to be turned away and sent down the street to a double door marked with the ineffably dull name of 'Product Solutions'. Entering I was greeted like an old friend by a bunch of festively dressed beings who scrawled my name on a badge bearing the initials CSR and told, "We're going to wear these tonight. You'll be mixing with the other departments so not everyone is going to know everyone else". I was then told to skip off and join the rest of my colleagues from the Corporate and Social Responsibility Department "here at Production Solutions". Shell-shocked I wondered off, peering desperately at other people's labels, before being saved and/or assaulted by Cath from Domestic Services who wanted a chat about Primark and the fact that the CEO wasn't shelling out for a free bar "after the events of last year".
Maybe I'm a wuss but, despite being a generally sociable person, I quickly realised that a) this night was going to be one heck of a more participatory experience than I was expecting and b) very few people/if any had come alone as I had, and I was feeling a little nervous about approaching people. It didn't help that there was no clear delineation at this point between actors and audience so I had no idea who it was safe to strike up a conversation with. I dealt with this by approaching people who looked even more terrified than I felt.
I don't want to say too much about the rest of the show partly because I don't want to ruin the many secret surprises it's hoarding and partly because I feel it's truly a show that adapts to each individual audience anyway. My experience of it may not be your experience.
The phrases 'interactive' and 'theatrical experience' are too often bandied about to describe shows where something...well...happens or where there's a bout of audience participation perhaps. But this is really the full shebang. I'm not a huge fan of participating at the theatre. I often feel that I've paid to see professionals do their thing rather than humouring a bunch of attention-seeking, talentless fellow audience members. Office Party, however, treads the line between the two beautifully. There's a clear structure to the piece, actors posing as 'Department Heads' comically use a blend of script and improvisation to bond with their 'Departments' and, later, each gets their own turn to perform during the party whether they sing, pole dance, do stand-up or strip. There's a bar, a cheesy disco, party games with Departments competing against each other, prizes, guest cabaret performances, spoof motivational speakers and so very much more.
This feels more like an event than a simple show, it's refreshing to find something so entertaining and all-consuming that you really do enter a fantasy world for a while and any panic I felt at arriving alone melted away as boundaries were broken down and everyone started bonding over the peculiar state of affairs we'd all found ourselves a part of. No-one has to join in with anything they don't fancy and the place is so packed it's not a problem if you don't wish to do anything other than just observe with a pint in hand.
Yes, of course, there are awkward moments. Most of these occur early on in the night as actors desperately try to coax made-up conversations out of you before you're quite ready to leave your self-conciousness outside and enter the make-believe world of Product Solutions. But, since this is an unavoidable part of this sort of interactive event, they couldn't have chosen a better topic. Who isn't awkward at the office party, cornered by figures of authority and total strangers into making uncomfortable conversation about things you barely understand!? I bet this is the best -and most surreal one- you'll ever attend.
http://www.officepartyshow.com/
The Age of the Pre-Packaged Musical
In the 1940's a new phrase was coined to explain what was happening in movie land. Films were being made with a soundtrack featuring mainly pre-existing/well known songs of the day looped around a dramatic and/or romantic narrative. The phrase coined to explain this 'phenomenon' was 'Jukebox Musical'. Famous examples include Meet me in St Louis, A Hard Day's Night, Singin' in the Rain and The Blues Brothers. As this continued into the modern day it started to trickle into our theatres too, spawning a trend which is currently blazing a trail through London's West End and igniting a civil war between those who adore it and those who abhore it.
It's easy, particularly for theatre makers working in the subsidiary sector, to fall into the latter category. While jukebox musicals aren't a risk-free venture -they are, after all, still theatre- they certainly have easier access to a ready-made audience than, for example, new writing or revived classics do. Not only that, but they also appeal to that potential audience much-desired by theatre makers the world over: the current non-theatregoers. Attracting new audiences is a constant battle in theatre but its well documented that, by simply using a famous name in your show title, you can attract hordes of people who wouldn't even vaguely consider spending a night at the theatre in any other circumstance. These shows are also seen as lazy creations since they depend so heavily on simply stringing a storyline or a band's biography around someone else's hard work. You can see why its a particularly bitter pill for theatre companies attempting to create something new and exciting, and living hand to mouth in the process, to have to swallow.
My opinion on the subject? Well, until recently, my opinion was as follows:
As much as I strongly encourage attracting new audiences to theatre, I can't really see how doing so by marketing it towards people who only wish to see Disney movies live or hear their favourite band performed tribute style (often regardless of how well/badly they are performed) is, in the long term, a worthwhile exercise in terms of cultivating new theatre punters for the future. And it's certainly looking like that's all people want. I mean today alone there were performances in London's West End of: Million Dollar Quartet, Jersey Boys, Thriller, We Will Rock You, Mamma Mia!, Rock of Ages, Priscilla- Queen of the Desert.......the list goes on. I know this doesn't matter in commercial theatre. I know that, as long as it goes on being so financially successful, the jukebox musical is here to stay. I also know, however, that the British theatre scene places the utmost importance on fighting to be seen as the cultural hotspot in comparison with rival scenes in countries around the world. Ultimately I can't imagine we're ready to forgo Dame Judi Dench at the RSC in favour of making sure we have the top production of Jersey Boys. It's whether or not these will continue to be able to exist side by side that I question.
Okay so I've thrown my hat into the ring and said my piece as a concerned member of the industry but, as a theatregoer, I've seen and enjoyed a number of these shows. I've also seen and hated a number of them. In much the same way I sometimes like or dislike any other piece of entertainment in fact. The thing is- when I enjoy a jukebox musical its normally because there is something about it that I feel elevates it above the simple, base concept of ripping off an existing work. Something novel that shows how revisiting a old concept can better it.
But I think I've changed my mind. I've finally sat through one of these shows absolutely riddled with all the things I'd normally complain about...
e.g. A heavy dependence on in-jokes and famous songs
A very silly storyline riddled with holes and ridiculous characters
A couple of below-par performances
A lead role played by TV names not famed for their stage skills
...and yet I walked out with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. Why? Because I suddenly realised how FUN these shows can be. In a way that new material can't, these riffings around a common theme can draw people together through nostalgia, memories of happier times and long-forgotten in-jokes. I went to see Rock of Ages for no reason other than that I had free tickets. There was so much wrong with the show that I was ready to get on my high theatrical horse and have a moan. Then I realised how much fun the cast, the audience... everyone was having. People were laughing, singing along, waving lights in the air and cheering almost panto-style as the silly storyline developed.
A week later the show was panned by the critics for all the things I've already mentioned. But I was there. I saw a massive theatre be pumped full of excitement, joy, fun and Londoners breaking the usual boundaries to chat and smile to each other. There was so much wrong with the show and yet, ultimately, it was a triumph.
Maybe we theatre people have more to learn than we're ready to admit.
It's easy, particularly for theatre makers working in the subsidiary sector, to fall into the latter category. While jukebox musicals aren't a risk-free venture -they are, after all, still theatre- they certainly have easier access to a ready-made audience than, for example, new writing or revived classics do. Not only that, but they also appeal to that potential audience much-desired by theatre makers the world over: the current non-theatregoers. Attracting new audiences is a constant battle in theatre but its well documented that, by simply using a famous name in your show title, you can attract hordes of people who wouldn't even vaguely consider spending a night at the theatre in any other circumstance. These shows are also seen as lazy creations since they depend so heavily on simply stringing a storyline or a band's biography around someone else's hard work. You can see why its a particularly bitter pill for theatre companies attempting to create something new and exciting, and living hand to mouth in the process, to have to swallow.
My opinion on the subject? Well, until recently, my opinion was as follows:
As much as I strongly encourage attracting new audiences to theatre, I can't really see how doing so by marketing it towards people who only wish to see Disney movies live or hear their favourite band performed tribute style (often regardless of how well/badly they are performed) is, in the long term, a worthwhile exercise in terms of cultivating new theatre punters for the future. And it's certainly looking like that's all people want. I mean today alone there were performances in London's West End of: Million Dollar Quartet, Jersey Boys, Thriller, We Will Rock You, Mamma Mia!, Rock of Ages, Priscilla- Queen of the Desert.......the list goes on. I know this doesn't matter in commercial theatre. I know that, as long as it goes on being so financially successful, the jukebox musical is here to stay. I also know, however, that the British theatre scene places the utmost importance on fighting to be seen as the cultural hotspot in comparison with rival scenes in countries around the world. Ultimately I can't imagine we're ready to forgo Dame Judi Dench at the RSC in favour of making sure we have the top production of Jersey Boys. It's whether or not these will continue to be able to exist side by side that I question.
Okay so I've thrown my hat into the ring and said my piece as a concerned member of the industry but, as a theatregoer, I've seen and enjoyed a number of these shows. I've also seen and hated a number of them. In much the same way I sometimes like or dislike any other piece of entertainment in fact. The thing is- when I enjoy a jukebox musical its normally because there is something about it that I feel elevates it above the simple, base concept of ripping off an existing work. Something novel that shows how revisiting a old concept can better it.
But I think I've changed my mind. I've finally sat through one of these shows absolutely riddled with all the things I'd normally complain about...
e.g. A heavy dependence on in-jokes and famous songs
A very silly storyline riddled with holes and ridiculous characters
A couple of below-par performances
A lead role played by TV names not famed for their stage skills
...and yet I walked out with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. Why? Because I suddenly realised how FUN these shows can be. In a way that new material can't, these riffings around a common theme can draw people together through nostalgia, memories of happier times and long-forgotten in-jokes. I went to see Rock of Ages for no reason other than that I had free tickets. There was so much wrong with the show that I was ready to get on my high theatrical horse and have a moan. Then I realised how much fun the cast, the audience... everyone was having. People were laughing, singing along, waving lights in the air and cheering almost panto-style as the silly storyline developed.
A week later the show was panned by the critics for all the things I've already mentioned. But I was there. I saw a massive theatre be pumped full of excitement, joy, fun and Londoners breaking the usual boundaries to chat and smile to each other. There was so much wrong with the show and yet, ultimately, it was a triumph.
Maybe we theatre people have more to learn than we're ready to admit.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Kelis and other questionable news items
I'm getting a little nervous about journalism. Don't get me wrong, I love newspapers and magazines, I love the fact we're not censored and we have the right to free (if slightly over politically correct) speech. No, what currently concerns me is the, apparently necessary, speedy nature of journalism. The fact that bagging a major news scoop equals big sales, a front page and journalistic glory is not an unknown fact, and therefore it's totally understandable that there is always competition to be the first to break a new story. Until recently this meant hitting the earliest deadline possible to get your story into the paper before anyone else did. Nowadays, thanks to the internet, stories can appear online on news websites or on twitter just minutes after they occur.
I complained a couple of months ago about Amy Winehouse's death being reported online allegedly before her father had been notified. The article on the Daily Mail website had been re-edited by the time I went back to take a quote from it an hour or so later, but this displays the completely unacceptable things that can be posted around the world when the need for speed outweighs proper editing and censorship.
The most recent example of this was that of the American singer Kelis tweeting about her experiences when a British man in an airport queue called her 'Kunte Kinta' and demanded she call him Sir. Without a full transcript of the conversation it's impossible to know the exact vein of the conversation but I imagine there is very little likelihood that any extra information about the incident will redeem this man's behaviour. It seems he was indeed an ignorant, nasty and, above all, racist individual and it's correct, in my eyes, that he is held up as an example of how not to behave towards others. I highly condemn racism of any kind and am saddened to hear that this sort of attitude still exists in any society regardless of whether it's the one I happen to belong to.
Kelis has 163,792 followers on twitter. She knows that anything she says a) will be read by a large number of avid fans and b) potentially utilised by the press. I see no issue with her using twitter to express her distress and raise the profile of an issue she feels passionately needs some attention, but the fact that she not only took this experience with one man and linked it to an attack on the state of British society, but also wrote this at a time she was still feeling furious and upset without waiting to calm down and reflect before editing and publishing this on the world wide web was, I feel, quite a bad move.
