Monthly Archives: August 2008

Being Unable, or “Tate Graffiti Peel Fish-and-Chips Wedges Seamed Fishnets Inappropriate Skirt Lengths”


Peelings

Tate Modern Street Art removal

I’ve had a relatively eventful few days of late, exposing myself to some art, meeting up with people, drinking more than one glass of wine and dressing in things other than combats and t-shirts. It’s been good, but I feel a little washed out by it all.

On the subject of washed out, I am currently totally hating on weather prediction as I left my washing outside to dry on the basis that it would start to rain much later in the afternoon. Naturally it chucked it down and by the time I brought all my clothes in they were completely soaked. I was *unhappy*. Now it has reached the time the rain was predicted to fall it is not raining. And hasn’t. For hours. Sigh.

On Wednesday I trekked into Lahndahn Tahn to Bankside and Tate Modern to take in the mini-retrospective of the work of Cy Twombly. I’d been meaning to go for many months, but now that I am a Tate member I am much more motivated to visit an exhibition, rather than just doing my usual thing of meaning to go and never managing.

I’ve seen odd pieces of his work in various institutions i’ve visited over the years but never so many in one place; I’d also not seen any of his early stuff so it was good to be able to see it and compare it to his more recent work and ponder the possible connection between it all.

I did not like his early work, which consisted of repetitive scribbly gestures on various shades of white; this early stuff was completely blown away by his later stuff that was richly coloured and much more ambitious in scale. It was gorgeous work, really beautiful and romantic and much more aesthetically appealing and it was no surprise that the last few rooms were much busier than the first few. Untitled (A Painting in Nine Parts) was especially awesome.

Queen of the Amazons The Lady Milbanke as Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons
Madame Yevonde
1935

As I don’t get to dress up as much as I would like to I decided to scare the locals by wearing an exceedingly tight, inappropriately short dress for gallery browsing, accessorised with seamed fishnets and my yellow wedges. I wore a suit jacket over the top in a concession to propriety and a long coat to travel.

It was amusing to be walking across the Wobbly Bridge and have my coat blow open despite my best efforts courtesy of the breeze whipping down the Thames; people’s eyes immediately homed in on my now exposed inner thighs.

I also found out that as soon as my heels announced my entrance into a room everyone would look at me. Hee. Tarty I suppose but it was nice to spend a little time exhibiting what I hide most of the time.

There are usually 365 days year, and lets be very, very generous and say that I dress up 24 nights out of that year.

24 days out of 365 is 6.6% rounded up, which means I hide what genetics and a lack of exercise gives me 93.4% of the time.

I also wandered into the Street and Studio photography exhibition and came across a selection of amazing photos of society women by Madame Yevonde. As you can see from the image above they are beautifully coloured and composed, and at the same time a really quite weird. David LaChapelle eat your heart out.

I had fish and chips and cider in the café (getting ID’d for the drink) and watched a Mother be completely unable to meet her partner’s gaze after he threatened to smack their small son about because he couldn’t sit still. Fun times.

I went out for Leia Ewok Village’s birthday on the Thursday and then again with Caversham Princess and Bobby Convey on the Friday, so I was on the tired side by Saturday evening. I found myself tearing up to things that really should not have induced such a reaction; this situation was not helped by my viewing of a Godawful episode of The Closer– awful in a desperately sad sort of way. One of the detectives had his brother shot and killed, and his gradual meltdown was very difficult to watch.

I got woken up at 2.30 last night by my neighbours having a full-blown domestic; their doubly-glazed windows were shut tight but I could clearly hear the shouting through the walls and through the closed window. I decided that I could not simply put earplugs in and try and wish them away as I felt that I had to listen out just in case I heard the wife being hit. It lasted about twenty minutes and I spent most of that considering whether or not to call the Poh-leece and wondering whether I should dial the emergency number or the general contact one.

I couldn’t understand what was being said (thank you immigration) and it sounded like she was giving as good as the bullying prick could, I didn’t hear anything like crying or screaming so I just lay there and thought about their fucked up lives, finally getting to sleep about an hour later when the household had settled down.

As I lay in the dark I did my usual thing of thinking a lot, about how the events of this Summer have reminded me that I have to constantly moderate myself on a personal and professional basis. I am completely unable to communicate what I really think about people, for example my unhappiness with their behaviour, also I am unable to express my feelings on things, always having to hold myself back.

I think this problem boils down to how I consider it impractical or inappropriate to share my thoughts and feelings, that there is no point in doing so. Having anger living permanently inside my brain on a low simmering heat is difficult to deal with, as are the feelings relating to my wish for companionship and need for intimacy.

