Off the back of Anti-Gay-The peower of words

Just writing about 'anti-gay' reminded me of a series of BBC programming (The BBC never came out and said they were doing it as a series on purpose but I feel that over 3 TV channels and 2 radio stations, and that's only what I watched, it's not a coincidence) which focused on the meaning of words. How they function and they're context in relation to the reaction they receive. Now I don't claim to be a great expert but it seems that words get us in out of trouble more often than you can say.

Take the word 'sot'. Any one regularly reading Shakespeare knows it means stupid or idiot. Do we use it no. It's gone out of use, like grapefruit juice as a starter.

I love me Golly-Wog and yet aged five or six I was not allowed to bring him to show and tell because he was racist. There were no black kids in my school, none (if the deep south of the USA is red neck? So is Hampshire in England) so there was no one to be offended by him, trying to explain to a kid that her favorite toy is racist, my mother will tell, is no easy feat. But there was a time when, along with the following Ribena advert, it was mainstream and O.K.

One particular word in England is a serious no no. Your probably more likely to get lynched for it than walking into the middle of Camden and shouting 'Nigger' at the top of your voice (no I haven't tried it, I don't have a death wish). 'Paki' it was the focus of much of the recent BBC programming. Prior to the 60's it was just a shortened term for Pakistani and was in common use. Yet after a massive deportation debate (and all the racists that come out of the wood work in relation to such things), rallies, excolonies, tabloids spewing crap, ect, ect (this is not a history lesson google 'paki 60/70's uk' and you'll have all 17 sides of the story and a load of crap, [and if you take safe search off 'Hot Asian Babes, ready for sex in your area!!! WILL receive anal!!!' Why? *Bangs head against brick wall*]) it became  word that strikes a severe emotional chord. 

I (and please note I'm white; unless you go back five generations of my mum's mum's side) have been a victim of the word. What you say, but you just said your white? Well I wear a very big scarf when it's cold and I put it round my head and neck to keep my ears toasty, I do this often so it's neat. From the back I may look kinda Asian, muslimish. I was on the tube and had gone through the barrier and about fifteen paces later paused to look at the sign to see which exit I needed. A bloke, ( a black guy actually) barged into the back of me declaring 'Bloody paki' when he could have walked round me, easily. I pulled down my scarf and confronted him, pointing out his ethnic mistake and the nature of racism however poorly placed, much to the amusement of the policeman with a drug dog just up ahead. And the strangest thing was that it hurt. Not to be mislabeled but to be negatively labeled. He could have said flower in that tone and it would have hurt, we all know that what he really meant was stupid substandard waist of space and air. But it was at that moment that I understood how the word had gained so much power, if enough people said it like that for long enough it would kill the word. I also realized it could indeed happen to the word flower, any word. Conversely and somewhat amusingly the term is now ok for young Pakistanis to use, but only amongst them selves. In trying to reclaim a word as heritage they have gained strength from it, which is beautiful, magic even. It still fails to let me used a perfectly legitimate word, because if I use it it's still racist.

Returning once more to anti-gay and the word gay. We have a word which was started out meaning happy, then in the homosexual community was claimed as a positive term for their sexuality, then claimed as an insult by homophobics and became so widely used that it lost almost all of it's venom. A word that is now reduced to use by 15year old kids to indicate displeasure with an object or person my cousin Owen informed me that the new model 'steam locomotive' (train  to those of us who don't live in the dark and wear anoraks) was 'soooooooo Gay!' as one of the lights on it didn't work. I suggested he take it back to the shop and suddenly I was gay and had a sore shin. Gay as a word is still claimed by the homosexual community wholeheartedly and enthusiastically. There is a great bar in the soho area of London call G.A.Y. they have fab cocktail offers and the atmosphere is very friendly, but not smutty. Which I think is why it will never be a truely bad word. Plus as insults go it doesn't have the same ring as 'fag'. The same way 'fudge' will never quite replace 'fuck'.