The story was, predictably, immediately picked up by the British press and headlines such as 'Kelis Reveals the face of casual British racism'(The Observer), 'Kelis: Racism in the UK is 'disgusting''(The Sun), 'Kelis: I was racially abused at London airport'(The Telegraph) and many more began to appear. Again, this isn't just the fault of Kelis, frankly I don't know why newspapers aren't checking their facts before copying and pasting from twitter but regardless it was the singer's posts that began this tirade of anger focused towards Britain. The reason this is totally unfair or, at the very least, pointless in the circumstances is that Kelis later had to go back and point out that the confrontation actually occurred at a Spanish airport and not a UK one. She says in the later post, 'I didn't think to make that clear at the time because I was shaken and furious. Now you know.' Although I applaud her for taking the time to make the clarification, the damage had already been done. The passport control officer who 'shook his head in agreement I guess' now appears to be Spanish and therefore quite likely had no comprehension of the exchange that had just taken place. This alters the tone of the story fairly considerably.
I'm not trying to claim that Britain is not racist. As a white person writing this blog I do, of course, have no real comprehension of what Kelis and other black people may experience during their travels around the UK. However, at the beginning of this blog I pointed out how free we are in this country to talk about the issues that affect us. Although we do have racist people and problems in our society, I feel that Kelis' suggestion that 'the racial issues in the uk are disgusting. Its racially decades behind progression because everything is swept under the rug. People don't talk about it. People don't fight about it.' is totally unsupported. We have a large number of arts groups funded by the government that are dedicated to giving a voice to people of all different colours, races and cultures, we have anti-racism groups such as Runnymede, frequent special reports in the major newspapers on the state of racism, million pound police enquiries into racially motivated attacks (e.g. the Stephen Lawrence enquiry) and many television documentaries or specials such as Racism in Multicultural Britain on Panorama.
I appreciate that Kelis was treated very badly and that social media has long been a mode in which people feel they can vent whilst simultaneously garnering sympathy and/or spreading important information. I mentioned earlier that Kelis has a huge number of followers who most likely take her pronouncements very seriously. Perhaps this was exactly what she was counting on. Perhaps she believes she was making a worthy and important point. Perhaps she was. My overiding feeling about this whole affair however is a slightly sour sensation that a combination of internet access, competitive journalism and celebrity has culminated in a single, idiotic, disgusting man being held up as the apparent blueprint for British society. And that's neither fair nor helpful.
I complained a couple of months ago about Amy Winehouse's death being reported online allegedly before her father had been notified. The article on the Daily Mail website had been re-edited by the time I went back to take a quote from it an hour or so later, but this displays the completely unacceptable things that can be posted around the world when the need for speed outweighs proper editing and censorship.
The most recent example of this was that of the American singer Kelis tweeting about her experiences when a British man in an airport queue called her 'Kunte Kinta' and demanded she call him Sir. Without a full transcript of the conversation it's impossible to know the exact vein of the conversation but I imagine there is very little likelihood that any extra information about the incident will redeem this man's behaviour. It seems he was indeed an ignorant, nasty and, above all, racist individual and it's correct, in my eyes, that he is held up as an example of how not to behave towards others. I highly condemn racism of any kind and am saddened to hear that this sort of attitude still exists in any society regardless of whether it's the one I happen to belong to.
Kelis has 163,792 followers on twitter. She knows that anything she says a) will be read by a large number of avid fans and b) potentially utilised by the press. I see no issue with her using twitter to express her distress and raise the profile of an issue she feels passionately needs some attention, but the fact that she not only took this experience with one man and linked it to an attack on the state of British society, but also wrote this at a time she was still feeling furious and upset without waiting to calm down and reflect before editing and publishing this on the world wide web was, I feel, quite a bad move.
The story was, predictably, immediately picked up by the British press and headlines such as 'Kelis Reveals the face of casual British racism'(The Observer), 'Kelis: Racism in the UK is 'disgusting''(The Sun), 'Kelis: I was racially abused at London airport'(The Telegraph) and many more began to appear. Again, this isn't just the fault of Kelis, frankly I don't know why newspapers aren't checking their facts before copying and pasting from twitter but regardless it was the singer's posts that began this tirade of anger focused towards Britain. The reason this is totally unfair or, at the very least, pointless in the circumstances is that Kelis later had to go back and point out that the confrontation actually occurred at a Spanish airport and not a UK one. She says in the later post, 'I didn't think to make that clear at the time because I was shaken and furious. Now you know.' Although I applaud her for taking the time to make the clarification, the damage had already been done. The passport control officer who 'shook his head in agreement I guess' now appears to be Spanish and therefore quite likely had no comprehension of the exchange that had just taken place. This alters the tone of the story fairly considerably.
I'm not trying to claim that Britain is not racist. As a white person writing this blog I do, of course, have no real comprehension of what Kelis and other black people may experience during their travels around the UK. However, at the beginning of this blog I pointed out how free we are in this country to talk about the issues that affect us. Although we do have racist people and problems in our society, I feel that Kelis' suggestion that 'the racial issues in the uk are disgusting. Its racially decades behind progression because everything is swept under the rug. People don't talk about it. People don't fight about it.' is totally unsupported. We have a large number of arts groups funded by the government that are dedicated to giving a voice to people of all different colours, races and cultures, we have anti-racism groups such as Runnymede, frequent special reports in the major newspapers on the state of racism, million pound police enquiries into racially motivated attacks (e.g. the Stephen Lawrence enquiry) and many television documentaries or specials such as Racism in Multicultural Britain on Panorama.
I appreciate that Kelis was treated very badly and that social media has long been a mode in which people feel they can vent whilst simultaneously garnering sympathy and/or spreading important information. I mentioned earlier that Kelis has a huge number of followers who most likely take her pronouncements very seriously. Perhaps this was exactly what she was counting on. Perhaps she believes she was making a worthy and important point. Perhaps she was. My overiding feeling about this whole affair however is a slightly sour sensation that a combination of internet access, competitive journalism and celebrity has culminated in a single, idiotic, disgusting man being held up as the apparent blueprint for British society. And that's neither fair nor helpful.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Whatsonstage.com Blog number Ten & Elevn
Blog 10: Art Meets Reality - and Panics!
http://bit.ly/pBCESG
Blog 11: Working the Fringe - Part Two
http://bit.ly/qJ7mBj
http://bit.ly/pBCESG
Blog 11: Working the Fringe - Part Two
http://bit.ly/qJ7mBj
Monday, August 29, 2011
Whatsonstage.com Blog number Nine
BLOG NUMBER NINE: I talk about trying out some Edfest Industry events
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831314443816/Working+the+Fringe+-+Part+One.html
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831314443816/Working+the+Fringe+-+Part+One.html
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Whatsonstage.com Blogs Numbers 7 & 8
BLOG 7: LUCY DANSER VS THE INTERNET
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831313362103/Lucy+Danser+Vs+The+Internet.html
BLOG 8: EXITING THE BUBBLE
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831313603250/Exiting+the+Bubble.html
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831313362103/Lucy+Danser+Vs+The+Internet.html
BLOG 8: EXITING THE BUBBLE
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831313603250/Exiting+the+Bubble.html
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Things ain't what they used to be---primarily me.
I haven't blogged on here for over a week now. Being in Edinburgh and producing my play Rachael's Cafe has taken pretty much all of my time and energy. Plus I often have very little to say other than what I upload on the Whatsonstage.com website as working the festival tends to shrink the world down to a tiny little bubble where nothing outside of Edinburgh exists. Obviously the London riots have broken through this protective little screen we so painstakingly erect between us and the real world this year, but although there is so much more than the festival to think about, it still tends to take over in the here and now. The result of this is that trying to think about anything other than your show usually threatens to frazzle your brain and greatly disrupt any small sense of equilibrium you may have established.
What I'm saying is that I'm an empty vessel right now. I'm finding it hard to collect my thoughts together enough to produce an actual coherent thought, I've forgotten the concept of mealtimes and I discovered that I only have to touch alcohol to my lips briefly to appear and feel instantaneously inebriated. I remember working the festival when I was 16 and effortlessly switching between painting the town red until 3 am (sixteen, I know!) and being up and at 'em first thing in the morning, flyering with a cheerful smile and personality on it's highest setting. I'm not sure when I aged thirty years or lost my stamina, but I sure as hell intend to find out this Fringe.
Until then? My cup of tea and bedtime book bid you goodnight.
What I'm saying is that I'm an empty vessel right now. I'm finding it hard to collect my thoughts together enough to produce an actual coherent thought, I've forgotten the concept of mealtimes and I discovered that I only have to touch alcohol to my lips briefly to appear and feel instantaneously inebriated. I remember working the festival when I was 16 and effortlessly switching between painting the town red until 3 am (sixteen, I know!) and being up and at 'em first thing in the morning, flyering with a cheerful smile and personality on it's highest setting. I'm not sure when I aged thirty years or lost my stamina, but I sure as hell intend to find out this Fringe.
Until then? My cup of tea and bedtime book bid you goodnight.
Whatsonstage.com Blog's number 4, 5, & 6!
BLOG 4: EDINBURGH: THE EDGE OF INSANITY
http://bit.ly/pMMTJF
BLOG 5: TEETHING PROBLEMS
http://bit.ly/nyjKQn
BLOG 6: LIVING EDINBURGH
http://bit.ly/nOGvi7
http://bit.ly/pMMTJF
BLOG 5: TEETHING PROBLEMS
http://bit.ly/nyjKQn
BLOG 6: LIVING EDINBURGH
http://bit.ly/nOGvi7
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Whatsonstage.com Blog Number Tres
Last of the pre-Edinburgh blogs. From now on it'll be the trial and tribulations of the Fringe from the middle of the melee.
http://bit.ly/pX4yyK
http://bit.ly/pX4yyK
Monday, August 1, 2011
Whatsonstage.com Blog The Second
Exactly what it says on the packet. This is my SECOND blog for Whatsonstage.com, and it's all about how my Guardian Angels swooped in last minute to save my show.
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831311982422/When+One+Door+Closes+Another+One+Opens...and+other+cliches.+.html
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831311982422/When+One+Door+Closes+Another+One+Opens...and+other+cliches.+.html
Humour - The best form of defence?
It has long been accepted that, in the never-ending procession of defence mechanisms that mankind inevitably carts out one after the other, humour is one of the most present, one of the most human and one of the most controversial. Whether you're consciously constructing a joke to calm your nerves or momentarily lose control and blurt out laughing at a sad story, there will always be someone ready to slate you for doing so and someone gratefully commending you.
Stand-Up Comedy, a practice revolving entirely around the art of making people laugh and entertaining them, doesn't necessarily seem like the most natural choice of vehicle with which to express sadness, depression or fear. Indeed, not all, but most of the comedians we see on television are of the 'poking fun, buying into stereotypes and exuding cheerful charisma' variety. But step into a comedy club and you'll see humour being used to delve into the psyches of these performers who have entered a profession stereotypically famed for attracting 'damaged' people.
Stewart Lee (famed for co-creating hit musical Jerry Springer the Opera) is known for his angry tirades about...well, about pretty much anything. For example, talking about TV programme Top Gear, he easily explains away Jeremy Clarkson as someone with 'outrageous, politically incorrect opinions which he has for money'! Andre Vincent and Dr. Oliver Double both created stand-up shows that deal with health problems, the former's battle with cancer (Andre Vincent is Unwell) and the latter's experience of his two sons having diabetes (Oliver Double in Saint Pancreas). In a moving documentary Conflict Revolution, comedian Andrew Maxwell uses humour to try to bring two warring Irish neighbourhoods together with the tag line 'Can laughter unite what religion and politics divides?'
Even outside of the comedy sphere humour is used daily by all sorts of people to help defend against fear, melancholy or worse. I remember standing by my father's hospital bed when he had a heart attack and joking about him looking like a turkey in his heat protective clothing and him not wanting to leave the hospital because he fancied all the pretty nurses. I knew a very shy, socially awkward boy at university who suddenly came out of his shell to present a play he'd written about how he used humour to try to mask his shyness. In Howard Jacobson's novel 'The Finkler Question' he says of a dying wife lying in bed next to her husband 'she could look deep into his eyes, beckon him to her and whisper what he thought would be a fond memory into his ear, but which turned out to be a raucous allusion, an obscenity even. She wanted him to laugh, because they had laughed so often together. He had made her laugh at the beginning. Laughter had been his most precious gift to her. And now she wanted laughter to be her final gift to him'.
I embrace humour with my whole being. For me, it's one of the most inspiring and natural comforts I can hope for. There is, however, a fine line between the kind of humour as defence that I condone and another, far less tasteful, type. While it's impossible to find a universal line to draw, recently my personal boundaries have been so pushed that my acceptance of 'humour as a defence mechanism' has been sorely tried.
