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We will miss you!
R.I.P Sexy
To impose my ego into the matter, I – along with thousands of others (including Stephen Fry) – declared my offense in response to the article. Branding Moir as “vile.” However, the escalation of this matter I fear to be bordering on ridiculous, bearing in mind that a police investigation has now gone underway. And this evening, audience members on the BBC’s Question Time were asking whether the article should have been published at all. The man sitting opposite to this audience was BNP leader Nick Griffin and the audience questioned our democratic right that is freedom of speech due to a gossip columnist?!
I do not believe Jan Moir is homophobic – and my ex-boyfriend is certain (being a close friend of hers) that she is not – that as a journalist you have demands set by your publisher (and remember, we are talking about a right-wing newspaper first established by fascists.) You have little time, and a lot of stress. This does not excuse the article however, no matter what her personal beliefs really are.
In the article, Moir claims: “After a night of clubbing, Cowles…” (Gately’s partner,) “…and Gately took a young Bulgarian man back to their apartment. It is not disrespectful to assume that a game of canasta with 25-year-old Georgi Dochev was not what was on the cards.” Not disrespectful? Some may not agree with the way in which Gately was portrayed as ‘whiter than white’ after his death but to make such a presumption, to scandalize the last few hours of his life without knowing for sure what had or had not taken place, as sleazy – then go on to question civil partnerships – is a great disrespect, not only to Gately but to the entire gay community, the article then is not about slandering a recently deceased celebrity, but using generalizations involving a minority group to do so and pose a question about the stability of monogamous gay relationships because of Moir’s own presumptions about Gately.
What is important to note is that no, the amount of homophobic attacks does not seem to have increased but instead the number that have been reported. Yet the BBC decided to campaign to gay men in particular to come forward if they have experienced homophobia. The news story went further to suggest that in doing so, it may help the police in being able to respond appropriately to such crimes.
Oh, are the police not yet trained in being able to deal with crime? Does this not put their entire purpose into question?! A representative from Stonewall (the gay and lesbian “charity”) suggested that in order for ‘us’ to tackle homophobia we need to be coming forward to police about the types of abuse we have been experiencing. Does it not make sense instead for police to respond to any crime, no matter the crime – its type or its victim? Do we, as a minority group need to put ourselves upon a pedestal – to not only report a crime but use its possible motive as a means to single ourselves out as victims more so?
A hate crime, is a crime. No more horrific than the next. Does it need to get to the stage where a crime against a gay man or woman will be considered homophobic by default? Similarly being the case with white men who commit acts of violence against black people.
Where will the line be drawn? What purpose will reporting the crime as homophobic, serve?
I was sitting opposite a man and with a row of train seats between us, but through the gap I could still see his bulging stomach and the dull carriage light bounching off his balding head. I thumbed my phone hastily as he made a call on his, I pressed record and tried discretely as I could manage, to bed it between two seats.
My intended experiment had now gone into practice. I was without question pleased by this. For the entire afternoon, since the idea had come to me, I had been meaning to use my phone to record conversations between people, whether they were a couple, a group or someone on the phone, such as this man. The experiment had no real hypothesis – no results to evaluate other than to stimulate my interest in language, in speech and the way in which people really talk.
Ever since I saw The Girlfriend Experience (by Alecky Blythe) I realized the pronounced difference between dialogue you read in novels or see on the screen and real dialogue – real words. You sometimes forget. Although, I was not about to make a new play in the form of Verbatim Theatre.
For any writer it is essential you can convince a reader that your characters are real, if not then that they are engaging enough to draw the reader into their world. This had something to do with my new voyeuristic hobby, but to be entirely honest there have been so many times I have overheard a conversation or argument and wished I could have recorded it. To use it somehow and if not then at least post it on Youtube!
“Hiya, Mark? Y-yeah…it’s me” The man on the train said. It was working, it was going well; so so well.