So words change. But its only the power that we let them have over us that will ever change them. I am probably one of only six people in the world who finds the word 'Chitterlings' giggle worthy, I mean pig intestines what's not to love? But when a 60 year old chef (my boss) spends an entire summer whispering it into your and others ears, or shouting it, or singing it to various them songs, it takes on a life of it's own. It becomes something other. Special. Yours. Ours...Mine.

I love words.

Good Reading

There are some books that tell it straight. Every so often I'm gonna put em in here. Mostly for shits and giggles, but also because a well rounded reading approach is good for every one.

Designers are Wankers by Lee MacCormack (About Face publishing, 2007)
Fab book, witty and very easy going. It gives detail about the industry and its foibles. If you don't want to be in the industry it's still a good read. You get a level up on appreciation for anything product based.


Anti-Gay edited by Mark Simpson (Freedom editions, 1996)
Not the book you might think it is. It's written by homo/bi-sexual individuals who feel stigmatized by the stereotype of 'Gay'. It looks at all the terms for homosexuality and some of the issues that they have lead to. It indicates that the word 'Gay' will pass out of mainstream useage and become a lesser used word when the next term comes up. For example we still use 'fag', 'fairy' ect but for most when you say homosexual the next word they say will be 'gay' if your playing word association, I've done this experiment. Also it doen't claim to be a definitive text, openly states that it is merely trying to start the debate. So that it's not an issue just a topic so that it can be claimed as a subject by those to whom it belongs and not a media bandwagon. And above all it's funny.

When your tired.

Go to sleep.

When other people want to sleep let them.

When you throw a wild three night party let the village know so they can move out for the week end. 

When your tired and you can't sleep? Phone some one you don't like very much and wake them the fuck up, the peace of mind you gain will help you fall asleep. 

And if you haven't woken them up, their conversation will bore you to sleep.

Pleasant dreams folks.

Pop Life @ The Tate Modern

If there is one thing in this world that I truly HATE it is going to art exhibitions when they are busy. You get jostled and poked and you feel like an idiot for saying sorry all the time. You just can't concentrate on the art. That's why I try to go on Monday mornings, when it's quiet. Not always possible as with the recent Pop life exhibition at the Tate Modern. Now I'm sure it's easy to find reviews for this exhibition all over. I'm going to briefly review it and then get on with the two points I want to make, or as has been suggested to me one point and one vendetta. Oh, and here's the URL to the exhibition site if your interested as well as the guardian review:

http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/poplife/

http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2009/oct/04/pop-life-tate-modern-cumming *

I enjoyed it (apart from the poking/shoving/£11 pounds to get in with student discount). There, at first seemed to be great clarity and then it all went to pot (enjoyable pot, but it may have been clearer with fewer people). Part of the aim of the exhibition seemed to be to shock you. So every time you got to a new horror you were slightly more desensitized to it. The Koons room was quite an eye popper. Enter room, become confronted with a five feet high vagina with (and I have spent some time doing the maths here) a fourteen feet penis tucked snugly inside. The following corridor of rather more intimate images of hairy lesbians masturbating was quite palatable after that. Then there was a room of hodge-podge stuff, which may have made some sense had it not all been busy. Then a room with a small tv showing a hooker fuck some one. Then a room with a stuffed dead horse in the middle. Lastly there was....Kirstin Dunst on a large screen singing I'm turning Japanese.



This was then stuck in my head...well up until New years eve when it was replaced by 'We will all go together' by (I want to say Leonard Nimoy for reasons not known to man nor beast) Tom Leher. But this is beside the point. The word RANDOM!!! flashed in front of my eyes quite a lot.