In the past two weeks alone we, as a country, as a world, have been inundated with catastrophe. There is famine in Somalia, massacre in Norway, economic difficulties and we still have wars raging left, right and centre. We've always fallen back on humorous newspaper headlines (thanks mainly to The Sun), television political comedy programmes and, nowadays, facebook and twitter updates. This 'chin up' culture is, and has always been, a major part of the British attitude. But what about when gentle joking turns into spiteful jibes? Is this still an acceptable response to tragedy, or have we lost our compassion as a people? I leave with you a selection of these 'jokes' and let you decide for yourselves. Who knows...maybe I'm just a tad touchier than others.
For example:
DEATH OF AMY WINEHOUSE
Brazilian comedians have made a mockery of mourners at Amy Winehouse’s funeral Tuesday, as they cried crocodile tears to infiltrate the private event in London reserved exclusively for family and close friends of the famous singer.Two Brazilian comics, Daniel Zukerman and Andre Machado, who work on a Brazilian comedy TV show called Panico na TV (Panic on the TV), were seen posing as friends of Winehouse...The tasteless stunt included the two comics giving comments to German broadcaster RTL, and they could be seen smirking on the verge of laughter as they told the interviewer: “Amy changed the world. We lost a friend, the greatest singer. It is difficult to explain how we feel.”
In honour of Amy Winehouse, we shall all be doing 15 lines in the pub toilets, tonight!
It seems that this is the end of the line for Ms. Winehouse.
Elton John will perform at Amy Winehouse’s funeral with a beautiful rendition of Candle Under The Spoon.
Before telling such sick and abusive jokes about Amy Winehouse, think about her poor close friends. Imagine how they’ll feel on Thursday, when they finally come round and find out.
NORWAY MASSACRE
I want to go to Norway, I heard its the bomb. Mate went there last year but she just shot through. Utoya Island must be a great place. People are dying to be there.
DISAPPEARANCE OF MADELINE MCCANN
'Patrick Kielty joked that if the McCanns wanted to dispose of the body of their daughter, they should have checked her in as luggage on a Ryanair flight. He added that the couple had been backstage but had disappeared two hours later when he went to check on them. The sick comments prompted members of the audience to get up and leave the show.' (Sept, (2007), Dailymail.co.uk)
HOLOCAUST
'Trouble is with Holocaust films is there’s never any gag reel on the DVDs,’ (Ricky Gervais, (2009), Golden Globe Awards, dailymail.co.uk)
COMEDIAN LINKS
http://disappointingchildren.com/2011/07/stewart-lee-angry/
http://www.chortle.co.uk/shows/edinburgh_fringe_2002/a/635/andre_vincent_is_unwell
http://www.diabeticinfo.co.uk/#/oliver-double-diabetes/4526898630
Stand-Up Comedy, a practice revolving entirely around the art of making people laugh and entertaining them, doesn't necessarily seem like the most natural choice of vehicle with which to express sadness, depression or fear. Indeed, not all, but most of the comedians we see on television are of the 'poking fun, buying into stereotypes and exuding cheerful charisma' variety. But step into a comedy club and you'll see humour being used to delve into the psyches of these performers who have entered a profession stereotypically famed for attracting 'damaged' people.
Stewart Lee (famed for co-creating hit musical Jerry Springer the Opera) is known for his angry tirades about...well, about pretty much anything. For example, talking about TV programme Top Gear, he easily explains away Jeremy Clarkson as someone with 'outrageous, politically incorrect opinions which he has for money'! Andre Vincent and Dr. Oliver Double both created stand-up shows that deal with health problems, the former's battle with cancer (Andre Vincent is Unwell) and the latter's experience of his two sons having diabetes (Oliver Double in Saint Pancreas). In a moving documentary Conflict Revolution, comedian Andrew Maxwell uses humour to try to bring two warring Irish neighbourhoods together with the tag line 'Can laughter unite what religion and politics divides?'
Even outside of the comedy sphere humour is used daily by all sorts of people to help defend against fear, melancholy or worse. I remember standing by my father's hospital bed when he had a heart attack and joking about him looking like a turkey in his heat protective clothing and him not wanting to leave the hospital because he fancied all the pretty nurses. I knew a very shy, socially awkward boy at university who suddenly came out of his shell to present a play he'd written about how he used humour to try to mask his shyness. In Howard Jacobson's novel 'The Finkler Question' he says of a dying wife lying in bed next to her husband 'she could look deep into his eyes, beckon him to her and whisper what he thought would be a fond memory into his ear, but which turned out to be a raucous allusion, an obscenity even. She wanted him to laugh, because they had laughed so often together. He had made her laugh at the beginning. Laughter had been his most precious gift to her. And now she wanted laughter to be her final gift to him'.
I embrace humour with my whole being. For me, it's one of the most inspiring and natural comforts I can hope for. There is, however, a fine line between the kind of humour as defence that I condone and another, far less tasteful, type. While it's impossible to find a universal line to draw, recently my personal boundaries have been so pushed that my acceptance of 'humour as a defence mechanism' has been sorely tried.
In the past two weeks alone we, as a country, as a world, have been inundated with catastrophe. There is famine in Somalia, massacre in Norway, economic difficulties and we still have wars raging left, right and centre. We've always fallen back on humorous newspaper headlines (thanks mainly to The Sun), television political comedy programmes and, nowadays, facebook and twitter updates. This 'chin up' culture is, and has always been, a major part of the British attitude. But what about when gentle joking turns into spiteful jibes? Is this still an acceptable response to tragedy, or have we lost our compassion as a people? I leave with you a selection of these 'jokes' and let you decide for yourselves. Who knows...maybe I'm just a tad touchier than others.
For example:
DEATH OF AMY WINEHOUSE
Brazilian comedians have made a mockery of mourners at Amy Winehouse’s funeral Tuesday, as they cried crocodile tears to infiltrate the private event in London reserved exclusively for family and close friends of the famous singer.Two Brazilian comics, Daniel Zukerman and Andre Machado, who work on a Brazilian comedy TV show called Panico na TV (Panic on the TV), were seen posing as friends of Winehouse...The tasteless stunt included the two comics giving comments to German broadcaster RTL, and they could be seen smirking on the verge of laughter as they told the interviewer: “Amy changed the world. We lost a friend, the greatest singer. It is difficult to explain how we feel.”
In honour of Amy Winehouse, we shall all be doing 15 lines in the pub toilets, tonight!
It seems that this is the end of the line for Ms. Winehouse.
Elton John will perform at Amy Winehouse’s funeral with a beautiful rendition of Candle Under The Spoon.
Before telling such sick and abusive jokes about Amy Winehouse, think about her poor close friends. Imagine how they’ll feel on Thursday, when they finally come round and find out.
NORWAY MASSACRE
I want to go to Norway, I heard its the bomb. Mate went there last year but she just shot through. Utoya Island must be a great place. People are dying to be there.
DISAPPEARANCE OF MADELINE MCCANN
'Patrick Kielty joked that if the McCanns wanted to dispose of the body of their daughter, they should have checked her in as luggage on a Ryanair flight. He added that the couple had been backstage but had disappeared two hours later when he went to check on them. The sick comments prompted members of the audience to get up and leave the show.' (Sept, (2007), Dailymail.co.uk)
HOLOCAUST
'Trouble is with Holocaust films is there’s never any gag reel on the DVDs,’ (Ricky Gervais, (2009), Golden Globe Awards, dailymail.co.uk)
COMEDIAN LINKS
http://disappointingchildren.com/2011/07/stewart-lee-angry/
http://www.chortle.co.uk/shows/edinburgh_fringe_2002/a/635/andre_vincent_is_unwell
http://www.diabeticinfo.co.uk/#/oliver-double-diabetes/4526898630
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
whatsonstage.com Blog
This year I'm thrilled to announce I've been given the opportunity to write about the Edinburgh Festival for whatsonstage.com. I'll be writing three/four times a week from the point of view of a theatre person going through the process of getting a show on at the Fringe.
My first article is here:
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831311752132/A+FALSE+START.html
You better like it.
My first article is here:
http://www.whatsonstage.com/blog/theatre/edinburgh/E8831311752132/A+FALSE+START.html
You better like it.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Sometimes journalism sucks
When I was little I wanted to be a journalist so badly. I saw myself out there with my notebook and dictaphone, hunting out stories in crime-ridden areas, at celebrity bashes and on the streets of London, talking to the people affected by the big stories face to face. I wanted to be rushing against the clock to meet my deadline and then to wake up on Sunday mornings and see my byline in the national press. That's what I wanted.
And then I learnt what journalism was really all about. It was about constantly and aggressively bugging people who have just lost their friends, family or livelihood, forcing them to talk and, if they don't, scraping together a blend of fact and fiction from an uninspiring group of 'sources close to the subject'. It's, according to what's going on in our world today, about hacking into people's telephones and broadcasting their private lives to all and sundry. It's about pretending to listen to an interview you're given but then chopping and changing the text until it bears no resemblance to the original discussion, but plenty to the angle you're trying to take. It's also about hiding behind bushes and buildings, trying to take that photograph that could ruin someone's career, relationship or image.
When I was younger I thought journalism was about getting the story down on paper to share with the public. Now I'm not so sure. I think that it's about influencing and affecting the story, in much the same way that script writers influence the trajectory of a 'reality' television show. By creating situations to so aggressively extract information, I feel that journalists are starting to create, rather than just report, the stories of the time.
In light of the recent journalistic scandals, there have been a large amount of articles written by editors to claim that none of their journalists EVER break the law to get a story. And although I'm sure this isn't true 100% of the time, we must admit that Rupert Murdoch, Rebekah Brooks, the Notw et al. aren't exactly 'getting away with it' this time. So, perhaps we're lucky in the sense that the Bureau of Investigative Journalism is looking out for us.
But, regardless of law-breaking or not, there is still plenty that's considered 'legal' if not 'moral' that journalists do to in order to get their story. I've seen plenty of situations where paparazzi are seen trying to push their way into the building of a recently bereaved family or a heartbroken new divorcee. However, the story that really hit home for me this week was the death of Amy Winehouse.
The Daily Mail released their first online report within two hours of her body behind found. It outlined the fact that she was confirmed dead, the time at which this occurred and that her body had been removed from the flat. It also included the fact that, as he was on a plane to New York, it was likely that her father had not been informed. WHAT? So the newspapers know, and are free to report, the unexpected death of a 27 year old celebrity. Outpourings of grief and tributes quickly follow on facebook and twitter, but her father hasn't been notified? I don't know whether this is legal or not. But I do know it's disgusting. Business is one thing, getting the story out there first is all important for today's journalists and papers, and yes Amy Winehouse was a celebrity but come on!
The sentence 'it's not yet clear whether her father Mitch has been notified' has since been removed from the article, and it's been suggested that her parents knew immediately. Frankly, I don't wish to dither about finding out which is true. The Daily Mail did not know for certain whether her parents had been notified, and they ran the story anyway. That's all I need to know.
And then I learnt what journalism was really all about. It was about constantly and aggressively bugging people who have just lost their friends, family or livelihood, forcing them to talk and, if they don't, scraping together a blend of fact and fiction from an uninspiring group of 'sources close to the subject'. It's, according to what's going on in our world today, about hacking into people's telephones and broadcasting their private lives to all and sundry. It's about pretending to listen to an interview you're given but then chopping and changing the text until it bears no resemblance to the original discussion, but plenty to the angle you're trying to take. It's also about hiding behind bushes and buildings, trying to take that photograph that could ruin someone's career, relationship or image.
When I was younger I thought journalism was about getting the story down on paper to share with the public. Now I'm not so sure. I think that it's about influencing and affecting the story, in much the same way that script writers influence the trajectory of a 'reality' television show. By creating situations to so aggressively extract information, I feel that journalists are starting to create, rather than just report, the stories of the time.
In light of the recent journalistic scandals, there have been a large amount of articles written by editors to claim that none of their journalists EVER break the law to get a story. And although I'm sure this isn't true 100% of the time, we must admit that Rupert Murdoch, Rebekah Brooks, the Notw et al. aren't exactly 'getting away with it' this time. So, perhaps we're lucky in the sense that the Bureau of Investigative Journalism is looking out for us.
But, regardless of law-breaking or not, there is still plenty that's considered 'legal' if not 'moral' that journalists do to in order to get their story. I've seen plenty of situations where paparazzi are seen trying to push their way into the building of a recently bereaved family or a heartbroken new divorcee. However, the story that really hit home for me this week was the death of Amy Winehouse.