“Yes…yes, look I have just come back from there – yes…I’m afraid I have to tell you, that your mother has passed away…”
I pressed stop. I deleted the recording and stuffed my phone back into my pocket – then I looked behind me, for judgmental stares I suppose if anyone had spotted what I was doing. I wondered what the man was doing, telling someone such news on a train, but I was then distracted by another man – a short drama teacher shouting down his phone, perfect. UPDATE: As it was my first attempt at recording, the sound quality was awful but be sure to check out recordings I’ll post via Youtube on here, soon
(P.S. I know this is could be considered, somewhat illegal – but it is purely a study and no personal information of anyone recorded will be shared or their identities revealed)
I woke up this morning feeling much better, I thought, than yesterday. That was until I stood up – I suffered what I found out to be called, a Hypovolaemic attack (apparently). I hadn’t increased my fluid intake enough. My body was using all of the water I had to flush out the virus and therefore it needed more than usual to keep my blood pressure steady. I felt like I was going to faint – my body was shutting down and I couldn’t walk properly – I stumbled into the room next to mine and pleaded for help – having no clue what was happening to me.
I had heard from a friend of mine who has had Swine Flu that he spent most of it vomiting, I thought I might – yet I realized nothing was actually happening, I didn’t vomit – I didn’t shit myself. I started sweating profusely – it was cold and my clothes begun to stick to my skin. I didn’t know what to do but water was the safest bet – I turned the bath tap on in the bathroom and stuck my head under the torrent of water and opened my mouth – within a few minutes I was back to normal (normal flu-like conditions that is) and went back to bed – having dried off first.
Swine Flu is here. It is as popular a topic discussed as Michael Jackson’s death. I woke up this morning to find my face was burning, my throat felt swollen and there was a peculiar taste in my mouth.
When I sat up my head throbbed with pain – as I gradually became more awake I realized my whole body was aching. The day has past, and I do not feel any better. I sent texts to a few people, whom all shared the same idea. Except one fellow who suggested I have AIDs, ahem…
I phoned my GP and she said I cannot be given any drugs to sort myself out because I cannot give her my temperature – I have no thermometer!
My head feels split open and like someone is squeezing my brain any time I look into any light.
Cue the sympathy…
In more urban parts of Japan sex has become so mainstream in its presence in the public eye, it is sold in a similar fashion to a person purchasing a drink. In fact, not only are bottles of beer sold from vending machines in parts of Tokyo, but used pairs of underwear as well. I recently wrote an essay on the topic of prostitution in urban sectors of Japan. I went about my research clear in my mind that sex has become an obsession for Japanese people. Tokyo is full of sex alleys, Love hotels, prostitutes and pornography. But what I discovered was that there are deeper reasons why sex has become accepted into mainstream outlets.
Rapelay is one of the more recent scandals; a videogame in which the player simulates raping female victims, which is being sold in Japan. In the USA it was banned when Amazon.com tried to list it on their site. The Telegraph quoted a spokesman from the company responsible for the game: “We believe there is no problem with the software, which has cleared the domestic ratings of an ethics watchdog body.” (2009). This alone could make you question how sexually explicit media is censored in Japan.
Rapelay and many other types of pornography (ranging from media broadcasted on TV to magazines and comic books showing nudity, sold from vending machines and other outlets) have considerable success in Japan. “Under the influence of Western morality, the Japanese imposed restrictions on pornography…even today, visual materials still must not show genital and pubic hair. With this one exception, pornography now appears throughout Japanese society.” (The Functions and Effects of Pornography 1986) with boundaries made clear, it has in fact made sex more widely accessible in many forms. “Themes such as rape are common yet rape rates in Japan are relatively low” (1986) this goes against western ideas, if Rapelay is considered, that violent or sexually explicit media can lead to the consumer becoming more violent or sexually active and so you would think that any criticisms of sex becoming mainstream in the east, can now be considered unjustified in some respects.
The differences between western values and eastern may be more distinct when the issue of Love Hotels is discussed. Love Hotels may seem kinky an idea to you, but in fact they’re used mostly by married couples who need to escape from the cramped confines of home in order to be intimate with each other. What some may slander as Sex Hotels are in fact helping to keep families together. Japanese people are far more open about sex, this openness can be tracked back to the Samurai, who were able to pursue same-sex affairs due to (it is believed) the lack of a connection on a conscious level between gender and sexual preference during that period. Today, their society has no connection as we do, between sex/pornography and the negative results that could have on the public. Take Soho, (the centre of the city of London, as one example,) where sex is sold in many forms and as a result the area is considered sleazy.
Sleazy being something Westerners perhaps do not want to associate with themselves, yet sex and pornography is what most people naturally take an interest in at some point in their lives.