I wish I did not have to exist in such a constrained manner, and I do not think it is healthy to do so, indeed I think it’s highly damaging, but it’s the only way to get by. Until situations change I will not share, and there is only so much I can do to invoke the changes needed. Being frustrated looks to be on the cards for a long time to come.

Fun times.
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CAPTURE IS COMPULSORY and Tryin’ To Keep The Summer Alive


Checkers

Part of an artwork made out of silk, Mylar and found materials woven by primary-aged kids in Cheshire.

CAPTURE IS COMPULSORY

As seen on the inner lid of a game of draughts (AKA checkers).

I’ve been contemplating the smooth continuity of pale skin on my inner arms this week for the first time in a very long time indeed. I’ve listened to Sinatra more frequently than is usual for me and i’ve felt things that I can’t identify with my usual field guides gnawing at my insides.

I went out tonight for Leia Ewok Village’s birthday and had a great time; I am drinking a cup of tea at the moment but I am a little liquored up. Danger. We went out with the dress code fabulous in mind and by the stares from the randoms I noticed as we stood outside the local pretentious bar we fulfilled this objective very well indeed.

On occasion I do enjoy scaring the locals. It’s the legs and my “in heels” height superiority. Hee.

Leia looked simply gorgeous rocking insane YSL Tribute-style shoes; I passed an excellent evening of very good food and a generous splash of booze with great ease. Maybe it’s because we were housemates for a while but my friendship with Leia Ewok Village is an especially close one- it’s a cliche to describe it so but we just *click*. Evenings like the one just gone remind me how lovely it is to have such a kind and generous friend as time passes and my circle of friends gets ever more constrained. Sigh.

I laughed loudly and too frequently for polite society; I gave up and changed out of the wedges into some flats after about an hour (my escapades yesterday took their toll- more on that later). I ended up introducing Leia to the non-fine art of draughts whilst I sipped an espresso accessorised with my usual rum tonic and lime. I also felt the need to scrawl the above mentioned “CAPTURE IS COMPULSARY” (sic) on my arm in biro. Good times.

Ear plugs and (hopefully) hours of hibernation await. Huzzah.

Beach Boys
Tryin’ To Keep The Summer Alive
1980

http://rapidshare.com/files/140916534/bb_ttktsa.zip.html
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Metal Noise Pollution


LOUD Image by leojam

Metallica are nearly four miles away but I can quite clearly hear both the band and the crowd’s reaction as I sit in my front room.

Christ on a bike they are LOUD…

Makes me wish I was paying an exorbitant amount for the privilege of paying £4 a drink and being hit by flying bottles. Hee.

Rock on…

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Place Spotting


placeSpotting

Match the image with it’s location on the Google Map… Addictive and pointless… The best kind of fun :D
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Low Winter Sun revisited


Dark I revisited the desperately dark Low Winter Sun last night in place of feeding my televisual Olympic habit… It is still excellent contemporary noir, filled with horrors both familiar and foreign.

I found it gripping even though I knew what was going to happen (sign of a good programme imo), I also found it a little on the depressing side- You won’t get up from watching it with sunshine and roses in your heart. Great stuff.

I feel the need to pass this twisted mess on to whomever I can… Available at Daily Motion (and via me if you’re local):

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8










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It just keeps on coming


Eye spyThe River Mersey, as seen from Tate Liverpool.

I’m back from a visit en famile and I am a little stressed the fuck out. JOY.

Last week I spent most of my “holiday” having to get up overly early to let various “professionals” in to butcher the bathroom… I accepted deliveries and altered my plans so that I could be home to give them access. When I left last Thursday for the North West I was told that everything would be finished by the next day; I told the fitter working on the job that I would be back the following week.

I spent a rather decent weekend with my family for my Mother’s birthday; my Dad managed to keep the “being an utter prick” act on the down low and I think my Mum had a good weekend of good food and good company. I got to see The Dark Knight on an IMAX screen, which was allll kinds of awesome. On Monday we went to Liverpool (my first visit) and took in the sights and shops to be found in this supposed Cultural Capital.

We wandered past the Cavern Club and I found a shop entirely devoted to retro underwear and corsets- score. Unfortunately it’s not like I could afford much in there nor did I feel entirely comfortable explaining how I loved retro underpinnings to my Mum. Hee.