The Daily Mail released their first online report within two hours of her body behind found. It outlined the fact that she was confirmed dead, the time at which this occurred and that her body had been removed from the flat. It also included the fact that, as he was on a plane to New York, it was likely that her father had not been informed. WHAT? So the newspapers know, and are free to report, the unexpected death of a 27 year old celebrity. Outpourings of grief and tributes quickly follow on facebook and twitter, but her father hasn't been notified? I don't know whether this is legal or not. But I do know it's disgusting. Business is one thing, getting the story out there first is all important for today's journalists and papers, and yes Amy Winehouse was a celebrity but come on!
The sentence 'it's not yet clear whether her father Mitch has been notified' has since been removed from the article, and it's been suggested that her parents knew immediately. Frankly, I don't wish to dither about finding out which is true. The Daily Mail did not know for certain whether her parents had been notified, and they ran the story anyway. That's all I need to know.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
My English Language
I love my language.
I can't say I feel terribly patriotic regarding most things about Britain these days. Apart from an unexplained passion for the monarchy -which I understand irritates many of my non-royalist friends greatly- I am firmly of the opinion that Britain is not currently occupying any pinnacle of greatness. I understand there is still plenty going on to be proud of -I'm a staunch fan of the NHS, despite it's many and varied issues, as I have seen first-hand the havoc that the American system can wreak on the lives of individuals and families. I also understand that the British do still create much more that is clearly obvious at first glance, as is proved in Evan Davis' recent book 'Made in Britain'. And I love British theatre...of course I do. All I'm saying is that I spend a lot of time looking at other countries, at their pride and dedication to so many aspects of their homeland- and I feel sad that I don't feel the same about my country. Or maybe that's not Britain's fault. Maybe it's mine, and has more to do with my needs, experiences and expectations.
Either way I'm thrilled to say that there is one thing I adore, and that is the English Language. I love it in all it's forms, I love the vast array of accents we have squished into this little Island of ours. I love that -whether it's for dodgy political reasons in the past or not- I can hear our language in countries all over the world. I adore that some of the greatest playwrights and novelists have written in English. I get excited when I hear an alliterated sentence, I'll never forget the first time I learnt about the mind blowing concept that is onomatopoeia and I still get a geeky thrill when I recognise the roots of our modern words in Latin vocabulary.
Which is why I, snobby as I'm about to sound, feel uncomfortable with the way I see language evolving. For a variety of reasons we are seeing letters being dropped from the ends of words, simple slang words being drafted in to apparently cover a whole variety of concepts, situations and expressions, grammar being neglected and emphasis being placed on all kinds of random words within sentences.
This is a surprisingly controversial issue and one that is very much class based, although it's certainly not a new concern. In Britain we used to be much stricter about how English should be spoken as a language: You had to take elocution lessons so that you could speak 'properly' before you could enter, for example, showbusiness. My Grandmother, who was in a number of high profile television and live shows during the WWII era, had her Manchester accent shaken out of her before the BBC would even consider hearing her voice. As a result she's particularly picky about language. I've grown up hearing her yelling at Eastenders 'It's ISN'T IT woman NOT INNIT...enunciate for heaven's sake!', so you'll have to forgive me if this is a topic particularly ingrained in my psyche.
I know that it seems quite middle-class to care so much about language and I've continuously landed myself in hot water for picking up on what I see as the bastardisation of the British language that I see my sister and her friends practising. At the end of the day: live and let live. It's certainly not my place to demand how anyone speaks. And I'm not saying that I want everyone to go around speaking like they have a poker up their butt. Much of my own extended family speak distinctly differently to my immediate one.
But why has it become considered 'posh' and 'hoity toity' to speak a neat, well-developed form of language? It's incomprehensible to me why young people who have grown up in affluent surroundings and speak in a way that reflects this, seem to consider it distasteful to sound as though this has been the case? Why this adoption of a dialect that, in many cases, isn't even theirs? And in my defense, or at least before anyone starts complaining that I'm behaving as though my way is the right way, I was picked up by a friend the other day for 'using good grammar'. He was shocked that, when writing on facebook, I used apostrophes and commas. His final declaration was that I was 'over educated'. Because I speak the Queen's English. That doesn't make sense. It seems like a civil war is taking place between classes in the UK- and language is the tool it's being expressed through.
I think I might need to elaborate on my point here. I don't have an issue with the evolution of language. I don't mind people adopting new ideas, accents changing as we come into contact with more and more different cultures etc. All of this is part of what makes it so exciting for linguists...what shows that words really do have an intense power to affect and be affected by the world and it's people. It never gets boring and new rhythms and ideas and opportunities just keep on coming.
What terrifies me is that we're doing it for the wrong reason. We're bastardising one of the most beautiful languages in the world because we think it epitomises what is wrong with our country. That's a terrible idea. Yes, language is used by all kinds of people in all kinds of positions to makes changes for good and for bad, but that's no reason to reject it's current form. Let it evolve by all means but don't do it out of spite. Don't make it harder and harder for people of different classes, different races, different generations to communicate. Because that is what's happening. People are disenchanted with those from backgrounds or communities other than theirs. But it's getting harder and harder to communicate this to each other. I don't advocate going back to the WWII ideal, I love hearing the sound of regional accents every day, and I love that the multiculturalism of our country is reflected in the changing vocabulary and rhythm of our discourse...but let's not ruin a language which has got this far. Which is so near perfection from years of being shaped and tested by some of the greatest linguists in the world.
Come on. Let's hang on to English.
I can't say I feel terribly patriotic regarding most things about Britain these days. Apart from an unexplained passion for the monarchy -which I understand irritates many of my non-royalist friends greatly- I am firmly of the opinion that Britain is not currently occupying any pinnacle of greatness. I understand there is still plenty going on to be proud of -I'm a staunch fan of the NHS, despite it's many and varied issues, as I have seen first-hand the havoc that the American system can wreak on the lives of individuals and families. I also understand that the British do still create much more that is clearly obvious at first glance, as is proved in Evan Davis' recent book 'Made in Britain'. And I love British theatre...of course I do. All I'm saying is that I spend a lot of time looking at other countries, at their pride and dedication to so many aspects of their homeland- and I feel sad that I don't feel the same about my country. Or maybe that's not Britain's fault. Maybe it's mine, and has more to do with my needs, experiences and expectations.
Either way I'm thrilled to say that there is one thing I adore, and that is the English Language. I love it in all it's forms, I love the vast array of accents we have squished into this little Island of ours. I love that -whether it's for dodgy political reasons in the past or not- I can hear our language in countries all over the world. I adore that some of the greatest playwrights and novelists have written in English. I get excited when I hear an alliterated sentence, I'll never forget the first time I learnt about the mind blowing concept that is onomatopoeia and I still get a geeky thrill when I recognise the roots of our modern words in Latin vocabulary.
Which is why I, snobby as I'm about to sound, feel uncomfortable with the way I see language evolving. For a variety of reasons we are seeing letters being dropped from the ends of words, simple slang words being drafted in to apparently cover a whole variety of concepts, situations and expressions, grammar being neglected and emphasis being placed on all kinds of random words within sentences.
This is a surprisingly controversial issue and one that is very much class based, although it's certainly not a new concern. In Britain we used to be much stricter about how English should be spoken as a language: You had to take elocution lessons so that you could speak 'properly' before you could enter, for example, showbusiness. My Grandmother, who was in a number of high profile television and live shows during the WWII era, had her Manchester accent shaken out of her before the BBC would even consider hearing her voice. As a result she's particularly picky about language. I've grown up hearing her yelling at Eastenders 'It's ISN'T IT woman NOT INNIT...enunciate for heaven's sake!', so you'll have to forgive me if this is a topic particularly ingrained in my psyche.
I know that it seems quite middle-class to care so much about language and I've continuously landed myself in hot water for picking up on what I see as the bastardisation of the British language that I see my sister and her friends practising. At the end of the day: live and let live. It's certainly not my place to demand how anyone speaks. And I'm not saying that I want everyone to go around speaking like they have a poker up their butt. Much of my own extended family speak distinctly differently to my immediate one.
But why has it become considered 'posh' and 'hoity toity' to speak a neat, well-developed form of language? It's incomprehensible to me why young people who have grown up in affluent surroundings and speak in a way that reflects this, seem to consider it distasteful to sound as though this has been the case? Why this adoption of a dialect that, in many cases, isn't even theirs? And in my defense, or at least before anyone starts complaining that I'm behaving as though my way is the right way, I was picked up by a friend the other day for 'using good grammar'. He was shocked that, when writing on facebook, I used apostrophes and commas. His final declaration was that I was 'over educated'. Because I speak the Queen's English. That doesn't make sense. It seems like a civil war is taking place between classes in the UK- and language is the tool it's being expressed through.
I think I might need to elaborate on my point here. I don't have an issue with the evolution of language. I don't mind people adopting new ideas, accents changing as we come into contact with more and more different cultures etc. All of this is part of what makes it so exciting for linguists...what shows that words really do have an intense power to affect and be affected by the world and it's people. It never gets boring and new rhythms and ideas and opportunities just keep on coming.
What terrifies me is that we're doing it for the wrong reason. We're bastardising one of the most beautiful languages in the world because we think it epitomises what is wrong with our country. That's a terrible idea. Yes, language is used by all kinds of people in all kinds of positions to makes changes for good and for bad, but that's no reason to reject it's current form. Let it evolve by all means but don't do it out of spite. Don't make it harder and harder for people of different classes, different races, different generations to communicate. Because that is what's happening. People are disenchanted with those from backgrounds or communities other than theirs. But it's getting harder and harder to communicate this to each other. I don't advocate going back to the WWII ideal, I love hearing the sound of regional accents every day, and I love that the multiculturalism of our country is reflected in the changing vocabulary and rhythm of our discourse...but let's not ruin a language which has got this far. Which is so near perfection from years of being shaped and tested by some of the greatest linguists in the world.
Come on. Let's hang on to English.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Oh to be a boy.
I'm a terrible girl.
The majority of my friends, family, acquaintances, you name it...will tell you that. I have little to no concept of fashion, I abhore shopping and I consider my money wasted when I buy clothes and toiletries as opposed to the much happier purchases of theatre tickets, rose wine and coffee. I very rarely get through a conversation without realising that my mother has spent the majority of the time staring at whatever part of me she feels I've neglected (e.g. usually the eyebrows, she's oddly excited by the opportunity to pluck eyebrows) before catapulting me into the bathroom or making an appointment with whatever hairdresser/spa/whatnot she feels would be suitable for what she has deemed my biggest imperfection of the day. When I walk through a door, my fairly-fashionista sister (at least relatively so) is most likely to take one look at what I'm wearing, my make up or hair, and let out a big, put-upon sigh before imploring me to up my game and putting forward some suggestions for improvement. On the rare occassion I get it right she almost passes out from shock or glee...I can never quite tell which.
Appearance aside, there are a lot of other sections of my life where I feel I fall short of the expected role of 'woman' or 'girl'. It's not that I don't feel like I'm attractive, or feminine...it's not that I don't want to date men. It's not that I'm unable to create close friendships with women - I have some very close female friends whom I wouldn't trade in for the world. But, I have to say that these woman are the exception. In general, I have always identified with and felt more comfortable around men.
In this I'm not referring to anything romantic, sexual or along that vein. I mean more in the realms of friendship. I tend to prefer the high octane atmosphere that surrounds boys of all ages. Babysitting little boys is always a much tougher job than caring for girls---but generally the running madly about, trying to herd multiple kids in one direction and dodging physical attacks from all corners presents a challenge and a diversion from my natural mindset that I'm grateful for. Hanging out with my Dad we engage in such activities as martial arts or watching comedy or...eating...alot. I love the straightforwardness of men - the way that a niggling issue can be sorted in one fell swoop with a fit of yelling or a clash of fists (not that I condone fighting per se but...I'm just saying...sometimes it works...). I'm quite capable of joining in with girly gossip and tactics, but a few days of it tends to leave me exhausted. I chose to live -and did so happily- in a house of five men, because I appreciated the almost complete lack of tension around me...the knowledge that if someone had an issue with me they'd bring it up was liberating. I love how insults thrown by men at each other are meant to shock or drive someone to action, not to maim and undermine the way I feel women so often use them. I don't care about guys being disgusting -within reason I suppose- or being messy or talking rudely...if it's within what I deem natural rather than a falsified attempt to look 'manly', again I'm thrilled at the lack of pretence, the stripped down quality of the male personality. I envy a man's dedication to whatever he's doing at that precise moment - I resent the expectation that a woman can multitask, and the stark reality that what we actually do is divide our attention, worrying about intricacies that rarely exist, fluttering about different thoughts and options, and thus deny ourselves the simple, complete pleasure, satisfaction or interest in a current activity that men so naturally possess.