The changes that have occurred within Japan have led up to the way in which people view sex. “Post-war Japan, with its rapidly developing industrial culture, is witnessing changes in sexual attitudes and behaviour and sex is gradually losing its feudalistic aspects including arranged marriage and preservation of virginity until marriage.” (Asayama S: The Japanese Association for Sex Education, January 1974) and with less marriages generally, more divorces and the legalization of birth control methods – it has meant a complete shift in people’s attitudes toward sex can take place. This shift has also contributed to the way in which people now think about extramarital affairs. With Love Hotels being somewhere for partners to openly go to be intimate, it is not uncommon for married couples to be intimate with someone else as well. The study into adolescent sex development and adult sex behaviour (Asayama S, 1974) has found that over 90% of married men have had extramarital intercourse.
Japanese society has developed into one that has embraced what would be taboo for western countries. Sex has become a part of every facet in Japanese adult life. It is sold alongside food and drink. It is not criticised and has liberalized those whom in other countries would have been victims. Censorship has given Japanese people the reason to abide anything pornographic and in turn, it has allowed an audience to embrace it openly. It is this openness that has been key to couples pursuing intimacy outside of their homes where they would have been otherwise restricted.
People may be quick to question attitudes toward sex and even women in Japan – yet this is a country where Companions (what the Japanese call their prostitutes) choose whether they have sex with their clients. Wives are also having extramarital affairs but it doesn’t automatically lead to divorce anymore. What I once thought to be a wild obsession, I believe now to be structured, thoughtful and ultimately, harmless.
Photo by Debbie Burningham
I recently worked on an event for Sadler’s Wells called Scattered Crowd; an empty warehouse filled with thousands of balloons. As I entered the space I couldn’t help but smirk and question in my head, why anyone would come to see this. Yet, as I casually meandered between balloons on one side of the room to the balloons on the other side, queues outside left people waiting up to forty minutes or more. The reason the wait was so long was because inside, people were enthralled by this arrangement of suspended rubber. One woman spent close to an hour and a half looking at the balloons from different angles – I noticed a smile gradually stretch the width of her mouth. It seemed as if the mass of balloons and looped chill out music (the kind you could buy from London Aquarium but wouldn’t) sent her into a state of ludicrous tranquility. Ludicrous in my mind, seeing as the scene was a bunch of balloons casually thrown about the place.
A child climbed the narrow steps up into the warehouse and was thrilled by the sight in front of him, naturally. Then, he ran – arms spread – through the balloons, catching them all with swooping motions of his arms. A bald man with a red cardigan tied around his shoulders, designer sunglasses neatly propped atop his head and a delicately thought out goatee came prancing over “No no no,” he said “You’re supposed to walk around the balloons!” He turned to me in desperation, “Please, tell him. There is no running, they are supposed to look at the balloons!” I could see in his eyes, that look of ‘My genius – My art is being destroyed!’
Was this art?
…Really?!
It seemed to be on everyone’s mind, what would happen to the balloons at the end of the day, they asked. Popping them was the next question. One man went further to suggest “Wouldn’t it be cool to like be Wolverine and slash your way through them all!” Indeed, if it meant that this be over – that no one would come to see this and value it with time out of their lives.
At the close of the day, I did grow slightly fond of the balloons – I had after all, spent the entire day with them, perhaps they would make a nice Facebook profile picture, I thought. A spanish couple were among the last to witness the piece. They looked for a moment then embraced each other. Something I relayed back to a suited man obviously involved with Scattered Crowd – when he asked “What has the response to this been?”
I replied: “People have been getting frisky.” The man with the red cardigan did not appreciate my answer – but I was past the point of caring. Then, as the last few people filtered out the exit and it was declared over, of all the people – the red cardigan man ran and screamed – through all of the balloons, and like a child lapped the room and proceeded to pop the balloons.
I gathered my things as everyone started to frantically destroy everything, I wrote down my bank details to get paid and walked out.