Now the back ground is over, to the point. It all makes better sense when you take into account that the exhibition was supposed to be called 'sold out' until Damien Hirst kicked up a stink (his works are in the confused room) as he felt it slanderous. So the whole exhibition which is about artists who have sold their souls and their principal to money and fame has tried to re-brand it's self to be about popular art figures and art as commerse. Hurst isn't popular he's hated, mostly for selling principals for money (so go figure). As a result the way he's represented in the exhibition is as a Worhol wanna be. The lay out of his works mirrors the lay out of some of Worhols work earlier on (the pieces taken from his massive Sotheby's auction, which is possibly the only time I've admired his audacity). Now Worhol reveled in the fact that he sold out, he used it to take the piss out of the people he sold himself to. His legacy is still here today in advertising and to a lesser extent in hated production artist Hurst (I really don't like him, I have met the smarmy son of a bitch so have more than a media influenced view, and his coffee for the record was not cold it was at 88C, 3C hotter than it should have been grrrr [I get petty when I'm cross and use thermometers]). So point one (aka vendetta) is I hate Damien Hurst and I loved the way a curator has managed to take the piss out of him. Fairly long way to go about it I know. Sorry.

The other point is to do with the merchandise and how cunning some of it was and how annoying it was in other ways. They had a pop up shop in the middle that sold internal exclusives, so cunning and glam a Keith Harring room with every thing angled round slightly to draw your eye to period reproduction T's and to the booth where you could buy them along with a wide collection of pins. Now while the pop up shop has become a common feature in the modern art exhibition. This one made you want stuff and due to the nature of the exhibition hate your self for it. Now that is marketing! The second issue again makes more sense with a little insider knowledge. The Tate was bullied into doing the exhibition, and I mean really didn't want it. This was shown in the relatively low amount of merchandise for such large exhibition. What is even more sad is that the week before the exhibition was due to start The Tate Modern received delivery of a very large number of hello kitty vibrators. Which were sent back. They bottled, it would have made the exhibition notorious, legendary. But they decided to be politically correct with merchandise where the exhibition was not. It remains a fantastic and comedic farce of it's self held back by the blundering nature of corporation, mass market and government funding.


They Sold Out.



*Please note that the observer was a supporting partner in the exhibition and I feel that their reveiw while comprehensive is strongly biased. Also be aware that comments I have made in regard to lay out ect are based on my observation notes at the time and that I didn't note everything, I had other peoples elbows in my ears, I thought the whole point of timed tickets was to prevent twenty odd people from being in the same room of the exhibition. As a result they may not have been interpreted as intended by the curator and associated bodies. Knowledge of the curatorial process comes from a lecturer at St Martins; Emanuele she rocks by the way and her visual culture lecture series.

Dealing with boys

It is a long held fact that boys have two heads. And that they only think with one of them.

This fact in it's self is no big deal. In truth it probably helps them to sleep at night with some level of clarity, two heads are better than one after all. But this is not the core issue and while I may come back to this at a later date I leave you with this on the subject; those two heads should never be put together, it's freaky. Damned freaky. And thank you to me dear brother for sending me the link to that charming video and for the nightmares it conjured.

Back on topic, I go out for a quiet drink and to hang out with mates every so often (more often if I had time and more often than I have time to). Inevitably boys make amorous advances; now while appreciate their bravery and sometimes their altogether charming/amusing attempts at my fidelity (I'm aiming for cat lady or favorite pipe smoking aunt that is not an aunt who teaches you guns at the age of six), you don't really want it. I have the cure, it makes balls shrivel and ego's die. One phrase can cure you...

'Go home and play with your bum-chum buddy.'

It needs to be accompanied by a firm look and a clear passionless voice. Say that a few times in the same location and your free. Sadly it has been pointed out to me that this is mean. It occupies that place your not meant to go as a girl along side strip bars (they're great) and porn (epic stuff), it strikes a chord with boys, not usually a good one.

I didn't really give it that much thought, actually it was fairly much a case of 'bollocks to it'. Then you notice that the friend you've been hanging around with for the past seven years is hot (and you already like him as a mate, what could go wrong). Why does it take me so long? Don't know, that is for personal angst and melodrama and possibly a therapist. When dealing with this you put out feelers, ask mates ect. Yet when the plunge comes and you ask he gives you a look which says 'how much were you bet?' So stale mate. So effective is one phrase it back fires on the rest of your life.