But, more than anything else, I am desperately jealous of the relationship men create with other men. I so often hear men complaining that they can't talk amongst themselves as women do and, while I think this is perhaps true, I am still in awe of the bond that men have. Whether it's as simple as the old 'bros before hoes' or the understanding that you'll be there in your friend's time of need, I think men have a base, instinctive honour scheme that I want to be part of.
Men can do all number of annoying, unfair or plain nasty things to each other but, when necessary, can shrug them off and go back to basics. I see the way all my close female friends have coupled off recently, how they've become an addition to another person who will always come before me, and I sense the part of our honest, open, girly relationship that has suddenly dispersed. Men -not so much. Girlfriends, wifes, lovers can come and go...obviously secrets will be kept, new lives built...but I adore the way that the majority (not all) of men keep themselves whole. They'll choose an afternoon with their friends sans girlfriend so much more often than vice versa occurring.
And this is where I'm lost.
For the majority of the time -at least in our part of the world where the gender specifications are not as strict as they once were- there's nothing frowned upon by preferring the company of boys. But, every now and then I realise my happy little group have remembered I'm a girl and that, for once, they wish I'd stick my job description. It might be that they feel they've gone a joke too far, they want to play Nazi Zombies without hearing a squeal from the corner, or simply that a new man has appeared who they fear might not be as fond of me disrupting the hormonal balance of a day, an evening, a weekend. Hey, they might simply fancy a girl-free day and despite the fact that I'm not considered a romantic/sexual option for them, I'm still a girl...and suddenly I've lost out on every front. And I'm expected to toddle off to spend time with the women (e.g. all these guys' girlfriends) - an expectation I've always resented regardless of whether it's my friends or my boyfriends pushing me off to do this.
And on my side...well sometimes it's me that snaps out of the situation. Sometimes I see the way men behave towards each other - the animalistic side that so often comes out, the flip way that they'll abandon a drunken or depressed friend expecting him to 'snap out of it'. Or watching them make their way through a variety of ladies- not stopping to consider their emotions or issues- listening to the disgusting phrases with which they refer to their latest conquests.
But the biggest issue comes, naturally, when I fall in love. And then, when my male friends can stand aside and allow my heart to be trampled on with the same indifference they show to all the other women they or their friends get involved with, I suddenly fall out of my idealised vision of the male relationship and lean back towards the fawning arms of my female friends, waiting there with the right combination of platitudes and Ben & Jerry's to temporarily ease my pain and save my ego. But two days in I'll be tired out with talking and crying and I'll head back towards my merry band of men, hoping against hope they'll pretend I never defected, and will welcome me back with open arms and a bottle of beer. I might even try Nazi Zombies. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
The majority of my friends, family, acquaintances, you name it...will tell you that. I have little to no concept of fashion, I abhore shopping and I consider my money wasted when I buy clothes and toiletries as opposed to the much happier purchases of theatre tickets, rose wine and coffee. I very rarely get through a conversation without realising that my mother has spent the majority of the time staring at whatever part of me she feels I've neglected (e.g. usually the eyebrows, she's oddly excited by the opportunity to pluck eyebrows) before catapulting me into the bathroom or making an appointment with whatever hairdresser/spa/whatnot she feels would be suitable for what she has deemed my biggest imperfection of the day. When I walk through a door, my fairly-fashionista sister (at least relatively so) is most likely to take one look at what I'm wearing, my make up or hair, and let out a big, put-upon sigh before imploring me to up my game and putting forward some suggestions for improvement. On the rare occassion I get it right she almost passes out from shock or glee...I can never quite tell which.
Appearance aside, there are a lot of other sections of my life where I feel I fall short of the expected role of 'woman' or 'girl'. It's not that I don't feel like I'm attractive, or feminine...it's not that I don't want to date men. It's not that I'm unable to create close friendships with women - I have some very close female friends whom I wouldn't trade in for the world. But, I have to say that these woman are the exception. In general, I have always identified with and felt more comfortable around men.
In this I'm not referring to anything romantic, sexual or along that vein. I mean more in the realms of friendship. I tend to prefer the high octane atmosphere that surrounds boys of all ages. Babysitting little boys is always a much tougher job than caring for girls---but generally the running madly about, trying to herd multiple kids in one direction and dodging physical attacks from all corners presents a challenge and a diversion from my natural mindset that I'm grateful for. Hanging out with my Dad we engage in such activities as martial arts or watching comedy or...eating...alot. I love the straightforwardness of men - the way that a niggling issue can be sorted in one fell swoop with a fit of yelling or a clash of fists (not that I condone fighting per se but...I'm just saying...sometimes it works...). I'm quite capable of joining in with girly gossip and tactics, but a few days of it tends to leave me exhausted. I chose to live -and did so happily- in a house of five men, because I appreciated the almost complete lack of tension around me...the knowledge that if someone had an issue with me they'd bring it up was liberating. I love how insults thrown by men at each other are meant to shock or drive someone to action, not to maim and undermine the way I feel women so often use them. I don't care about guys being disgusting -within reason I suppose- or being messy or talking rudely...if it's within what I deem natural rather than a falsified attempt to look 'manly', again I'm thrilled at the lack of pretence, the stripped down quality of the male personality. I envy a man's dedication to whatever he's doing at that precise moment - I resent the expectation that a woman can multitask, and the stark reality that what we actually do is divide our attention, worrying about intricacies that rarely exist, fluttering about different thoughts and options, and thus deny ourselves the simple, complete pleasure, satisfaction or interest in a current activity that men so naturally possess.
But, more than anything else, I am desperately jealous of the relationship men create with other men. I so often hear men complaining that they can't talk amongst themselves as women do and, while I think this is perhaps true, I am still in awe of the bond that men have. Whether it's as simple as the old 'bros before hoes' or the understanding that you'll be there in your friend's time of need, I think men have a base, instinctive honour scheme that I want to be part of.
Men can do all number of annoying, unfair or plain nasty things to each other but, when necessary, can shrug them off and go back to basics. I see the way all my close female friends have coupled off recently, how they've become an addition to another person who will always come before me, and I sense the part of our honest, open, girly relationship that has suddenly dispersed. Men -not so much. Girlfriends, wifes, lovers can come and go...obviously secrets will be kept, new lives built...but I adore the way that the majority (not all) of men keep themselves whole. They'll choose an afternoon with their friends sans girlfriend so much more often than vice versa occurring.
And this is where I'm lost.
For the majority of the time -at least in our part of the world where the gender specifications are not as strict as they once were- there's nothing frowned upon by preferring the company of boys. But, every now and then I realise my happy little group have remembered I'm a girl and that, for once, they wish I'd stick my job description. It might be that they feel they've gone a joke too far, they want to play Nazi Zombies without hearing a squeal from the corner, or simply that a new man has appeared who they fear might not be as fond of me disrupting the hormonal balance of a day, an evening, a weekend. Hey, they might simply fancy a girl-free day and despite the fact that I'm not considered a romantic/sexual option for them, I'm still a girl...and suddenly I've lost out on every front. And I'm expected to toddle off to spend time with the women (e.g. all these guys' girlfriends) - an expectation I've always resented regardless of whether it's my friends or my boyfriends pushing me off to do this.
And on my side...well sometimes it's me that snaps out of the situation. Sometimes I see the way men behave towards each other - the animalistic side that so often comes out, the flip way that they'll abandon a drunken or depressed friend expecting him to 'snap out of it'. Or watching them make their way through a variety of ladies- not stopping to consider their emotions or issues- listening to the disgusting phrases with which they refer to their latest conquests.
But the biggest issue comes, naturally, when I fall in love. And then, when my male friends can stand aside and allow my heart to be trampled on with the same indifference they show to all the other women they or their friends get involved with, I suddenly fall out of my idealised vision of the male relationship and lean back towards the fawning arms of my female friends, waiting there with the right combination of platitudes and Ben & Jerry's to temporarily ease my pain and save my ego. But two days in I'll be tired out with talking and crying and I'll head back towards my merry band of men, hoping against hope they'll pretend I never defected, and will welcome me back with open arms and a bottle of beer. I might even try Nazi Zombies. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Technophobe at 24?
Two days ago I wrote a rant regarding my decrepit computer and the fear I feel regarding the importance it holds in getting me where I want and need to be careerwise. I'm actually normally very fond of technology in general: be it the phone, computers, internet or whatnot. Very fond indeed...I am at one with technology...I'm partial to some time online. Okay I'll come clean to you. I am occasionally obsessive about the internet. I'm not ashamed. Well I am but...admitting you have a problem is the first step to curing it right? Look...it's handy to quickly access the computer's built-in dictionary or calculator when I'm working, and it's a secret pleasure to read hilarious 'texts gone wrong' on DYAC, I'm thrilled all my favourite TV shows are stored neatly online waiting for me to develop the urge for a viewing or that Facebook is ready and waiting when I...y'know...see something or maybe feel an emotion. Yes my phone rarely leaves my side (except, I'm told by friends and family, when someone might actually want to contact me) and...OKAY ENOUGH...I have an addictive personality, the internet buys into that and I have happily sat back and allowed myself to be taken entirely in thrall.
I'm aware of the drawbacks of technology. I know that the internet harbours the sort of anonymous connectivity to others that has resulted in the rise of crime, paedophilia, deception...I know that people say things in text they wouldn't in person, and that our constant attachment to our mobile phones is making us less and less social. Yes I can sense the harmful electrical waves around us, our dependency on sat navs, our inability to spell words without Microsoft Word pointing out our mistakes and I have personally seen attention spans and memory capabilities turn to mush.
But at 24 years old and constantly thrilled by the novelty and expansiveness of technology, aware of it's importance in my potential future successes and dependent on Skype to keep in touch with family and friends when I'm travelling, it's none of the above drawbacks that have finally made me snap.
So what has?
ONLINE BLEEPING BANKING.
Oh and...as a necessary follow up...TELEPHONE BLEEDING BANKING.
What I once -in my moonlit youth- considered a lifesaving, timesaving, fault-free example of the human race's modern advances in science and technology, I now see -in broad daylight- in all it's slimy, repulsive, bureaucratic, money saving reality.
Previously I thought...thankyou bank for allowing me to check my balance when I'm nowhere near an ATM. Thankyou bank for making sure I can shift money to other people and receive money back without going anywhere near your drab, person-filled building on the million pounds per hour pay and displayed high road. Oh the abandonment with with I collected peoples' online banking account numbers and sort codes. If I wrote them on individual post it notes I might even be able to wallpaper my entire bedroom.
But all these wonders -and more- have paled into dire insignificance when I realised that our banks just can't follow through on their promises.
TUESDAY JUNE 14TH:
Sound of a telephone ringing. It's me. Ringing the bank.
BANK: Hello, Bank speaking. How can I help you.
ME: Hello Bank. May I speak to an actual person please?
BANK: No Lucy. The machine will suffice.
ME: Hello Bank Machine. You do indeed seem well trained in the Bank's modus operandi so I...
BANK: Press 1 if you want to open a new account. Press 2 if you want to report a card lost or st...
I pressed 2.
BANK: You have pressed 2.
ME: Yes I have.
BANK: I'm sorry. I didn't quite under...
ME: Don't worry. 2 it is.
BANK: Please enter your sort code.
Sort Code entered.
BANK: Please enter your account number.
Account Number entered.
BANK: Please enter your date of birth. For example if you were born on the...
Date of Birth entered.
BANK: Please enter digits 1, 2 and 4 of your security number.
Digits 1, 2 and 4 of your security number entered. Or so I thought.
BANK: Incorrect. Now enter digits 3, 5 and 7 of your security number.
Digits 3, 5 and 7 of your security number entered.
BANK: Incorrect. For your own safety we have now disabled your security number.
For my own safety? I have now spoken to SIX people at the bank. They each spoke a different mother tongue. None of these were english. They asked me vague questions. For example: What is a memorable place for you? What is a name you know? I swear these were not the security questions I put in place. I know a ton of names. I know a lot of memorable places. Under duress the lady said 'For example: Where were you born'. I told her the truth. London. 'Incorrect' she said. A man asked me how long I had been banking with them. 'A long time,' I told him. 'How long' he said. I didn't know. My parents opened my first account years ago. At least seven I told him...since I was very young. 'You have failed our security measures' he told me. 'I can either post you a form to fill in or you can go to the bank'.