The series so far…
I recently expressed my Love For Joss Whedon at around the time I started watching Dollhouse illegally on the internet. As the first series draws to a close it seems fair to come to a conclusion about what to think of the show. Dollhouse was originally created to jump-start Eliza Dushku’s career after years of obscurity, playing very minor roles in flops. Time that should have been spent playing more interesting roles possibly, after her tantalizing portrayal of Faith in Buffy The Vampire Slayer. The show is about an underground organization (The Dollhouse) renting people (wiped clean of their former lives, memories and personalities) who are then imprinted with new personas, to meet the needs of the buyer. Echo (played by Dushku) is one of these dolls. Parallel to the events happening within the Dollhouse there is the constant threat posed by federal agent Paul Ballard trying to track down the highly illegal operation and a rogue Doll called Alpha imprinted with multiple personalities, the consequences, subsequently of which were deaths and bloody rampages.
Unfortunately (I must open on) Dollhouse often feels like a show reel for Dushku – Joss Whedon made it clear this was the purpose for the show; to let the world see the extent of her talent. However there comes a point when showing off Eliza can detract from the story-line and the series as a whole seeing as many of the characters she portrays are performed within the rigid limitations of her capabilities, the only memorable personality imprinted within Echo was the dominatrix – whom served no purpose to any plot.
The other actors show far more competence, yet are given no consideration until half way through the series. It was so intriguing to find out Olivia Williams, playing Adelle DeWitt (the woman running the LA Dollhouse) had a life outside of work, hiring Victor (one of the main Dolls) to be her ideal man during those lonely nights as a ruthless businesswoman with no social life.
During the episode “Needs” the four main Dolls wake up to find their original personalities intact, without memory as to where they are or why. This episode came half way through the series and is the only episode to show us anything about the other characters. For a show that is meant to be trying to grab audience members and save itself from cancellation, I feel this episode came a little late.
What does the show no favors is the way in which episodes are clumsily stuck together, where a previous episode might build up some momentum in the story and send the plot arching off in a new direction, you’ll find yourself a week later watching an episode entirely unrelated to the previous. The way in which episodes feel disjointed can be jarring and means there is no clear plot. Maybe it is the result of shooting the episodes out of order, or having your characters forget anything that has happened by wiping their memory clean.
Agent Ballard’s character becomes the only one of interest, being the one with any progressing story. After becoming obsessed with finding the Dollhouse he then finds out to his dismay that his romantic interest is a Doll herself (called November). In the latest episode the tension is built by her constantly asking about how his hunt for the Dollhouse is going, put against a story involving Echo being imprinted with a dead woman’s personality so she can watch her own funeral, solve her murder, and consequently see which of her family members turn out to be fortune hungry vultures. Being put in the position to find out who truly cares for her served well to emphasize November’s constant questioning about the Dollhouse and Ballard’s realization that he is being used.
There are two episodes left and I’m beginning to think there has been too little too late – when the show seemed promising the story veered off in an unrelated direction. Maybe the creators have been saving everything for the shows finale but there posed is the problem, who is left watching?
It is with a self-indulgence that most writers people-watch. What is it about being stationary that we immediately start to absorb as much potential material around us as physically possible? We have all been sat on a bus, train or in a cafe and peered over someone’s shoulder to check what they’re reading. We listen in on other people’s conversations and we observe anyone even slightly interesting by whatever means. I have perfected a technique of watching people through the reflection of train windows, other people choose other methods.
The other day I was on the tube, I became fascinated by a rather plump woman sitting beside me. I had to lean over to see around the orbit of her frizzy hair, she was writing a journal. I read the page carefully – carefully in the sense of being careful I was not caught, she only had to look round to see me leaning eagerly forward to spy on her musings.
A half of the page read: “I must not leave my journal on trains! I must not leave my journal on trains!” Over and over. How odd, I thought. I scanned the page further, then noticed the entry which she was currently writing was dated in May. Before I could finish reading what the daft woman was scribbling, she leafed over to a fresh page, scrawled a new date at the top and started on an entirely new day’s worth of events. I wondered whether this was a work of fiction, yet it couldn’t be, it just was so obviously bad that no one could consider this worth reading.
The notes seemed so rehearsed, they couldn’t be genuine. As I stared with mild intrigue she turned to me, I quickly looked away and noticed I now was the one being watched by a number of people in the carriage.
What have you read over someone’s shoulder lately?
P.s. I start my access courses on Tuesday, at Birkbeck Uni (Why does everyone ask, in surprise “BAREBACK?!” – NO, Birkbeck!)