Liverpool is like Manchester- People go on and on about how it’s the best thing since sliced bread. They definitely are being improved courtesy of some serious money with both historic and contemporary architecture taking top billing and good places to stop and eat. Thing is, this place called London exists… I’ve grown up with it a thirty-five minute train ride away so whenever I hear or read praise being piled upon places like the ones mentioned above I have to call bullshit on their comments. Liverpool also seems to base an inordinate amount of it’s marketing on the fact that a bunch of men in their twenties produced some pop music back in the sixties.

Anyway, we braved the tsunami of tourists around the Albert Dock to pay a visit to the Tate Liverpool and the much raved about Klimt exhibition. I am now a member of the Tate so in we breezed past the snaking queues to hit a wall of supposed art lovers. It was a fucking nightmare…

Moo... Cow 1966 Andy Warhol Everywhere people floated encapsulated within their bubble of their audio guides, bumping into you, not paying attention because their heads are buried in their exhibition guides (containing the same information that is on the wall in front of them) and committing the biggest sin of all in my book- standing slap bang in front of the artwork whilst they read the information plaque on the wall. PLEASE do not do that. You do *not* need to stand in front when you’re not actually looking at the work, stand *to the side*. Fucks.

The exhibition was a massive let down- An entire floor was filled with this mural Klimt had made, which in my opinion was a complete waste of gallery space. Just repetitive, saccharine crap that did not add to my knowledge or understanding of the artists work. The paintings on the next floor were more interesting but I found the rest of the displays rather boring- basically arts and crafts produced by people in the same artistic group as Klimt (the Vienna Secessionists). The problem is that there weren’t really very many members of this group so that I began to wonder what if any impact they had that the Arts and Crafts or Art Nouveau movements missed. Uh, very little?

The paintings and drawings by Klimt himself were great- A little Pre-Raphaelite I suppose (ak) but vibrant with quite forward thinking composition and delicately textured. His drawings of nudes especially women were very good indeed and you could clearly see the link between the erotic line drawings and the work of Egon Schiele. More self-pleasuring girls in galleries please.

The gallery itself was poorly laid out and badly organised and filled to bursting. NOT a good visiting experience… I got through the Klimt exhibition in about fifteen minutes. Sigh.

So MR T gets his window fixed (hooray) and I make my way back South with my brother in tow. We merrily sped along for the majority of the journey before we got to a hilly section and I found myself having to put my foot all the way to the floor to maintain my speed on the motorway. Bad. We pull over and my brother scampers around the car looking for anything obvious but the hissing noise we can both hear does not seem to be coming from the exhaust area nor anywhere else he looks. We keep going and manage to get back in one piece…

I park, breathe a sigh of relief that we are home and walk through the front door to find no toilet whatsoever, a bath that is not plumbed in and the new shower still in it’s cardboard box. To say I was unhappy would be an understatement… I was fucking furious.

Furious because I had been told that everything would be finished on Friday and that I had been told *nothing* to the contrary, furious because my brother had to use a bucket as a toilet on his trip to my house and furious because after putting up with all of the shit last week my cunt of a landlord will not refund *any* of my rent because apparently it is my fault that I did not let him know that we did not have full facilities at the time. That’s what a site manager is for, no? Go ahead, fuck my living arrangements up however you want, i’m just “on holiday” and your tenant.

I dropped MR T off at the garage the next day, coming back to the house to find that yet again what i’d been told was a load of shite- “Oh yes, the fitter will be all done by 12.30pm… He’s got another job to go to” Riiight… I taxi-d round to the peace and quiet and actual toilet and shower at Leia Ewok Village’s where I Zelda‘d and watched Olympics and enjoyed a long hot shower. Sigh.

The garage found a possible problem with my car but it’s the sort of thing I need to get done at a main dealers… mucho dinero required, so I am going to try and get it booked into to an independent specialist. Bless the garage employees though, they tried for three days and charged me nothing. The seal between the carburettor and the throttle body is the problem apparently, hence the hissing noise. So the saga will continue into next week…

I spent a day last week happily watching men in lycra throwing bins at each other with MW#1; I also got to take in some Guitar Hero- I say take in because there is *no* way I would be able to cope with all the buttons and my fingers and the colours. TOO MUCH. In the wee small hours I awoke from a deep sleep to find my seriously confused brain telling me that I must press the right buttons in Guitar Hero otherwise I would not be allowed to get back to sleep. It was all rather anxiety making…

Now the TV has died (fat chance the landlord who owns it will fix it) and I have to get two quotes for the repairs to MR T and I have to let more “professionals” in to do the flooring in the bathroom. I also have to plan what the fuck I am going to be teaching in the upcoming academic year i.e. in a weeks time. Ugh. I wish I could hibernate, and I know it’s only August.
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Builders


Digging Tunnels danger deep excavations by cRckls

As a professional, when you make an appointment it is only proper to turn up at the appointed time- not earlier nor later than when you’ve arranged to meet. Obviously sometimes circumstances mean that this doesn’t happen but most of the time things should stay on time.