WHAT? I CAN GO TO THE BANK? HOW KIND OF YOU. And until I go to the bank what? Oh I'll have no debit card and no access to online or telephone banking whatsoever. So what you're saying is that I now need to drop everything and go to the bank? What if I was out of the country? What if I was uh...housebound. Why offer online and telephone banking if you can't follow through when something goes wrong? If it's online MAKE IT ONLINE. If it's telephone MAKE IT ON THE PHONE. So please Mr. Bank tell me at what point I will be able to make a trip to the bank tomorrow to change my code, order my new debit card and transfer money into my account before my phone bill payment goes through and puts me into overdraft. Will I get there in time? No, probably not. Will you charge me an overdraft fee...yes of course you will. Is it my fault for having fat fingers that have probably touched two numbers at once, thus causing all this trouble. Of course it's my fault. You know BANK, if you'd just let me talk to a real person when we started this conversation NONE OF THIS WOULD'VE HAPPENED.
I'm aware of the drawbacks of technology. I know that the internet harbours the sort of anonymous connectivity to others that has resulted in the rise of crime, paedophilia, deception...I know that people say things in text they wouldn't in person, and that our constant attachment to our mobile phones is making us less and less social. Yes I can sense the harmful electrical waves around us, our dependency on sat navs, our inability to spell words without Microsoft Word pointing out our mistakes and I have personally seen attention spans and memory capabilities turn to mush.
But at 24 years old and constantly thrilled by the novelty and expansiveness of technology, aware of it's importance in my potential future successes and dependent on Skype to keep in touch with family and friends when I'm travelling, it's none of the above drawbacks that have finally made me snap.
So what has?
ONLINE BLEEPING BANKING.
Oh and...as a necessary follow up...TELEPHONE BLEEDING BANKING.
What I once -in my moonlit youth- considered a lifesaving, timesaving, fault-free example of the human race's modern advances in science and technology, I now see -in broad daylight- in all it's slimy, repulsive, bureaucratic, money saving reality.
Previously I thought...thankyou bank for allowing me to check my balance when I'm nowhere near an ATM. Thankyou bank for making sure I can shift money to other people and receive money back without going anywhere near your drab, person-filled building on the million pounds per hour pay and displayed high road. Oh the abandonment with with I collected peoples' online banking account numbers and sort codes. If I wrote them on individual post it notes I might even be able to wallpaper my entire bedroom.
But all these wonders -and more- have paled into dire insignificance when I realised that our banks just can't follow through on their promises.
TUESDAY JUNE 14TH:
Sound of a telephone ringing. It's me. Ringing the bank.
BANK: Hello, Bank speaking. How can I help you.
ME: Hello Bank. May I speak to an actual person please?
BANK: No Lucy. The machine will suffice.
ME: Hello Bank Machine. You do indeed seem well trained in the Bank's modus operandi so I...
BANK: Press 1 if you want to open a new account. Press 2 if you want to report a card lost or st...
I pressed 2.
BANK: You have pressed 2.
ME: Yes I have.
BANK: I'm sorry. I didn't quite under...
ME: Don't worry. 2 it is.
BANK: Please enter your sort code.
Sort Code entered.
BANK: Please enter your account number.
Account Number entered.
BANK: Please enter your date of birth. For example if you were born on the...
Date of Birth entered.
BANK: Please enter digits 1, 2 and 4 of your security number.
Digits 1, 2 and 4 of your security number entered. Or so I thought.
BANK: Incorrect. Now enter digits 3, 5 and 7 of your security number.
Digits 3, 5 and 7 of your security number entered.
BANK: Incorrect. For your own safety we have now disabled your security number.
For my own safety? I have now spoken to SIX people at the bank. They each spoke a different mother tongue. None of these were english. They asked me vague questions. For example: What is a memorable place for you? What is a name you know? I swear these were not the security questions I put in place. I know a ton of names. I know a lot of memorable places. Under duress the lady said 'For example: Where were you born'. I told her the truth. London. 'Incorrect' she said. A man asked me how long I had been banking with them. 'A long time,' I told him. 'How long' he said. I didn't know. My parents opened my first account years ago. At least seven I told him...since I was very young. 'You have failed our security measures' he told me. 'I can either post you a form to fill in or you can go to the bank'.
WHAT? I CAN GO TO THE BANK? HOW KIND OF YOU. And until I go to the bank what? Oh I'll have no debit card and no access to online or telephone banking whatsoever. So what you're saying is that I now need to drop everything and go to the bank? What if I was out of the country? What if I was uh...housebound. Why offer online and telephone banking if you can't follow through when something goes wrong? If it's online MAKE IT ONLINE. If it's telephone MAKE IT ON THE PHONE. So please Mr. Bank tell me at what point I will be able to make a trip to the bank tomorrow to change my code, order my new debit card and transfer money into my account before my phone bill payment goes through and puts me into overdraft. Will I get there in time? No, probably not. Will you charge me an overdraft fee...yes of course you will. Is it my fault for having fat fingers that have probably touched two numbers at once, thus causing all this trouble. Of course it's my fault. You know BANK, if you'd just let me talk to a real person when we started this conversation NONE OF THIS WOULD'VE HAPPENED.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
My Head
It's getting more and more widespread. Everyone from your secondary school student to your bank clerk seems to be doing it. Some people start early in the morning, others do it from their smart phones (though heavens knows how on those tiny screens and deceptive touchpads) and I normally do it last thing at night.
I'm talking about blogging. It's a phenomenon. Whether people are putting words, pictures or videos out there, they're all taking the time to sit down and share something about themselves, their lives or their opinions with the world. And why? Is it further proof of what BBC in-house Documentary maker Adam Curtis has termed the 'Century of the Self'- an era in which we all consider ourselves, our lives and our personal thoughts important to the world as a whole? A time in which we encourage personal development over utilitarian movements? Is it mere vanity? Perhaps a shout for attention? Maybe an alternative to a world in which people actually communicated their hopes and fears to those close to them on a face to face basis?
Whatever the reasons, there's now a lot of rubbish out there. I know because I've looked. One of my major qualms with the internet has always been it's lack of censorship- a point I'm certain Ryan Giggs will now happily concede to me. What I mean though is that anything can be put out there. It doesn't need to be confirmed, considered publishable...basically it doesn't need to be true. And often it isn't. There are ways to help make sure you're likely to be accessing information with real evidence to back it up: Using academic websites or those affiliated with major newspapers and companies, and avoiding Wikepedia or unofficial websites. But once you veer away from scholarly material and start testing the waters in the world of blogs you'll be rewarded with opinions aplenty but -unless people enjoy using references- very little idea of how much is true. Perhaps this isn't important. Maybe that's not why people write and/or read blogs. We have specific sites to go to for facts and, if anyone's blog does become widely read, the writer is far more likely to keep a tight rein on their sources of information.
So here's another big question: How does your blog become widely read? We keep hearing about the modern freelance writer whose blog becomes so popular that they make much of their living selling advertising or getting commissioned work off the back of their online wordage. What do these bloggers have in common? At first look not much. According to The Guardian's article 'The World's 50 most powerful blogs' back in September 2008, they are a mix of personal writings from people famous and previously unknown, and blogs created by groups or companies to spread a particular message or idea. The general similarity that ties the majority of these blogs together is the concept of a theme.
For example: 'Chez Pim' writes about food, 'Girl with a One Track Mind' writes about...sex, 'Michelle Malkin's' theme is -and I quote- 'how liberals betray America by being soft on terrorism, peddling lies about global warming and generally lacking patriotism and moral fibre' (http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2008/mar/09/blogs). When famous people write, the main theme is obviously them. Of course they might write some interesting stuff but the main reason people will have begun reading their opinions over someone else's is, basically, because they are who they are.
But I don't have a theme. Look- we can grasp at straws here and say that my over-arching theme is my persona...who I am...a 24 year old girl living in London, trying to make a living in the creative industry and writing about her experiences. But that's not really a theme...it's certainly not a solid stance or consistent opinion. Sure, give me a theme and I'll wax lyrical about it. Believe me, after 7 years at a highly academic girls' school, doing A Levels in English Literature and Modern History, I can turn out column after column, blog after blog on the same subject with new information, research and opinions in each one. But without that structure imposed out me I jump around too much, I change my mind, I get distracted by new people and experiences. So will I interest anyone? Is there anything in what I write that would arrest someone's attention, make them say 'I want to read this'.
If not, I'm not going to stop writing. Just after JD Salinger's death I heard Erica Wagner talking about him on Radio 4. In reference to unpublished works by the writer, she commented that 'in this time of celebrity people forget that people used to write because they had to write'. This hit me hard. I realised that in this world where events, emotions and possibilities are immediately broadcast to our friends and -further afar-, and where money and image are holding more and more importance, the concept of sitting down and slowly creating work for the work's sake is becoming near to obselete. So I'll write regardless. It calms me down, it forces me to stop, think and reflect. I think it might even be leading me to finding out who I am...what I want to do with my life...but let's not get carried away.
Wait! What's this? There might be a loophole in my favour here. It turns out that there are a small number of bloggers who just write about...whatever, who manage to entice people who aren't just their friends (presumably because of sparkling wit and impressive verbosity) to read their blogs on a regular basis. A perfect example of this is 'Dooce' (www.dooce.com- I notice all successful blogs have purchased their own URL address aswell. Is this therefore indicative of success being achieved or the reason why it has already been reached? Egg or Chicken?), a woman named Heather Armstrong whose blog shot to fame -or infamy- after the dotcom company she worked for fired her when she criticised them in her blog! As a result she garnered a huge amount of public interest, and now has a huge following reading her every blog- be it about her cats, her mental health or her career. I wonder if it's just the sensationalisation of it or whether it was just the nudge people needed to start reading an interesting, well-written opinionated blog.
This said, my research has turned up the result I was most expecting. The general public for the most part are not interested in reading other people's diaries. Most of us do, it seems, have a limit to our nosiness and need to spy on other people's lives. But much like the way that newspaper columnists have always garnered a following, sometimes for their subject matter and sometimes for their writing style, bloggers are just the new generation of this. They tend to get the material out faster, there is a briefer pause for editing and publishing, and it gets directly to their readers.
So I've thought about it. I've mulled and mulled and then...written this article. And now I've decided.
I
think
I'm
overthinking
this.
Yup...I've come to the conclusion that I should just shut up and write - excuse the paradox - and keep my fingers crossed that I'm writing for someone other than myself. Good day.
I'm talking about blogging. It's a phenomenon. Whether people are putting words, pictures or videos out there, they're all taking the time to sit down and share something about themselves, their lives or their opinions with the world. And why? Is it further proof of what BBC in-house Documentary maker Adam Curtis has termed the 'Century of the Self'- an era in which we all consider ourselves, our lives and our personal thoughts important to the world as a whole? A time in which we encourage personal development over utilitarian movements? Is it mere vanity? Perhaps a shout for attention? Maybe an alternative to a world in which people actually communicated their hopes and fears to those close to them on a face to face basis?
Whatever the reasons, there's now a lot of rubbish out there. I know because I've looked. One of my major qualms with the internet has always been it's lack of censorship- a point I'm certain Ryan Giggs will now happily concede to me. What I mean though is that anything can be put out there. It doesn't need to be confirmed, considered publishable...basically it doesn't need to be true. And often it isn't. There are ways to help make sure you're likely to be accessing information with real evidence to back it up: Using academic websites or those affiliated with major newspapers and companies, and avoiding Wikepedia or unofficial websites. But once you veer away from scholarly material and start testing the waters in the world of blogs you'll be rewarded with opinions aplenty but -unless people enjoy using references- very little idea of how much is true. Perhaps this isn't important. Maybe that's not why people write and/or read blogs. We have specific sites to go to for facts and, if anyone's blog does become widely read, the writer is far more likely to keep a tight rein on their sources of information.
So here's another big question: How does your blog become widely read? We keep hearing about the modern freelance writer whose blog becomes so popular that they make much of their living selling advertising or getting commissioned work off the back of their online wordage. What do these bloggers have in common? At first look not much. According to The Guardian's article 'The World's 50 most powerful blogs' back in September 2008, they are a mix of personal writings from people famous and previously unknown, and blogs created by groups or companies to spread a particular message or idea. The general similarity that ties the majority of these blogs together is the concept of a theme.