There are situations where it doesn't work. Gay bars for example (I get out voted my a significant group of me friends), mostly you don't need to worry about boys, any boys that are there that may hit on you are bi and therefore likely to take you up wholeheartedly on the suggestion. I've never worked out how to stave off the advances of lesbians other than trying to be polite, unless I'm really drunk when the lines blur slightly. You can't really use it on stalkers, or in front of your parents and indeed if you use it at work your boss gets kinda cross and your on caution for making a homophobic and sexist comment for a month.

In short dealing with boys is hard. And warrants further discussion, we'll talk more on the subject later. What I think I wanted to say is that there is no cure all for a type of situation. That a blanked approach can backfire and come up full of holes leaving you feeling vulnerable. Specifically to the boys remember that girls are generally just as scared as you are (just like the spider or mouse you jumped on a chair for the other day). They may turn you down because while they find you attractive you are likely to be bigger and stronger, therefore threatening. If some venomous bitch tells you to 'go home and play with your bum-chum' don't loose heart, flick her the finger and move on. She's not worth it anyway.

So next year I will resolve (to late to tag onto this years lot) to dissolve the phrase, remove it from my list. I'll use something normal like piss off or the great lie 'I've go a boyfriend' (the reason there are no single girls boys is coz they're lying) or just simply, one day I may say yes...

Like Hell!1Lol!

Making assumptions and buying fish fingers

What do these two items have in common?
Answer: Lots!

I was in Sainsbury's a while back, I bought and this is my honest list: Fish fingers, Nesquick (the creal), 4 bottles of dark ale, a 12 pack of comdoms, a Simpsons comic, those animal biscuits that Cadburys do and a one liter tub of Ben and Jerry's finest 'Half Baked'. I am not dressed nicely because I am going to go home and watch vanilla sky and eat junk.

You are the check out assistant what do you say:

a) Nothing! or maybe and 'mnaugh'.
b) Say Hi. Then feel awkward when the customer engages in small talk.
c) Eye the condoms and wag your eye brows.
d) Say 'You've got some really lucky kids at home tonight. Did they just pass their exams?'

Acceptable answers are b or c unless your in an Asda when I'd prefer option a (but the Asda neer me is actively shit-full). But as expected the answer I got was d. This was a year ago now so I was 21, in order to have kids that had just passed any exams I'd have had to have them when I was 9. I am not too proud to admit that I didn't get my period till I was thirteen, I told him this. As it also happens I didn't loose my virginity till the following week and I spent the next 3 months blaming it on what has become known as the fish finger incident.

What happened next I am not proud of. But as someone who is spending a Friday night alone watching vanilla sky and eating junk, my self esteem was LOW. I swore at him. I called in a arse hole and suggested that he take one of the frozen fishy beauties and stick it down his cock. I think he had been expecting me to gloat about how 'little Sasha and Sebastion' (twins) had over achieved on their ______exams. So he was somewhat shocked and quiet, the old man behind me in the queue found it highly amusing however.

While I did get my shopping and the guy did apologize ( didn't I should have but I didn't), I don't go to that Sainsbury's anymore.

The moral of the fable: Don't make assumptions, if you do don't flesh them out. Test the water with an innocuous leading question 'somebody's gonna be having a good night to night?' at which point I would have said that the condoms are for making paint bombs not sex (but that's annother story). Because while admire honesty there is a line...

Lets be Frank!

I hate beating round the bush, though I often do, and nothing annoys me more than having to bite my tongue and rephrase things so that they are considered acceptable. So lets dispense with the bullshit, burn the bras, kick out the care bears, be honest and pull up a chair (because lets face it the world is much nicer with a few comforts). It's time to be honest with our selves.

O.K. then most of that was bull shit. Honest but bullshit. My friends like the way I say things straight out no messing, just how I feel. So I thought I'd share this with out look with others.

I'm mostly gonna be writing this in my note pad while I sit a pub with a pint of ale in a traditional glass mug and contemplate. It I write something truly weird it'll still be in here, just with out spelling mistakes and maybe a disclaimer. But hey life is too short.

If I annoy you tell me. If it's hits a cord let me know. I'll be talking about everything from the way the plastic bit on your shoe lace always peals off and catches to quantum physics (ok so maybe less of the physics). At the end of the day if you feel anything when reading I've done my job.