People in the building/repair trades are professional in that they are (hopefully) trained for the job. So why is it, when they say 3 or 4pm they turn up at 1.30pm and take my bathroom away from me so I will not be able to take my planned shower? Or 11.30am when they were expected at 8.30?

Why send men round to sit in their van outside my house because you “Hoped [I was] in…” when I am not in and will not be able to get back to the house for half an hour?

It’s like because they are so needed they can behave however the fuck they like. Bastards. At least the ones i’ve experienced so far have been nice human beings. Apparently the builder removing the bathroom found Shrek in the scary gross space under the bath. Humour.



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Olympic Compulsiveness


Why am I watching the cross country part of the equestrian competition at this years Olympic Games after 2am when I have to be up at 7.30am? WHY, especially when it’s a given that i’ll be able to watch it again later. Sigh.

Last night it was dressage and swimming until 3am and I spent most of the day today changing between gymnastics, weightlifting, boxing and more swimming. It’s interesting watching all the competitors from the different countries, with their differing national appearance, outfits and names; it also has the element of breaking news- Information for me to assimilate. Woo.

With the cross country there’s also the element of risk and excitement- Will they make it over a jump in one piece? Will the horse become spooked or refuse or stumble and unseat the rider? Will the rider survive the fall? The horses themselves are interesting to me too, their colours and behaviours. I’m not much of a fan of the track and field events, I prefer the less glamorous stuff. Weightlifting is really compelling, honest.

Builders are coming today to begin refitting the bathroom – hooray for my twat of a landlord lifting a finger – however, I am not looking forward to this change in the lackadaisical routine of the past couple of weeks.

I do not want to be woken up early each morning for the next week by bathroom destruction nor do I want to have to get the bus or drive to go to the bathroom, which is what awaits me for a couple of days. I think i’ll just take my shampoo and bodywash outside into the permadrizzle as I wait for the new shower to be plumbed in…
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My Cup Runneth Over


Greeeen Today I picked up and tried on my recently ordered Agent Provocateur underwear. I was… disappointed… kinda.

The bras were very well-made using high quality fabrics and lovely colours but they were rather on the small side and one of them had a little rip in the fabric in an aesthetically important place. I could have sent it back but I managed to give it quick darn with a needle and thread. Huzzah.

I figure they are designed for gals who can afford to go for facials and who can afford to buy AP stuff frequently “because they deserve it”, or who have someone buy it for them… Slender, moneyed young professionals or Yummy Mummys who don’t work. Lucky them.

Anyway, the Nikita demi is exactly that- i.e. I can only fit half my boob in. Imagine a breast as an irregular circle with the nipple in the centre and divide it in half horizontally. Now you get an idea of what escapes out of the green satin when I put it on :)

The Nikita is very a very pretty colour (I like green muchly) and it does give hilarious levels of uplift; I think I will keep it because of its colour and the undoubted comedy factor.

It could be the only time where I can say that my cup runneth over…
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Week Two




Caipirinha by tomypelluz

Almost the end of week two of the break. I’ve been on the internet a lot less this week, hence the dearth of posting… this is not because I have been sunning myself in some far-off, lacking internet access clime, but because I have been immersing myself in the worlds of my new DS Lite.

Yes, it took me trawling around four shops ’til I finally managed to find my desired green one; the delightful stoner dude who served me offered me a deal (it must be the freshly dyed red hair), so I got a green console and a game of my choice. I chose Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney and I have to say I have been hooked ever since.

I still can’t get over the fact that I can do things like “dust for fingerprints” by tapping the stylus about on the screen and then blow the “dust” off by blowing into the mic on the console. It is teh awesome.

The game play is a little frustrating at times as you have to follow everything as the game sets it out to be i.e. you can’t work out who the bad guy is and then go straight to it, you have to laboriously follow every step. Sigh. I have laughed a fair few times whilst playing, and this is the first computer game that has really made me do that, corny though it may be.

I also bought Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass and have swapped Justice for cutting swathes through grass to collect gems and running away from giant blackbirds that want to eat me. It really is a wonderful game… massively frustrating at times and a little slow on the cut scenes but really involving and fun to play.