For example: 'Chez Pim' writes about food, 'Girl with a One Track Mind' writes about...sex, 'Michelle Malkin's' theme is -and I quote- 'how liberals betray America by being soft on terrorism, peddling lies about global warming and generally lacking patriotism and moral fibre' (http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2008/mar/09/blogs). When famous people write, the main theme is obviously them. Of course they might write some interesting stuff but the main reason people will have begun reading their opinions over someone else's is, basically, because they are who they are.
But I don't have a theme. Look- we can grasp at straws here and say that my over-arching theme is my persona...who I am...a 24 year old girl living in London, trying to make a living in the creative industry and writing about her experiences. But that's not really a theme...it's certainly not a solid stance or consistent opinion. Sure, give me a theme and I'll wax lyrical about it. Believe me, after 7 years at a highly academic girls' school, doing A Levels in English Literature and Modern History, I can turn out column after column, blog after blog on the same subject with new information, research and opinions in each one. But without that structure imposed out me I jump around too much, I change my mind, I get distracted by new people and experiences. So will I interest anyone? Is there anything in what I write that would arrest someone's attention, make them say 'I want to read this'.
If not, I'm not going to stop writing. Just after JD Salinger's death I heard Erica Wagner talking about him on Radio 4. In reference to unpublished works by the writer, she commented that 'in this time of celebrity people forget that people used to write because they had to write'. This hit me hard. I realised that in this world where events, emotions and possibilities are immediately broadcast to our friends and -further afar-, and where money and image are holding more and more importance, the concept of sitting down and slowly creating work for the work's sake is becoming near to obselete. So I'll write regardless. It calms me down, it forces me to stop, think and reflect. I think it might even be leading me to finding out who I am...what I want to do with my life...but let's not get carried away.
Wait! What's this? There might be a loophole in my favour here. It turns out that there are a small number of bloggers who just write about...whatever, who manage to entice people who aren't just their friends (presumably because of sparkling wit and impressive verbosity) to read their blogs on a regular basis. A perfect example of this is 'Dooce' (www.dooce.com- I notice all successful blogs have purchased their own URL address aswell. Is this therefore indicative of success being achieved or the reason why it has already been reached? Egg or Chicken?), a woman named Heather Armstrong whose blog shot to fame -or infamy- after the dotcom company she worked for fired her when she criticised them in her blog! As a result she garnered a huge amount of public interest, and now has a huge following reading her every blog- be it about her cats, her mental health or her career. I wonder if it's just the sensationalisation of it or whether it was just the nudge people needed to start reading an interesting, well-written opinionated blog.
This said, my research has turned up the result I was most expecting. The general public for the most part are not interested in reading other people's diaries. Most of us do, it seems, have a limit to our nosiness and need to spy on other people's lives. But much like the way that newspaper columnists have always garnered a following, sometimes for their subject matter and sometimes for their writing style, bloggers are just the new generation of this. They tend to get the material out faster, there is a briefer pause for editing and publishing, and it gets directly to their readers.
So I've thought about it. I've mulled and mulled and then...written this article. And now I've decided.
I
think
I'm
overthinking
this.
Yup...I've come to the conclusion that I should just shut up and write - excuse the paradox - and keep my fingers crossed that I'm writing for someone other than myself. Good day.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Rise of the Yuppie Muppy...uh...Mummy
The lady standing infront of me widened her eyes in shock. She rearranged her jaw so that the bottom half that had dropped open and hung slack in shock at my pronouncement was now returned to it's rightful place, though now screwed back in so tightly that her lips were pursing together and slowly pushing their way backwards and into her face, disappearing bit by bit.
A moment passed and then, gasping for air, she managed to expel these words towards me 'Tomorrow...and the next day?'
'Yes Madam' I responded.
'Both days?'
I looked her straight in the face. Just so there was no confusion. 'Yes Madam'.
I followed this up by attempting a smile. She looked startled and, simultaneously trying to tighten her faux fur coat around her, staggered backwards a step on her sensible day heels. Putting a hand out to steady herself on the counter behind her she called to her wayward husband who was gazing hopefully at the various confectionaries dotted around the shop.
'Quentin', she called urgently. 'QUENTIN!' He turned to look at her. She delivered the revelation with disquietingly slow and measured tones. 'Quentin. They are not open for either Christmas Day or Boxing Day. We need to purchase enough bread now to tide us over for the next two days.'
Quentin...in his defence...did not explode in rage or panic unduly. He simply nodded almost imperceptibly, confirmed this was both the correct and only possible action to take and put forward his suggestions for some healthy and other slightly more frivolous loaves to see them through the Christmas period.
Welcome to the new London. Yuppie London. Thanks to the phenomenon known as 'the skyrocketing of the house prices', previously naturally downmarket parts of London, packed to the hilt with cheerful criminals, penniless pensioners and bountiful benefit scroungers, all happily meeting up for cuppas at the local greasy spoon, speaking a variety of confusing dialects and slang, are now chic suburbs displaying fancy houses -old exteriors with sleek interiors-, boutique stores and...da dah daaaaaah...the YUPPIES.
Yup...London's mini-aristocrats, the television executives, the internet millionaires...they're all here. All packed into a variety of expensive coffee shops cum bakeries. Which is where you join us now. They say they're business owners, entrepreneurs, these women, but they seem to have a suspiciously unnatural amount of time to meet their girlfriends for lattes. Or what's it nowadays...flat whites? As long as it's skinny or soy it doesn't really matter. Or...herbal teas...they're coming back into fashion now herbal teas are. Slimming dont you know.
And there are always children. Any time of the day. The small ones are there mid-morning, and then after 3pm the little devils...the overtired, sugared up ones roll in from the private school round the corner. They're very loud. And their parents don't seem to see how letting them run around the feet of waiters carrying trays of hot tea and coffee could be a problem. Really?
You've probably guessed it by now. Yes...I did briefly join the long long list of actresses and other creatives who have waited tables for a living. But I really hit the jackpot. I worked in a coffee shop/cafe/bakery whose wonderful quality food and drink, and exorbitant prices, made it very attractive to London's filthy rich young couples and families. I soon tired of the free food, the endless coffees, the constant retraining and staff changeovers. But I never got bored of waiting to hear what any one of our esteemed customers might say next. I could write a blog a day and still not share with you some of the weirdest, most irritating or downright rude people I dealt with on a daily basis.
What could I leave you with today? The customer who came in on a regular basis to tell us that we were overpriced before purchasing a bag full of food and drink to take home? The man who waited until 15 minutes before closing...hovering like some vile wasp to watch us excitedly start closing the coffee machine early...before swooping in and demanding we serve him. Or the woman who told her child in loud, clear tones not to 'behave like you're at Poundland'.
In case you're wondering. Mr and Mrs Quentin chose a wholemeal, a country white and a fruit bread for the festive season. The day after Boxing Day, promptly at 8:30 am -after dropping the kids at holiday camp- Mrs. Quentin showed up, looking terribly put out and malnourished, and purchased another loaf with which she hurried home muttering all the time about the fetid bread wrapping the parma ham and gruyere cheese in the tiny Quentin's holiday camp lunchbox sandwiches.
A moment passed and then, gasping for air, she managed to expel these words towards me 'Tomorrow...and the next day?'
'Yes Madam' I responded.
'Both days?'
I looked her straight in the face. Just so there was no confusion. 'Yes Madam'.
I followed this up by attempting a smile. She looked startled and, simultaneously trying to tighten her faux fur coat around her, staggered backwards a step on her sensible day heels. Putting a hand out to steady herself on the counter behind her she called to her wayward husband who was gazing hopefully at the various confectionaries dotted around the shop.
'Quentin', she called urgently. 'QUENTIN!' He turned to look at her. She delivered the revelation with disquietingly slow and measured tones. 'Quentin. They are not open for either Christmas Day or Boxing Day. We need to purchase enough bread now to tide us over for the next two days.'
Quentin...in his defence...did not explode in rage or panic unduly. He simply nodded almost imperceptibly, confirmed this was both the correct and only possible action to take and put forward his suggestions for some healthy and other slightly more frivolous loaves to see them through the Christmas period.
Welcome to the new London. Yuppie London. Thanks to the phenomenon known as 'the skyrocketing of the house prices', previously naturally downmarket parts of London, packed to the hilt with cheerful criminals, penniless pensioners and bountiful benefit scroungers, all happily meeting up for cuppas at the local greasy spoon, speaking a variety of confusing dialects and slang, are now chic suburbs displaying fancy houses -old exteriors with sleek interiors-, boutique stores and...da dah daaaaaah...the YUPPIES.
Yup...London's mini-aristocrats, the television executives, the internet millionaires...they're all here. All packed into a variety of expensive coffee shops cum bakeries. Which is where you join us now. They say they're business owners, entrepreneurs, these women, but they seem to have a suspiciously unnatural amount of time to meet their girlfriends for lattes. Or what's it nowadays...flat whites? As long as it's skinny or soy it doesn't really matter. Or...herbal teas...they're coming back into fashion now herbal teas are. Slimming dont you know.
And there are always children. Any time of the day. The small ones are there mid-morning, and then after 3pm the little devils...the overtired, sugared up ones roll in from the private school round the corner. They're very loud. And their parents don't seem to see how letting them run around the feet of waiters carrying trays of hot tea and coffee could be a problem. Really?
You've probably guessed it by now. Yes...I did briefly join the long long list of actresses and other creatives who have waited tables for a living. But I really hit the jackpot. I worked in a coffee shop/cafe/bakery whose wonderful quality food and drink, and exorbitant prices, made it very attractive to London's filthy rich young couples and families. I soon tired of the free food, the endless coffees, the constant retraining and staff changeovers. But I never got bored of waiting to hear what any one of our esteemed customers might say next. I could write a blog a day and still not share with you some of the weirdest, most irritating or downright rude people I dealt with on a daily basis.
What could I leave you with today? The customer who came in on a regular basis to tell us that we were overpriced before purchasing a bag full of food and drink to take home? The man who waited until 15 minutes before closing...hovering like some vile wasp to watch us excitedly start closing the coffee machine early...before swooping in and demanding we serve him. Or the woman who told her child in loud, clear tones not to 'behave like you're at Poundland'.
In case you're wondering. Mr and Mrs Quentin chose a wholemeal, a country white and a fruit bread for the festive season. The day after Boxing Day, promptly at 8:30 am -after dropping the kids at holiday camp- Mrs. Quentin showed up, looking terribly put out and malnourished, and purchased another loaf with which she hurried home muttering all the time about the fetid bread wrapping the parma ham and gruyere cheese in the tiny Quentin's holiday camp lunchbox sandwiches.
The Single Life
‘I don’t need a man to rectify my existence. The most profound relationship we’ll ever have is the one with ourselves’. So says Actress Shirley MacLaine who was, ironically, recently judged rather thoroughly for her promiscuous past by Mark Lawson during an interview for her new book ‘I’m over all that…and other confessions’.
But okay okay, that’s all in the past now. She has been divorced from her husband for 29 years now, and claims that the relationship had been an ‘open one’. She certainly fits the profile of a modern, single, independent women with a stellar film and TV career, friends in high places and a string of book titles to her name. Her interest in New Age Spirituality is well-documented, and is clearly a major presence in her life. There certainly seems enough to keep her busy and happy without a man in her life. Whether or not she is actually currently, or planning on, dating, marrying or anything else is not information accessible to us and, let’s face it, none of our business.
Ms McClaine does, however, epitomise the very essence of what more and more women are beginning to strive for in their lives. The expectation of making a good marriage, having kids or finding one’s ‘soulmate’ is no longer quite as natural an assumption as it was a decade or so ago. Here in the West there have been so many changes in our pace of life, a greater emphasis on professional success regardless of gender, a huge increase and improvement in the education of women, and a blossoming trend of New Age religion or personal relationships with God as opposed to the more traditional organised religious communities. Have all these changes left women unanchored and made it necessary for them to re-shape their place in society? Think about it: It wasn’t so long ago that single women of a certain age were encouraged to hurry into marriage. Nowadays, a moaning single woman is told to buck up their ideas and remember that there’s more to life than men.