I’ve had to do stuff like scribble the stylus back and forth in order to shake off whatever monster has got me in it’s grasp and even shout at the console to kill off a monster who had big ears and was sensitive to sound. Hee. Trauma Centre is my next purchase…

So i’ve not been on the internets as much; I have indeed swapped one obsession for another, for a while at least. As previously mentioned I re-dyed my hair… I think this has what had led to random people whistling at me as I walk down the street. Is bizarre. I have also managed to spend the cost of a short break on the DS and games and eating out and the Agent Provocateur and Madame V sales…

Caversham Princess was off listening to folk in Cambridge (along with Bobby Convey) so I had the house to myself from Thursday onwards, so i’ve spent the rest of the week wandering around in my underwear, staying in my dressing gown all day and not putting things in the dishwasher. It was like a proper holiday. Also, I used up some of her milk (sorry!).

I met up with Dave for chat and dinner; she was feeling decidedly abject when we first met but an hour or so slagging clothes and the like off cheered her up. Unfortunately Dave is yet another of my generation who have been led to believe that education was the way but are unable to find a job that reflects their ability. She is one of the smartest people I know and a lovely human being; she is also the victim of a society that seems to think that having cancer is worthy of more compassion than having a mental health issue and almost easier to manage.

To sit opposite someone I care for whilst her eyes fill with angry tears as she tells me that she wishes she could be normal and hates her disorder is very difficult. I hate seeing my friends distressed… I wish I could kick the shit out of society sometimes, it’s ignorance and lack of compassion… I wish I could make everything right. Sigh.

Anyway, I gabbed on about my new DS addiction, we had a very good dinner and I think she felt a little better about things by the end of the evening, for a little while at least. It was so good to see her.

At the weekend I peeled myself away from Zelda and into a pretty dress and the yellow wedges to meet up with Leia Ewok Village for food and drinks. Leia is currently going through a period of transition, sorting out what she wants and regaining things she has realised she has lost. We fillld ourselves to the point of bursting with delicious food and then headed out into Young Professionalville for drinks.

A new low was experienced: On taking a trip to the bathroom in this bar I opened the door to find three women taking up all of the non-cubicle space to fix themselves up. I squeeze past one of them to get into a cubicle, when I come out the same dozy bint blocks my way out of the toilet.

I stand there and wait until she moves. She doesn’t and i’m definitely not in the mood for such airheaded fuckwittery so I say “I’ll just stand here, that’s awesome…” She doesn’t hear me at first because of the Ministry of Sound god-awful music one of them is playing from their mobile phone. Yes, they weren’t using the toilets, oh no, just preening themselves and acting like total idiots. The “I am unimpressed” look descended and I excused myself so that one of them would move the fuck away from a basin so I could wash my hands. I still had to wait. UGH.

They fiiinally tottered out into the bar where unfortunately I ran into them on my way back to my seat… This was unavoidable as all three of them were stood just inside the room blocking the way. For Christs sake. “That’s fine… I’ll just stand here…” One of them pulled their head out of their arses and shifted slightly to one side with a “Whaaaaat?” as I squeezed my way round them. They were like overgrown teenagers- fake tan and self-absorbed attitude in abundance. Aaand they are exactly the sort of women that so many men of my age seem to delight in. I HATE.

After what seemed like a billion squillion years Leia managed to get us another drink; whilst I was waiting I stared at the wall to pass the time, as there really wasn’t much else to do… A random bloke noticed my wall studying and came over to chat. All he wanted to do was talk, and he was really nice- no agenda, no lines, nowt, he just fancied talking to someone new.

I of course was immediately on the defensive when he came over, not revealing much and I felt rather bad for doing so given that he was just being a decent, curious human being. However, I would say around 98% of all men who approach me in a similar environment are complete pricks be they sober or more usually drunk; they can be threatening and won’t take hints… As a female I have to be polite and humour them as I gently try and make them fuck off, just because I don’t want them getting angry. How utterly shite is that? Why should I, we have to do that? UGH. I think it’s sad that drunken fucks give men in bars such a bad name…

We moved on to a bar that sells chocolate and gingerbread cake alongside the hard liquor – hee – and then taxied over to Leia’s place for an entire night dancing to a wiiide selection of tracks spanning the years 1974-2006… Like, we spent a lot of the night watching crap music videos on YouTube. Hello Bee Gees, NSFW Huey Lewis, NSFW Snoop Dogg, NSFW Ice Cube, Altern-8, Michael Jackson, Duran Duran and the Pet Shop Boys

We know how to party :D

I didn’t get home ’til 6am…
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