So is Shirley right? Is our relationship with ourselves the most important and the most enduring? Is a man an add-on extra nowadays? There’s no real answer to this. For some women singledom is the only choice, babies don’t figure and career is everything. Others have never left the time when wifedom and motherhood were the only conceivable, yearned for choice to make in life. And then there is the ever growing, most-discontented group: the ones who want it all. And yes, I place myself in this group. We’re the ones who think we can reach the upper echelons of any career we choose, standing alongside great men, but still pop home in time to cook the dinner and bond with baby. We’re the ones who walked halfway with the hardcore feminists and then found a cosy place to settle down without seeing the quest through to the end. We are, quite frankly, the ones most taken in by rom-coms, television and Mills & Boon. We consider ourselves the enlightened woman, the pin-up for the 21st Century…but are we kidding ourselves? How many of us, when push came to shove, would turn our partners out the door to concentrate on ‘our career’. How many of us would put off having children when that crucial time to make the decision arises? Do we want it all and, because of this, are we risking losing it all?
But okay okay, that’s all in the past now. She has been divorced from her husband for 29 years now, and claims that the relationship had been an ‘open one’. She certainly fits the profile of a modern, single, independent women with a stellar film and TV career, friends in high places and a string of book titles to her name. Her interest in New Age Spirituality is well-documented, and is clearly a major presence in her life. There certainly seems enough to keep her busy and happy without a man in her life. Whether or not she is actually currently, or planning on, dating, marrying or anything else is not information accessible to us and, let’s face it, none of our business.
Ms McClaine does, however, epitomise the very essence of what more and more women are beginning to strive for in their lives. The expectation of making a good marriage, having kids or finding one’s ‘soulmate’ is no longer quite as natural an assumption as it was a decade or so ago. Here in the West there have been so many changes in our pace of life, a greater emphasis on professional success regardless of gender, a huge increase and improvement in the education of women, and a blossoming trend of New Age religion or personal relationships with God as opposed to the more traditional organised religious communities. Have all these changes left women unanchored and made it necessary for them to re-shape their place in society? Think about it: It wasn’t so long ago that single women of a certain age were encouraged to hurry into marriage. Nowadays, a moaning single woman is told to buck up their ideas and remember that there’s more to life than men.
So is Shirley right? Is our relationship with ourselves the most important and the most enduring? Is a man an add-on extra nowadays? There’s no real answer to this. For some women singledom is the only choice, babies don’t figure and career is everything. Others have never left the time when wifedom and motherhood were the only conceivable, yearned for choice to make in life. And then there is the ever growing, most-discontented group: the ones who want it all. And yes, I place myself in this group. We’re the ones who think we can reach the upper echelons of any career we choose, standing alongside great men, but still pop home in time to cook the dinner and bond with baby. We’re the ones who walked halfway with the hardcore feminists and then found a cosy place to settle down without seeing the quest through to the end. We are, quite frankly, the ones most taken in by rom-coms, television and Mills & Boon. We consider ourselves the enlightened woman, the pin-up for the 21st Century…but are we kidding ourselves? How many of us, when push came to shove, would turn our partners out the door to concentrate on ‘our career’. How many of us would put off having children when that crucial time to make the decision arises? Do we want it all and, because of this, are we risking losing it all?
Lost in Technology
I’m lost. I’m stuck. I’m sitting on the floor in a room that quite frankly has seen better days with a black Mac that’s staggering on its last legs towards Apple Heaven, it’s rainbow wheel and whirring fan desperately pleading with me to take it to the Genius Bar, get a real job, earn some money and buy it’s much longed for upgrade.
I think it’s Lion next---I think that’s what they’re calling the software these days---though I’ve now missed out on quite a few generations of upgrade. In the grand scheme of the confusingly felinesque branded hard…uh…soft…whateverware, I think I’ve forced my mac to stay forever a simple moggy, the local tabby cat, while other, more cared for laptops are speeding along, sporting characteristics aptly described as ‘snow leopard’, ‘panther’ or…who knows what.
I do feel guilty. Much like I suppose a parent earning just enough to cover the food bills and necessary school uniform does when their child disappears into a sea of well-groomed, logo wearing, gadget touting kids at the school gates.
But while I hope that the fundamental qualities of parenting still remain the same, still remain as effective in raising well-adjusted, happy, intelligent, loved children regardless of these add-on’s and upgrades to their kids’ lives, I’m no longer sure that this is true of trying to work as a writer.
Yes, the talented writer can write regardless of whether they have a computer strapped to their sides, paper and pen will do quite nicely at getting the words down on the paper thank you very much, but in today’s fast paced world full of every man for himself freelancers, does the man with the speedy computer and tip top wifi have the edge?
To put it in exam paper form: If Tom and Ben both finish their hard-hitting, top news column 4 minutes before the deadline, will they both make it to the editors desktop at the same time? Or will Ben’s ‘I’m just hanging in there’ PC abort it’s operation twice before finally deciding to send the column on through, ensuring his work is marked as ‘late’, whilst Tom’s top-of-the-range ‘fully-upgraded’ Apple Mac sends it through in 30 seconds flat, leaving him time to drink a shot of espresso and sit back, smiling as he visualises his masterpiece being read and the hearty congratulations coming his way? Answers on a postcard please.
Yes- that might be a little bit of an unnecessarily long-winded way to look at it and, let’s be honest, we shouldn’t really be submitting work in 4 mins pre-deadline anyway. However, it is important to sit up and take note of the fact that the internet and computers are fast becoming our sole tool in this, and many other, businesses. No longer is it enough to possess a sharp mind and equally sharp pencil, nowadays there are all sorts of money gobbling tools, equipment, software etc. considered necessary to your writing career.
Whilst reading books and doing physical research are still important, there is now a huge amount of research that is internet based, and those with quicker access to the net are likely to be able to get their information compiled and out to the important people and places faster than those without the same luxury.
I’m constantly finding out about writing opportunities I’ve missed because I haven’t seen them advertised online: whether it be on facebook, on BBC Writersroom, on Craigslist or on Ideastap. Often the reason I haven’t trawled through these websites isn’t because I don’t find them interesting, but because what takes one person two clicks and three minutes on their computer, can take me 17 clicks, 25 minutes and 2 reboots.
It’s not just writing: PainesPlough sent out an email the other day inviting people to their open auditions, and giving places to only those in the first 90 emails. So yes…those with the lastest iPhone will, most likely (I am of course assuming) make up the majority of that audition turn out.
In other news: Not only do you need a fast, internet connected computer, but you need it to be attached to a working printer. I broke my printer, and quickly found out that it’s a) not easy and b) sometimes impossible to find somewhere to print documents for you at late notice nowadays.
I’ve had work turned down, or branded amateur, because I haven’t been able to get my hands on a copy of Final Draft Pro…which retails at a BILLON POUNDS. Or…y’know maybe a little bit less.
As I exit my phase of venting, I’d like to express that I’m not quite as naïve or self-pitying as the above may suggest. I know that everything needs some kind of investment: be it financial, time or otherwise, and I also know that if you want something enough you’ll work hard to get it. I’m well aware that people have succeeded in life with much more to deal with than a slightly cantankerous computer and, finally, yes I will admit that if I cut things like glasses of wine or lattes out of my budget for a few weeks I could most probably afford some of the things I’m instead sitting here moaning about.
I do, however, feel justified in bringing this issue up. Ultimately, hard work and talent will out. Of course it will. And perhaps networking and finding out about opportunities has always been just as hard work and related to luck as it is now, regardless of the role technology is currently playing. Though, at the risk of sounding years older than my mere 24, I can’t help wondering if it’s all happening too fast. Are we losing talented writers who lack the money or expertise to make the most of the computer age? Are some of our best actors without constant internet access missing out on important auditions and last minute casting calls? Are we prematurely leaving behind a generation of superb artists and designers because they don’t have access to the latest upgrades?
I don’t know for certain. Plus, for every person that agrees with me on this, another will have an equally valid point about why the technological advances are a boon for our business. But that’s for another time. Right now I’m going to save this document and then restart my computer to get rid of the small warning that keeps flashing up, trying to express it’s concerns about my hard disk space to me, but refusing to go away when I click it. Hopefully when I switch my computer back on the warning box will be gone and this document will still be here. Hope I’m not asking too much…
I think it’s Lion next---I think that’s what they’re calling the software these days---though I’ve now missed out on quite a few generations of upgrade. In the grand scheme of the confusingly felinesque branded hard…uh…soft…whateverware, I think I’ve forced my mac to stay forever a simple moggy, the local tabby cat, while other, more cared for laptops are speeding along, sporting characteristics aptly described as ‘snow leopard’, ‘panther’ or…who knows what.
I do feel guilty. Much like I suppose a parent earning just enough to cover the food bills and necessary school uniform does when their child disappears into a sea of well-groomed, logo wearing, gadget touting kids at the school gates.
But while I hope that the fundamental qualities of parenting still remain the same, still remain as effective in raising well-adjusted, happy, intelligent, loved children regardless of these add-on’s and upgrades to their kids’ lives, I’m no longer sure that this is true of trying to work as a writer.
Yes, the talented writer can write regardless of whether they have a computer strapped to their sides, paper and pen will do quite nicely at getting the words down on the paper thank you very much, but in today’s fast paced world full of every man for himself freelancers, does the man with the speedy computer and tip top wifi have the edge?
To put it in exam paper form: If Tom and Ben both finish their hard-hitting, top news column 4 minutes before the deadline, will they both make it to the editors desktop at the same time? Or will Ben’s ‘I’m just hanging in there’ PC abort it’s operation twice before finally deciding to send the column on through, ensuring his work is marked as ‘late’, whilst Tom’s top-of-the-range ‘fully-upgraded’ Apple Mac sends it through in 30 seconds flat, leaving him time to drink a shot of espresso and sit back, smiling as he visualises his masterpiece being read and the hearty congratulations coming his way? Answers on a postcard please.
Yes- that might be a little bit of an unnecessarily long-winded way to look at it and, let’s be honest, we shouldn’t really be submitting work in 4 mins pre-deadline anyway. However, it is important to sit up and take note of the fact that the internet and computers are fast becoming our sole tool in this, and many other, businesses. No longer is it enough to possess a sharp mind and equally sharp pencil, nowadays there are all sorts of money gobbling tools, equipment, software etc. considered necessary to your writing career.
Whilst reading books and doing physical research are still important, there is now a huge amount of research that is internet based, and those with quicker access to the net are likely to be able to get their information compiled and out to the important people and places faster than those without the same luxury.
I’m constantly finding out about writing opportunities I’ve missed because I haven’t seen them advertised online: whether it be on facebook, on BBC Writersroom, on Craigslist or on Ideastap. Often the reason I haven’t trawled through these websites isn’t because I don’t find them interesting, but because what takes one person two clicks and three minutes on their computer, can take me 17 clicks, 25 minutes and 2 reboots.
It’s not just writing: PainesPlough sent out an email the other day inviting people to their open auditions, and giving places to only those in the first 90 emails. So yes…those with the lastest iPhone will, most likely (I am of course assuming) make up the majority of that audition turn out.
In other news: Not only do you need a fast, internet connected computer, but you need it to be attached to a working printer. I broke my printer, and quickly found out that it’s a) not easy and b) sometimes impossible to find somewhere to print documents for you at late notice nowadays.
I’ve had work turned down, or branded amateur, because I haven’t been able to get my hands on a copy of Final Draft Pro…which retails at a BILLON POUNDS. Or…y’know maybe a little bit less.
As I exit my phase of venting, I’d like to express that I’m not quite as naïve or self-pitying as the above may suggest. I know that everything needs some kind of investment: be it financial, time or otherwise, and I also know that if you want something enough you’ll work hard to get it. I’m well aware that people have succeeded in life with much more to deal with than a slightly cantankerous computer and, finally, yes I will admit that if I cut things like glasses of wine or lattes out of my budget for a few weeks I could most probably afford some of the things I’m instead sitting here moaning about.
I do, however, feel justified in bringing this issue up. Ultimately, hard work and talent will out. Of course it will. And perhaps networking and finding out about opportunities has always been just as hard work and related to luck as it is now, regardless of the role technology is currently playing. Though, at the risk of sounding years older than my mere 24, I can’t help wondering if it’s all happening too fast. Are we losing talented writers who lack the money or expertise to make the most of the computer age? Are some of our best actors without constant internet access missing out on important auditions and last minute casting calls? Are we prematurely leaving behind a generation of superb artists and designers because they don’t have access to the latest upgrades?
I don’t know for certain. Plus, for every person that agrees with me on this, another will have an equally valid point about why the technological advances are a boon for our business. But that’s for another time. Right now I’m going to save this document and then restart my computer to get rid of the small warning that keeps flashing up, trying to express it’s concerns about my hard disk space to me, but refusing to go away when I click it. Hopefully when I switch my computer back on the warning box will be gone and this document will still be here. Hope I’m not asking too much…
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